#he's just trying to do the right thing 😭😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hwaslayer · 2 days ago

Text

wildfire (cs) | thirteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, we catch a lil moment with belle 🙄, crying .. lots of crying, just lots of hurt and heartache, more misunderstandings, we see a bit of parents from both sides - esp san's dynamic with his father, flashback scene with smut: oral (f. receiving), 🤠, praises, lots of sweet kisses and tender moments, some nipple play, soft and slow smut!!

—a/n: fic announcement soon!

If the texts yesterday afternoon weren't nerve-wracking enough, it was the downtime in between the texts and seeing San that had you ready to curl up in a ball out of anxiety; fetal position, rocking back and forth as an attempt to rid the feeling. San hadn't texted much after deciding the two of you should talk the following day, and you never questioned why he couldn't just see you the same night he had told you he needed to talk.

you: 😞 you didn't even look my way when you walked back into the office and i haven't heard from you all day.

you: i hate how all my papers and presentations are due this week. plus ppl have been weird, idk. i just wanna cuddle 😭

san: i'm sorry. it's just been a day.

you: that's never stopped you before... ☹️ what's wrong, san?

san: we should talk, baby.

you: oh.. okay. so let's talk tonight? i just need to finish up a few things, and i'm halfway done on most of my papers and presentations. i think they can wait a bit.

san: no, you should finish up. i've got a ton of things to catch up on so tonight won't work. can we do this tomorrow? i'll come pick you up once we're both done in the lab.

you: are you sure?

san: mhm. i'm sorry again, it really just has been kinda all over the place today.

you: it's fine, san. as long as you can promise me we're okay?

san: we will be. i'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? try to take breaks and rest well.

You accepted it, even if it felt excruciating and painfully long.

These things never turn out well, and you knew your case wasn't gonna be an exception. You were afraid for it, you were nervous and you were wondering what San might do to try and lessen the blow of whatever was coming.

He wouldn't hurt you, right?

He meant it when he said you two would be okay, right?

Even if he tried to be as reassuring, everything about it felt off and cryptic. None of it felt like sunshine and rainbows, none of it felt like the San you felt in love with. None of it felt like the giddy excitement, the comfort, the safety you had come to know and love.

You hated automatically assuming the worse, but nothing was preventing you from doing so— not even San.

Today was actually pretty uneventful, nonetheless. Despite the wait and silence from San, you felt like you managed to get by in one piece. It still felt like everyone was looking at you; like they had all known your deepest, darkest secrets. Like they had been following your every move, especially while you were with San. It still felt awful, but you had learned how to push aside because people could talk and assume— but they would never know the true story.

And who knows? Even if you tried to explain yourself, they wouldn't get it.

You didn't really owe that explanation to anyone, you think.

The only other weird part about your day was when you had tried to help Belle earlier since you had some downtime and she brushed you off completely. She had been avoiding you, and it was pretty obvious she was letting the talk get to her head. She didn't maintain eye contact with you, she didn't acknowledge you, and she didn't talk to you the way that she used to.

—FLASHBACK

You walk into the lab, passing by a few of your labmates with a tiny, toothless smile etched on your lips. There was no Sunwoo around, but there was Belle; yet, she still hadn't turned to acknowledge your presence. You had gotten through your to-do list for Sunwoo's project, leaving you with extra time to spare today. You hadn't been able to dedicate a lot of your support to Belle lately due to all those technical issues you needed to troubleshoot for your project with Sunwoo, and you figured this would be a good time to make up for it.

Unless��she had other plans.

"Hey Belle!" You come to her desk, pulling the courage from deep down within you to approach her first. She looks up at you, a brow cocked up before returning her attention to her laptop. "I have some time to help—"

"No thanks, I'm good." She doesn't look at you. "Just so you know, I don't really need extra help anymore. I've got everything figured out already."

"Oh, okay." You step away from her desk, fiddling with your fingers while you stand there looking dumb. "Are you sure?" She pauses her typing before finally looking back up at you with her brows knit tightly together.

"I just said it, didn't I?"

"I-I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure since I had the time and I haven't been able to help you out as much cause of Sunwoo's project."

"Why don't you go and use your extra time with Professor Choi since you've been doing that anyway?" She gives you a look that settles in the pit of your stomach. You don't say anything to her, even as she shuts her laptop close and stands— brushing past you to get to one of the behavior rooms. You feel a bit hurt, and your other labmates aren't even paying attention to the whole thing; or, maybe they are, and they just don't wanna say anything to dig deeper into the wound.

So, you turn on your heel with your head down, returning to your desk to continue your data analysis in silence.

—END

You try to tell yourself that it doesn't really matter— that you didn't need anyone's reassurance or validation. It hurt despite not being super close to Belle, but you knew she thought of you in a different light now and that wasn't really fair. You could see how it'd look problematic on the surface, but you thought she knew you better than that.

Guess it's also your fault for assuming.

When it's time for San to pick you up at your usual pick-up spot, you grab your keys and head out— still not having changed out of your outfit for the day. You try to take slow steps to not seem too eager, but you can't help it when you see San parked in his usual spot. This time though, he isn't watching for you in the rear view mirror.

"Hey." You swing the door open and slide in. San gives you a small smile, followed by a:

"Hey." He watches as you dip forward to kiss him on the lips like you always do, and he surprisingly takes it. You were getting ready for the rejection or some kind of pull back; but, to San's own knowledge, he did it because he knew it'd be the last time he could savor it.

"You okay? Were you able to finish everything you needed to?"

"Uh, yeah. Think so." He says with a subtle chuckle before driving off.

"Are we going to your house?"

"Thought we could sit at the view and talk, if that's okay with you?" You slowly nod, keeping your eyes trained on San as he drives.

"Okay. You're scaring me, Sannie." He shakes his head.

"Please don't be."

"Then why couldn't we just talk about this like normal at your place?"

"Y/N, you trust me, right?" He quickly looks at you as he comes across a red light. You silently nod, just in time for him to drive off and continue onto the destination. "Okay, so trust me." He's still being so cryptic and distant that you don't even know how to respond. You quietly sit back in your chair and watch the surroundings pass you by, trying to settle the queasiness you feel building in your stomach.

These things never go well, and your case doesn't seem to be a one-off.

San continues to remain silent as he drives the rest of the way to the view, the music softly filling in as background noise that's enough to distract you. When he pulls into the small empty side lot and parks his car, he lets out a sigh and sits back.

"How was your day today?" He asks softly, still avoiding contact with you.

"It was okay, I guess. Better than yesterday."

"That's good."

"San." You adjust your position so you're looking directly at him, body facing him. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know where to start."

"You have to start somewhere." He sighs again. "You know, whatever it is, you can tell me. We can figure this out together." You raise your hand to cup his cheek, almost somewhat of a gesture to force him to look at you. And for a minute, you feel him relax under your touch. You can tell he wants to turn and kiss the palm of your hand like he usually does, but he doesn't. "Sannie—"

"We should stop this." Your mouth slightly drops even though you don't know what to say. Your eyes widen, your touch turns cold. You retreat your hand while you let the response sink, San still keeping his gaze out of the window because he truly can't dare to look at you right now.

He'll fold.

He'll forget all about this and risk everything for the both of you.

He shouldn't.

"W-what?"

"We need to stop this, Y/N." He finally looks at you and his gaze feels like an icebox. Everything feels so cold and distant, even if it's supposed to be a front; it's working, and it's fucking you up completely.

"All of a sudden? I-I thought we were fine, what happened? What did I do wrong?" He shakes his head.

"Nothing. It's not anything you did, I'm just trying to be realistic here."

"Realistic? I thought you didn't care about the outside noise?"

"We're only prolonging the inevitable, don't you get it? Everything is going to come crashing down on us whether we like it or not. No matter how hard I try to stop it, this is what it'll eventually come to." You don't really understand where he's coming from or what he's getting at, but it's too late— you feel the tears steadily streaming down your cheeks.

Then, you're sobbing into your hands and you feel pathetic. But San feels terrible, he hates this. He doesn't wanna do this but he's conflicted between right and wrong, between being selfish and letting you go. "San, why?"

"Y/N, please hear me out on this, okay?" He's barely able to answer.

"Why? You ask him again. You cry in his passenger's seat, wiping it away with your sweater sleeves. "You said I could trust you, a-and that you wouldn't hurt me because you didn't care about anyone else."

"I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you."

"But, I love you." San shakes his head as tears streak his own cheeks.

"We're being too selfish." He looks at you. "I am. I'm being too selfish and I don't need this to ruin things for you more. I need to put you first—"

"Why do you get to decide what that looks like for me, San?" He doesn't respond. "So, you don't want this?" He lets out a shaky sigh. "Us?"

"That's far from how I feel and you know it."

"Why can't you just say it back? Why can't we just let this be? I don't care—" You tug on his arm and he grips your hand before shaking his head.

"Because this is already hard as it is. Y/N, listen to me." He pleads, cupping your cheeks. He finally looks deep into your eyes, his thumb gently caressing the surface. The life in his eyes are gone. The glow, the stars. Now, his eyes are dull. They're holding back. They don't show you anything. "We should stop. We need to. Namjoon and the dean are discussing your future at the school, and I need you to keep going in this program. I need you to keep going forward even if that means I can't be right there with you every step of the way. You deserve to be here and you deserve to finish this until the very end. You've worked so hard to get here, and I refuse to let them lose out on you simply because of me."

"This makes no sense to me. Why do we have to do this? We can just be more careful and plan better. We can just—"

"I'm trying to protect you."

"Protect me? From Namjoon and the dean? Or are you trying to protect yourself?"

"I don't give a damn about me, Y/N!" He's a little angrier with this response but you know it isn't directed towards you. It's towards Namjoon. The dean. Yunho and Iseul. This whole fucked up situation. "I'm always gonna put you first. It's always been about you and it'll always be about you." You cry a bit harder at his answer, unsure of what to make of this entire thing. You don't know if San really means this or if he is just trying to protect you. You don't know what to do, you don't know if you should keep trusting him the same way.

You don't know if you can, and that's probably because you're blinded by all the overwhelming emotions you're feeling right now.

The both of you sit in this thick silence, your cries now filling the space while San tries to muster up the last bit of his energy to try and make you feel better— to get you to understand this better.

It's not that he wants to, he has to.

"I don't—" He swallows thickly. "I don't wanna do this but I have to. You have to understand." He says at a whisper, more tears streaming down his red-stained cheeks. "You have to understand, baby. Please." He begs. "I don't want them to do anything to you and I don't wanna jeopardize your future. Just listen to me. We have to do this." He leans forward to cup your cheeks and wipe your tears away with his thumb.

"No, we don't." You almost whine, but all San can do is shake his head and sit back in his seat.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I have to do what's best for you." His voice shakes. "I really am so sorry, sweetheart." He answers lowly, wiping his remaining tears before retreating back into his shell and showing off his cold demeanor for the remainder of his time with you. "I should get you back."

"I should've never trusted you. I should've known this was all too good to be true. You didn't care." You cry, repeating all this nonsense to try and get him to hurt the same way as you somehow. Because he'll never understand. Everything had led up to this and you were still unprepared for this. Even though you knew you'd be here at some point, nothing would have ever prepared you for the way your heart drops to your stomach; the way you feel nothing but thunder and rain.

Blue and grey.

He does, though.

In fact, he's probably hurting the most because he had to pull the trigger and let you go.

He hates it. He fucking hates it.

He's trying to drown out the rest until he gets you back to your building because he can't take it. He can't take hearing you cry anymore, he can't take hearing you say these awful things because you're angry at the moment. He hopes that you'll see where he's coming from eventually because all he's ever wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe.

All he's ever done was care about you, and you only.

All he's ever felt was love for you, and you only. You showed him what love was like again and he'll never take that for granted.

This was him showing you love. He needed to put you first.

"I care about you more than anything. I'm trying to do what's best—"

"Without involving me? Deciding for me? Yeah." You wipe away at your cheeks once more before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Whatever San, save it." You tell him before swinging the door open and stepping out. "You were just trying to protect me. I get it."

"Baby, don't be like that. Please don't make this harder than it already is. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know this." He tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away.

"You don't get to call me that anymore." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, goodluck, San." Is all you say before slamming his door shut and storming off. You begin to cry to yourself again, feeling sorry for yourself and stupid. You know deep down that San was only trying to do the right thing and that he was trying to protect you. But, right now, you're angry, you're sad, you're upset. You feel empty and betrayed and you just need to feel this out in order to let it pass.

This too shall pass.

When you head upstairs, you quickly pack up a few things, along with your laptop and other school-related necessities before locking up and heading to your car. You feel a migraine coming on, which definitely means you should take it easy and stay behind; but, all you can think about is getting to your mom and being away from school for a few days.

Nothing's better than a mother's love and comfort, even though you aren't entirely sure how she's gonna react to this, how she'll feel about San.

In the end, you don't hate him.

You can't.

You could never.

—FLASHBACK

"That was a good girl's date, wasn't it? We got massages, our nails done. Now we're eating a banana split under this nice weather." Your mom chuckles. "You need to come home more often."

"I know, I know." You scoop up a good helping of the banana split, internally conflicted on when is a good time to let your mom know about what's been going on. She would probably be surprised and scared for you, but your mom had a good way of choosing her words. She had a good way of being there for you but making her concerns known without pointing fingers or putting any blame on your actions.

"How has school been? Your friends?"

"They've been good. We've all been busy with our labs."

"Jiung's been good? You think you guys are all gonna stay in the labs you're currently rotating in?"

"He's good, yeah. And I think so, they all seem to be enjoying it."

"How about you?" You poke at the banana before scooping another helping. Your mom can already tell there's something else on your mind, but she's gonna let you take the floor and open up about it when you're ready.

Which is now.

You just don't know if she's ready.

"Uh, yeah. It's been good!" You give her a small smile. "I'm still deciding on my route, but it's been good." Pause. "There's actually something else I've been meaning to tell you."

"Okay, try me!" She chuckles. "What is it?"

"I've been seeing someone."

"Oh?" She laughs. "Well, isn't that great?! I mean, you never needed a man, okay. But, as long as they make you happy and add value to your life. I just want you happy." She laughs. "Who is he, where did you meet? Tell me everything!" You sigh and take a deep breath before starting.

"We met at school. In the lab. Because.. he's my rotation professor." You give her a look, afraid of what she'll say. She stops mid-bite and almost chokes, setting her spoon down before looking at you with knitted brows.

"Your.. what?! Y/N—"

"Mom, please. Just hear me out before you start assuming and saying things. He didn't abuse his power, I didn't throw myself on him, okay? It just happened." You immediately say and look at her with puppy eyes. "We just happened. We grew feelings for each other and just clicked really well. We've been keeping things lowkey."

"But, Y/N. Honey, I say this sincerely. What if people find out? Not that I want them to, but they will." You shrug.

"I don't know, we'll figure it out."

"H-how old is he?"

"32."

"Oh, okay. He's young."

"And handsome." You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and smile. "His name is San. Choi San. He's pretty popular in the bioengineering and neuroscience world."

"That's good." Your mom is slightly shutting down and you know it's because her thoughts are traveling at 100mph and she doesn't know what to think or do.

Or say.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know you're worried but I'll be fine, okay? I promise. It'll all be fine." You add to break the silence and reach for her hand.

"I just don't want him to hurt you and then you lose everything you've worked so hard for over him."

"I just don't know where this is gonna take us. Things feel too overwhelming. Like.. I just don't want any talk getting into his head about us."

"It could really ruin things for the both of you, Y/N. Please be smart about your actions. Don't throw everything away because of him. That's all I ask. Just by the looks of it, I know he makes you happy and you're riding cloud nine, but you need to remember who comes first— yourself."

"I know. I hear you. I don't mean to cause any unnecessary worry or anything."

"No, you're not. Lovey, I'm your mom, I'm always gonna worry regardless. But, I trust you enough to make the right decisions and to take care of yourself. I know you'll be smart and I know you won't be completely reckless. I'm not gonna lie, this— this isn't a 'conventional' relationship and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet." She sighs and looks at you with a hint of concern in her eyes. "I'm trying hard to see this from your side, not from my side, and I think it'll take me time to get used to. In the end, I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want people to think bad about you, and I don't want you to lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"I know, but it's all okay. I promise." You promise her, but you don't even know if you believe the promise yourself. "You can trust him." She doesn't say much, and you can tell she's trying her hardest to swallow her true emotions.

"Just becareful."

—END

San picks up the phone to call Namjoon, hands slightly trembling. He's still sitting in his car, still sitting in the same spot because it's his turn to cry and let out all his feelings. He hits the steering wheel before running a hand through his hair, second-guessing all his decisions.

Why did it have to come down to all of this? Did he really have to? How long before he folds and comes back to you?

Before he says fuck this all together and chases after you?

He keeps trying to remind himself that he needs to protect you and let this blow over. He keeps trying to remind himself that it'll all be worth it and you both will find your way back to each other again.

In time.

"San."

"It's over with." Is all he is able to say before Namjoon lets out a small sigh on the other end.

"I'm sorry, San. Look, just give this time—" Quite frankly, he doesn't wanna hear it anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not for awhile.

"It's fine." He cute him off. "You don't have to say it. Just please make sure nothing happens to her."

"You got my word. I'll figure this out. Don't worry." San ends the call before he's digging his head into his hands and cries.

And cries.

Because now his days are going to blend back to the black and white filter he used to have on. He'll never experience that warmth, those colors, without you around.

He'll never witness where the sea meets the sky, when the sun sinks below the horizon. When dawn meets dusk.

His days will be monotone and dull, lifeless and cold. Gloomy. Days he had prayed to get past and never return to.

But, he's here again.

And somehow, this pain feels worse this time around than the first time.

—FLASHBACK

San sighs when he pulls up to his parents' house, aggressively shifting the gear to park before taking a moment to himself. He wasn't happy when his father left him a voicemail, scolding him for the rumors going around about him dating his student. He was quick to call him names and demand him to make things right before his name could be tainted in the industry. San isn't gonna lie, he's always looked up to his father. Things changed when San started making a name for himself in the academic industry, creating some kind of competitive tension between the two. Well, San never felt that way. His dad strongly did though, for whatever reason.

He never understood it. It's whatever.

What San wasn't having was the fact that his father kept calling you a little girl who only wanted to use him to work her way in and up.

He slams the door to his car, adjusting his hat and his jacket before tapping the code into the keypad on the front door.

"San, is that you?" He hears his mom's sweet voice call out to him. He smiles softly when she comes into view in the hallway, opening her arms for a hug. "Please don't mind your father, you know how he is. He's just concerned." She gives the back of his neck a reassuring massage.

"Mm, yeah. I can feel the concern especially when he starts calling me out my name."

"San." His mom gives him a look before his dad looks up from the paper he's reading on the couch, forehead crinkling when he sees his son walk in.

"Why are you here?"

"Hi to you, too." San says while his mom steps in the middle.

"Honey." She turns to his father.

"So, what was up with that voicemail?"

"Why don't you tell us what's been going on with you and your so-called girlfriend? Do you even care about yourself or what this could do to your career? You're so careless—"

"So what if I'm careless! You don't even know her so you don't have a right to do that!"

