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bisexual-horror-fan · 8 months

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"Goodbyes Are So Hard." Stu Macher X AFAB! FORMER Ghostface Reader.

Okay! So I know I dropped “So Good To You.” literally a fucking week ago, but here is the sequel. I had this part two planned before I even WROTE part one so! I just went for it. I hope you all fucking love it, this is some of my best. I outlined it one day and then the past two I wrote this. Let’s not waste time, lets GO!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 12.1K. Stu Macher X AFAB! FORMER Ghostface Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Flashbacks. Mentions Of Past Billy/Stu and Mickey/Reader. Context Heavy. Grief. Friendship. Emotions. Crying. Angst. Intense Feelings. Mentions Of Gore, Violence, Murder. Comfort. Sex. Vaginal Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Anal Fingering. Anal Sex. Creampie. Squirting. Ghostface Role Play Not In The Way You Think. Trying To Move On.

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Stu Macher himself is standing right in front of you while you are gripping the wooden door so hard your fingers hurt, nails biting slightly into the surface as your eyes take him in. Starting at the top of his head and then down to well-worn sneakers. You know what Stu looked like, had seen tons of pictures of him over the past few years, but still, seeing him in person was completely different. He looked different too. Older yes, the events of Woodsboro were a few years ago now, but more than that, he had some scars too, you know he must have gotten them when he got that TV to the face, Sidney’s attempt to kill him apparently unsuccessful.

You hadn’t responded to his question yet, he looks at you expectantly, he isn’t pushing because he knows this is a lot to take in. He gives you a look, the slight pitching forward of his head with a raise of his eyebrows, makes you answer. “I…I don’t know why you are here, and I don’t know if I shoul-”

He cuts you off and says, “I knew Mickey. And I know what you and he did.”

Your jaw drops. He knew Mickey? He knows what you did? That is more than enough for you to invite him in, desperate to hear whatever he was going to say. You open the door wider and step to the side as you say quietly, “Come in.” Adding on quickly in an attempt to be polite, “Please.”

He gives you a smile, an upturning of his lips with no teeth but eyes unmistakably warm. Hands in his pockets, he comes inside. You close the door once he is past the threshold and follow behind. He has paused in the middle of your living room, he is looking around at your space before you say, “Uhm, this way to the kitchen.”

You lead him, and he follows into the next room, you gesture to the table, and he takes a seat, his back to the window, hands on the table-top, and you look at him as you lean against the counter. Stu Macher is at your kitchen table. What the fuck has this day turned into?

“Would you like a drink?” You ask, and he says, “Yeah, that’d be great.”

You get him a glass bottle of soda you had in the fridge and set to making yourself the cup of tea you were already planning on before he came to the door. Hot water is poured into the mug and poured over the sachet of dried leaves and spices. You are dipping the tea bag into the mug over and over, as if extending the process of making the drink would put off whatever he was going to tell you.

“You got a bottle opener?” He asked and as you look over your shoulder he says before you could respond, “Oh wait, I got it.”

Next you see the sight of him lining up the bottle’s cap with the edge of the table and smacking it just so, cap off and then taking a drink. You’d seen Mickey do the same move at countless parties and evenings with him. You push the painful memory aside. Stu tips the bottle slightly in your direction after his sip and says, “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.” You mumble as you finish making your tea, bag out, honey stirred in, you come forward and take the seat across from him.

The silence stretches between you both for a while before it becomes too much, and you finally ask, “So, what the fuck?”

He finishes his current sip and says, “Yeah, so most people think I am dead but clearly as you can see-” Bottle set down with a gesture to himself, “-I’m not.”

The tone is funny, but you don’t laugh. He expounds further. “TV to the dome wasn’t enough to kill me, but it still left its mark, fucked me up good.”

One hand comes up as his turns his head from one side to the next, fingers stroke along the line of his jaw, thumb down a particularly jagged scar on his opposite cheek. You think they suit him, look good, they don’t look angry, have started to fade, you wonder what he uses, maybe some kind of cream to lessen the severity of how they look?

His hand drops, gripping the bottom of the bottle again, he tells you, “I was brought to the hospital and had to be there for a while, but when I was well enough? I made a break for it. Got away and been lying low and on the run ever since. It’s gotten easier as time has gone on.”

Alright, makes sense and with that out of the way, next you ask, “How the hell did you find me and what are you really doing here?”

He nods like he knew this is how it would go, that you’d have a ton of questions, he explains. “I met Mickey by chance online and we started talking. Online pen pals kinda, we talked for a while, before he even went to Windsor. He kept me updated on what was going on, he talked about you a lot.”

Your heart beats harder, and you ask, “He did?”

“Yeah it was funny, I got to like kinda watch him fall in love with you from afar-” Stu saying that, Mickey falling in love with you, it hurts. You both never got the chance to say it, you wish you did, your biggest regret in life other than failing to save him, hearing it stated so plainly by someone outside of it all is unexpectedly painful.

“-he went from bitching about how annoying you were and how pissed he was to share the work, to slowly warming up to you. He got to the point of admitting your skill until he was outright gushing about you to me. That night he saw you kill in person for the first time? He sent me fucking paragraphs about it.” Stu another drink.

Mentioning you is one thing but talking about you in this detail makes you ask, “He told you about me?”

“Tons. That is part of why I’m here. See, we would talk and communicate in a…Particular kinda way, kept it vague to the outside observer, just in case our chat logs were ever discovered, you know?”

You nodded, and he said, “As we got closer to the finale’ he told me one important thing. He gave me your name. He said if after a certain time I never got another message from him again, that means he was dead.”

Holy shit.

“He asked that if that was the case, he made me promise to check in on you and make sure you were okay. He was convinced that if either of you were to die, it would be him. He would go on and on about how he’d do anything to keep you safe.”

He pauses and then says quieter, “Something I could relate to.”

Eyes glance up at you from where his thumb had been peeling the label on the bottle, he says, “So I told him of course. If he never messaged me again, if it really seemed like he was dead, I would track you down and check in.”

A deep inhale, one hand comes up, he points and says, smile back on his face as if he was impressed, “You are very, very good at hiding, by the way. It’s why it took me around a year to track you down.”

He had commitment, you had to give him that, but some deeply cynical part of you isn’t convinced. You say, “How do you know it’s really me, and you aren’t spilling a ton of sensitive information to some stranger who will turn you into the cops? I’m sure they’d love to find you and tie up that loose end.”

His smile widened, you are just like Mickey talked about. You aren’t stupid, you are cautious, careful, smart and don’t trust easily at all, not without good reason.

“He mailed me a picture. I have a PO box under an assumed name, not tied to where I live.” He pulled out his wallet, opened it and took out the picture, he passes it over with one hand as his other flips the wallet closed and there it was. You take the photo and look down at it.

A picture you and Mickey took one afternoon, it was a photo you both took leading up to your first joined kill, it was set on a timer. Both of you in your Ghostface robes, you were holding up your mask, and he was holding up his knife, both of you with an arm slung around the other’s shoulders, your eyes were closed, mouth open, big smile and mid-laugh from some stupid fucking joke he just told and his head more turned towards you, his own big smile, teeth showing, eyebrows raised and his eyes on you.

It was a great picture.

You’d looked for it among his belongings after you killed Nancy and fled the theatre and never found it. Now you knew why.

There is no way he would have gotten his hands on this picture unless everything he was saying was true. He knew Mickey. You believed him.