"Are you actually that stupid, San? Do you know how damaging this could be for you, for us?"

"What does this have to do with you?!" San's voice raises.

"It has everything to do with us! Everyone thinks you either forced that girl into a relationship or she threw herself on you and you stupidly took the bait!"

"Even if I said it wasn't like that, you wouldn't listen anyway!"

"Are you serious about her?"

"What makes you think I'm not? We're two grown adults who are capable of making our own decisions and knew the consequences from the very beginning."

"And you think she'll stay? Someone that young and who is just getting started with her life, basically. You think she'll stay and be there for you when times get rough?"

"Absolutely." His dad scoffs.

"Is that so? Wishful thinking. You couldn't even keep Iseul and now you're downgrading to a st—"

"Hey!" San's mom cuts off his father's statement. "That is enough from you. Don't finish that sentence."

"You have no idea what Iseul put me through!" San's tone is louder to match his father's energy. "I found somebody who genuinely and truly cares about me and who I am. That isn't enough for you? Just because she's a student, but a grown adult at that?! You can't even be happy for a second? You still find a way to be on Iseul's side even though she cheated with my bestfriend!"

"Maybe it's time you realized you pushed Iseul away. That was your own doing. And this girl? Don't come to me and make me tell you 'I told you so' when she leaves after she's gotten everything she needs from you." San's dad is fuming in front of him. "How could you be so sure things will be smooth sailing with her, hm? What makes you think this can work?"

"This is fucking bullshit, I'm not explaining myself to you. If you don't wanna be happy for me and support me, then so be it."

—END

San thinks maybe his dad was right; maybe this wasn't meant to be, and was just supposed to be another fleeting moment, another lesson.

Even though deep down, he knows it's far from it.

As he sits in his home office, he scrolls through old pictures of you and him together— you, pictures you've sent him. He feels the rush of sadness hit him like bricks, his chest almost physically hurting from the ache. He has this sudden urge to text you and call you, tell you how much he misses you.

But, he stops himself.

What if you stopped caring? What if you were so mad at him that you hated him?

He couldn't bear with it.

If only he knew how much you cried and yearned for him every night, if only he knew how much your head hurt while you laid on your mom's lap while she ran her hands through your hair— gently cooing you and shushing you to help you get some sleep.

If only he knew.

"Mom, I'm sorry." You cry and cry, laying your head on her lap as you let everything out. "You were right, I messed everything up. This was all so stupid. I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that." She shushes you and tries to coo you. "Don't ever say that again." She looks at you. "What happened?" You gather the strength to tell her everything that's been going on. How deep your relationship went with San and how well he took care of you. How you weren't always the most careful but the only reason why things blew up was because of Hae-jin, Iseul and Yunho. How Iseul and Yunho just keep trying to get in between, how Jiung even went to Professor Kim about all of this.

How San broke this off claiming he wanted to protect you and put you first.

How utterly sad and betrayed you feel.

"I'm just so tired of feeling this way. I hate how alone I feel. I hate how much I miss him. I hate how this unfolded the way it did."

"I'm so sorry, honey. You need to let things be for now, okay? I know that's not what you wanna hear, but you need to. Especially for school and yourself."

"Why does anyone care? Why does it matter?"

"People have nothing better to do, and I'm sorry it had to be those two and Jiung."

"I'm so tired, mom. When will this pass? What did I do wrong? Why did he leave so quickly?"

"Lovey. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't you at all, and it wasn't San either. The circumstances are just tough. You didn't know it would play out this way and I'm sure he has his reasons."

"What if he's just using that as an excuse? What if he really doesn't want this anymore?"

"If he really cared about you, why would he lie, Y/N? I'm sure he was doing his best to protect you both, especially you. I know it hurts right now, hun. But, maybe this is for the best." You don't wanna hear it even though your mom might be right.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this was just telling you this could never work between you two.

No matter how hard you both tried.

San's urge to text or call doesn't lessen as the next few days go by, especially when he notices he hasn't seen any trace of you. He'll usually see you walking towards the biology building for Yunho's class or making your way to the dining hall with the girls.

If San hadn't overheard Sunwoo telling his lab mates that you were sick, he would've gone crazy.

It still doesn't help that you're feeling unwell and he can't do anything about it.

"Sunwoo." San pokes his head out of his door, causing Sunwoo to lift his head from his laptop and shift his attention towards him. "Can you meet really quickly?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Be right over!"

"Thanks." San heads back to his desk and lets out a breath, waiting for Sunwoo to come. It takes him less than 5 minutes to finally make his way into the office, rubbing his hands down his jeans. "Hey." San looks up at him. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."

"No prob! What's up, Professor Choi?"

"I wanted to talk to you really quickly because I wanted you to hear it from me directly. Starting next week, we'll be losing Y/N's support. She'll be heading to Professor Kim's lab."

"O-oh. Okay. Damn." Sunwoo ticks his head to the side. "Professor Kim with the steal." San chuckles a bit.

"Yeah." San can't even hide his sadness when he looks down at the papers beneath his hands that Sunwoo catches on and he feels bad. He still doesn't know the details and he never will, but if it's one thing he can gather right now, it's the fact that the room feels cold and empty.

It's the fact that San literally has to force himself to smile and deliver this news like all is okay and no big deal— when in fact, it fucking is.

Sunwoo feels so bad.

"So, I know she's out sick right now, but will I still get to see her before she goes? I wanna talk to her to wrap things up, too."

"When she returns, we'll make sure she has time to close loose ends with you and gather her things."

"Hm." Sunwoo nods slowly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry this came up so suddenly, but I had to make a few changes around here. We all thought she'd be a better fit with Professor Kim."

"I see. She's super smart and incredibly great at what she does, I know she'll do well in whatever she does and wherever she goes." San nods.

"Yeah, she will." He sighs. "There's another rotation student that I might bring in next quarter that might be a good fit to work with you, too. His name is Baehyuk."

"Cool. Down to meet whenever the time is right."

"Thanks, Sunwoo."

"No, thank you for always giving me some help and pushing me forward." San gives him a small smile. "Everything will work out."

"Yeah." Is all he could say in response. Because he hopes it will.

Right now, it seems like a far reach.

All San wants to do is love you, rather than hiding just how deeply in love he was with you.

—FLASHBACK

"Here, baby." He turns to hand you a plate with a smile on his face. "Think you can help me dry the last of these dishes and put 'em up?"

"Course, chef." He chuckles, watching as you tip-toe with nothing but his shirt on to reach over and place the dry dishes into the proper cabinet. You follow suit with the last three dishes, setting the towel aside while San wipes away the water droplets around the sink. "We did it, babe! All clean."

"Sure did." He laughs, caging you in against the counter to kiss you sweetly. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome." You giggle. "Thank you for making dinner."

"As long as you enjoyed." You nod.

"What do you wanna do for the rest of the evening?"

"Mm, we can watch a movie and fall asleep here on the couch without any worry."

"That's fun." You smile.

"Or, we can do other things that I have in mind." He brushes the hair away from your face while you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Ooh." You reply in a sing-song tone. "Care to indulge?"

"Absolutely." He says just as he swiftly carries you and wraps your legs around him. You squeal as he walks over to the couch and gently plops you down onto the soft cushions, wasting no time to attach his lips to every inch of skin he can. He slowly hovers over you, hands roaming up your shirt and tugging material along with it as he continues to move upward— exposing your cute pink panties from beneath. He sinks to his knees and pries your legs open after fixing your position to the edge of the couch. "Let me make you feel good, love."

"Yes please, Sannie. Please." You beg, watching as San slides down your panties and tosses them aside. His hands caress your thighs, giving them a good squeeze while laying open-mouth kisses along the surface. You continue to watch him, biting on your lip when he hovers over where you need him at most. He licks a stripe up your folds, causing your head to cock back against the cushion. He begins to gently kiss and suck at your heat— a satisfying, breathy moan leaving your lips as you let San relish being in between your thighs. He laps away at your clit, tonguing down your pussy as if he had been deprived of you for years.

You love/hate how good he is at this. "Babe—" You moan loudly, hips now working on their own terms against his mouth. He subtly nods as he continues to suck and lap away at your heat, tongue keeping you wet and filthy; just the way he likes it. "God, right there—" You whine, hips rolling upward and grinding against his mouth, his tongue.

You used to be so shy.

Now, you're not afraid to tell him what you want and he fucking loves it. "Oh—San— gonna—" Your statement comes out broken as you continue to work against his mouth, orgasm crashing down like a harsh wave against the shore. You grip his hair, body twitching as San continues to latch on and groan against your pussy; incredibly hard while watching the way your body surrenders all. "Fuck." You whisper, still twitching due to the aftershocks from your first orgasm of the night.

"That's my girl." He's back to kissing your thighs, hands gently rubbing up and down your leg as a way to soothe you.

"Need you." You tug him by the shirt to plant a messy kiss against his lips— shirt soon to be discarded on the floor, along with his sweats.

Now you're on his lap, slowly riding his cock just the way he likes it— the couch's throw blanket resting against the small of your back and draped along San's lap.

It's his favorite position after all.

"Mm— just like that, baby." He whispers against your lips as you continue to ride him slowly on the couch. "Just like that." He repeats. "You're my good girl, right? Just mine?" He asks lowly and you nod, letting out a sweet moan as he pinches your nipple and watches your head tilt back in pleasure. "Oh, fuck— just like that." His head rests back against the couch, feeling your walls brush against him and drag against his rock hard cock. "All mine."

"Mm'fuck, Sannie." You keep your head back, intense pleasure bubbling at the pit of your stomach. You take him slowly, deeply; his cock hitting all the right spots every time you do a 'lil tug and pull— hips carefully rolling against him.

"So fucking sexy." He groans. "God, you're everything." His lips drag against your skin, tongue swirling around your perky nipples as your hands tug on the ends of his soft, black hair. "Everything to me." He whispers as if your skin could hold all of the universe's secrets. The blanket is barely keeping up with your movements. San's hand comes up along the base of your neck, bringing you back down to envelope your lips with his.

The kiss is full of hunger.

The kiss is slow and steady.

The kiss is messy.

You break the kiss first, body slowly crumbling in his grip when you feel your high approaching quick. You moan loudly, breath ragged as you pant; hips slightly picking up the pace to push yourself further and further until you reach the edge.

"Oh—" San matches your moans. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me." He praises you, voice deep— tone sending vibrations all the way down to your core. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum all over this dick, angel." Hearing San talk the way he's talking is enough to make your coil snap. He continues to coo you as you come undone on his lap; stuttering in your movements and trembling in his grip. He places his hands on your hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh while he fucks up into you— reaching his high shortly after you with a loud groan and hiss. "Fuck, that was so good, baby." You giggle, forehead against his while his hands gently caress and your back. You leave a tender kiss against his plump lips, and he chases with a few repeated kisses before bringing you down with him on the couch. The both of you lay underneath the throw blanket, now properly covering most of your bodies while San holds you from behind. He has his propped up by an arm while you both watch the show on TV, but San finds his thoughts wandering elsewhere at some point. He begins to look around the house and notices how different it feels since you've been around.

Good different.

A space that used to he so grey, so lifeless; now has remnants of you everywhere.

Your polaroids.

Pictures of you and San in frames.

Your little stuffed animal keychains and rings thrown onto the kitchen island, or the room. Or even his desk in the office.

Your little post-it notes. Your favorite chips and snacks littered around the pantry.

You were there everywhere he turned, and he finds it's one of his biggest blessings.

Especially when you lay here on the couch with him, completely not minding the idea San proposed of just falling asleep on the couch together while sorting through movies.

You agreed so quickly and so happily.

No matter how big or small, most ideas just seemed silly in his last relationship.

But, now he has you— someone who is happy to just be with him and spend time with him. No matter how big or small the idea, the plans.

San loves you.

And he'll never take it for granted.

—END

—read 13.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

160 notes · View notes

jollyhunter · 3 days ago

Text

♡ MILKSHAKE FOR TWO ♡

LOVERBOY ! SOLDIER BOY / BEN x fem!Reader [Happy Valentine’s Day!!]

WARNING Fluff, (some) plot, Angst (bearable), Smut - NSFW - MDNI!; fingering, a lil' spankin', biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it!), softdom!Ben (gasp!), faking orgasm, Ben reprimanding you, aftercare (Ben's way lol), strong language, basically just a general warning for Soldier Boy, no use of Y/N

⋆ ˚｡⋆ NOTE Okay sweethearts, this is my first time writing for Soldier Boy so please be lenient with me. 😭 Getting this man's colorful speech feel right as a non-native English is a real challenge lmao

After reading the Loverboy!Ben Headcanons by @lovedahlia I finally found the courage to pick this idea up again! And thanks @zepskies Coffee Shop Hadcanons for inspiring me with the sweet ending!! (and the pussy drink 💀)

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY The lovey-dovey atmosphere around Valentine's Day did little to ease your ache. To put it blunt; Lately your love life's been... let's say dull. Since for whatever reason getting off was turning out to be frustratingly difficult. Or more like, impossible; You just outlast any man in bed.

Well, except maybe for the cocky bastard of a supe seated across of you… Who you’d just made a bet with.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS ~7.4k [my longest fic so far!? 😭]

♡ MILKSHAKE FOR TWO ♡

One, two, three, five - now another orgasm. You lost count. He keeps rocking his hips as you ride another one of your highs out, his cock throbbing inside you -

“Is it hot?” Ben’s gravely voice throws you right off your imaginary man, eyes snapping up at him with a look of panic and confusion.

The warm scent of weed wafts through the musky air and hits your nose, reminding you of your situation; Right. You’re here to ‘babysit’ Soldier Boy while he’s meticulously rolling joints and taking a swig of his beer every now and then.

“W-what?” Your thumb quickly swipes away the fanfic on your phone’s screen, feigning innocence.

“The picture of your boyfriend’s dick.” He replies. The motel’s dim light frames the intense gaze occasionally drifting toward you, a teasing smile tugging at his beard when he continues. “Can’t ignore the way you’ve been practically eye-fucking that thing for the past six joints.” He jerks his chin at the phone now tightly clasped under your hands likes it’s holding all your sins in one place.

“What- that’s not- no- what the hell.” You stutter, while you’re secretly relieved that his mind took a different direction.

“Hm,” he grunts, unconvinced, his eyes briefly closing. You tense up in the couch when his elbows slide off the table, now resting on his spread legs, his head tilting your way. “What’s it then, huh? Internet?”

Ah yes, you were looking at internet. Hughie had mentioned the word to him some days ago, but no one seems to have had the patience – or guts – to properly explain it to him. You smirk to yourself, but keep the mocking comment back. You didn’t want to risk him snatching your phone away again, as he had done many times before just to annoy you.

“Yeah, internet. It’s like a – a library, but digital, you know?” You try to explain. Your hands casually let the phone disappear in your jeans’ back pocket while you make sure to keep the discussion going. “How do you even know about dickpics? My gramps sure as hell wouldn’t know.”

“Oh fuck off.” He throws you a half-arsed scowl over the edge of his canted beer, “I basically invented it. The concept of showing off your dick to your girl ain’t that goddamn new-fangled.” He sneers the word ‘new-fangled’, his free hand waving dismissively in your direction.

The frown on his lips shifts into a crooked smile at what seems to be a particularly fond memory popping up in his mind. Cute, it suits him.

“I once had Warhol print my dick in the colors of the American flag. Surprised Countess with one on every fuckin’ wall.”

“Wow.” You can’t help but shake your head and crack a laughter at the mental image. “I bet she was ecstatic.”

“Oh you can bet my nutsack. That night we fucked like bunnies. Skeeted those paintings. Redecorated the whole damn thing.” He grins like a proud boy before his fond smile suddenly flips, “Now the bitch’s gargling dirt.”

The air thickened and your chest tightens. Only the sound of his fingers briefly strangling the neck of his beer bottle fills the tense silence in the room.

Your eyes drift to the ground, scrambling for something to say to steer the conversation away from his dead ex - but he beats you to it.

Ben has let out a heavy sigh after he took a swig, the beer bottle now tipped in your direction.

"So. No boyfriend then, huh?" He muses before he tilts his head, his lips curling into a smug smirk, “Gonna spend your national fuck day all alone with a pillow between your legs?”

“I- I’m not spending my - as you call it so colourfully - ‘national fuck day’ with a pillow between my legs. Thank you very much.”

“No? Not gonna rawdog it while you’re thinking of me?”

Your eyes widen at that wild accusation - not that he was wrong about the latter assumption. But you certainly wouldn’t let him know that.

Your cheeks flush slightly and you quickly force your parted lips into a firm, tight line. “For your information. I’ll not spend my day all sad and pathetic home alone but will be going out to Jerry’s Coffeehouse and treat myself with an extra large matcha milkshake with chocolate chips and loads of vanilla syrup. And it’ll be my best fucking Valentine’s day.”

His eyebrow pops up at that, his sharp eyes observing you for a moment as if he’s considering something, his expression a mixture between amusement and something else which you can’t quite read.

After a moment his lips quirk, voice confident, but there’s also a hint of curiosity hidden behind it, “Ah, that’s a code word for you rounding the bases, hm? Get yourself a sweet fuckin’ home run. All Turn-Down and the whole nine yards.”

“What? No – agh - Not everything’s about sex, Ben.” You groan and drag a hand down your face, trying your best to hide the tinge of bitterness in your voice. “Unlike me, I bet you wouldn’t survive a day without jerking off if I wasn’t cockblocking you with my mere presence.”

“And I bet I could ruin you real fast if you didn’t act like a little tight-folded nun around me all the time.”

Your breath catches in your throat for a moment. In all these weeks, Ben never made a move on you. Not even a single attempt at flirting with you. To the point that - even though you knew you shouldn’t - you started to wonder whether it was your looks or your personality you’d have to blame for.

So, yes, you have indeed acted rather, let’s say, ‘reserved’ around Ben.

But that wasn’t because you were appalled by the thought of what he could do to you with you sprawled out beneath him, all open and inviting. Quite the contrary. It was because you liked the thought, but also didn’t want to fall for yet another man who’d just use you for his pleasure.

So you made sure to keep him at an arms length.

“Jesus, you’re so damn vulgar.” You utter, your back slumped against the couch’s armrest while you try your best to act unaffected by his words, “ You kiss a lady with that dirty mouth of yours?”

“What’s the deal with you chicks? I ain’t friggin' Cary Grant, y’know?” He takes a messy swig of his beer and briefly wipes his beard with the back of his hand, “Y’all so damn sensitive.”

“Yeah, I wish.” You grumble, the words slipping your lips before you can give them a second thought.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t believe me, sweetheart?”

“You know what? Yeah.” You retort out of nowhere, purely driven by all the pent-up frustration of the past months. Straightening up, you proceed to make it worse in such a confident tone which even surprises yourself, “I bet my ass that I could outlast you in bed.”

It was frustrating. And felt embarrassing. Really. It didn’t help that you tried to sell it as if it was an achievement worth an oscar.

"Well, that just proofs it then."

"Proofs what?"

"That you're a wuss-fucker. Just some pathetic fucking dicks dippin' in there." Ben jerks his head towards the spot hidden between your tightly crossed legs and he snorts in amusement at your grimace. "What? ‘Tis a real shame’s all I’m sayin’. I mean, what real man doesn't make sure his girl gets off first.” He leans back and sneers against the mouth of his beer bottle, “'S pathetic, really."

"Yeah, right." you roll your eyes, your voice tighter, "'Cuz I bet you're such a gentleman in bed. But you can't proof shit."

“Oh you’re on.” He quickly sets down the bottle and flashes his cocky grin at you, his voice dropping an octave to hit that tingling spot inside you, “I’ll have you cum so damn hard, you’ll be screamin’ and kickin’ while I hold ya down. And guess what, sweetheart…”

He pushes off the chair, his large frame looming over you before he bends down to your eye-level, his voice dipping into a low, deep gravelly tone, “I ain’t gunna let ya move a single inch… and have you take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

Silence. Only the soft gulp of your last sense of self-control getting forced down your throat cuts through the thick air between you.

He holds your gaze, a playful smile spread across his lips when he straightens up again, his voice nonchalant. “‘Course, only if you want.”

“I do.” The answer came faster than you could even process it.

He looks back down at you, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his eyes before he covers it up with a smug expression, “Oh yeah?”

His words were like the flick of a switch.

Next moment clothings were flying across the room, partially torn as neither of you had the patience to get them off properly. The heat between you skyrocketed, heavy breathing filling your ears in tandem with intense drumming of your heart. Soft golden rays peek through the shutters, their light bouncing off his darkened eyes and casting shadows of wild, fervent bodies moving through the room like a tempest.

God you felt so pent up - it was driving you mad. The desperate need for relief, for reaching that sweet peak of ecstasy. It clouds your mind, has your will to think straight completely subdued.

Ben doesn’t seem to be in much more control either, his hands flying across your body, like he doesn’t know what to explore first. He pushes you up against the wall, the force deliberately kept to a minimum. His nose draws a line across your shoulder, inhaling your scent like a drug, all the way up your neck until he exhales again, the hot breath pressed against your skin under your jaw.

“Fuck me – you’re intoxicatin’, woman.” He rasps out, his voice raw and full of barely contained need.

Your breath comes out shaky, head tilted to the side without a second thought. “Ben,” you say his name close to a whine, your mind handing over the reigns to him, “Please don’t stop.”

“Won’t-” he mutters against your skin, his voice muffled by the trail of kisses, “’M not gonna stop until you’ve cum.” His teeth skim along your pulse point and for a moment you feel like your legs give in. But he quickly steadies you, his large hands moving down your sides to hold onto your hips with a firm grip. “Promise.” He adds hoarsely, some of your skin now tugged between his teeth as he starts to leave love bites in his wake. “We got a bet goin’, after all.”

Your body’s now moving on instinct and for only one purpose. Your need, your heat, it’ll keep you going, you know it. No matter how long you’ll have to pant like a racing horse, no matter how much you’ll regret it the next day when you’ll feel stiff and aching at places you didn’t even know you had muscles.

It all doesn’t matter right now. It is all just you and him. The world reduced to his strong arms wrapped around your fragile frame, his muscles flexing as he lifts you up, and his world reduced to your legs wrapping around his hips, your aching core pressed up against his bulging boxers.

Your lips collide with his, their first meeting sending a bolt of pleasure through your body. Your mind goes hazy, your legs tighten around his hips and your hands hang onto his shoulder in an attempt to hold him close.

Your heads swivel, mouths working passionate. But to your surprise, Ben still keeps it slow, savouring every bit of your lips dancing around his. His tongue’s tasting the inside of your mouth as he swallows your moans and fills it with his own groans. Teeth gently pull at your lower lip before he finally breaks the kiss, to give you the chance to catch your breath.

You pant against him, your lips burning from the stubbles but still lingering there. You suddenly feel the rest of your body again, a shudder running down your spine, right to your aching core.

That’s when you notice how wet your inner thighs are, the slick coating your skin and folds. Ben licks his lips, the scent of your undeniable arousal filling his senses. He moves you on his hips, pinning you further against the wall to hold you in place with one hand while the other trails over the bump of your hipbones, dipping down between your legs.

“Christ on a Stake. You’re so fuckin’ pent up. What did those wusses do to let you leave like this?” He groans, fingers coating in your slick as he runs them down your inner thigh.

Your eyes briefly flutter closed, your hips bucking against him with the need for some friction already. “Please, I- Ah-fff- ” You mutter, your words cut short by a terribly needy whine when Bens fingertips brush across your clit.

“Yeah, yeah, calm the hell down” he chuckles, his lips back to suck a red mark at your neck, “’M gonna take care of that needy pussy of yours, dontcha worry.”

You nod, soft moans slipping your red puffy lips as he assaults every inch of skin he can reach. Your eyes widen with a yelp when you suddenly feel yourself getting heaved up high and your limbs flail uncontrollably in a panic.

“Hey- stop struggling darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt you.” He orders gruffly, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to keep you safely in his grip. With one swift move he lifts you high enough for your legs to drape over his shoulders on each side, his palms now wrapping around the underside of your thighs to keep you pinned between the wall and his head. In moments like these you could feel a shiver run down your back, as you’d just been reminded again of the inhuman power imbalance between you two. Fuck - he could snap you in two if he’d want to.

“Now that’s a view I could get used to,” He growls, his lips curled into a hungry smile at the sight of your dripping hole, all open and inviting, and right on his eye-level. “So damn needy. ‘N so damn beautiful.” He muses, ignoring the increased panting of yours against the top of his head while you’re murmuring his name like a prayer.

His grip tightens as he pushes his head between your thighs, his hot breath against your clit sending sparks of fire through your body. He digs right in, eagerly swiping his tongue between your folds, swirling around your clit, teasing your entrance with slow deliberate slaps of his tongue. You start to squirm and moan in response, the friction like a pain-killer to your aching core.

“Hold still damn it,” he orders, the rumbling of his voice against your folds sending shivers up your spine. You whimper and his intensity increases in response. He groans when your fingers tangle up in his hair and your fingernails scrape at his scalp with frantic motions.

“Fffuck- please, please, please don’t stop, don’t stop-” You plead in weak whimpers as you can feel his beard burn your sensitive skin with every drag of his tongue up your folds, the prickling pain mixing with your pleasure. Meanwhile the muscles in his arms flex to hold you still, keep you pinned up high against the wall and to make sure you don’t accidentally tumble off his shoulders.

His lips close around your clit and he starts to suck terrible whines out of you, your legs fighting his hands under his onslaught. Your pleasure begins to coil tight, your body twitches and your fingers claw at his long hair for the following minutes - but it never snaps. How the fuck does it still not snap?

A whine of protest leaves your lips when he suddenly pulls his head back. You watch his glistening face from half lidded eyes, your chest heaving, some of your sweet juice caught in his beard.

“Damn, darlin’, you’re a tough case, huh?” He chuckles, the tongue swiping his lips to savour your taste again with a low praising groan, “Fuck- Marilyn Monroe’s a dumpster next to you. You taste like fuckin’ heaven.”

A gasp slips your lips when he decides to haul you over his shoulder and with three long strides crosses the room over to the bed when a SMACK has you yelp up. The skin of your asscheek reddens where his hand just swatted you and he chuckles. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

You struggle and squirm in protest but it’s no use, his tight grip around your waist keeps you on his shoulder, facing the other way with your nice bum exposed to him. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” His hand swats your other asscheek this time and he laughs at your needy whine, his tone amused as you can practically hear the smirk playing on is lips, “I haven’t even started.”

His voice sounds raspy, but his tone tells you he’s thrilled, as if the fact that you didn’t shatter from his touch yet, has him enthralled. After all, Soldier Boy was used to things being easy for him, to succeed with half an effort, so real challenges were a rare case for him. And your stubbornly high resistance to falling over the edge seemed to be just that.

Next moment Ben bends down, dropping you gently onto the bed before the mattress dips down under his additional weight when he crawls on top of you. His hands roam your body, groping the soft flesh at your hips, your thighs, roughly massaging your breasts as he pinches your nipples between his fingers.

You start to squirm and tremble from need, your fingernails scraping at his taut muscles that box you in from all sides. “Just hold still for me, yeah? Just lemme do the work…” he husks out, voice low and dangerous with promise that sends a shiver down your spine.

He leans in and breaths hot and low against the shell of your ear while you feel his hand trail down between your shaking legs. “Will get this needy pussy wrecked and all mine…”

You hum into his shoulder when he pushes his index finger past your slick folds, and he takes that as a cue that you need more, so his middle finger quickly follows. This time he manages to draw a soft moan from your lips, your arms wrapping around his neck where you start to kiss and nibble his skin. “You greedy little thing…” he growls, his lips quirked into a smirk.

He starts to pump them, his fingers curling to hit your spongy spot that earns him at least a little louder moan. “Please,” you start to beg, “I need more, Ben… please-” He doesn’t wait and jams a third finger inside your tight cunt before he flicks his thumb over the hood of your swollen clit, the pace of his hand slapping loudly against your cunt increasing. The stretch of his fat fingers filling you up, rubbing your g-spot and scissoring, it all has your legs trembling, the coil in your stomach tightening again to the point where it just – flat lines.

Ben notices the frustration in your eyes and he leans in to press a sloppy kiss onto your damp forehead. His thumb rubs faster circles over your clit, his eyes locked onto your face when his impatience starts to mutter under his breath. "We got us a real stubborn pussy here, hm? You think everyone else is too much of a wuss to keep up with you, huh? Is that it? You need someone who can give as good as they get?"

“Fine” He grunts, pulling his fingers from your dripping hole, his voice gruff with irritated determination, “Looks like this’ a job for my dick. Gonna fuck you over that edge in no time.”

“Please.” You whine, your face buried in his broad shoulder. Your clit swollen, throbbing, tingling, every nerve of your body burning hot and leading down to that one single aching knot as your system was threatening to short-circuit your brain, just to get this damn bundle of nerves to finally erupt.

He quickly gets rid of his boxers, his thick cock free and fully erect. He grapples with your twitching legs, spreading them apart and pulling you back towards his hips where his pink tip pushes against your entrance. You stifle a mewl, your hips bucking instinctively as you need him. Need all of him.

Both of your groans collide between your lips when he snaps his hips and pushes his shaft all the way into your tight channel in one - unceremonious – go. He stills for a moment, his breath hot and heavy when it wafts against your face, “You good?”

His voice was low, a hoarse whisper between the two of you. You nod once again, a weak “yeah” tumbling off your lips. His hands move up to grip onto your hips like handles, his hips slowly starting to move.

You groan at the feeling of his thick pulsing length dragging down your soft walls before being jammed back in all the way up until he hits your cervix and he coaxes a whimper from you. His pace isn’t fast, but his thrusts are deep, each one well measured and deliberate.

“That’s it, you can take it… taking my cock so fuckin’ well...” He mutters against your skin, his tongue swiping across your salty skin.

When he starts to increase his force, your fingers dig into his skin and if it wasn’t for his indestructibleness, he was sure he’d have some nice and long claw marks of you down his back. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and cants your hips, getting an even deeper angle this way. Slouching noise fills the room, the sound of wet skin clashing together in time with your increasing moans and whines and his grunts and groans.

His hand suddenly reaches up to grab your chin, his eyes locking onto yours. "See, darlin'? I’ll have you fall apart beneath me soon enough… can't keep your pussy giving me that attitude, that's how you end up in a mess like this.” He mocks you with a teasing chuckle, “Getting the stuffing pounded out of you, all because you couldn't control that naughty mouth of yours and had to make a bet with me."

You just nod, the meaning of his words flying by your clouded mind. Your sole focus’ on your building pleasure, rapidly charging up your throbbing clit. Ben notices it too when your walls start to clamp down on his cock, every hard thrust forcing its way back in to keep the pleasure building.

“Fuck – you’re so tight – You gonna strangle my damn dick at this point.” He hisses, his fingers digging into your flesh again to pull your hips back and meet his thrusts.

“You close, darlin’?” Ben grunts above you.

There it is again. That embarrassing moment of silence. You would’ve sighed right now if it wasn’t for you being buried beneath Ben and his punctured thrusts knocking the air out of you.

Are you close? Your core’s on fire. Certainly. To the point where it hurts even. You feel your legs and feet tingling like white-noise is rushing through your blood, leaving every sensitive nerve in its wake going numb.

But still. You know you wouldn’t tip over. Stuck in that fucking uphill battle. It was just. Not. Enough. It never was nowadays.

The blatant lie sits on the tip of your tongue when Ben’s gruff voice suddenly cuts in.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare fake it.”

How - Your mind comes to a screeching halt.

You choke it back down. Cancel the act that was up next, your well-versed finale to the dull program you were used to.

Shit, he knows.

“N-no…” you confess under your breath. The sound of it weak and to your relief, lost between his heavy grunts.

Or so you think.

“What? You think I’m some spineless wuss who can’t get his girl off?” He punctures each word with a deep thrust as he keeps pounding you into the mattress, “Just tell me whatever the fuck you need me to do, I’m not gonna cry, Jesus Christ.” He continues to reprimand you in a firm tone, his voice holding a hint of disappointment.

You gasp, your breath gets stuck in your throat. No man has ever asked you this before. No one.

Ben suddenly stills, his green eyes locking with yours when his voice takes a serious tone, “You need me to be rougher, pretty girl? That it?”

Your breath hitches, your mind dizzy and clouded by his musky scent, the feeling of him inside you, above you, all around you - and the heat still burning between your legs, still not on that damn edge to your long chased relief.

He leans down next to your head to scrub his beard along your cheeks and up to your ear, “Just say the word,” he growls and you can practically see the smirk spread across his face by the way he sounds.

He knows. Fuck he knows you need more.

And yet he waits for your response, patiently, his body still hanging onto you with a tight grip while his hot breath wafts against the shell of your ear in short bursts like a countdown.

There’s a moment of tense silence, like the calm before a storm. A force that is waiting for you to invite it in, to let it wreck your temple.

“Y-yes, please,” Your voice’s trembling slightly from each puff of warm air that’s huffed from between his lips and smothered across your skin, sending a shiver down your back.

“Jackpot,” he hums, a satisfied expression on his face before his lips begin aimlessly placing kisses all over your face, as if trying to soothe your frustration. “Not gunna hold back anymore… gunna fuck you so long ‘n so hard you won’t be able to walk for the next days. You like that thought, hm?”

“Y—yeah- please – just don’t stop…” you admit with a needy whine, your legs twitching against his shoulders and your head tilted back while your hands start to fist the sheets in anticipation. You’d surely fall over the edge in the next minutes. You had to.

Little did you know, that you’d still be going for the next couple of hours.

You switched positions every time you felt how your clit was going numb from the overstimulation and the pent up energy. Ben’s bulky body kept working relentlessly, his power not faltering once, his pace never slowing down unless he noticed you needed a moment to catch your breath.

He’d be trapping you under him, ass high up in the air, back pressed down with one hand splayed across it, wrists somewhere buried in the pillows and pinned there roughly by his other hand as he slammed is cock against your cervix in a brutal pace.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he orders, his lips against the spot behind your ear and his long, stubby beard scraping your skin as his jaw moves, “I want to see your beautiful face when you rock that high the way you fuckin’ deserve.”

“Oh- Oh fuck- I- I’m close-“ you scream as you feel his hard tip punch your spongy walls like he’s trying to engrave himself into your every inch and his fingers meanwhile rubbing your clit sore. He roughly flips you over onto your back, his lips catching yours just in time when your walls flutter around him and finally, finally that sweet relief crashes down on you. Unexpected and intoxicating as your guttural moans get muffled by his mouth. “God- this- you, God-”

He pulls back, huffing a raspy laughter with a mock-offended tone, “God? I’m fuckin’ better.” He feels your cum coat his cock, your walls wrapping tightly around him. It takes all his will power to hold himself back, to not empty himself inside you. Not yet. Not when he’d promised you to keep going all night. “That’s it,” He plants a praising kiss onto your forehead, his gruff voice rumbling against your skin, “And now let’s hear it once more. Just for good measure.”

And he does. Fingers sink into your skin whenever he’d move you around, large hands holding you down, up, on top of him, against him, muscles working all around you while they would bend or push you into any position, effortlessly.

His superhuman strength overpowers you without even trying, but it feels like he’s only ever using as little as needed to get a reaction out of you. A good reaction. When he roughly flips you over again, pushes you into the mattress, pins your head to the sheets as you squirm and tremble under him, you notice his lips brush up against your ear more frequently, murmuring incoherent, soothing words. Like he’s following the urge to be closer to you. Making silent check-ins. Always making sure you’re not overwhelmed, making sure that those wines and yelps are the cause of pleasurable pain and nothing else. At last, you find yourself on top of him, straddling his hips, bouncing on his hard cock as you ride him like a bull. “What was that about you outlasting me, huh?” He taunts and mocks you in time with rough strokes along your exhausted gummiwalls, “‘bout taking whatever I can throw at you, hm?” He snaps his hips up to meet you halfway when you yelp a short admission, “O-okay, you win!”

His lips curl into a smug smile, “What was that? You gotta work that pretty mouth of yours. Gramps ears ain’t that good.” He pulls you down roughly, making you take him deeper with each thrust of his.

“Y-yar r-ah-iight!” You groan as you fall apart one more final time. Your walls flutter and this time he allows himself to let you pull him over the edge along you. His pulsing cock coating your insides with his warm cum. Your voice’s raspy from the harsh breaths you’ve sucked down your open mouth for the past hours.

You collapse to his chest, shaking from the waves of pleasure that rippled through your every fibre and the feeling of his warm seeds filling you up and dripping down his shaft and onto his skin. His arms wrap around your back to hold you close while he murmurs naughty words against the crown of your head.

While Ben had gotten himself a joint to smoke, you padded into the bathroom, getting yourself cleaned. “You doin’ good, darlin’?” He calls after you, loosley holding the joint between his lips as he props himself up against the bed’s headboard.

You return after a while, your body wrapped up in a towel as you make your way back to the bed and snuggle up to him. He drapes his arm lazily around your shoulder, pulling you closer so that your head rests on his firm chest.

“You really had to work for it… huh?” You break the silence with a low mutter, feeling some embarrassment creep up on you.

“You kiddin’?” His eyes snap down at you and he takes a drag of his joint before he continues, “Darlin’, you’ve got the drive of a bunny in heat. Taking my cock so fuckin’ well. Most tap out after the second round but you -“ he lets out a low whistle close to a hiss, “- you just keep goin’ all night – Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“Oh shush…” You giggle sheepishly.

“Just speaking the damn truth. You be proud of that, ya hear me?” He says in a firm voice, while he reaches up to stroke a damp hair out of your face.

You smile, feeling your chest tingle and your cheek warm up, “This was… this was unbelievable. You were amazing.”

He laughs and flashes a cocky grin down at you, “Told ya my dick would beat your pussy over that edge.“

You cringe inwardly at his choice of words, “That’s not what I meant. I’m not talking about your… your dick or your stamina. I’m talking about you.” You pause, his eyebrows knot together and you quickly add, "Like, non-physically."