It makes sense to you. You can’t believe Mickey put in so much forethought and was so careful. He really did care about you. “So you really hunted me down for around a year, did God knows how much work, just to keep your promise and make sure I’m okay?”

He nodded, the smile on his face was soft and easy. “Yep. Honestly, this was the easy part, but I’ve only fulfilled my promise halfway, next is the hard part.”

“The hard part?” You asked as he leaned forward on the table, bottle of soda forgotten, his forearms and asked, his expression more serious, concerned, “So. How are you doing?”

You had been trying to do better, trying to be doing okay but now, seeing him, all the added and extra effort Mickey put in before he passed to make sure you’d be alright. You decide that no, you aren’t okay, and you haven’t been okay in the more than a year he’d been gone. You are looking down, tears building in your eyes to the point that you can’t see, everything is blurry. His hand reaches out and takes your mug. It makes your head jerk up, he says in explanation, “You were gripping it so hard I was worried you were going to break it.”

He sets it aside to join his soda and finally, the dam breaks, hot tears spill down your cheeks, and you inhale sharply, a sniff, and you admit very quietly in your wrecked voice, “I’m not doing good. I’m not okay.”

Your head drops, and you sob, you feel his hand brush yours again, and he says simply, “It’s okay to not be okay. Especially right now.”

That afternoon, you and Stu talk until you feel like you might lose your voice. Stu tells you that you aren’t alone in this, he told you about his relationship with Billy, that it went beyond friendship and partners in crime. You weren’t shocked, you knew too well that the relationship between two people who killed together was deeper than any traditional or more superficial bond, them being together in that way made sense to you, it endears him to you. He truly gets it. You listen.

They’d been friends for years and years, always there for each other, supported each other. Then the affair happened. You already knew about that from Nancy. That Marueen fucked her husband and broke apart their family, she ran, and then sought out revenge for Billy after his death, found you and Mickey and the rest, but now? You got to hear the other side of it. Nancy was angry, blamed Sidney and her family of course, but also, she blamed Stu. Nancy used to say, “That Macher boy dragged my Billy down a dark path.”

He laughs a little as he said next, “She used to like me! Was nice when I was a kid, she liked Billy and I being friends.”

You smile and say lightly, “Yeah, she isn’t like that any longer, she said you led her precious boy astray.”

He laughs louder at that, one word saying a lot, “Hardly.”

“What was the truth?”

He shrugs and admits, “We both had this thing of kinda feeding into each other when we were together, we’d get into these habits of hyping each other up and getting the other into trouble. Ideas made sense when we were together, we’d do things that we’d never do solo. Billy made the first joke about us killing Marueen and I didn’t discourage it. I went along with it, and it went from there.”

The rest is spilled rapidly, “We planned, we killed her, and we didn’t feel bad about it either. It was…Exhilarating, a massive rush. We ran all the way back to my place, and we kissed for the first time, and then we were together.”

God, this hurt to hear because of ground it made you think of what you had with Mickey, but also because you knew the story he was telling you with Billy wasn’t going to end well. You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He tells you for the next year he and Billy were together in secret, worked on the plan, and got ready to finish the thing. Obviously, as you know, it didn’t go well. Billy died, Stu almost did and ran.

You ask, quietly, “Where’d you end up?”

He looks sad, he has been looking that way the past few minutes while recounting this to you, and he says with his far off look in his eye, “Oh it isn’t important.”

You drop it.

The silence has returned. You speak up first, “So it’s been…A few years since that.”

He nods and admits as if it was a sad and hushed confession, a terrible truth that he hated but one he could do nothing about to change, “Yeah. Few years since I lost him.”

His hand moves tentatively, takes yours carefully and tells you, “This is why I knew I had to come here, that I had to be present and able to give you support because…I’ve been in your exact same position. Alone and scared after losing the one person who understood me better than anyone. Billy knew me best, and losing him how I did was awful. Losing him at all would have been terrible, but this? It wrecked me, almost destroyed me. I was, still am, grieving in a lotta ways.”

He inhales deeply and continues, a squeeze of your hand that is so reassuring, “I know the sheer crushing pain and isolation, I had to do it all by myself for years and I don’t want you to have to do the same. I came here because I want to be here, I want to help you through this time.”

This is so impossibly sweet. Stu understands you totally, he might be the only one who can. After listening to him tell you about Billy, the look he would get on his face, you knew what they had was as real and as deep as what you and Mickey did. Your heart goes out to him, the thought of him having to do what you are all alone for years. You were already being crushed by your own grief, you can’t imagine what he feels. He had has to experience even more isolation because he has to hide from everyone, can’t get caught, or he will be thrown in jail, no friends, no companionship at all, he is taking a massive trusting risk by seeking you out to fulfill his promise to Mickey.

You say it without thinking, “I want to help you too. I don’t want this to be one way, I want to know about Billy and want to help you out.”

“You really want that?” His smile was back, you return it, you squeeze his hand this time and tell him sincerely, “Yes really. The least I can do, we should help each other out.”

His eyes search yours, as if checking to make sure that you were being truthful and this was on the up and up. “Okay, okay, if you are sure, then we are in this together.”

“So. If that is the case, I supposed I should tell you about Mickey.”

He already knew some things, but not everything. You spilled your guts about the betrayal of what Nancy did. “They were both on the stage, doing the big song and dance, talking to and taunting Sidney. I hadn’t come out yet, they hadn’t mentioned me yet. I was waiting for my cue, but Sid just riled her up and she then she-”

This next part was hard. You inhaled and looked away from Stu, “...Shot him.”

Stu gasped, and you press on, “He looked so shocked. The holes in his chest spilled so much blood, he clutched at the wounds, and I watched his body fall back off the stage into the band pit.”

Stu is pissed for you. “I cannot fucking believe her! She drags you both to that school and makes you work together, gets you all tied up in each other's lives just to do her fucking revenge and dirty work for her, and she just-”

Stu ends up having to get up. He paces as he tells you, “Who does she think she is?! And she has the balls to say that I fucked up her son? She is a disgusting, heartless bitch!”

You agree. Seeing him so upset on your behalf is nice, being validated is more needed than you knew previously. You tell him, “Was.”

He turns back to you, that is right, was, you took care of her, and you told him all about it. “So, next I ran out there, knocked Sidney out with the butt of my gun and I just…I just yelled at her.”

You tell him about what you said, and she said, about how you shot out her knee, beat her face in and eventually stabbed her to death. He’d stopped pacing, was just listening to you describe the utter brutality you committed while staring down at your fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms. He comes back to the couch, he sits next to you, an arm wraps around your shoulders, and he says, “I am so sorry she took him from you.”

“Thanks Stu.” You say quietly, your hands open, and your eyes stay down, and then he says, “Also. Not trying to critique your work, but you coulda been wayyyy more brutal when you took her out.”

You laugh and lean your head against him. “Yeah, it was better than she deserved, I should have skinned her alive.”

He comforts you that afternoon, it’s sweet.

That is how it starts. Your strange friendship with the intent of being there for each other on getting past this. Stu and you would start with a weekly hangout. He would come by on one of your days off or for dinner, and you’d check in with each other and talk about how you were doing. Not every time was sad and dour. A lot of the time was light and nice. You’d share and swap good and positive times, fun stories back and forth.

Your friendship grew quickly due to the secrets shared, you bonded scarily fast, but you didn’t question it. You’d been alone for so long, you hadn’t tried to get close to anyone, didn’t make any new friends at your new college, you were most of the way through your degree and just had not bothered. You didn’t know how much you had missed contact and being around other people until you started to see Stu regularly.