He stares at you, nonplussed - then irritated. “Fuck me. You - you snort some of my shit, prissy little thing?”

“No, Ben-,” a soft, frustrated chuckle escapes your lips that makes his eyebrows twitch together again, “You - you are amazing.”

You repeat but this time tilt your head back to hold his gaze, like you’re pointing at the soul hiding behind those green orbs that stare back at you, while your fingers draw invisible circles on his arms.

Silence.

Ben’s sharp eyes are searching your face for clues, like he’s mentally going through every drug that could have led you to say something as ridiculous as that.

You smile in return. A genuine, honest smile. Aimed at him. And his mind short circuits for a moment.

A faint flash of something like a blush crosses his cheeks, but it is covered up the same moment with his usual gruff expression and an irritated scoff. “‘Course I’m fuckin’ amazin’. Besides that, I just wanted to win the bet.” His teeth flash at you between a cocky smirk. “And I proofed you damn wrong.”

Ah, there it is again, good ol’ Soldier Boy.

Walls and barb wire and mine field; all up and ready to defend that one and only fragile part of his indestructible body. Keeping it strapped down by some rush of power trip and waterboarded in his twisted idea of love.

You chuckle, knowingly. That damn soft smile on your lips again.

He stares down at you with an unreadable expression, like he’s fighting the urge to slap some sense into you for throwing such an inappropriate gesture his way. To him, it was infuriating, really. But thanks to that stupid curve dancing across your face, he now feels himself caught up in a whole new range of emotions.

You could have gotten up now and left. Like you were sure he expected you to. Probably one of the reasons he kept silent, his brows pulled low like a defensive shield against your gaze, his arm draped around your shoulders so awkwardly… ‘cuz he knew he wasn’t good at this. Aftercare. He’s practically just waiting for you to snap at him, and pull away without another good word. His eyes narrow further, almost provoking it now as he felt himself slowly crumble under your warm presence.

But none of these thoughts crossed your mind. Instead your fingers gently trace the frame of his hardened face that could’ve fooled anyone but you.

That speck of a blush had been more than enough reason to settle down further into his chest with a soft hum, “Mhm, you did win... Win-win.”

Mindless chattering carries the cozy atmosphere of Jerry’s Coffehouse, each table occupied by couples sharing desserts and passionate kisses. All except the one set under your arms, your fingers loosely holding onto the card before you drop it to the table in resignation.

The sweet scent of sugary sins whirls around your nose, intrusive, mocking you. Now that you are here, sitting in the middle of a room full of unfiltered, tooth-aching love all around you, it seems like your appetite has been spoiled for good.

Truth be told, you can’t entirely blame the lovestruck couples boxing you in like in a bully circle. The problem is much worse. You feel lonely. Not the usual lonely, but terribly lonely because you had something for a moment, something real special, and now it was gone again.

It feels like so many unspoken feelings still hang in the air. At least for you there are. You are pretty sure that Ben was more than happy about Butcher’s interruption just when you thought you’d seen a glimpse of something more beneath this scraggy hard shell of “Soldier Boy”.

You exhale heavily. Your eyes glued down to your empty hands.

Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? Your job to watch Soldier Boy was done. He’d moved on. It was over. After all, last night was just for some fun, right? Something to finally get you off, to feel so much more than-

You mentally kick yourself. Get your shit together and get back to your old life.

You fish out your phone from your pocket and open the fanfic from yesterday. With a heavy sigh you scroll down the blurry words, memories of your past night flashing across your inner eye – when a sudden noise almost has you drop your phone.

The coffee table rattles under your elbows as the opposite chair clatters into it under the force of a kick and the following screeching sound has some heads whirl around to watch the scene with raised eyebrows.

Whipped cream sploshes for a second as the large glass CLANGS down in front of you and hits the wooden surface with the force of a drunken man handling a beer bottle. You instinctively dodge back in your seat. Your eyes watch the green contents of it sway under the thick layer of chocolate sprinkled cream topping before your befuddled look darts up to meet him.

Ben slumps down across of you. His casual clothes almost could’ve fooled one to believe he’s a regular guy, if it wasn’t for his bulky frame hanging off the seat in all directions.

He looks a tad annoyed, but that was something you’d long become accustomed to. There was always something that pissed Ben off when you were around. Or someone for that matter. But mostly, it was just his resting face and you knew better than to take it personally.

“Couples get one pussy milk for two.” He states gruffly, ignoring all the faces turned his way now.

“…Ben? What the hell are you doing here?” You sputter, thrown off by the sudden whiff of musky smoke mixed with an unusual, intense, fresh and masculine smell… was that perfume that just hit your nose?

His stern expression melts into a flirtatious smile. This is new. “Hey sweetheart. Miss me yet?”

“How did you know I was here? - Wait- did you just say, for couples?”

“That’s what the sailor-hat-cum-gobbler back there said.” He boots back the chair next to you to kick up his legs while he continues with an annoyed grunt, but lacked any bite, “This green spew better be worth my damn money.”

You blink at him rapidly, and quite frankly, dumbfounded. Is that emotionally constipated man even aware of what he just said or-

“That’s what we are, innit?” He cuts you short, his voice as gravelly and confident as always.

But the way his green pupils glance up at you from the corner of his eyes, a thick strand of hair falling into his face when his head tilted away slightly, like a puppy afraid to get kicked… His emotions were subtle, a rare and fleeting moment, and anybody else might have dismissed it. But it told you so much more than he was willing to admit.

When your eyes flicker down to his hand twitching from his death grip on the arm rest, your chest tightens.

Oh my God. Ben was dead fucking serious.

“Don’t people usually first date?” You chuckle nervously, trying to lighten the mood.

And to buy yourself some time as you try to grapple with a situation you had never expected to find yourself in.

In fact, you have pictured yourself in it ever since you stepped into that shabby damn motel room where he had locked eyes with you for the very first time.

His stern expression makes way for a raucous laughter, his voice booming across the small coffee in pride. “I think we’re past that point, love, after I’ve fucked you raw. For five fucking hours. That’s longer than any damn date I’ve ever had.”

“Jesus Christ - Ben - tune it down! Please.” You plead in a hushed voice, face flushed as you can sense all the curious eyes watching you both closely, like you’re part of a live performance. And a scandalous one on top.

“I don’t hear any complaints. Just stating the facts here, sweetheart.” He chuckles cockily and winks at you, clearly his full ego back in place again, “So it’s settled, then?”

“Uh- I - uh-,” you stumble over your words, your hands fidgeting and your head still reeling from the fact that he had just announced your new relationship status as if he’d made a decent marketing deal with Vought.

His eyebrows push together, that familiar look of impatience taking over his face as he tries to understand why you’re still hesitating. You swallow thickly, the lump in your throat blocking any chance to voice your inner struggles.

You visibly shrink under his intense gaze and your eyes sink to the table, unsure of what to do. You sense him move across of you and you half-expect him to either snark at you now or just simply get up and leave. Damnit, now you fucked up.

But instead he slides the XXL milkshake across the table until it bumps into your tightly clasped hands and your eyes dart up to meet his again. He searches your face, emerald eyes sharp, analysing, but motivated by genuine concern.

His calloused fingers slide off the glass to brush them against yours, gentle, almost hesitant. As if those very same fingers hadn’t groped and gripped your flesh all night like he wanted to leave his marks on every inch of your body.

His large hand moves to cover both of yours, muffling the fidgeting of your fingers with a calm and heavy presence, his actions a big contrast to his rumbling voice. “Hey, you still with me?” He husks out your name, his green eyes boring into yours, gauging your reaction.

Your breath hitches, he squeezes your hands, the tension eases. Ben’s grounding you.

“Yes.” You finally whisper with an affectionate smile, and the same moment his fingers twitch around your hands. “It’s settled.”

“Good.” He mutters to himself and his expression seems almost… relieved.

It’s this moment you realise something: Ben’s not been avoiding his usual flirty and cocky smiles because he didn’t like you or thought you weren’t worth a fling. But because you were more than a possible fling to him. Because this, this was dead serious to him. And he was probably terrified of screwing it up.

After all, people didn’t love Benjamin for showing emotions, for vulnerability, for weakness, for being human. They loved Soldier Boy for being a fucking hero. The strongest. Indestructible. And not caressing fragile hands like they were an extention of the most precious soul in the whole damn universe to him.

His hands squeeze yours once more, as if physically reassuring you, before he pulls away and leans back again, now a content smile embellishing his firm face.

A genuine smile. No show. No flirty Soldier Boy.

From one ear to the other, all Benjamin.

As if he’d seen himself in the mirror, he suddenly shifts in his seat, like he’s physically trying to shake off any remaining trace of that disgusting vulnerability. “Right, so…” He clears his throat, his eyes flickering around the packed coffee shop like he’s looking for some moron to latch onto.

You chuckle softly at the sight, knowing all too well that it’ll probably take a hell of a lot of time and love to get him to smile more like this without having him recoil from his own feelings every time.

Sure enough, Ben has found the perfect victim. “Think we gotta step up our couple-game. Popeye’s still ain’t buyin’ it.” He smirks, his eyes lazily rolling over to briefly shoot a death glare at the sailor-hat wearing employee who’s now cowering behind the counter.

He then reaches over the table again, his index finger flicking against one of the two red-white striped straws bobbing in the sweet drink, before he goes on to strangle his own between his calloused finger pads.

“The dick bender’s been watching you all this time.” He growls, and you can feel just a hint of protectiveness from the way his jaw muscle twitches beneath his beard and his nose wrinkles above the straw that’s now been jammed between his bared teeth.

“Everyone’s watching us, Ben.” You chuckle, before your eyes trail down to the free straw with an amused smile.

Ben nudges your inner thigh with his foot under the table to get your attention. “C’mon, you make me look like some cocksucker here.” He teases and jerks his chin at you and the untouched straw still dangling off your side of the milkshake, “You said you wanted a fucking great Valentine’s day, right? So do me a favour, sweetheart, and start sucking.”

You chuckle and bring the straw up to your mouth to wrap your lips around it. You take the first slurp and your cheeks melt into a wide, knowing smile.

Matcha milkshake with chocolate chips and extra vanilla syrup. That much for ‘a code word’.

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

A/N: I hope this turned out okay?? 😭

Also. Maybe I was breaking a taboo here or maybe it’s not as common as I thought, but I felt like it's a topic which I have rarely ever see in fanfics. And I know how some just don’t fall over the edge that easily? Like sometimes it genuinely feels frustrating to chase that relief to no end with no success? Yeah, this story is for you all. I hear you. 🧡

Starting a Soldier Boy tag list for anyone who’s interested! ♡

#soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fic #loverboy!soldier boy #soldier boy #the boys fanfic #the boys x you #the boys smut #no use of y/n #the boys fanfiction #valentines fics #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fluff #soldier boy angst #the boys fic #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles

156 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 hours ago

Text

Oh yay!! Thank you so much, Wayne!! 🥹 LOLL I'm so glad you vibe with my humor because I had so much fun writing this. 🤣🤣

That already took me out. First two lines. Bravo. You've done it 🤣 I'm guessing this is post Chuck lmao

ahahaha thank you!! It certainly could be. That's also what I like about doing headcanons -- for the most part you can imagine it happening at any point/setting you feel is right.

You know why I picked it 😝 (👏👏👏) And not the flannel and the runny nose, yikes. Loved this exchange (and callback) lol

Oh I knew you'd pick up on that one! loll

Took a brief second from laughing, so I could push tears out of my eyes 😭 But absolutely agree, you'd have to wear Dean down and force him into it lmao

Awww a quick switch up from comedy to feels there. 🥹 I just love some hurt/comfort and fluff with Dean. Oh yeah--you'd definitely have to wear him down! loll

Back to laughing. My God, that was the sneeze of the century 😂😂

Mutually exclusive, obviously 🤷‍♀️

lol right? Germs don't care if you have a full plate at work today. 🙄

Seems like the man flu hasn't swallowed the charm either 🥰

Ha! I feel like Beau would try to still have a good attitude about it, at least at first. 😂

And that's the moment I realized Beau's like my husband when he's sick 😂 (🙄) It's like you were in my house and wrote a transcript of the last man flu epidemic of 2024 😆🤌

Ooooh my God, your man is a Beau!!! 😭😭 That's so hilarious (but also my condolences lmaooo).

(girl you're the BEST at finding gifs 👌🏽)

And oh my God you're so right about those Beau "add-ons." The "very weird right here" specifically took me out. 💀💀

Oh and then, Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben... I thought for sure he'd be the worst, like this virus is a personal attack on his virility 🤣 But I was pleasantly surprised when you brought in memories of his mother 🥹😭

LOLL that could've certainly been a way to go with him! But I'm so glad you liked that little window of vulnerability there. 💜💜

That immediate fuck got me so hard 🤣🤣

lmfaoo that's how you know it's serious work. 🤣 That fuck came straight from the center of his phlegmy chest.

Ah, yes, gramps 😂🫶 (And he honestly shares that with a lot of old man in hospitals and nursing homes who have to be repeatedly told to stay in bed lol)

Oh my God lol such a good point. 😂😂 Maybe we should get him a life alert. 🚨

He is a brat for real, making himself feel better by doing some online shopping now that he knows how to operate the Internet lmao.

Oh God, all their bickering was amazing! It's honestly always one of the most fun things when writing SB – the sheer frustration of the reader 😭😂🙈

ahaha pulling straight from BMD world on that one. 🤣 That's literally the best thing about writing SB -- all the snappy bickering and the frustration and his cockiness. 🫠

And I loved the addition of Priestly!! 😍💚💙🤘 (I've been thinking of finally writing that one-shot for him lol)

OMG please do!! I would love to see what you'd come up with for Priestly. 😭 He's suck an adorkable, loveable dude. He deserves great writers like you making stories for him. 💓

I could also totally see him turning into a Monica there 😂

Oh, oh, thank God! The relief I felt 😂 I mean, it's so, so sweet, but also you're very sick, dude, and germy... like, it's a lot 😆 (And I also sincerly hope there will be a proposal follow-up one-shot/drabble... maybe? 👀)

Right?! lol very sweet sentiment, but not the right time. 😂

Ooooh you intrigue me, hun. 🥰🤔 I might have to sketch an idea for that follow-up!

Thank you so much for your thoughts on these HCs, Wayne! You made my day. 🥰💜💜

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Boaz Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Priestly Tag List

@kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @luci-in-trenchcoats

@mostlymarvelgirl @thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester

@deans-spinster-witch @sanscas @mxltifxnd0m @hobby27 @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean

@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @chernayawidow

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @mrsjenniferwinchester

@fromcaintodean @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused

@mrlonelycat @deans-daydream @leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989

@siampie @rubyvhs @winchestergirl2

#lovely review 💕#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #headcanon: man flu

385 notes · View notes

nickfowlerrr · 1 day ago

Text

something good and true - part 1

part two / part three

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 4.5k

notes: this fic was supposed to be posted last year for suz’s blind date writing challenge but clearly that is not what happened. a year later and some thousands+ words over the maximum allowed (in total), i was finally able to wrap this thing up. i’m posting in parts bc it’s just so long and ahhh i’m sorry i didn’t follow your rules suz @targaryenvampireslayer 😭 and honest to god there is absolutely no expectation for you to read or even acknowledge this! i just want to give credit where credit is due and so this, my first mob boss!fic, is all thanks to the mob boss au prompt you had given to me! so thank you - and sorry again 🫢 dialogue used: “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”. thank you in advance for reading, i’d be happy to hear your thoughts! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. 🩵

He’s staring again. You can feel it. The heat creeps up your spine as your heart begins to beat a little faster. The feeling has become quite familiar. It’s been two months of this. You had a feeling he’d be back, but really you hoped he’d have just let it go by now. It’s not like you thought any of this through, though… Of course there’d be consequences; and none worse, you’re sure, than the ones he could dish out.

It’s not your fault, you try to remind yourself. It’s not. You finish wiping off the table of the newly vacated booth, tucking the cash tip left for you in your pocket, before you turn around.

You steel yourself, taking a strong breath before you start to walk toward his private booth. You’re not stupid, you know the only reason he comes here is for you, he told you as much himself. And everyone else knows that too as the place has become nearly empty since his arrival. Even your coworkers aren’t bustling about. You don’t know if you prefer having the audience or not. You don’t blame anyone for their fleeing, though. After all the stories you’d heard about the man, you always made yourself scarce in his presence, too.

Until the faithful night he requested you at his table by name… You sigh, it seems you no longer have the luxury of avoidance.

You remember that night well. The first time you formally met the infamous mob boss, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

You remember how it felt like your blood turned to ice in your very veins when Molly uttered your name with worried eyes, “Mr. Barnes is asking for you specifically,” she had whispered as she peaked into the kitchen where you’d fled when you heard he was being sat at his rarely used, always reserved table.

You felt sick. Like a lead weight was dropped in your stomach. You wrung your hands until it hurt before you finally nodded. You were sure she could see the fear in your eyes when you looked at her. “O-okay. I’ll be right there,” you’d nodded. You had to swallow down the bile threatening to creep up your throat. He knows, you’d thought. He has to know. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s looking for you. You were breathing hard and heavy and you could feel the tears welling in your still sensitive eyes. You were caked in makeup, had been all week, to hide the bruises that marred all over your face. It wasn’t anything unusual. But there was an eerie comfort you felt in knowing once they were finally gone this time, you wouldn’t have to see yourself like that again.

You were in a long sleeve so you knew he wouldn’t be able to see the marks along your arms, and unless he had X-ray vision he wouldn’t be able to see the contusions littered all over your body either. You had a brace on your wrist but it wasn’t too noticeable under the sleeve… Okay, you breathed. You can do this. Deny, deny, deny. You don’t even truly know what he’s here for. You shouldn’t freak yourself out before you’ve even seen him.

You exhaled a shaky breath before you reached for the kitchen door.

It was dead silent as you entered the dining hall and it only added to the compounding fear and anxiety growing inside you.

You approached his table cautiously, too nervous to make direct eye contact as you held your pen and pad in hand.

“Good evening, sir, - uhm, Mr. Barnes,” you corrected yourself, “can I get you started with something to-“

“I’m not here for drinks or the mediocre food, doll,” he stopped you easily, unnervingly calm.

You chanced a glance at him and his deep blue gaze had you swallowing hard.

You didn’t know how to respond, so you stayed quiet as he stared at you. Like he knew something. Like he knew you knew something.

“Hm,” he considered you for a moment longer before nodding, “ya know, I think you know why I’m here.”

“I-“, you shook your head almost imperceptibly, “I don’t,” was all you could muster as your eyes were now glued to him. You couldn’t will yourself to look away. You were too terrified.

He licked his lip seemingly out of habit before he spoke again.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asked, sounding exasperated, bored of the interaction already as he tilted his head at you.

You stiffened at the question, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

“I don’t-“

“You do.” He stopped you again, the certainty in his voice leaving no room to deny his accusation. His eyes cutting into you as you stood before him, defenseless. You felt like you couldn’t breathe but you couldn’t just stand there looking terrified. You had to work up your voice and it came out quiet, but Bucky was listening, and watching you, intently.

“I don’t know where Freddy is,” you said, voice low, trying to keep the tremor from it as you finally felt your eyes sting, the fear and pain catching up to you as you blinked the would be tears away before a single one fell. “And he’s not my boyfriend,” you swallowed, “anymore.”

“No?”

“No. We broke up…about a month ago.”

“That’s interesting…” he hummed. “Why did someone see his car at your place the other week, then, huh?”

You winced at the images that ran through your mind as you thought back to that day, the one you knew he was referring to.

“He came over, to talk,” you forced out, no longer looking at the man before you. “But nothing came from it,” you added quickly, “and he left. I haven’t seen him since. Haven’t heard from him, I don’t know where he is.”

You didn’t look at him but by the weight of his gaze you knew he wasn’t buying what you were selling.

“What happened here?” he asked, reaching for your hand.

You were quite literally frozen to your spot as he grabbed your hand in his. His touch was the most gentle you’d experienced in a long while and it sent an unexpected hum through you. You watched your hand in his as he pulled you just the tiniest bit closer to him and the table. He inched up your sleeve to see more of the brace on your wrist and when he moved to raise your sleeve further up your arm, your body finally moved into action. You yanked your hand back, as if his touch had burned you, keeping him from seeing anything more than the brace.

“Fell,” you answered shortly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, but I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know where he is. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t really care.”

You met his eye once more, feeling a little safer as the words came easily. It wasn’t a complete lie. You really didn’t know where he was. And you certainly didn’t care. Despite the scrutiny of the mob boss’ gaze, you didn’t feel nearly as scared as you had before he touched your hand. Something about the softness there… You wouldn’t dwell on it.

“If there’s nothing else,” you added, though it was definitely more of an unspoken question than anything. You weren’t as scared but you weren’t stupid either. You wouldn’t be going anywhere until he dismissed you.

He smirked, huffing a laugh as he watched you.

“You hear from him, I’d be grateful to know,” he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and took out a business card, placing it on the table as he flicked his sharp eyes up to you once more, moving to pull out his wallet next. You watched as he slipped out two bills and blanched as he put them down on the table, moving the card so it sat on the money.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stood from his seat, standing right in front of you as you took in his build and stature. Everything about him screamed success, power, and authority and the two hundreds he left on the table were nothing more than chump change to him, you were sure.

“Just so you know, doll,” he spoke lowly, “I will find him, one way or another,” he took a step closer to you, “and if you think you’re protecting him by not telling me the truth, I promise you’re not.” He held your gaze and you were terrified he could see straight into your soul with how intent it was, “What’s even worse, is he knows we know all about you. He doesn’t care if he’s putting you in harm’s way or not… Forgive me for saying, but nice girl like you, you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. So, if you think of anything you might wanna tell me, my number’s right there,” he said looking back over to the card and money on the table. “That’s your tip. You enjoy your night, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you.”

His words weren’t a threat, but a promise.

He would be seeing you. Didn’t always call you to his table, sometimes just observed you while you worked, but every week without fail from that day on, he would be at the restaurant.

You never called him, you didn’t have anything to say. You wouldn’t tell him the truth, no, you couldn’t tell him the truth. He was half right, you were protecting someone. But it wasn’t Freddy.

You breathe another strong sigh as you get closer to him and once you’re at the table, you don’t say a word, only meeting his brilliant and pointed gaze.

There’s something different about him tonight, something unnerving in his stare that you take notice of right away. You work to keep your calm but you’re not sure how convincing your faux headstrong demeanor is tonight.

He lets the silence between you grow for a moment longer before finally, he speaks.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

His voice is like honey, smooth and rich with that familiar lilt as his lips quirk up just at the corner of his mouth. It warms you while he holds your eye. There’s unspoken tension between you two as you stand so close yet so far, it’s been brewing since your first meeting and has only grown with each interaction since. You’ve never named it, but you couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to. You haven’t felt your tummy flutter like this since…you can’t remember when.

Surely he knows what his gaze does to anyone, you’re no exception. But the nerves you feel under the weight of his stare are twofold - not all due to fear, but to flustering.

You haven’t responded, but you’ve held his eye in the silence. He smirks at you before gesturing to the open space across from him.

“Why don’t you take a seat, sweetheart.”

It sounds like an invitation, but you know it’s more than that.

It’s an instruction.

You look around briefly, as if someone might stop you or get you in trouble - but that’s laughable when you’re standing next to, arguably, the most feared and respected man this city has ever seen. Standing. Why is he standing? You realize suddenly he’s still waiting for you to move.

You do as he said and gingerly sit down across from him. He retakes his own seat as you settle. How chivalrous.

“I’ll get right to it,” he starts, his deep blue eyes never leaving you, “Freddy-“

God, that name. You can’t hold your tongue. You know it’s why he’s here but you don’t want to talk about this. You just want this to be over!

“Like I told you the last time, and the time before, and the time before, and every other time you’ve asked, I haven’t seen him.” You cut him off without thinking. But you really can’t have the same conversation again. You can’t keep having to think about him. About that night. You're at your wits end - you don’t want to have to so much as hear his name again. You don’t catch yourself in the moment but it hits you when you’re done talking that you just spoke to Bucky in such a familiar way…someone walking past might wonder who exactly you are to him. Clearly you’ve forgotten your place, gotten a little too comfortable around him.

You look up from where you watch yourself wring your hand and shamefully meet his eye again. You inhale and start to apologize but he doesn’t give you the chance.

His hand is on yours before you realize he’s even moving and you flinch a second late, his gentle touch already on you, stilling your nervous habit.

His eyes soften as he makes you meet his gaze, his thumb gently rubbing your fidgety hand.

You swallow hard and watch as he blinks away the previous softness in his gaze, his familiar confident twinkle back as he speaks,

“I know,” he nods, his hand still on yours. He’s closer as he leans across the table. “I found him.”

Your breath catches and your face falls. Fuck fuck fuck.

What does that mean? What does he know? You’re on the verge of having a complete freak out and god he can probably see it written all over your face. You feel a squeeze of your hand and are brought back into your body, into this very moment.

“Don’t look so sick, sweetheart,” he says, a half smile on his lips. “You don’t have anything to worry about, you or your old man.”

Your heart drops at the mention of your father and Bucky must see it because he leans closer still, now holding your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting, but more so is the look in his eyes. The sincerity there, and the hard edge of protection.

You want to believe him but you’ve been gullible before.

“I just wanna know the whole story. I know pretty much what went down, some things I think can safely be assumed, but I wanna hear your narrative, just to get the full picture and get this whole mess squared away, yeah?”

The way he’s looking deeply into your shining eyes, the intimate gaze and soft touch as it seems like he’s trying to keep you calm, you can’t speak much but you give him a quiet, “yeah.”

He nods and you feel a single tear slip down your cheek. He slowly raises his hand, and your eyes are glued to him as he makes sure you watch his movements. Like he’s trying to reach out to a scared little puppy, he reaches to gently touch your cheek. You don’t flinch but as his hand makes contact with your skin, your eyes shut as you try and suppress a shudder.

“No tears, sweetheart,” he tells you in a soothing timbre as he wipes it from your cheek. “You’re too pretty to cry over a loser like that,” he adds with a soft smile.

You shake your head, “He’s not why I’m-“

“I know,” he cuts you off. “Look at me,” he orders gently.

You do as he says and slowly meet his eye. “You don’t have anything to worry about, ya hear me? Not the police, not my men, and certainly not me. Got it?”

You know you’re staring at him like he’s crazy, but you do understand what he’s saying. It takes you a second but you force yourself to nod.

“Good.”

His touch is still on you as his eyes trail all over your face before he lets his hand slip away.

“Alright, you wanna do this tonight or tomorrow night?”

You’re momentarily stunned. You definitely don’t want to do this tonight. You just need to get through the last two hours here and then you’re headed home to unravel in your own space. But tomorrow…

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” you point out, sounding unsure.

“What,” he sniffs, looking at you once again, “you got plans?”

“I, I have work,” you answer dumbly after a second.

“Not anymore you don’t,” he says, moving to stand. “So tomorrow it is.” He walks closer to you and extends his hand for you to take, helping you out of the booth. “And you’ve got the rest of the night off.”

“Oh, I carpooled today so, I have to wait anyway,” you explain, though the idea of leaving early sounds like heaven.

“I’ll drive you. Get your things, I’ll have the car pulled around,” he supplies easily. He leaves to the front of the restaurant and you stand in your stupor for only a moment longer before you move to get your things from the back. You have a silly thought worrying about giving him your address, then remember he’s had it this entire time. And he told you you had nothing to worry about.

You’re not a typically trusting person, even more so after Fred, but there's something about Bucky. Something trustworthy, something that feels safe.

You grab your bag and let Molly know you’re leaving early and you got a ride before you head to the front to find Bucky.

He’s waiting patiently and his eyes seem to light up just a bit when he sees you coming.

Your manager is smiling tightly behind the stand as she watches you go. You feel slightly bad for just cutting out like this, but once Bucky came in, the place cleared out some, so it’s not like they’re in the midst of a rush.

You let your work worries slip away as the brisk night air hits you, Bucky holds the door for you as you exit and then opens the passenger of his sleek, blacked out Jaguar for you to get in.

You always assumed someone like him, in his position, would have a driver, but maybe that’s just not his style.

Bucky gets in and as you buckle, begins to drive off. You don’t need to supply him with your address as he heads in the right direction without a word.

It’s quiet but not unbearably so. It’s not until you’re just a couple minutes away from your place that he breaks the silence.

“I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. I figure it’s a delicate conversation we’ll be having, so somewhere private would be better. Are you okay with going to my place? We can have dinner.”

It’s a genuine question, and the earnestness of it eases your nerves even further. He’s truly asking, genuinely concerned with your comfortability.

“Mhm,” you nod with a quiet hum. “Yeah.”

He pulls up in front of your house, the porch light on and shining because you knew you wouldn’t be off until late.

The car cuts off and you turn to face Bucky only to find him opening his door and getting out himself.

You grab your bag and follow him with your eyes as he rounds the car to get to your side. He gallantly pulls open the door for you and helps you out with care. You stand and he closes the car door before you start up the path to the front door. It’s a short walk and as you reach the door you turn to look at him as he stays beside you.

“Thank you, for the ride, and…” you trail off not knowing how to articulate what it is you want to say. Thankfully he doesn’t make you continue. He smiles softly at you.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You blink at him. You don’t know what else to say. You finally look away and turn to the door to unlock it.

“When you said I don’t have anything to worry about,”

“I meant you don’t have anything to worry about,” he answers you before you finish your question. “I’m gonna make this all go away, I just need to know if there’s any loose ends we need to tie up to be done with it, that’s all.”

Your eyes sting again. He makes it sound so easy, so simple.

“I-“ your voice threatens to break.

“Hey, we don’t needa talk about it right now, doll. You just go inside, relax, eat, get some rest. You don’t gotta stress a thing anymore, alright? I’ve got you, there’s nothin for you to worry about.”

“…Why are you being so nice to me?” you look at him with bleary eyes as you crack the front door open and ask the question you’ve been wondering for the past two months.

He takes a small step closer to you and gently turns your face to look at him. “Why do you expect cruelty?”

You stutter a breath as you look at him and feel the memories of the year you spent caught up with Freddy stab at you. You know why, and you’re sure he does, too. But there’s no sense of judgment coming from him, and you don’t feel embarrassed; not like the way you do in front of your mom. She’s the only other person who knows what happened, what your dad did. For you.

She never said it, you don’t expect she ever will, but you can sense the thoughts, the subtle judgement from her, especially when this all first happened. She doesn’t know the truth but you don’t have the care to tell her. Because even if what she assumed was true, it doesn’t change anything. No one deserves that.

But the truth is, you didn’t stay. The first time he put his hands on you, you were gone. He just wouldn’t leave you alone. You were together for six months at that point and they were nice, nothing overly romantic like you see in the movies, but nice. You weren’t expecting anything long lasting, marriage wasn’t even a thought. You knew he wasn’t the one, but dating was… fun. And then, one day, a switch flipped.

He wasn’t the kind, but nonchalant guy you thought he was. He was angry, like it was your fault the relationship wasn’t what he wanted, that it wasn’t more. He wanted it to work so badly, but he knew it never would. That only kept his ire burning. And so during the other six months you were ‘together’ you were really nothing close. You avoided him every chance you got and when he’d find his way in he’d always be sure to leave his mark. He kept up appearances of course, to everyone it seemed. You didn’t want to look crazy, so what were you going to say? ‘I broke up with him months ago and I don’t know why he won’t accept that. He uses me like a punching bag when he gets me alone - when he breaks into my car, my home, any way he can weasel into my life.’ He was in with the mob and everyone knew it, so even if they believed you, what the hell would anyone be able to do? At a certain point you just kind of accepted that this must be it. He’d always just be around somehow. Stories of your on and off again relationship floating around thanks to him - he wanted everyone to know that even if you weren’t together, you were together. Making it harder and harder for you in every way possible.

And then, one day, everything changed.

Now you’re here, and he isn’t.

Now you’re here, and so is James Barnes.

His warm hand is still holding your face and his thumb gently rubs your soft cheek, almost mindlessly, while he peers at you - intent as ever. That softness you saw before is back and you have to remind yourself to breathe when you notice his gaze flit to your lips. It’s brief, fleeting as his hand drops and he meets your eyes once more. He takes back his step and you watch him take a deep breath himself, the first time you’ve ever seen him be anything close to unsteady, if that’s what you can call it.

You break eye contact first, looking down to the small space between you while you push your door open a bit more, holding onto the handle with one hand.

“Have a good night,” he says, voice low and quiet as he watches you step closer yet to the door.

You look at him again then, “You too,” you bid softly, finally stepping inside.

He nods and waits for you to close the door behind yourself. As you push it shut, you catch a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then that fluttering in your belly returns again.

You turn the lock and then press yourself up against the wood, exhaling heavily.

You feel relieved and yet ten times more terrified in the very same breath.

The most pressing feeling in this very moment though is a weird kind of guilt.

You feel more for a man you’ve only known for two months than you ever did for Freddy in the entire time you’d known him. Bucky is intimidating, obviously, and you know what he does, what he’s known for; he’s a man anyone would tell you to avoid at all costs. But when he’s around, there’s this feeling you get that you just can’t shake. You feel safe around him.

He’s known for being a man of his word, and his words to you have never been anything but thoughtful and…caring. He may prod, but he’s never threatened you. Truth be told, you think maybe he’s known this entire time what really happened. Or at least that you were involved somehow. And still, he wasn’t harsh with you even once. He was doing his own investigation this entire time, of course, and if he’d wanted to get the truth from you, surely he could have- he could’ve saved a lot of time too. Could’ve even gone after your dad.

But he didn’t do any of those things. No, he’s been patient, waiting until he had enough proof without having to pry anything out of you. At the very least you were grateful for that.

Not to mention the fact that he had called you pretty. It seems silly given the circumstances, but it did warm you when the compliment hit. It’s crazy but it’s clear that you’re feeling feelings for one James Bucky Barnes. God help you.

Alongside the unexpected romantic stirrings you’re coming to terms with, the anxiety and stress of the truth you’ve been trying, and apparently failing, to keep about what happened to Freddy has been weighing heavily on you, but with Bucky’s veiled acknowledgment of it, you feel more free already.

It’d be a lie to say you aren’t nervous for tomorrow night, but it’d also be a lie to say a part of you isn’t looking forward to it, too. If for no reason other than what Bucky said; to finally just be done with this whole mess.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #mob boss!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #mob bucky barnes

227 notes · View notes

604to647 · 2 days ago

Text

Crawling Back to You (Dieter’s Version)

3.7K / Dieter Bravo x fem!reader

Summary: A moment of weakness could lead to lifetime of regret unless Dieter can set things right with you.

Warnings: Angst, pining. Mention of drug use. Reader has a purposefully vague production/behind the scenes job because I don't know anything about movie production. Eventual HEA. One Friends reference - see if you can find it 😉

A/N: This was written for @happypedrohours’ Bouquets of Pedro Challenge. My Valentine’s prompt for Dieter was PDA. I’ve never written for Dieter before! I know he’s a chaos gremlin (affectionate), but I really like fics I read of him where he just wants to be loved? So, that's the Dieter that I wrote - I hope it's okay 🥹 (Sorry if he’s too OOC 😭) Musical inspiration is Hozier's cover of Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know."

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Many thanks to @morallyinept for your character and dialogue database to help me try and get into a Bravo state of mind 😘

He considers doing something big and splashy, of course. And public - very, very public. Afterall, not being P with his DAs had been what tore the two of you apart.

Well, part of it, anyways.

Double-paged feature in Variety. Highway billboards with matching ads on the side of buses. Live poetry reading on the big screens in Time Square.

But all of that would be very old Dieter Bravo of him and he was no longer that man - in large part because of you, for you.

Dieter had met you many, many moons ago. Always a friendly face on whatever set or industry event it was where you might cross paths, the two of you had gone from familiar acquaintances, to friends, to someone the other actively sought out for good company or shelter when the bright lights got too hot, the clamouring crowds too loud.

When you first met, Dieter thought you must be an actress - you were too beautiful, too captivating not to be onscreen. But while you did have a few extra credits to your name, he soon learned that your ambition lay behind the camera. He remembers the first time he heard your melodic voice ring out across set - like a drunken sailor to a siren’s call, he followed it without question in a semi lucid state (Hey! What’s a little marijuana between a movie star and the teamsters?). But upon the lifting of his fog, Dieter found not his destruction, but salvation: a sympathetic ally on set, someone with whom he could be a team – a calm in the chaotic storm that was most movie productions,

You worked hard at learning and mastering your trade, and your keen eye and intuitive sense for movie making sang your merits louder than that hypnotic voice of yours that first drew Dieter (and others) to you; that you were easy to get along with and impossible to say no to was no small feat in this business – especially for a woman. Dieter watched as you dogged forward, paying your dues and solidifying your reputation and resume – whenever he hears your name being bantered about behind the doors of Hollywood’s most coveted meetings, he feels only excessive pride. He would tell you himself if you were speaking to him.

Dieter still remembers the night when the two of you crossed that unspoken line for the first time; even now he’s not sure what he would have done if Cupid hadn’t been on his side. There had been some studio gala, nothing special – or so he thought. Slipping away from the endless shmoozing and sycophantic hoards that tend to overrun these gatherings, Dieter escaped through the catering entrance in search of some obliging venue service staff (Hollywood hot tip: the wait staff always have the best drugs!). Instead, he had found you - sitting on a table pushed to the side of the corridor, fancy ballgown fanned out, eating popsicles, legs swinging without a care in the world.

“Dieter!” your cheer was infectious, your smile mischievous and joyful, “I didn’t care for any of those tiny finger desserts they had going out on the trays so I asked the wait staff what they kept in the back for dessert and they gave me a whole box!” His search for extracurriculars forgotten, Dieter happily joined you, choosing instead to get drunk on your pretty face, happy chatter, and the completely innocent yet salacious way your mouth worked that frozen treat.