Not all your hang-outs were centred around talking, over time you started to do other things in between the conversations, like tonight was movie night.

It's late. You and Stu are on your couch. Takeout boxes on the coffee table, the TV on but the VHS tape having hit its end, the pair of you illuminated by the blue light. The sun had gone down since you'd started watching, but neither of you had gotten up to go turn a light on. Both of you sit side-saddle on the couch, facing each other. You were talking quietly. "How about that first time you sleep in their bed with them?"

Stu saying it makes your first sleepover with Mickey launch into your brain. Warm sun on your face, tangled limbs and soft sheets. You prompt him, "God, yeah. Tell me about yours."

You listen as Stu shares, your hand finding his, thumb over the back of his hand as you soak it in, the casual physical affection especially during times of sharing just sort of happened, it wasn’t a conscious thing, it felt effortless.

“We’d had sleepovers lots over the years, sure, but the first one that felt like it meant something, the first time we really shared a bed as opposed to being on the floor in sleeping bags, happened shortly after that first conversation after his mom left.”

He told you more, “We hung out a lot after she left, he didn’t want to be alone, and one night, one really rough night, he didn’t want to go home. So he didn’t. He slept over in my bed.”

You ask, “How was it?”

His head cocks slightly to the side, half smile as he looks up and to the side, as if lost in the recollection of it, “Kinda awkward at first, honestly. We were separated, almost like we were afraid to touch each other, but eventually we fell asleep. When I woke up partway through the night, he was almost wrapped around me. It felt nice. I fell back asleep quickly. I woke up in the morning, and he was still passed out, arms still around me, and when he finally came to, he didn’t move away.”

He tells you that it happened more regularly after that.

“What about you?” He asked, and you smiled as you divulged.

“It was after our first kill together. We’d hooked up prior to that, but I never crashed at his place, always went back to mine or him to his, but that night, we just were practically glued together. We were on his couch, shared a shower, then on his bed. We’d passed out in the early hours of the morning when the high finally wore off. I woke up in his bed and curled up with him, we both slept in and missed our morning class and said fuck it, got breakfast out.”

Stu asked with a grin, “What’d you have?”

It was so unexpected you laughed, it took you a moment, but you said, “I had waffles with fresh fruit and whipped cream. He had a breakfast skillet. We gave each other bites of the other’s food, it was like sweet and savoury merging, it was really fucking good.”

“It sounds really fucking good.”

It truly was. Just like time with Stu was.

“Did you and Billy ever go out on dates?” You asked one afternoon. You had the day off and Stu was in the kitchen of your place while you are making lunch for you both, you are layering ham on top of cheese on well buttered bread, and he responds, “Not really, mostly we had dates in cuz we had to keep it quiet. Lots of movie nights over pizza and cheap beer.”

You hum in acknowledgement as you shake salt and pepper over the meat before putting on the top slice of bread. You press them down, tooth pics put through the layers of lettuce, meat and more, and then cutting the sandwiches diagonally. You set them on plates and then open a bag of chips, a handful on your plate and then his before you start to bring them over to the table. “Shame you couldn’t actually go out.”

“Well. We did once.” He said, as he pushed off the counter and came to his usual spot he took at your table, back to the window. You sit across from him and tug your plate closer, “Shit, really? Okay, so spill.”

He took your encouragement and told you that he and Billy went to the drive in together once. “Parked carefully and away from most people, picked a quiet night the place was more dead, couldn’t be as close as we wanted, but we held hands low below the dash while we watched The Shining.”

You know they probably would have preferred not having to sneak around, but something about it strikes you as painfully romantic, maybe because it reminded you of what you had with Mickey and your own adventures in hiding that side from everyone else.

“Sounds nice.” You admit, and he smiles, “It was.”

Next, he naturally asked, “What about you?”

“Yeah, Mickey and I mostly had to sneak around, but if we went far enough off campus we could have dates out.” A sigh before you crunch down on a chip. “Our first official, real date, after we got together, was so painfully us. It was his idea.”

“What was?” He asked with a smile as he scoops up half his sandwich, “He told me to get dressed up, like real dressed up, and we went to this nice ass restaurant in town. It was probably the nicest dinner out I ever had, he said money was nothing to worry about. I kept asking where he got the money to pay for this, did he scam some outta Mrs.Loomis, but he wouldn’t tell me!”

You remember it well. You wore the one nice dress you owned and brought with you, did your hair and make-up extra well and carefully, he picked you up and told you that you were a complete knock-out with that devastating smile of his. He looked similarly good, you didn’t know he owned a button-up shirt like that, let alone a tie or blazer. You went out, you ate, you laughed and made merry and then, the meal winds down, and he looks across the dirty dessert plates and the nice wine red table cloth. His eyes are alight, sparkling with mischief as he asked low, “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” You asked softly, and he took your hand as he asks in a playful tone, “Ready to run?”

“Run? Wait, Mickey, what do you mean ru-” He gets up, his hand gripping yours tightly he tugs you hard, yanks you onto your feet, the napkin in your lap hits the floor, and he is taking off, dragging you with him. A laugh breaks out as your other hand goes out to your side to try and keep yourself upright as you attempt to run in your heels after his lead without stumbling.

A weaving through tables and past a waiter who is almost knocked over, and you are out the door and onto the street outside, cool air hits your face as he doesn’t slow. He leads you down a few nearby alleys until you are a few streets over. You stop and are trying to catch your breath. You let go of his hand and push on his chest, breathless and laughing still, “Dining and dashing Mickey, are you serious?!”

“C’mon! Don’t give me that, you had fun.” You sigh as his hands fall to your hips, and you agree, a nod as you exhale out, “Yeah, I did.”

He leaned in and kissed you, a hum as you return it. Mouths break apart, still mere inches from each other, he asks, “Memorable first date?”

“To say the least.” You confessed and then you kissed him again.

“Committing murders together isn’t enough? You gotta do petty crimes on your dates too?” Stu asked, and you giggled, “I asked him the same thing later, basically. It wasn’t all our dates, but I would be lying if I told you everything we did together other than the murder was above board.”

A different night, you are having another conversation, on your couch, melting sorbet in bowls in your laps. You and Stu were channel surfing aimlessly. “You loved Billy, right?”

Stu glanced over to you, and you kept your eyes on the TV. He said, “Yeah. So much.”

“How did you know that you did?” You asked, and he said, “I think part of me always did. There wasn’t some big, grand moment. It was just like…A fact, the same way any other fact is. The sky is above me, the ground is beneath my feet, a knife feels right in my hand. And I love Billy.”

You don’t say those words. You can’t, but you do say, “I think I knew…When he and I had this sleepover when we were getting close to our finale’.”

Eyes drift from a cheesy made for TV movie to Stu. He looked comfortable. One elbow propped on the arm of the couch and his hand resting on the side of his face, body partly turned to you, bowl cradled in his opposite hand, and you tell him, “We had done another kill earlier. Had this wild and frantic hook-up near the body that was-there are no words for how good it was, honestly, but after that, later that night, I crashed at his place.”

You are in Mickey’s bed. You are in one of his t-shirts and your underwear, one sock on and one off, curled up in wrinkled sheets when you slowly start to wake. You feel his hand in your hair, playing with it, gently and cautiously stroking, fingertips brush down the curve of your cheek. He is speaking so low you can barely hear. Nearly inaudible you strain and don’t stir, you make him think you are still asleep and you listen.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real. It’s crazy how close we were to never meeting.”

He is humming a tune, some song you can’t place but wish that you could, you hope one day on the radio you’ll hear the song that melody is from and that small mystery would be solved. You could listen to that song and it could be yours and his. You and Mickey never did decide on a song to be “your song”. Mickey’s thumb brushes gently under your eye as he says, “I’m so happy you came into my life.”

You felt overjoyed. You don’t let on. You never told Mickey you heard him tell you that, pretended you remained asleep, and you laid there and listened until you really did fall asleep once more.

You are back on the couch. No longer in the warm safety of Mickey’s bed in the memory you’d been recounting. You are shivering without realizing, the absence of his heat next to you makes you feel too cold., sorbet is put aside, you aren’t hungry anymore A blanket is thrown over your lap and Stu had moved closer, adjusting, so you are both under the soft plaid and plush material. You lean into Stu and tell him softly, “I miss him.”

“I miss him too.” Stu sighs. You know he means Billy, but know that he means Mickey too. It helps, knowing that he knew Mickey, even through a screen and chat room talks and e-mails, he knew him and lost a friend when you lost your partner in crime and fellow Ghostface.

You and Stu have been growing closer all the time. All the fun times as well as the deep emotional sharing was bonding you more, the platonic hangouts and affection you share is becoming decidedly less and less so. The looks are not so innocent, the touches linger longer than before and happen more often, as if you are using any excuse possible to be able to have hands on each other. You had been seeing Stu in this context for months, and all of this has been steadily bubbling and building beneath the surface.

He is so fucking funny, he always brings a smile to your face during hard days, he remembers the little things, kind gestures often happen, and he is there for you. He makes you feel heard and most importantly, understood. How could you not get a little crush on him?

The crush doesn’t stay so little, but you don’t share it, you think it would be inappropriate. You are supposed to be friends, recovery buddies, confide in each other and help process your grief. You and he had talked about nearly everything, the good, the bad, you’ve laughed, you cried. You can’t lose him too by pushing this and fucking it all up so as much as you’ve thought about saying literally anything, instead, you say nothing that lets on to this.

You hadn’t seen Stu for a bit. The past week he’d been completely absent, it wasn’t unusual because sometimes you both got a bit busy, but you were finally free and wanted to see him, so you called up the number Stu gave you for his cell. It rang, and it rang but eventually, he picked up the greeting was more of a groan or a hum then a bright hello that you might typically hear from him.

“Hey Stu, was just calling to check in, see if you wanted to come over, hang out. I was going to do homemade Chinese like you like for dinner tonight.” It is very quiet. No response. Dead air for a while, you wonder if the call is dropped, and he eventually speaks and says, “No, thanks. I’m just…Gonna stay home today. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

He sounded really, really sad, more than sad, tired, utterly depressed. You speak tentatively, “Oh, okay. I could, come over if you want?”

More silence. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Bye.”

The phone cuts, he’s hung up. You stare at the phone in your hand and something doesn’t feel right. You get up and get yourself together.

You’d been to Stu’s place a few times. Most of your hangouts were at your place, but a few times you’d picked Stu up to go somewhere or dropped him back. You get there within the hour and knock on his door. There is no answer. You knock again and call out, “Stu?”

A groan comes from behind the door, after a moment the door opens and Stu is standing in front of you, looking rougher than you’ve ever seen. He is still in his pyjamas and has a comforter around his shoulders, his cheeks look raw, eyes red rimmed and glassy. “Woah, holy fucking shit, are you okay?”

A shake of his head and he steps away from the door, he doesn’t urge you to follow, but you do, closing the door once inside, you trail after him. Stu walks to his couch and flops down. There are empty boxes of takeout and snacks, bags of chips and whatever else, you think this is where Stu has been this week, glued to his couch. You stand in front of him and look over the scene.

There is that damn silence again, stretching between you, and before you can ask, he says, “Today’s the day.”

It takes a second to click. It’s the anniversary of their plan failing, the anniversary of his life becoming totally fucked, and of course, the anniversary of Billy’s death. He didn’t tell you the date, but he didn’t have to, the day was burned into your brain and has been since before you came to Windsor, before you ever met Mickey. You’d been caught up, you’d started your last year of college, between that and your job and life you hadn’t paid attention to the date. You should have noticed, been more sensitive, he shouldn’t have needed to ask for help because you should have stepped up. As soon as the calendar turned over to September, you should have realized.

You crouch in front of him, hands on his knees, you look up at him and say, “I am so sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.” He says, his voice sounds rough, and you say, “No, I’m sorry for not paying attention better. I should have been here this whole week.”

“No you shouldn’t have, this is why I was staying away because-” He inhales shakily, eyes close, and he forces out, “I’ve gotten so, so much better but this week and this fucking day, I just, I become a total mess.”

He pushes the comforter off his shoulders, lets it pool near his hips. Eyes open and hands raise, gesturing to the mess around the living room, but he can’t meet your gaze, “Like look at this shit?! It’s pathetic! I can’t take care of myself when I’m like this, I’m a fucking wreck and it’s embarrassing! I should be past this, but I still just- this fucking week! I can’t-”

His voice trails off, and it looks like he might cry if he keeps talking. You hate seeing him like this. You reach up, your hands take his as you remain crouched before him, you hold his hands in yours and say, “Stu. It’s okay. Grief it…It isn’t linear and it isn’t easy. It’s okay for this week to be hard no matter how long it’s been, it’s okay to be upset and messy sometimes and this is WHY I want to be here.”

A squeeze of his hands and you continue, “We are supposed to be supporting each other through this shit and I want to be here for the difficult stuff like this! Not just the fun conversations and the good stories, like the time you and Billy became obsessed with the subcategory of holiday themed horror movies and watched nothing but for a whole month.”

He laughs wetly at the memory, a weak smile on his lips, “You really remember that shit?”

“Dude. Yes. You told me the plots to all five movies in the Silent Night Deadly Night franchise, you don’t just forget that.” After that, you say, “So. I’m telling you. I want to be here. I want to help. Let me help Stu, please?”

Seeing him like this breaks your heart. He nods and says, “Okay, yes. Please, that would be…Amazing. I think I need the help.”

Admitting this is hard, and you know it, but you are thankful and impressed that he is able to accept your assistance.

You are there for him all day and you don’t leave his side. You make sure he eats some good food. You do some laundry for him, change his bedsheets, sweep, vacuum and you listen. He wants to talk and you let him. Eventually he passes out on the couch, and you cover him up and let him nap. You clean his kitchen and when he wakes up you’ve made lunch. You sit at the table with him and once he’s eaten you get him into a shower and into clean clothing. You support, and you comfort him, you attempt to pour all the energy he had into you the past few months for you, back into him.

It is near dinner time. You and he were on the couch, the place was back in order, he was clean and looking a little more like himself. You were contemplating what to do for dinner when his hand is on your thigh. Eyes flit to him, and he says, “Hey, I just wanted to say, thank you for today. You did so much for me and I appreciate it more than I can say.”

He gives you this half smile and says, “Mickey was so, so lucky to have you as his partner in crime.”

It happens quickly.