About three popsicles in (each) the icy desserts began melting – you managed to save yourself and finish yours just in time, but Dieter’s blue-raspberry concoction was rapidly disintegrating and about to make a guaranteed mess of his dress pants when your hands darted out, catching the slush midair.

Dieter cackled, marveling at your wide-eyed expression and hands, now wet, sticky and blue, “What did you do that for?”

“I don’t know," you crowed, eyes crinkling, still holding your cupped hands out in front of you, "I just didn’t want them to make some kind of 'blue balls' joke about you and your stained crotch in the tabloids tomorrow!”

He clasped his clean hand in yours, adhering himself to you in more ways than one - the two of you giggling and giddy as you re-entered the ballroom. After finding a free table, some clean napkins and a pitcher of water, you sat as Dieter lovingly washed and cleaned your hands so that they wouldn’t be stained with Blue Dye #1. He was on his knees, drying and holding your small delicate hands in his much rougher, clumsier ones, when he happened to look up to see you gazing adoringly down at him, eyes grateful and looking at him like he was hanging the moon for you.

Dieter lifted up and unable to help himself, connected his lips to yours – hoping against hope that he wasn’t ruining one of the few precious, genuine connections in his life. His relief was soon overtaken by desire when you kissed him back – the two of you somehow managing to make your way back to the service hallways, lips crashing together over and over like unstoppable waves of an inevitable ocean. The kisses were sensual and messy, pure and happy – it made Dieter feel like a teenager again.

“Is this weird?” he whispered at one point - vulnerable, no bravado.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” you breathed, though your voice was soft, your touch reassuring, “but don’t stop.” So, he didn’t. He kissed your lips swollen, pressing you up against the wall and succumbing to the intoxication of your pretty noises and tender affection.

Nothing else happened that night, and in fact, you had run away! After getting a text that your friend was currently giving birth, you rushed off to the hospital like Cinderella, ballgown skirts gathered in your careful hands while darting away in the night. Dieter, dazed and higher than he’s even felt, caught the kiss you blew him, and while pressing it to his slackened, blissed out face, vowed to become your Prince Charming.

He found you on set the following Monday and for the first time in a long time, Dieter Bravo, famously chill Cool Dude™ had felt shy, nervous. He needn’t have been – you responded to his earnestness with sweet generosity, only ever honest and non-pretentious; it was clear that for the both of you, there was no going back to just friends.

The rest as they say, was history.

Except being with you felt completely new to Dieter – for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he looked forward to waking up to the start of each day, genuinely excited for its possibilities, and even more to coming home every night, grateful for the newfound comfort of life’s simple pleasures.

Grateful, yes. If there was one thing Dieter wishes he could tell you it’s how grateful he is for you. While you were blazing your own path to success, you had also helped him redefine his - believing in and supporting the seemingly unflappable Dieter Bravo when he admitted to wanting more. Hollywood’s unbothered bro, Tinseltown’s perpetually aflame trainwreck darling was capable of and itching for growth, who knew? You did.

You read scripts with him and talked through his needs and ambitions; finally having a sounding board with no self-serving stake in the financial success of his career choices, Dieter began choosing increasingly more varied and interesting projects with your encouragement and support. He’s happier now, more fulfilled, challenged, engaged.

And he got sober (Well, he still drinks, but that doesn’t really count, right? It’s Hollywood). Detox had been a fucking nightmare but Dieter likes the voices in his head now. They’re gentler with him, more forgiving, thoughtful. They sound like you.

Dieter loved you so much, he wanted to climb to the top of the Hollywood sign and shout it all the way across the Pacific; he thought a love such as yours was limitless.

His publicists discouraged it. The world loved the Dieter they knew: eccentric, sex-crazed, tabloid staple, a spectacle. They weren’t interested in another middle-aged actor trying too hard to be taken seriously, who had seemingly left his wild days behind for a boring, stable relationship with a non-celebrity. The public wanted ✨salaciousness✨glitz✨scandal✨.

You had gone along with keeping your relationship hidden, valuing your privacy and preferring to keep the sacredness of your love for one another only. “I love you, Dieter,” you vowed, “I don’t need everyone to know it, but I don’t ever want to feel like your dirty little secret, okay?”

He promised you without really understanding what that meant.

Your relationship blossomed behind closed doors. Both of you walked red carpets alone, careful not to get papped together, and on sets, remained cordial and professional until you got behind Dieter’s closed trailer doors where his affection for you knew no bounds, even when contained. You would tell each other that your love wasn’t a secret, it was private, protected and kept safe from the prying and critical eyes of the public.

When his PR team arranged a fake relationship with the young and upcoming nepo baby starlet with whom he acted opposite in his latest movie as a means to promote the film, Dieter had reservations. But he hadn’t said no.

And after several long and serious conversations with his management about his fading relevancy and the exposure that the arrangement would net him, the starlet, the film, Dieter eventually relented and agreed to go along with it. It seems that fame was the one drug that he hadn’t quite kicked.

Dieter will never forget the look on your face when he brought up the PR campaign – the way your eyes crinkled in disappointment and the curve of your pretty lips pulling down your entire face haunts him every night.

“What happens to your real girlfriend when you’re out with your fake girlfriend, Dieter?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to ask you to wait, or stay by his side, but hidden. It was beneath you, insulting. And to ask was to break his promise.

Turns out he didn’t even need to ask for you to feel the full weight of his betrayal.

The last words he ever spoke to you had been uttered pathetically to the front door you shut in his face, “Baby, maybe I can fix it. Let me try.” Their only registered response was the sound of your sobs getting softer and softer as you walked away, shutting the doors in the house he could no longer call home.

He hadn’t been able to fix it. By design, Hollywood’s PR machine is a force, the joint efforts of Dieter and the starlet’s teams a runaway train. Their “relationship” had been Page Six news before Dieter even had the chance to call his publicist to say that he couldn’t go through with it. The public ate it all up just as predicted:

Dieter Bravo, Hollywood Chaos Prince back at it again, charming and capturing the heart of Tinseltown’s newest princess.

His mind swims of you. During every press tour interview he does with his pretend girlfriend, Dieter cringes at the fake touches and gestures of affection choreographed for the cameras; all the scripted flirting and empty terms of endearment taste like acid on his tongue (and not the good kind either). But none of this compares to the shame he feels at having hurt you, the owner of his heart, and that he likely continues to do so with every orchestrated date night photo-op for TMZ, every “happy couple” glambot he poses for on the red carpet.

Dieter finally sees you again six months into his fake relationship.

At the MTV Movie Awards, he’s waiting for the starlet to finish her solo shots, rubbing his temple at the too bright lights, the garish and loud décor, the music that doesn’t even sound like music, when he sees you stroll in on the arm of a man he doesn’t recognize. But Dieter couldn’t care less who the man is - it’s you he can’t look away from; you’re laughing, radiant, soft. Unchanged. Ethereal.

Dieter thinks he might vomit. He thinks he might need to do a line. He can’t let you see him.

Without excusing himself, Dieter leaves the red carpet and locks himself in a bathroom, trying to push down his bubbling panic attack. He knows his “girlfriend” is probably beside herself, and that his unexplained absence is likely giving rise to new rumours and speculation that he’s on some kind of drug-fuelled spiral, but he can’t bring himself to come out.

Someone slips a KitKat under the door of the bathroom.

Dieter knows it’s you; only you would be so subtle, so gentle, so reassuring with one simple gesture. Only you know him and what brings him the most comfort. He picks up the chocolate bar and stares at it for a while before biting into it, thinking about how he got himself into this mess.

A moment weakness. A lifetime of regret.

Not if Dieter could help it.

He “breaks up” with the starlet the following week; it would have been handled even sooner if he didn’t have to fight and threaten to fire his entire team, eventually dragging in Legal to help him break the marketing contract he had unknowingly signed in blood.

Immediately Dieter starts planning how he will make things up to you, beg for another chance – apologize; drafting and discarding every over-the-top gesture that pops into his buzzing mind, each more theatrical and outlandish than the last.

He finally settles on a letter – one that Dieter can’t stop writing after he starts and ends up being eighteen pages (front and back). It begins with an apology – for having hurt you so callously, for breaking his promise to you, and for, even if only a second, ever making you feel like you weren’t important or enough. Especially when it was his own bruised ego that had needed the stroking – this entire disaster a result of his own weakness, born from a dark place inside where he had been made small by an industry that thrived on the insecurities of its so-called stars, and Dieter’s fear of feeling even smaller. You made him feel so good while the two of you had been together, he naively thought that your light had eradicated all such voids and pits within him – but it was unfair to heap the responsibility of his growth and self improvement onto you. And though he knows that he still has work to do, he credits your influence and compassion for the progress he’s made so far. Around page six of the letter Dieter’s Sorrys transition into Thank Yous.

Dieter thanks you for every way you’ve made him a better man, made him want to be a better man. He thanks you for all the times your unparalleled support, kindness, and generosity have gotten him through the day on set, or through his self doubts at night. Words of gratitude overflow from his pen, pouring out nearly faster than he can write – you, you, you. He’s thankful for you.

And he misses you. And not just all the ways you meshed your gentle life with the squishy bits of his, but just you. Your sweet laugh. The crinkle of your nose and the watering of your eyes at his farts sarcastic jokes. And your mouth. Great Paul Newman, he’s always been obsessed with your mouth – and not just what he knows it can do and how it tastes, but everything that comes out of it. Dieter could listen to you talk about anything for hours – he might not know a single thing about what you’re talking about, but he understands eloquence, passion, and the artistry of words when he hears it. Having spent most of his adult life around industry blowhards, Dieter knows that intelligence without pretension is a rarity - fresh air that he longs to breathe in again.

On page twelve, Dieter tells you he loves you - loves you for everything you are and what you stand for. He loves how you’ve remained gentle, even though the business of show makes it its mission to sharpen everyone and everything it swallows. He loves that your default is always thoughtfulness and compassion, that you embody a quiet type of beauty that doesn’t need to be paraded about or loudly lauded in order to shine. How do you make even the mundane so fascinating? It must be that confident grace of yours. Dieter writes an entire two pages on how he just wants to watch you wash dishes again – he tries to describe the meditative calm that comes just from seeing the soapy water bow to your whim, as if it knows the power and majesty of its bender; understanding as he does now the magnanimity it takes to ensure that no small movement is wasted, to make every action purposeful. He’s enraptured by you. Admires you. Worships you. So, so in love with you.

He reads the letter over a hundred times before tying the folded pages together with a bright red bow. Using his Bravo charm, Dieter sneaks onto the set of your latest movie and leaves it in your trailer on top of a jewelry box that holds an ostentatiously luxurious diamond necklace he bought you before everything had gone to hell. He had kept it all this time, unable to bring himself to return it, never even considering giving it to anyone but you.

Three weeks pass and Dieter hears nothing back.

He had tried to prepare himself for this possibility – that perhaps you might never forgive him, want nothing more to do with him, but still, it’s with a heavier than expected heart that he gets ready for his movie premiere, the very same film he’d promoted with his fake relationship. Dieter didn’t expect any drama at the event – he and the starlet spoke last week and agreed that arriving separately but acting like friends was the best way to quell the outrageous reasons for the “breakup” speculated in the gossip rags. In truth, even though they had grown to become actual friends during the meshugana of the last few months, Dieter can’t help but associate this entire project with his own regret and shame - he can’t wait for this evening to be over.

He goes through the motions of the red carpet. Greeting his co-stars with boisterous cheers and hard gripping handshakes. Hitting his marks and smiling almost manically for the cameras. Waving to the fans and signing every piece of paper shoved towards him (this part he really did not mind; you always said that his fans were the best and they are). Doing his time in the interview pit. When he’s near the end of the gauntlet, with only the Entertainment Tonight interview to get through before he can (blessedly) retreat to his seat in the theatre, a vivid glimmer of brilliance catches Dieter’s eye. Unlike the near blinding flash of a photographer’s camera, this sparkle beckons him, brightly winking – he almost puts up a hand to shield his eyes before he realizes what it is.

It's you.

You’re at his premiere. Gorgeous, breathtaking, elegant – you’re walking down the arrivals promenade… and you’re wearing the diamond necklace Dieter left with your letter. Inadvertently tuning out the ET interviewer, he stares, awestruck, mouth agape – hopeful. The interviewer can’t help but follow Dieter’s gaze and asks him who you are.

“An angel,” he answers honestly.

At that same moment, you finally spot him and your face breaks into a big smile, the luminosity of which nearly drops Dieter to his knees. Instead, he breaks out into a sprint, running towards you.

When you see what he’s doing, you pick up your skirts and start moving towards him as well. Dieter dodges and weaves between the bodies on the red carpet, trying not to slam into any of the people that stand between him and his everything, only vaguely aware of the Entertainment Tonight interviewer and her cameraman hot on his heels.

Suddenly, the crowd seems to part and there’s a clearing right where the two of you finally meet, stopping only inches from one another. Dieter’s panting (fuck, he’s out of shape!) but grinning like a fool when you drop the fabric of your dress to bring your hands come up to cup his face, thumbs running lovingly over his unkempt scruff – a familiar gesture that feels better than any high he’s ever experienced. Your face is flushed bright and content, home.

“You got my letter.”

“I did.”

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

“I am.” Your eyes twinkle, complimenting the serenity and invitation of your countenance - both saying everything without even a word. It gives Dieter the boost of confidence he needs.

“May I kiss you?”

“Even though we’re in public?” You’re being cheeky on purpose.

But for once Dieter won’t play - there is nothing except sincerity in his response, “From now on, only ever in public. No more hiding.”

An orchestral movie score heard only by the two of you swells as you both move to close the remaining distance between your bodies, crushing your mouths together. The kiss is passionate, deep and heated – leaving no doubt of your feelings for one another; not even the gawking onlookers can deny what you mean to each other. Camera bulbs pop and bright lights flash all around as your lips settle and mold in a tender slow dance, loathed to be parted ever again. Your hands card through Dieter’s soft curls, delicate fingers cradling his head soothingly, warm; his hands spread wide to cover your back, covetous and protective.

“No more hiding,” you whisper, face lit with joy at the adoration and promise reflected in Dieter’s mirrored expression.

He nods and tightens his arm around your waist, love and resolution coursing through his veins. Sharing one last private look, the two of you turn in unison, a team, towards the awestruck Entertainment Tonight interviewer whose microphone is practically shaking with excitement. Dieter beams his megawatt Bravo smile at her, “Is this what the kids call a hard launch?”

🎶Artic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know" lyrics (Hozier's version):

Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now, I've thought it through Crawlin' back to you 🎶

#Dieter Bravo #happy pedro hours #bouquetsofpedrochallenge #Dieter Bravo fic #happypedrohours #Dieter Bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

104 notes · View notes

haveihitanerve · 1 day ago

Text

I genuinely think its so adorable- now that i’ve watched even more of their long forms- how fucking cute AJ and Tom’s relationships are, always.

Like- maybe I’ve just not seen enough. But- but they’re so pure????usually???

Juliet and Cesar- Tom literally hands over his kingdom and defends her against anyone- “yeah she kills people but she doesn't kill me and shes so pretty while doing it”- shes a badass evil queen and he fucks hard with that, even after she stabs him

The Leftenmost Window- AJ is supportive of his “thewomeninourfamilyhavealwayshadagift” wife and “ORDER!!!”s the children so they don’t annoy their mother- also the hug in the last scene, leaned against each other

The Dentist and Dentist Assistant thing where Tom was just totally supportive of everything AJ asked for/did and their little peck

Priscillas Last Petal- Both versions/moms of Tom are so tender with AJ, comforting him- the way Tom cradles AJ’s face when hes standing on the chair???? Oh my gods it was so cute

The Detective and Christmas Tree Bandits- not only Is Frankie super sweet to Rupert Jr, as a mother they like hug and its just too fucking cute. I mean green dude Reggie and Frankie were a different matter but we’re not talking about them!

Murders in Space- Tom literally spends his entire fucking life working to try and bring AJ back- then AJ dies for her- before she lets herself die to the timeline in order to go back to having him in another life- cuties

President and Vice President- besides wanting to kill each other, they did have a pretty stable relationship at the beginning ngl

Xavier and… the girl AJ is playing- their kiss is tender and sweet- AJ literally brings it up later on because of how soft it was- also- and i don't see it addressed anywhere- when AJ originally fainted, Tom literally reaches to catch him, arm like snagging on his waist, before realizing “oh its a controlled fall” and letting him drop. Its only for like a quarter of a second but it matters to me okayy???

Freeze/Tag out- “i just get so mad when they make bald jokes about AJ- he doesn't deserve it!”

Beetroots and Murder- “I’m his friend.” Spirit of Somerset and Justin and… wtv his name is- they’re just assholes- but really supportive to each other and good friends so like wtv

Vampire Slayer… thing: “master Ybbob.” and his little… helper dude :) cuties

Also- the amount of times they’ve proposed to each other is crazy- both, to each other, Tom literally gives up his actual wedding ring to AJ so many times its ridiculous and so so cute

The Lighthouse- in the actual play they kinda hate each other(if they were given more time, they perfectly lined it up to be an enemies to lovers imo) but at the end AJ and Tom unite in chaos gods mode and propose and do all that just because theyre icons and asses to Luke and Sam and its too cute

Green Leaves on a summers day:... if you’ve seen it… the way Tom immediately flinches to try and catch AJ and keep him stable when aj dips himself. Watch the vid if you want a better explanation…

Omg is this a joke: tom is willing to die for aj(his brother?) when they get captured for him to escape, iconic and so so cute

Tobys Secret Pocket: uh they don't actually get that much time together, but Wailing Robbie and Don have cute banter and AJ is always there backing Tom up

Beetroots and Murder: “im his friend:)” “this is my friend :D” cuties Spirit of Somerset and his friend- plus Justin and… wtv his name is(Big Dick?)- they’re just assholes- but really supportive to each other and good friends so like wtv

The Milkman: this play actually broke me, but AJ is so cute and sweet to his son who isn't his son, even after he knows he isn't his son when he gets back he still hugs him and is really cute and i need the sfth boys to please tell me he still gets visiting rights even if its not biologically his kid because its still his son😭 anyway…

The Excited Chinchilla: their father/daughter relationship is soooo cute, theyre cuties

Oopsie Daisy Bugle: they have arguments, but theyre a fucking cute couple ong

The Fourth Wall break during flurry when Aj pretended like he couldn't do improv anymore or smth: its so cute, Tom has his arm around his shoulders, hes squeezing him, standing right next to him, Sam asks “do you want us to leave?” and Aj goes “yeah.” then tom is like “yeah?” you sure? And AJ goes, “no. don't leave.” and Tom returns to his side so quick its adorable

Barn Dance Opera: not an actual on stage moment but they hover off stage together for a bit while Luke and Sam are on stage and its really cute

Huge(i think): before going back on stage tom hugs aj from behind just because

(ok i kinda derailed from characters and went to real life but shhh theyre cute)

Its like, for some reason, they cant be toxic. They refuse to be assholes to each other, and while they are very willing to dish out insults and tease each other, when it comes down to it, Tom is one of the first of the boys to notice what AJ is attempting to do/explain, and usually always picks AJ’s side while on stage, whether because he enjoys chaos or just wants to annoy Sam/Luke, idk, but its absolutely adorable every time they’re together because they just fit, I mean they all do tbh like duh, but Tom i think is the only one who consistently, without fail, always picks Aj’s side, and vice versa. Idk its cute

Also also- side note, real life- when AJ felt really nervous before… HUGE i think? Tom laid his head on his shoulder and like- solidarity- when AJ excused himself from the scene because he wasn't feeling it he like glanced over and made sure he was good before immediately taking his place to not make it obvious- they’re such good friends im gonna cry-

#sfth #shoot from the hip #this applies to all of them again #but specifically aj and toms relationships make me squeal #tom mayo #alexander jeremy #besties #platonic soulmates

67 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 1 day ago

Note

ooh ummm could I request hcs for caelus with a crush? I feel like he’d be so goofy in his attempts to look cool around the person he likes

Falling, But Not for the First Time

Tags: Caelus x Reader, Headcanons, Fluff, Comedy, Goofy Crush Behavior, Mutual Pining(?), Protective Caelus, Teasing, Awkward Flirting, Sweet Moments.