Today has proven to be too much for you. The closeness, caring for him, the vulnerability and yes all the months spent in this complicated emotionally intimate context makes you move forward. One hand cups his face, a thumb traces that same jagged scar he did the day he showed up at your door, the memory is as clear as crystal. Stu across from you at your kitchen table, warm afternoon sun shining in from the window at his back, the indentation feels softer and deeper than anticipated, just like Stu himself you supposed. Deeper and softer than the outside shows. You’d moved closer, you lean in and you kiss him.

You’d been thinking about this for a long while but had been so resistant. When he kisses you back immediately, you wonder why you ever doubted this.

It’s slow, a little nervous, you hadn’t kissed anyone since Mickey, you don’t know the last time he kissed anybody. Shit, you should have asked, this feels so good, but you have to stop. You move back, break the kiss and his hands are on your arms, a shake of his head, and he mutters, “Not yet.”

He drags you back to be against him and kisses you, deeper than before, and you melt into it. After another minute of his lips sliding against yours, he is pulling back with a sigh, “Okay.”

You nod, feeling a little fucking dumb from how good that kiss was. You echoed, “Okay.”

A pause, a tension heavy beat.

You speak again, anxiety overtaking you, rushed out, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs, a shake of his head as he says, “Don’t be. It was really nice.”

While that was lovely to hear you, it doesn’t fix your anxiety, you tell him, “I still should have talked to you first. I should have asked.” You push, and his hands fall away as he says, “It’s okay. I can’t tell you how long it’s been for me, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

“Yeah?” You ask, and he nods, confessing, “Yeah, I’ve pushed that part of myself down for way too long.”

You could understand and agree with him there.

So what did this mean?

You have a deep conversation and the conclusion of it is neither of you want to be alone, you want to try and move on together, you think that both Mickey and Billy would want that for you.

“So. What do you want to do tonight?” You asked, and the sun was down now, the conversation ran long, neither of you had dinner, and he says, “I’m not sure.”

You asked, “How about pizza, some movies and cheap beer?”

He grins and says, “I’d love that.”

You go out, grab some tapes, a large pizza and some beer and come back to him. You and he eat too much pizza, crush some cans of beer and laugh over the comedy movies you’d picked out, horror felt like it’d hit a little too close to home.

At way past midnight, you share another kiss at his door, softer than the last one, and you go home.

The pair of you start to see each other in a romantic and sexual context after that night, as opposed to just a friend/grief helper context. The dates were low-key. The progression is slow, neither of you are in a rush. Kisses hello and goodbye aren’t enough, soon they happen more often, scattered throughout your hangouts, or dates now, you supposed, and they got longer until they could be classified as actually making out.

By the time you do go there and actually have sex, you’d been seeing each other in this way for over two months before it happens. You’d been getting progressively handsier, but nothing crazy, one night it just happens. The make out doesn’t stop where it normally would, clothes are thrown aside, and it feels shockingly natural, you fit together pretty well.

You’d missed this, being held, kissed, touched, allowing yourself to be seen in this way, to feel good, giving yourself permission to be intimate and to feel pleasure and to be desired, and my God did he make you feel those things. You felt much more satisfied than the battery operated help you’d invested in after being alone for so long. He was still concerned even during this, a hand between your thighs, fingers curling inside he asks, “Is this okay?”

And your back arches with a gasp of, “Yes, fuck, Stu don’t stop-”

Yeah, you got the hang of each other physically pretty quickly.

Dates with Stu are fun. You cook together, watch movies, late night walks, whatever feels right, one very fun afternoon you, and he learned how to make snicker doodles because they are Stu’s favourite cookie, but he never learned how to make them himself.

You feel happier than you have in a long time. You are making new memories with Stu and it’s good.

But it doesn’t feel quite right.

You are both holding back and you both know it.

Neither of you acknowledge it for a while. It’s like you are both too afraid to let yourselves love again or move on, that it might be disrespectful to Billy or Mickey, that it might make this harder.

Eventually, you do force yourselves to talk.

When you do you come to a big realization, that you both never got to say goodbye, and you think that is what is making you cling to the past a bit too much. You need to move on. Move forward. It’s been multiple years now for both of you.

So how to do this?

A plan is drafted. You and Stu are going to help each other have the goodbyes you always should have. You talk nearly endlessly about what you want to have happen during these goodbyes, endless talk of, “He would say this-” or “He always used to-”

You both listen to each other and plan to make this as good as humanly possible for the other.

Stu gets to have his first because well, fuck, you want to do it for him, and he has been waiting for so, fucking, long.

You take your time getting ready. You put on jeans and a belt, you bind your chest, you lace up the boots you’d gotten special and had been wearing out and about when not around Stu, giving them some wear and tear, scuffing them up on purpose to make them look lived in. On went the robe, and then you are holding the mask in your hands. It’s Stu’s mask. His and Billy’s are slightly different from yours and Mickey’s. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror and sigh, you slip it on and the hood comes up, gloves are put on, and you look at yourself.

You didn’t think you’d ever wear this costume again in your life and yet, here you were, doing it for him. You didn’t look like you, the boot made you taller, with your chest taped down like this, you look a lot more, ambiguous, which is honestly kind of the point when being Ghostface, it could be anyone right?

Stu comes back about twenty minutes after you are ready. He calls hello, comes in with the bag of takeout in his grip, he comes into the kitchen to find you and the sight makes his heart stop.

You’d talked a lot about what day it should be, he knew it was today, knew he’d come home to find you like this in his apartment, but still, it didn’t prepare him. The food is forgotten, he’s dropped the bag on the nearby counter as he takes in the sight of you in the full costume.

You are at the kitchen table, in a pose you’d seen Billy have in a few pictures Stu has shown you of him way back when. You emulated the look perfectly, you are sort of leaning back in the chair, one boot is propped up on the table's edge, voice changer is in one hand, big hunting knife in the other. You’d set yourself up to be facing the door when he came in, his eyes are wide and locked on you.

His expression is heart-wrenching. You can’t fail him, you are emboldened, you want to do this for him even more. Heal what is hurt in him. You bring up the small device and click it on, speaking into it, “Hey Stu.”

Cool modulated voice fills the air and you see how his breath catches. Fists clench, and he swallows thickly, he looks glued to the spot as he responds, “Hey man, what…What’s up?”

You ask, or you suppose to Stu, Billy asks, “You ready for tonight?”

Stu looks almost like he might be sick, sweat is visible on his forehead, he nods, “Yeah, yeah man.”

You don’t let up, you ask, “Gonna get geared up?”

Stu says quietly, fingers playing with the bottom hem of his sweater, “Yeah, soon I will.”

He comes forward finally, closer and closer, he reaches out slowly, carefully, like he can’t believe it, a hand finally rests on your shoulder. He’d never seen you in your costume live and in person, and you think that is better, makes this fantasy work the way it should for him. You’d thought a lot about what to say based off what Stu told you about him, so you take a small risk, “You alright? You look like you’ve seen a Ghost.”

The tone sounds gleeful even through the modulation and he laughs, or sobs? Something caught in the no man's land between. “Yeah man sorry, just, missed you.”

“Missed me? It’s been all of a few hours.”

He breaks. His grip tightens, head drops forward, and he says, “No it’s not. It’s been over four fucking years.”

You’d agreed to pretend like this was before the party, but he can’t keep the act. He wants to talk to Billy in the context of the time he has been gone, and you cannot deny him that.

You respond as softly as you can through the voice changer, “I know it has been. It must have been hard. It must have been lonely. I’m sorry I can’t be here for you anymore. Sorry, it shook out the way it did.”

He sniffs and says, “S’ not your fault, I don’t blame you.”

Stu sinks to his knees, your boot comes off the table's edge and onto the ground and his arms wrap around your middle, he hugs you tightly, face burying in the neck of your robe near the hood. He inhales and almost chokes, you did something extra to surprise him, you remembered a small detail, the scent Billy would like to wear, you bought a bottle. It clearly has the desired effect. He curls closer. Your knife is placed on the table, the hand that isn’t working the voice changer comes around, rubs over his back as you lean into him, “I can still be sorry, even if you think it isn’t my fault.”

“Not more sorry than I am. So fucking sorry I didn’t hold on to the gun, so fucking sorry I didn’t protect you.” He is rambling out apologies, and you let him as you stroke his back and mumble out reassurances that you don’t blame him, that it’s all okay.

He tires himself out. He holds you, and it’s quiet for a while after that. Just him holding you, and he says finally, “Can I tell you about what it’s been like?”

You nod.

He talks, tells you in even more detail than he previously confessed about the hardships he faced while Billy was dead and gone. He cries, you listen. He talks about the fear when he was on the run, the guilt, how long he was in bed, the days when depression was crushing the life out of him and the pressure he feels to live extra hard for the both of you now.

You comfort him further, one hand holding his as you tell him, “If I could make the pain go away, if I could go back, if I could say fuck the plan, if I could make grab your hand and say let’s say fuck this town and run. I would in a heartbeat.”

It gets physical after that. Very physical. He can’t hold back any longer, he kisses you through the mask, and it feels frantic and needy. He tugs at the robes, and you return the effort through the thin barrier of the rubber, trying to provide affection back in a way he can feel.

You and he end up in his bed. You are face down in the sheets, your robe is pulled up, jeans yanked down just past the curve of your ass, he is behind you, cold lube slick fingers preparing you. There isn’t any talking during this point, he has two fingers deep, curling, scissoring, opening you up, and you remember the one time you and Mickey did this.

This is more rushed but that is fine, the time you and Mickey did was slow, methodical, one of the more leisurely and passionate times you had with him. You were spooning, he kissed your throat and shoulder, let you back up onto him and you both rocked together. One of your hands holding your leg up, under your knee, his hand between your bodies, playing with your clit as he had you. Mickey was very into it, mumbling praise into your neck the whole time, he’d gotten off on the idea absurdly hard, you weren’t a virgin, but you’d never done anal before him and he was all but giddy to be the first.

You hadn’t really done anything else like that since him, except until you were leading up to this night, you’d done some serious prep work.

During your planning phase you and Stu talked endlessly about this, the idea of having one last fuck to say goodbye to your respective partners, and so you wanted to give him the best time you possibly could.

Once you are ready, slick and open, Stu’s fingers leave, you hear the click of the top of the bottle of lube, an ample amount poured into his hand. The sound of wet skin on skin is behind you, he jacks himself, coats his dick, and then you feel it, hard and hot, his head pressed to your throbbing hole. The breathless question is asked, “Ready?”

You answer him, “Always.”

Hips push forward, you give way, he slides inside with a long moan. “Fucks sake Billy.”

He holds himself inside, you wonder if it is to help you adjust or to prevent himself from cumming immediately. He slowly begins to move, hips pull back before pushing forward again, making you take more on each thrust until he is bottoming out. His pace doesn’t stay slow for long. “I missed this so much, missed you so fucking much.”

You are moaning back, finger basically locked onto the button of the voice changer, not wanting to break the spell or shatter his illusion. It’s messy. It’s rough. It feels incredible. His hands start off on your hips. He fucks into you, harder and harder, the ache and burn is satisfying, but it is slowly bleeding, shifting into pleasure with every passing moment.

“So tight, s’ like you’re strangling me-” He groaned as he pitches forward, his chest to your back, he rocks into you. One hand around your middle, the other gripping the headboard he was currently railing into you. “I love you so fucking much, Billy.”

You moan incoherently in response, you wish you could say it back, but you just can’t, he doesn’t press. In a few short minutes of him having you, of dirty talk and praise, apologies and promises you feel it build, you are going to cum untouched. The way your legs are together, how your underwear is bunched up, his rough pace and the friction on your clit is just enough to make it work. You cum with a shudder, clenching rhythmically around him with a gasping cry. The high is short but so sweet, the peak of it is sharp, the sex isn’t long, but the emotion poured into it more than makes up for that. You feel wet, sweat and slick down your thighs, tears on your face under the mask as the feeling of tonight has gotten to you too, and he tells you he’s close.

You’ve barely come down yourself.

“Shit, cah-can’t hold it, gonna, gonna cum, fuck, fuck-” And with a few more frantic and sloppy thrusts he does. His hips stuttering and then holds to the root and cums deep, you moan into the changer, his name and Stu shivers from the sheer force of his climax.

You stay like that long after he’s totally spilled inside of you, hunched together and panting. Slowly, eventually, he pulls out, he kisses the back of your neck and brings you down with him, spoons you, and eventually he starts to get sleepy. He is whispering sweet nothing's, telling you over and over he loves you, or rather, he loves Billy, is gonna miss him, and that he is never ever gonna forget him.

“I still make those sandwiches you like sometimes when we were kids, you know? Peanut butter and banana and honey. Tastes like home and they help on hard days. I make two sometimes as if you’re still here.”

Your heart aches for him.

You give him some more comfort,”Stu I appreciate you so much, but you can’t hang onto me forever. You have to move on with your life eventually.”

Stu sighs and cuddles into you closer as he says softly, “I know, man.”

Before he gets too tired, he says, “You don’t gotta worry about me, M’ not alone anymore.”

He means you. He is talking about you.

“She takes great care of me. You’d love her.”

He is half asleep by this point, totally worn out. “I’m glad you’re not alone anymore.”

“Me too.” You’ve rolled over partway through your conversation, and you are looking at his tired face, eyes closed. You pull your mask up enough to kiss him, you lean in, press your lips to his, he lazily returns it. You reluctantly pull back after a moment, and he says tiredly, “Bye, Billy.”

“Bye Stu.”

He passes out. When he wakes up, you are yourself again. You’d carefully untangled yourself from him and gotten cleaned up, out of the costume and tucked it away before coming back to cuddling him before you, equally exhausted, passed out. He wakes in the early morning light to you with him.

He is in a fantastic mood after that. He is so happy, he is already a very up and happy guy usually but even more so, he feels free, not weighed down, uninhibited. You and he do even better. There are more dates, more good memories, just great times together that make you feel even better about what you did and what you were able to give to him.

The question comes up, it isn’t a question of if you still want to. It's when.

While sitting there at the table, you said, “Next week.”

And he nods and echos, “Next week it is.”

You do it at your place.

It is a similar set-up. You come home from class to find him in the outfit. In a position that you’d seen Mickey in once. Him cleaning a knife in the kitchen sink, you don't know what he is washing off of it, but it looks convincing enough to be blood. You lean against the doorway and watch him. Your heart hurts. Was this how it felt for Stu when you did this for him?

Would you be able to fall into the fantasy? Would you be able to really believe it is Mickey and not Stu?

Your knuckles knock against the wood of the door frame and that makes his head jerk up, the mask turns, he sees you, the knife is set aside, hands dried on a dish towel and modulator picked up he talks, he says your name and all thoughts of Stu fall away. It is like you are rocketed back well over a year ago, back with Mickey standing five strides away from you.