Caelus has no clue how to handle having a crush, so his first instinct is to overdo it. He’ll do things like lean casually against a wall, only to lose his balance and awkwardly stumble. He brushes it off like, “Yeah, I totally meant to do that. Gravity’s just jealous of my vibe.”

He tries to impress you by doing random feats of strength or skill, like lifting something heavy or flipping a coin way too high. Inevitably, the coin smacks him in the face or he drops whatever he’s holding. “Totally fine, no big deal. Bet you’ve never seen that move before.”

When he tries to flirt, it’s both adorable and a disaster. “Hey, did it hurt when you fell from the… uh, wait, how does that go again?” He fumbles the line so badly that he ends up laughing at himself, which somehow makes him even more endearing.

After talking to you, he’ll replay the conversation in his head a thousand times. “Why did I say ‘cool beans’? Who even says that anymore?!” March catches him mumbling to himself and absolutely roasts him about it.

Caelus tries to bring you little gifts, but they’re always slightly offbeat. He once found a rare rock during his travels and handed it to you with a goofy grin. “For your collection. You have a rock collection, right? Everyone needs a cool rock.”

He’ll glance at you when he thinks you’re not looking, only to get caught mid-stare. Flustered, he’ll blurt out something random like, “Oh, I was just… admiring the way you, uh, hold that cup of coffee. Very professional.”

When you’re in danger, all his usual awkwardness disappears. He’s hyper-focused, always stepping in front of you and making sure you’re safe. Afterwards, he’ll try to downplay it. “What, me? Worry? Nah, I’m just built different.” (Caelus, baby, no... 🧍‍♀️😭)

After doing something "cool" around you, he’ll discreetly glance at you for a reaction. If you smile or laugh, he’ll be absolutely beaming inside. “See, I’m totally crushing this whole ‘hero’ thing. No biggie.”

The Astral Express crew picks up on his crush almost immediately. March 7th and Himeko are relentless in their teasing. March might whisper to you, “You know, Caelus has been practicing that pose for hours,” while Caelus groans in the background.

Despite his goofy attempts to impress you, there are times when he lets his guard down. When you’re feeling down, he listens intently, offering quiet words of encouragement. “Hey, no matter what happens, I’ve got your back. Always.” Those rare moments of vulnerability make it clear just how deeply he cares for you.

93 notes · View notes

writeriguess · 17 hours ago

Note

I need comfort please 😭😭😭 I’m so mentally drained right now it’s unreal to be honest but I’m pushing through it as much as I can. Can you do a single mom reader x ghoap (ghost x soap) and then falling instantly in love when the crotch goblin runs up to soap speaking gibberish but pointing at his Mohawk then at his own as to tell him he’s matching then grabs ghost hands and just repeats mama as reader is shouting for him and looking for him about to have an anxiety attack.

author's note: Hey, I just wanted to clarify something. I’ve noticed that “comfort fics” sometimes get published quickly after being requested, which might give the impression that I prioritize them. However, that’s not the case—every fic is written and published in the order it was requested.

If you requested this piece, you might have noticed that I didn’t publish it immediately after seeing it. Please know that I don’t rush requests out of order. The only time I made an exception was for an emergency request, but I now realize that was a mistake, as some people overlooked my author’s note explaining it was a one-time thing. I’m sorry for any confusion, and I appreciate your patience!

Little Hands, Big Hearts

The bustling chatter of the park blurred into background noise as you frantically scanned the area, heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. One moment, your little one had been right next to you, chubby fingers curled around yours, and the next—gone. Panic wrapped its icy fingers around your throat as you called out his name, voice trembling, breath coming out in frantic gasps.

Your mind was already spiraling into worst-case scenarios. Kidnapped? Hurt? Lost and scared? Your vision blurred as anxiety clawed at your chest. Just as you were about to fall apart completely, a familiar laugh cut through the chaos, warm and amused.

"Oi, look at this, Ghost. Got a wee lad tryin' to match me!"

Your breath hitched as you turned toward the sound. There, standing just a few feet away, was your son—your whole world—grinning up at a man with a bright red mohawk, his tiny hands pointing excitedly at his own messy tuft of hair before reaching out to the man’s head in wonder. Relief hit you like a tidal wave, nearly knocking you off balance.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish stood in all his broad-shouldered glory, crouching to be at eye level with your giggling boy. Next to him, a much larger figure loomed, clad in tactical gear and a familiar skull mask, his usually unreadable eyes soft with curiosity.

Ghost.

But it wasn’t the sight of them that made your chest tighten—it was the way your son had latched onto Ghost’s gloved hand, chubby fingers squeezing tight as he looked up at him with big, adoring eyes and declared in a firm, happy voice:

"Mama."

Ghost stiffened for a moment, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. Soap snorted, clapping a hand on his friend’s arm.

"Well, mate, looks like you just got promoted."

At that moment, you finally found your voice.

"Oh my God, there you are!" You rushed forward, breath still shaky as you reached for your son, scooping him into your arms. Your legs nearly gave out from the relief of feeling his warmth against you. "Don’t you ever run off like that again, sweetheart!"

Your son, blissfully unaware of your near meltdown, simply giggled and pointed at Soap again. "Match!" he declared proudly, patting his own head.

Soap let out a hearty laugh. "Aye, we do match, buddy! Got yourself some good taste, I see."

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the erratic beating of your heart. It was only then that you noticed both men watching you, Soap’s grin easygoing and Ghost’s gaze unreadable, though there was something softer there, something... understanding. It was a look that made you feel less embarrassed for your panic, as if they had seen the same fear before, felt it in their own way.

"Sorry about that," you muttered, cheeks burning. "He—he just really likes hair. And apparently, hands."

Ghost, much to your shock, simply hummed before shifting his grip slightly so he was properly holding your son’s tiny hand. "S’fine. He’s got good instincts."

Soap beamed. "That, and he’s got good taste in company."

"Better taste than you," Ghost muttered, earning a mock-offended gasp from Soap.

"Rude!"

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "Guess I owe you both a thank you for keeping him entertained while I lost my mind for a second."

"No thanks needed," Ghost murmured, glancing down at your son, who had started humming to himself, perfectly content holding onto the both of them. "We don’t mind."

"Nah, we like him. He’s got spirit." Soap ruffled your son's hair, grinning. "You ever thought about training him early? We could use another recruit."

"Oh, absolutely not," you replied, horrified but amused at the thought of your little one running around with military-grade weapons. "He’s wild enough already."

Soap laughed, while Ghost merely nodded as if he were filing away that information.

And in that moment, standing there with your little one nestled safely in your arms, flanked by two larger-than-life soldiers who had melted at the presence of a tiny, mohawked toddler, you felt something warm bloom in your chest.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone in this as you thought. Maybe, for the first time in a long while, you had found something that felt like safety—like home.

#simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #cod imagine #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost #cod ghost #simon riley x you #ghost x you #cod x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader x soap #ghoap x reader

111 notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 14 hours ago

Note

🧼 Soap Anon here; NOONAAAA !!! I read the fic you linked YOUR BRAIN YOUR WRITING!! I loved how effortlessly you move between the softness and warmth from the scenes of the 141 with reader to the more action packed, tense moments when they stop the intruders! I'm feeling better, thank God :D !! I saw your latest thing with emotional support Omega reader and my heart went WABAM cus reader was finally accepted 🥹 AND your birthday happened, so I'm giving you a gift for all the nice things you write for us 🎁 (I am in a Ghosty mood today, so please excuse if you wanted someone else 😭 but I saw you said you wanted someone to tell you to sleep and screw your professor!!)

You typed away at your laptop, the only noise in the room other than the same Lofi playlist looping in your headphones being the click clack of the keyboard. Your eyes drooped, eyebags heavy, your movements heavier as you slugglishy write something down in your notes, your heart heaviest as you look back to your class syllabus and see the sheer amount your exams mattered.

'Why do midterms matter so much anyway?' You mentally groan, trying to maximize your homework grades as you attempted this homework assignment for the third time, trying to get a 100%. You couldn't risk getting anything other than a 100 right now when you knew you'd fumble the midterm - this was the only class that fit your schedule, so you decided to brave the Rate My Proffessor ratings and take this class. You wanted to go back in time and shake yourself! You finally submitted the last question and at last, a 100% appears on your screen and your smile is illuminated by the bright light of your laptop. Youre about to close your laptop but when you X out of the assignment you only see you have project due next week. Yes, despite it being assigned today, you only had a week even though realistically, even with your three other partners, it would take much longer. But no, your three partners are flaky and unresponsive to your texts and you gotta do all this work by yourself, and if you didn't start soon you'd have no time. Then you remembered that you had work for your other classes and you break out in a sweat, your head spinning with overwhelm. You don't bother texting your group mates, heaving a sob as you feel your body ache, your stomach hurting cus you stayed up too late after dinner, and you wipe your face after you click on the project rubric and-

"Oi, luv. Stop it before I take your laptop away." You hear from behind you, whipping around to see your partner who's already taking off his iconic skull mask. You stare up, sniffling and wiping your face. His blonde hair is flat after being underneath the mask for so long, but you smile when you see his dark brown eyes soften as they gaze into yours.

"You're home...!" You say relieved, but you sputter when he closes your laptop and takes away your pen and paper. "Hey, wait-!"

"Shut." He commands, swiveling your chair and leaning in with a pointed look. You know better than to protest. "You listen to me 'ere; you're going to eat this thai food I bought and go right to sleep. If I see you near your laptop again, I'll wrangle you myself."

"But Simon, the project's due in a week-" You meekly protest, but he only holds your jaw, silencing you as he tugs you closer.

"Fuck your professor, he's full of shite." Ghost scoffs, practically dragging you up and sitting you down over on the couch, handing you your food. "'S how you like it, extra chilli sauce..." He mutters, sitting down himself and digging in. You smile wide as you eat, your eyes glistening.

"You gon' eat or are you just gon' stare?" He says, causing you to chuckle as you eat.

"You're right, my professor CAN go screw himself." You agree with him, relishing as you hear a small huff from the lieutenant.

"Yeah, he's taking the piss if he thinks anyone can do all that work. You're going to write him an email asking for a extension, I'll do it myself if I have to." Your partner says with finality, and you smile wider, snuggling closer next to him.

"You're the best, Simon...!"

"Funny, I was gonna tell you the same..."

🧼 ANON YOU GLORIOUS GODSENDDDD 😭🫶🏻🫶🏻 this is so good. So delicious omfg i love love LOVE this sm, thank you so so so much ahh!!! This is absolutely wonderful!!

#noona.asks #🧼 anon #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #simon ghost riley imagines #simon riley imagines #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

59 notes · View notes

holypeanuts · 2 days ago

Text

ummmm yapping (kinda analyzing) about the recent ddvau chapter or whatever !! 😋😋

BTW THIS ISNT A POST ABOUT DEFENDING ANY CHARACTERS PLS.. 🙏😞

I'm just yapping about what I'm seeing mostly idk

comic/art creds : @kitsuneisi

OK STARTING OFF WITH THIS PART!!! ^

there's so much that can be taken from this image alone GAHHH

in this chapter hotguy talks about the "view" of grians hospital room (which is CRAZY conversation starter btw 😧) which means he was definitely trying to get the upper hand here. Reminding grian how easy it is to track him, or spot him out.

Considering how grian acts around HG hes very closed off to him- so, in order to get information out of him (<grian), HG chose the more (IMO) authoritative approach. he deliberately chose a way of wording to make grian feel small, vulnerable, and almost more likely to share information due to the pressure of authority.

I mean, it'd be a lot easier to get information out of someone who's scared.

(AGAIN, NOT DEFENDING HOTGUY HERE!!!!This is definitely not a good thing to do, but it's also very common for cops / detectives to use fear or pressure as a tatic to get information out of suspects.)

Pressure makes people crack, which is what HG wants! He wants grian to "crack".

Ok that was way to long. 😞 Sorry chat

ONTO THIS PANNEL ^

We already know grian is standoffish towards HG but with HG's body language I don't think he was prepared for that wall to be put up so quickly..., or at least not to this degree!

Grian is obviously unsettled by HG's presence right now, and since the first part of their conversation was literally HG saying (more like implied but whatever) he was watching him; it makes sense why he is!!

Grian (mother spore) caused a lot of damage to both property and people (even if it wasn't technically grian who did it) he's obviously concerned about the consequences of what happened.

And if the law enforcement is anything like how I'm imagining it is then, he should be concerned about being arrested! Even if it wasn't his fault, he could still very well be blamed for the incident. It was still his body that was being used for the damage.

Okay, I feel like HG was trying to be nice..? Supportive...??? Here.. Like, it reminds me of #those people who're saying they aren't racist but the way they say shit is so ignorant that it makes you like.... Go "umm"... Ykw I mean???

Like it was low-key ignorant considering HG himself isn't actually mutant. So it just makes it worse that he phrased it like that.

I also feel like this was a way to show off the power imbalance here as well. Especially with how HG is practically on top of grian, while grian looks unsettled (and while injured), it really just shows their imbalance even more!!!

Which kinda makes the situation worse! 😭

Okay, so now he's going back to the pressuring route...,

While he's still leaning over grian... (ITS A POWER IMBALANCE THING GUYS I SWEAR!!!! I scream as they drag me into a padded room) oughhhh ☹️

With the way HG said "as far as they are aware, you were possessed by something that gave you wings" and the following up with "as far as I'm aware" I feel like he's trying to hint to grian that he knows something (he doesn't actually☠️) that he (<grian) doesn't want him (<HG) to know! Trickery !! 😮

This is also a very common cop (/ authority) tatic btw! Like saying they know things (while being vague, like, majority of the time) while (usually) knowing nothing. They use it as a way to say "hey, we know things! So it's best to fess up now since we already know LOL. (^_-)"

AGAIN WITH THE POWER IMBALANCE CAUSE WDYM "let's not forget"!!!! At the beginning !! bros low-key manipulative! (｀´）

But manipulation is also needed in this line of work. so while I don't necessarily hate him for trying to get information out that way, I can completely understand why grian does NOT like the way HG is going about this. Being basically interviewed (coughsss interrogated) in this manner is extremely off-putting, stressful, nerve-racking and, annoying to deal with as the "suspect" <idk how else to phrase it sorry 😞

OOOOO OKAY where to start,,

The way he hugs him while basically saying hes kinda fucked if others find out about what happened AGGHHH tearing my skin off WTF IS HIS PROBLEM. 😭😭😭

THE "for now" IS SO OMINOUS.. are we foreshadowing rn chat

"it was just you and me" classic cop line! WOWZERS

But that line is kinda subtly telling grian that he can't hide something from him because he was there to see the carnage! He's basically saying "don't lie cause I'll know" or something like that

^^ (I'D LIKE TO PREFERENCE THIS BY SAYING THIS IS MY INTERPRETATION, YOU CAN SES IT HOWEVER YOU FEEL IT IS!!)

"your secret is safe with me" waiter,! Waiter! More power imbalance please!! 🍽️

THE WAY HG LOOKS AT GRIAN DURING THE HUG AHHHH falls to my knees and shreds my shirt apart in that one werewolf meme style

Umm okkk I think I'm done 🤓

#ddvau #yap sesh #i love talking to myself #mild cursing

56 notes · View notes

loulou-land · 2 days ago

Text

Forget-Me-Nots & Heart-Shaped Pancakes

Day 14 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | Valentine’s Day | 1,437 | on ao3

(I haven’t posted day 13 but I will, it’s just not finished yet 😭)

Buck was a little nervous as he placed the final touches on the breakfast tray. But he really wanted this to be perfect. This was their first Valentine’s Day and he wanted it to be one that Tommy would remember. He stepped back, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork.

Heart-shaped pancakes—check. Heart-shaped eggs—check. Crispy bacon arranged in an almost symmetrical-heart—double check. A strawberry smoothie, because it was pink and also Tommy loved sweet drinks, and a cute little napkin that said Will you be my Valentine?—perfect.

Now all that was missing was—his phone buzzed.

Right on time, Buck thought, grateful that luck was on his side this morning.

He hurried to the door, intercepting the delivery guy before he could knock and wake Tommy. The flower arrangement was even better in person. Delicate, bright blue forget-me-nots mixed with a few sprigs of baby’s breath. Buck tipped the guy, murmured a quick thanks, and rushed back inside.

Flowers—check.

He set them down next to the tray, taking a picture of both for his memories album.

Oh! The card. He’d almost forgotten. Buck had to hide it so Tommy wouldn’t come across it.

He scrambled to the bookshelf, pulling out the card he’d made from one of the books. It was his first attempt at anything crafty in years, probably since he last helped Christopher with his homework. It was a little lopsided, the hand drawn hearts not quite symmetrical, but he’d wanted to do something personal. Something that showed Tommy he’d put real care and thought into it. From his heart. And that was what mattered, right?

…Maybe he should have just bought one. What if he thinks Buck is being cheap?

Buck bit his lip, looking at his creation, debating whether he had time for a last-minute store run. He glanced at the clock. Nope. Tommy would be awake before he’d make it back.

Sighing, he placed the card on the tray, gave everything one final once-over, then carefully picked it up and headed upstairs.

Tommy was still curled up in bed, bundled up in the blanket, his face buried in Buck’s pillow, arms around it as he snored softly.

A grin tugged at Buck’s lips. That was—God, that was adorable. It was as if when he had left the bed this morning, Tommy had gone searching for him, and upon not finding him, he settled for the next best thing…his pillow.

His heart clenched with so much love he had to take a pause before he cried over Tommy’s pancakes.

Buck set the tray down on the dresser before grabbing the flowers and sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out, his hand warm against Tommy’s shoulder.

“Baby?” He murmured, giving him a gentle shake.

Tommy made a low, sleepy noise, burrowing further into the pillow before sluggishly turning his head. “Mmm…whazz…everything okay?” His voice was thick with sleep, eyes barely open.