Happiness and relief, floods you as well as anxiety, pain, so much all at once. You focus on joy, unending joy.

You fall back into it too easily, asking in a joking tone, “What are you still doing in that outfit?”

“What? Am I not allowed to revel?” He bantered it back so easily, and you feel warm. “You can revel out of the robe.”

You start crossing to him. You reach out, hands lock on his arms, and you feel him through the robe, You sigh, eyes fall closed, and the contact makes it hard to keep the mood light. You feel so heavy.

You speak honestly, the first thing that came to mind, just like Stu, you can’t pretend like it’s before it all happened. “I missed you.”

“I know. I missed you too.”

Your arms wrapped around him. You hug yourself to him, his hands settle on your waist the same way Mickey’s hands always did. He smells like he always did. You want to cry. You hold yourself back. “I can’t believe that bitch killed you. Took you from me.”

He hums sympathetically, and you go on, “I used to want to thank her, for introducing us, it never would have happened without her but now I just, I hate her so much. I killed her. For you. I beat her face in and blew her kneecap out, stabbed her more times than I think I could count, but it wasn’t enough.”

You sigh, your forehead rests on his chest. “No torture would have been a good enough revenge and retaliation.”

He comforts you, and it’s strange, he is using the voice changer, but it is like you are hearing Mickey’s voice, not Ghostface’s you wonder if the same thing applied to Stu earlier? Did he hear Billy when you spoke?

“Hey, hey, don’t say that, I am sure it was fucking brutal.” You laugh wetly, a nod as you say, “Yeah, it was, it really was. The sound her knee made when I ground my boot into it was fucking nasty.”

“Damn right it was, that’s my girl.” It was quiet for a while. You speak up first yet again, “It was hard being away from you.”

“Talk to me about it.”

You do. You talk about how hard it was, that you couldn’t finish at Windsor, that you had to transfer to a totally different school. You talk about how isolated you were, that you remained alone, and that you were so fucking sad.

You were set to graduate this year, and you told him doing that at Windsor wasn’t right, “Doing it without you feels wrong.”

He tells you, “You have to. You can’t put your life on hold for me forever.”

He is right, and you know he is right, and what is more is that you realize you don’t want to. You are ready to move on. Doing this was the right call.

“I found the note by the way.” You say quietly.

After you left the theatre you went to his room, intent on getting your things you’d left, taking them back and grabbing some of his things for keepsakes. You wear your gloves and you are careful. Among his things you find a note, he made a change of plan, he was going to double-cross Nancy before she did it to him first. He was going to say fuck the plan, the motive, he was going to let her take the fall and you, and he were going to be able to be together.

You sob on the floor of Mickey’s apartment. You mourn the loss of your future and what could have been. You also find something else in his stuff, he’d started a scrapbook for your shared killings, you of course take it along with anything else incriminating that might tie you to him and the crime. You’ve kept the scrapbook and showed Stu it before.

Stu, no, Mickey, you are in his arms, he apologizes that he can’t be there.

“I’ve been so fucking lonely, but it’s been better lately. Thanks to you, I met this…This amazing guy, he kept his promise to you, he’s been here with me making sure I am okay, and I think I’m gonna be, after not thinking I could be after so fucking long I think I’m gonna be alright.”

He tells you he is so glad that is the case, that you aren’t alone. The emotion becomes too much for you. Your hands on his body, and you lean up, you press your lips to the mouth of the mask and kiss him. You honestly don’t know if it is your mask or Mickey’s. You and he would share and swap so often you had no way of telling who’s were who’s, they became considered more “ours” than anything else.

You fuck on the couch, just like you planned weeks earlier, just like the first time you and Mickey ever hooked up. It is needy and rough, you push the mask up enough to be able to kiss him, and it feels so fucking good. You are straddling him, grinding against him, breathing is rushed as you are telling him, “Need you-”

“Have me then, I’m yours.”

You suppose he always was, and he always will be now.

His hands are on your hips, the robe was up, pants open and him exposed, you were wearing considerably less, clothing tossed aside on the floor, you’d shoved him inside, enveloped him and were riding him roughly, completely lost in it. You were rushing, but you didn’t fucking care, you’d just needed to take.

He huffs out in your ear that name that makes your hair stand on end, makes you want to shiver, a curse followed by, “-feels so good, princess.”

It ruins you. It was a term of endearment Mickey used to call you, at first it was to annoy you but over the time you were together it became a shared favourite, from mocking to something actually sweet and well-loved

Your legs thighs burn, fingers dig into his shoulders, head tips back as you moan, the pleasure is mounting, building, starting to become way too much to bear.

You cum, you sob, you squirt and confess that you love him, say it to him because you wanted to but never got the chance to. He returns the sentiment. The words are on the tip of your tongue, you are so fucking close, nearly there and just as it starts to crest, as it begins to peak, you say it, you confess, “I love you.”

The words are accompanied by an ample gush, you paint him, rivulets down his shaft, onto his pants, the robe, the couch cushion below too, you assume, but you couldn’t be bothered, much more concerned with cumming your brains out and babbling out over and over again, “I love you, I love you Mickey, m’fuck, m’ sorry I-I never got to say it.”

He is rocking back up into you because your body had seized up, too blissed out and strung out on sensation to continue riding him, he confesses back, “I’m sorry I stopped you from saying it back then.”

You accept the apology and as the words, “It’s okay-” slip off your tongue, he fills you.

He cums raw in you and that is something that hadn’t happened yet, not since you’d been with the real Mickey, not Stu playing him, and fuck did you miss it.

You shudder from the throbbing and warmth that spreads within your soaked and clenching hole. Everything slows down, like seconds stretch out longer and longer than they should be able to.

When you are done, when you both have stopped moving, him still inside, mess leaking out around his slowly softening shaft, you tell him, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too.”

You kiss him and mumble, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I wish I didn’t have to either.” He admits, and you say, “I think I’m going to be okay, though.”

A hum as he asks, “Yeah?” And you nod, “Yeah. I’m in pretty good hands.”

You kiss him again, deeply, for the last time and when you slide him out with a groan, you press another peck to his lips and say, “Bye Mickey.”

He returns the goodbye, and you get up on shaky legs, mess dripping down your thighs, you go to have a shower alone.

You stay in there for a while. You wash yourself thoroughly and have a good cry. When you come out, your skin is steaming and hair is damp.

When you do come back out, Mickey is gone and Stu is there, hand outstretched and a smile on his face.

You go to bed that night quietly, no more talking, but nothing needs to be said. You’ve said it all.

In bed the next morning, you stir and slowly sit up, you stretch your arms up and look down to see Stu, still asleep, looking peaceful and comfortable. You reach down, your fingers trace the scars, and you say softly, “They suit you so well.”

Turns out he is awake, “You like a guy with scars?”

He asks it sleepily, and you laugh, he smiles, eyes peek open and emotion overtakes yet again as it so often does around him. You say it sincerely, “I love you.”

That gets him to sit up, propped up on one elbow, and you say, “I mean it. I do, I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it sooner, but I never got to say it to him…Now that I feel like I have I can be honest, I can tell you. I…”

You trail off, eyes drop, and you shrug, “I never thought I was capable of love before Mickey, he showed me I was and after he left. I never thought I was going to have it again but fuck, you showed up and proved me wrong.”

His fingers tuck under your chin, and he tilts it up, catches your gaze, and you say, “Thank you.”