Buck melted. He was absolutely in love with this man.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” he reassured him softly. “I just…got something for you.” He felt a little shy now, suddenly worried it might be too much. They were already celebrating Valentine’s at a fancy restaurant tonight. But he’d still wanted to surprise Tommy with something. Oh well, no turning back.

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face trying to wake up, and when he finally blinked his eyes open, they landed on the flowers in Buck’s hand.

He stilled.

For a long moment, he just stared. And Buck held his breath.

Then, slowly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his voice quieter now. “Babe…are those for me?”

Buck’s stomach dropped at the disbelief in his voice and he vowed to himself then and there, he’d give Tommy flowers for the rest of their lives.

“Yeah,” Buck exhaled, offering them. “Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”

Tommy reached out almost hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the petals, featherlight. “They’re beautiful.”

“Evan…” his voice was barely above a whisper, something raw and vulnerable in his expression.

Buck swallowed, suddenly rambling as he still felt unsure whether the flowers had been a good idea. “They’re forget-me-nots. I know roses are more traditional but—uh, I don’t know, these just felt right? They’re blue and they remindEd me of your eyes, and—oh, did you know flowers have meanings? I mean of course they do. But like, there’s this whole language. And these mean true love and loyalty, and I just thought—”

“Evan.”

Tommy’s voice was gentle but firm as he reached out, catching Buck’s waving hand mid-air, stilling him. He tangled their fingers together, settling Buck’s nervous energy.

“I love them.” He swallowed hard, his grip tightening slightly. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.” His voice wobbled just a little, just enough for Buck to hear it. “Thank you.”

Buck beamed, his heart expanding in his chest. “You deserve flowers. And well…there’s more.”

Tommy’s brows lifted a little incredulously. “More?”

Buck jumped up, grabbing the tray. “Breakfast in bed for my sweetheart.”

Tommy shook his head, his eyes crinkling in fondness. He sat up properly, adjusting the blankets around his waist, and when Buck set the tray in front of him, his face lit up even more.

“Baby, this is amazing.” He glanced at Buck with something impossibly soft in his eyes before his gaze caught on the card.

Carefully, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. His hands were steady, but Buck could see the slight tremor in them.

“Did you…make this yourself?” Tommy asked, his voice soft.

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, a little embarrassed. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I—I’m sorry if it’s too cheesy. I probably should’ve bought one, but—”

Tommy set the tray aside before reaching out, cupping Buck’s chin, gently turning his face back towards him, making sure Buck heard him.

“I love it.” His voice was calm, but his eyes—his eyes were shining, glassy at the corners. “Evan…seriously, thank you. You’re the best Valentine I've ever had.”

Buck’s breath caught in his throat.

He barely had time to say anything before Tommy leaned in, capturing his lips in a heated lingering kiss.

Buck sighed into it, heart racing, warmth spreading through his body.

Tommy pulled back and Buck tried to follow his lips, whining when he couldn’t keep kissing him.

Tommy hummed, amused. “Don’t you want your gift?”

Buck considered it for a second. His curiosity won out. “Okay.”

Tommy laughed. “Don’t pout. I’ll kiss you as much as you want later.”

“I wasn’t pouting,” Buck said, while he pouted. “But I’ll hold you to that.”

Tommy hesitated for just a second before exhaling and reaching over to his bedside table, pulling something out.

A card.

It was firefighter themed, something dorky with the message “Our love can’t be extinguished!”

Buck grinned. “Oh my god.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were flushed as he flipped it open, revealing a trip confirmation, up in the mountains, a cabin.

“I was thinking…” Tommy cleared his throat, suddenly looking nervous, which was endearing. “We could go away for the weekend.”

Buck blinked. “Wait. Really?”

Tommy shifted slightly, “Yeah, I mean, I kinda talked to Bobby about it, he said it was okay. And I’d fly us up there—” he stopped suddenly looking unsure, “that’s if you want to. You don’t have to say yes. I—maybe it was presumptuous of me.”

For a second, Buck couldn’t even speak.

And then he was throwing himself at Tommy, nearly knocking the tray over in the process. Tommy laughed, catching him and Buck buried his face in his neck, kissing him over and over.

“Yes,” he said, muffled against warm skin. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Tommy laughed again, tightening his arms around him. “I’m glad. And, I’ll leave all the activity and hiking planning up to you.”

Buck pulled back just enough to press another kiss to Tommy’s lips. “You’re the best. I love you.”

Tommy hummed, smiling widely. “I love you too.”

“Okay, I need my laptop.” Buck said, he jumped up feeling excited for a weekend away with just Tommy and anything he wanted to do. He couldn’t wait. “Eat your breakfast while I research.” Buck said seriously.

“Yes, dear.” Tommy replied, rolling his eyes fondly.

They spent the rest of the morning tangled together in bed, trading lazy kisses between bites of pancakes, making plans, the flowers resting on the nightstand, a bright blue spark of color in the morning light.

Buck couldn’t remember a better Valentine’s Day.

#bucktommyfluffebruary #valentines day #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #fluff #my fluffebruary fics

54 notes · View notes

sunflowersandsapphires · 1 day ago

Note

alrighty, i come to you for your thoughts on frank or matt, totally cool with either, with an emotional and sensitive reader, and maybe one of thr guys say something about a quirk of the reader, they meant it jokingly, but reader doesn't take it that way. they get defensive or try to maybe change that quirk, not wanting them to find them annoying cause of the people in their life, and the guys are so quick to apologize once they realize.

idk, i tend to be sensitive myself and always that people pleasing tendency to change myself if someone makes a slight comment, or cry over it 😭😂 so hearing an apology through them seems very helpful lol

Hello dear! I hope you’re having a good weekend.

And I HEAR YOU about being sensitive. I’m a sensitive girly myself, which is why I wrote the Reader in my Frank fic (When Skies are Gray) to be so sensitive 😂 I needed an outlet. But I can totally see this being a situation where Frank and Matt end up with their feet LODGED in their respect mouths.

This got LONG so I’m going to put it under a cut.

Matt

For Matt, I think he would genuinely be remarking on a quality he liked about you, not knowing he was treading on thin ice.

Like maybe he gets home late from work and you’re already bursting at the seams, excited to tell him every little detail about your day. The moment he steps through the door, you’re squealing and darting to kiss him hello. Immediately, he’s chuckling, happily accepting the tiny pecks you plant on his nose and cheeks.

He lets you eagerly tangle your hands together, tugging him inside and towards the couch as the words start pouring out of your mouth.

“Hi, Matty! How was your day? Did you win your case? Oh that reminds me! I picked up dinner for you! And the funniest thing happened on the way home!!”

You’re leaving room for him to respond, of course, but you can’t help the sheer giddiness you feel every time you’re in his presence. Matt loves it, of course. It makes him feel wanted, feel loved. But when he brushes a hand over your arm and gently cuts you off, it makes you freeze.

“I can’t wait to hear more about your day beautiful. Let me run and change first, then I’m all yours.” There’s a beautiful grin on his lips as he makes the offer, but it’s hard to focus on that when you suddenly can’t breathe.

Matt might not have meant anything by the comment, but many people before him had. Suggesting you were too much, too loud, too self-involved—seeing your excitement as a nuisance. Your mind immediately goes to that place, the defensive little corner you always felt pushed in when people picked on you. The echo chamber of self-doubt that suggested you fold yourself into something easier to swallow.

Your heart is lodged in your throat as he leaves to change, your lungs straining to take in oxygen around the obstacle. You shrink in on yourself instinctively, sitting on the edge of the couch like you don’t deserve to relax, to be comfortable in his home when you’ve taken up so much space already.

When Matt comes back, there’s a soft smile on his face. One that quickly falls when he registers your stuttering breaths and downward gaze. “What, what happened, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

He sees right through your little fib of “Nothing,” dragging you into his lap with his amazing strength.

“If nothing’s wrong, you won’t mind telling me that funny story then, will you?” You shouldn’t be surprised that he can pick up on the root of the issue that easily, he reads your thoughts as if they’re transcribed just for him.

You duck into his neck bashfully. “You sure you want to hear it?”

Matt squeezes you tightly, hands splaying over your back and shoulder. “Of course I do! I love listening to you.”

After your story, he prods a bit further, investigating the cause of the sensitivity and assuring you that he loves the way you greet him when he comes home.

Rather than avoiding it entirely, I think Matt would honestly compliment your quirks even more going forward. I don’t think he’d have a single problem dating someone who was on the sensitive side. I actually think he’d love that about you!! (Even if it confused him at times)

I’ll probably reblog with Frank thoughts! But here’s this for now!

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #mm #my writing #charlie cox #marvel #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #marvel's daredevil #marvel daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #daredevil netflix

43 notes · View notes

jayparked · 9 hours ago

Note

heesung would be SO patient with an inexperienced/“not confident” gf/bf 🥺 like if they wanna give him head or something but they’re not sure what works well, or their precious partners weren’t very supportive, he’d be super duper gentle ☹️

jay as well me thinks! and Jake as well? But he’d take a more teasing approach, like if your previous partners sucked and you’ve never properly orgasmed he’d hit the right stop and mess with them “this spot? Right here? Hmm, I’ll keep it mind~”

i immediately think of that clip of him doing the dance relay with the little girl and he asks “can i fix it?” but then ultimately doesn’t because he thinks it’s so cute 😭 and i think he could be like that with an inexperienced partner too! he would try to give advice if they’re nervous but ultimately wants them to feel comfortable exploring the newness of things. would lay back and just fondly watch as his partner tries to figure out how best to bounce on his cock or he would have his hand resting gently on their cheek while they try to give him head. heeseung would easily get lost in the feeling of adoration while watching them explore his body, softly praising them throughout the entire time. his praise would be sooooo good. he wouldn’t backseat or be demanding, just wait for them to discover his sweet spots on their own

jay i think would be more guiding, but just as gentle absolutely. jay and heeseung are kinda like the phrase ‘same words different font’. i think he’d feel a little guilty getting too lost in his own pleasure and try to restrict himself, putting his partners mental wellbeing before his own physical release. constantly asking if they’re okay, does this feel good, you’re doing so well etc

jake would just be a complete mess under his partners grasp. doesn’t even matter if they’re not necessarily good at first, jake’s excitement makes up for it. but going off what you said if he finds out no one has made his partner properly orgasm? oohhh he’s making a whole day out of this. he’s going to make sure they forget about every other person who’s touched them previously. without a doubt

#i think i blacked out again #my heavenly #my heart #my muse #snail mail

28 notes · View notes

artstennisracket · 1 day ago

Note

Drunk enough to request Artrick piss kink shame free and off anon 😳

Thinking about the boys just hanging out and drinking and Art needs to pee but Patrick keeps saying he needs to do this first, and they need to finish that first (not even to stop him going on purpose he genuinely doesn't realise Art is about to piss himself) obviously eventually Art can't hold it anymore and pisses himself and he's like oh god, I pissed myself in front of Patrick he's going to make fun of me now and he starts crying. Patrick however is like why does Art look so good crying and after pissing himself? Do I have a piss kink? And then obviously he fucks Art

drunk enough to request off anon is SO REAL😭jinx have i ever said how much i love you? because i do and i hope you love this :) and we all know these aren’t proofread right? lololol

cw: nsfw (18+) piss, dom/sub undertones, daddy kink

Art and Patrick were on the tail end of a bar crawl that night. They are pretty drunk. They had been drinking for the past two hours or so, really pushing the limits of their tolerance. Their fake ids had only gotten them so far because eventually the bartender cuts them off.

They’ve decided to walk back to the dorm since Art doesn’t think he could handle riding in a car right now without throwing up. But Patrick has a few stops he wants to make on the way.

“c’mon it’ll only be for a minute i just want some snacks” Patrick says as he walks into the corner store, one of the only places opened this late.

Art’s stomach turns because the last thing he wants to think about right now is food, he’s too drunk for this. but he still follows Patrick inside. He groans, “fine just hurry up man.”

Drunk Patrick doesn’t really take that into consideration as he strolls up and down the aisles leisurely looking for scooby doo fruit snacks, oreo cakesters, and cheese balls.

Art is getting antsy. He already feels like shit anticipating tomorrow’s hangover but shortly into this trip he realized he really had to piss.

While Patrick is la la land, looking like he’s moving in slow motion. No pep in his step like he has nowhere to be. Art tugs on Patrick’s arm, “c’mon can we go? are you done?”

Patrick has completed his shopping list before he thinks, “oh shit wait i want to get Tashi the doritos that she likes.” He does a 360 turn going back to the chips aisle.

When they get there Patrick sees every doritos flavor imaginable (this store even had international flavors) but he didn’t see Tashi’s favorite, the purple ones.

“they don’t have it man, let’s just go. c’mon i wanna go home.” Art whines, he can feel his bladder pulsing. He needs to pee bad.

Patrick frowns until he comes up with idea, “let’s just ask him at the front, maybe they have it in the back.”

Art is praying to god they do not have it in the back so they can leave.

Patrick makes his way to the cashier, dropping his stuff on the counter. Art follows suit trying to focus on anything other than how badly he needs to go.

The cashier says he will check for the purple doritos in the back and Art feels like he wants to cry.

The cashier comes back, purple doritos in tow, and he checks Patrick out. Then they continue their journey back to the dorm.

They get there about 10 minutes later and Art is so close to relief he can feel it.

Patrick is fumbling around in his pocket trying to find his keys but he thinks he left them inside. Oh god, Art doesn’t know what to do now. He could barely walk straight on their way back from how badly he had to pee. But he didn’t tell Patrick because he didn’t want to seem like a baby.

He also didn’t want to pee on the sidewalk or in an alley way like a delinquent. Patrick did it all the time if he had to go, but Art was too worried someone would catch him. He also couldn’t go if he knew someone could hear him, he gets nervous.

But this time was different and before he knew it his bladder gave up on him. The warm liquid started to run down his briefs. It trickled from his thighs all the way down to his calves. His jeans were soaked, he could feel the fabric getting heavier against his skin. Oh fuck.

Art can’t believe he did that. He feels relieved and petrified at the same time. Patrick is probably going to make fun of him for being a baby and being able to hold it like an adult. Fuck. This is so embarrassing for him, Patrick will never let him live this down.

Luckily Patrick hasn’t looked back at him yet, still searching for his keys. Shortly after he realizes the keys were in his jacket pocket, not any of the million pockets on his cargo shorts, and he opens the door. He turns to look back at Art but his smile slowly drops from his face.

That’s all it took for Art to start crying. He knows the wet spot on his jeans is very visible. Tears running down his cheeks, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Patrick is frozen in place. He didn’t know Art had to pee that bad, let alone at all. If he would’ve known he would’ve convinced Art to just pee in an alley way. But somehow he thinks he likes this better? Art looks really pretty with those tears falling down his face. Too pretty. Patrick can feel himself hardening in his own shorts.

He pulls Art inside their dorm and locks the door.

“ ‘m sorry.” Art gasps out between sobs. He doesn’t really know what else to say and the embarrassment he’s feeling is immeasurable.

Patrick drops his the plastic bag with his snacks by the door before he approaches Art. He stand right in front of Art so their face to face. He slowly lets his eyes drag over Art lower half, subconsciously biting his lip. He doesn’t really know why he’s so turned on right now.

Of course he’s watched ridiculous categories of porn before but never anything like this. Is he into this?

He brings his eyes back up to meet Art’s red rimmed eyes. He brings his hand up to Art’s cheek to wipe away some tears.

“it’s okay babe, don’t have to apologize,” Patrick all but whispers. Keeping his hand on Art’s cheeks he slowly pulls him in for a kiss.

Art is confused but he lets his eyes slips close and kisses back anyway. The kiss starts slow and shy, until it picks up true desires being unleashed. It’s a mess of teeth, tongue, and lips.

Patrick pulls away, resting his forehead against Art’s. He starts unbuttoning Art’s jeans before he shoves his hand into Art’s damp briefs which makes Art gasp, “patrick—”

“fuck.” Patrick whispers under his breath, “you’re so fucking hot.” Patrick continues as he starts stroking Art to full hardness.

“ah— ah patrick” Art whines while Patrick grabs Art’s other hand, bringing it to feel Patrick’s boner.

Patrick keeps jerking off Art with one hand, while he pulls his own shorts down with the other hand. Moving Art’s hand to grip Patrick’s hard cock. Patrick leans in by Art’s ear to whisper, “this is what you fucking do to me,” before pulling Art into a kiss.

Art moans into Patrick’s mouth, making sure to start stroking Patrick’s cock. Patrick moves his hands into the back of Art’s briefs, gripping Art’s ass.

“need to fuck you, please” Patrick groans into Art’s mouth. Without another word Art is quickly pulling off his damp briefs and shorts. He also pulls his shorty over his head.

Patrick does the same, shedding his clothes. He puts Art on all fours before smacking Art’s ass for good measure while a moan escapes Art’s mouth.

Patrick eases two lubed up fingers inside Art’s tightness to stretch him out. Once Art staring pushing back on Patrick’s fingers, greedy, he deems Art is ready for his cock.

He lines up with Art’s hole before pushing in slowly until he bottoms out. “holy fuck Art you’re so tight.”

Art gasps as Patrick fills him up. Fuck he’s so fucking full right now. “please fuck me, please”

Patrick starts slamming himself into Art, making sure to keep a good pace. “you looked so fucking hot pissing yourself. jesus fuck. couldn’t hold it in huh baby?”

Art shakes his head no as he keeps whining, moaning, any sound he can make at this point.

Patrick continues “so you made a big fucking mess didn’t you baby? just for me to see”

Art nods in agreement this time. His head was feeling a little flirty and he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or not anymore.

“say it, tell me how big of a fucking mess you made.” Patrick said punctuating each word with a hard thrust. He moves his hand around so he can start stroking Art’s cock as he fucks into him.

Art chokes out in between moans, babbling at this point, “i— i—made such a—fuck—b-big mess daddy.”

“holy fuck,” Patrick’s thrusts stutter and he comes inside Art immediately after that. Art comes at the same time squirting all over their sheets.

Patrick collapses next to Art on the bed. He chuckles lightly, “that was…wow.”

Art sits up, “i didn’t know you were into that, thought you were gonna make fun of me.”

“i didn’t know, but when I saw you I just,” Patrick smirks, “- yeah that was good, are we gonna talk about you calling me daddy?.”

Art scoffs shoving Patrick, “shut the fuck up I didn’t mean it.”

Patrick raises his eyebrow, “i don’t know sounded real to me,” he starts to mock Art, “oh daddy please yes make me cum ah-”

Art shoves Patrick again, making sure Patrick is face first into a pillow so he can shut up. It was clear Art didn’t want to talk about it so he stopped, for now.

Patrick starts again, “now we really have to clean up your mess,” he laughs.

Art sighs exasperated, “it’s your fault.”

“i’m not the one who pissed myself,” he says back with a low whistle. Art blushes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Patrick could sense Art was starting to get a little insecure again so he pipes up again, “c’mon i’ll change the sheets, and you can shower. deal?”

Art nods small smile on his face, “deal.”

#challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #artrick #art donaldson x patrick zweig #challengers 2024 #artrick smut #moot ask

33 notes · View notes