He leans up, he kisses you, and you melt into he climbs on top, and it happens naturally, legs spread, bodies line up, and you get your fill of him again. When you are laying there panting, trying to catch your breath, he tells you, “I love you too.”

You laugh, crack up and roll over, a punch to his shoulder, “Yeah no shit Macher.”

That morning, you go out for breakfast. He got eggs Benedict and you got crêpe’s that you both share.

You and Stu have moved on. You honour Mickey and Billy a few days a year, toasts on birthdays, anniversaries, death days, stories are still swapped, but that is about it. Their ghosts no longer haunt your lives or rule your days. Your relationship is no longer based on the past, it’s about the current, the now, and the future too.

You graduate, Stu is in attendance in disguise and so fucking proud of you. He cheers louder than anybody and claps in such a way you are worried about the attention it will draw to him, but you still smile.

By the end of the day, you have a new picture that is framed in your place. One that is similar to one he has with Billy and you have with Mickey. You took it away from the crowd on your campus, camera on a timer again. You're in a robe of a different kind, graduation robe on, hat in one hand, arm around Stu’s shoulders, holding a popped bottle of champagne and Stu with his arms around your middle lifting you up, big smiles on both your faces. You are so stupid fucking happy, you think it should be illegal to be this full of joy and hope.

Goodbyes are so fucking hard, but the future as of right now with you and Stu looks pretty damn bright.

#Stu Macher x reader #Ghostface x reader #SO #HERE IT IS #THE PART 2 #ENJOY #I am so sorry in advance dude

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incorrectmarvelquotesss · 7 months

Text

— hiraeth —

Warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, tiny bit of miscommunication

Summary: The view of the sunset from your floor kept bringing Bucky back to you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Wrote this and edited it. Goodnight.

*the feeling of being homesick for a home one is not able to return to; homesickness pertaining to a home that never was*

You never realised the way the sun settled itself in between the two buildings, lodged between them perfectly as if it was always supposed to be there. During sunset, it would slowly make its way down the buildings, reflecting in the windows to glare into your floor in the Tower. The warm hues of the sun poured into your room like honey at dawn. You tended to bask in the light for a few minutes before pulling your tired body out of bed and the comforts of your blankets.

You only noticed the coincident position of the sun when Bucky had pointed it out to you with an outstretched arm, metal finger glinting as he pointed and used it to outline the spherical shape of the sun. Perfect view he had said with a crooked grin, circling his finger once more before dropping it. You had shook your head and told him you never even noticed. He had shrugged and told you it was alright, that sometimes you just needed a new perspective. He had a way with little details, pointing out a crack in the tile that was shaped like a heart or a butterfly with a spot that seemed to form an outline of a star.

Your friendship grew and blossomed the more time you two spent together. He would end up in your apartment at dawn, sprawled on the couch you had gotten just because of his fascination of watching the sun set. His hand would always stretch out and a finger would trace out the sun. You found yourself sitting next to him the second time he ditched the movie playing in the living room to watch the sun set. Slowly it became a tradition for Bucky to come into your apartment floor and watch the sun set between the buildings.

It started off as a weekly occurrence. You had granted him full access to everything on your floor, apart from your art studio, and he was thankful for the permission. He was a bit reluctant to use your floor, but steadily started showing up as he pleased. Sometimes you would get back from a late night at the lab and find him staring at the sun kissing horizon or dozing off in your living room. It started becoming a daily occurrence and you were sure Bucky was spending more time in your apartment than his own.

You had seen his apartment; the plain walls, couch, and mattress making your heart ache for him. The emptiness of the floor made you want to cry for him, empathize, but he had merely walked into his closet and grabbed his sweater. He deliberately changed the subject when you had tried to bring the minimalist layout of the floor, sending you a quick smile that pained your heart even more; it was missing in his eyes.

You were dancing around an idea—an idea that was either genius or stupid, no bits in between—that you had yet to form into a sentence. The thought seemed like a good one when it first came to you, seeing Bucky walk into your apartment with an ease that made your insides warm. He had lounging gear on, sweatpants and a short-sleeved shirt, and was brushing his hair back with a quick sweep of his hands. He had glanced over at you in the kitchen nursing a mug of tea, grinning and letting out a good morning, doll.

It had been months since then and you still hadn’t found the courage to ask Bucky your burning question. You were going to ask. You were.

“Bucky?” You called out, turning your head to look at the blue-eyed man beside you. His eyes were trained on the sun, a low hum emitting from his throat as he adjusted his arm to be thrown behind you on the couch. You waited for his eyes to flicker to your face once before continuing.

“I was thinking,” you started, nervously wringing your hands together on your lap and looking at them, “you spend so much time here. In my apartment, on this floor, I mean. I was wondering, if it wasn’t too much to ask, I would like… I mean, it’s not like you have to, but I would like it if you just—”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Bucky cut in hurriedly, eyes wide and frantically flicking around. “I didn’t realize—I’m so sorry.”

“Wh—what? Why?” You were beyond confused at his reaction.

“I shouldn’t’ve been coming around so often. Of course, you wanted your space—shit. I’m so, so sorry, doll. I knew you were too sweet to say anything—I just—it sorta just became a habit to come here, I guess. I can—I can stop comin’ over everyday. I know it might’ve bit much so—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted gently, placing a hand over his knee to grab his full attention. His nervous eyes met yours almost instantly, his guilt clear in them, and his cheeks tinged pink with colour.

“Doll, I’m—”

“Bucky,” you stressed, squeezing his knee to stop him from apologizing again, “that’s not what I was going to say.” Bucky’s eyes flooded with relief, eyebrows furrowing when he seemed to grasp the fact that he had no clue what you were going to say then.

“Oh,” was all he could get out, the pink tinge in his cheeks getting darker. “Then—then what were you sayin’?”

“I was saying that you could move in, here, with me?” You withdrew your hand from his knee, noticing that it was still on him. Unconsciously, you wrung your fingers together and started fiddling with them, licking your lips. His lack of response was making you rethink the whole ordeal. Perhaps you should have kept that thought locked away, hidden from the tip of your tongue. Maybe your floor didn’t mean as much as you thought it did to him.

“I mean, it's your choice. You just seem comfortable. At ease. I don't know. You don’t have to, but you seem to like it here more than anywhere else…” you trailed off, seeing his face break out into a grin.

“Doll, I would love to move in with you,” he said, dropping his arm from the couch and weaving his fingers through yours to force your hands apart. He let his thumb brush over your fingertips, grasping your hand tightly in his and finally interlocking your pinkies. “I was thinking something too.”

“Were you?” You murmured, slightly disoriented by the way his other hand creeped up your calf and landed on your knee. He hummed, nodding as he looked down at your intertwined pinkies. He slowly unlocked your pinkies and laced your fingers together, lifting your conjoined hands and twisting them so that he would place a sweet kiss on your knuckles.

“I was thinking, what if you become my home?” He let out a content sigh. His next words were carefully chosen, unhurriedly pouring out of him. “Wherever you are, home is. It’s not the apartment that brings me to ease, doll, it’s you.”

“Bucky.” You willed yourself not to cry.

“‘M serious, doll. Be my girl.” He kissed your knuckle again. “Be my home.”

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illfoandillfie · 4 months

Text

Blurb Advent 2023: Day 24

This idea came to me after seeing about a hundred reels on insta about guys in grey sweatpants lmao, so i wrote it.

Warnings: minimal editing ofc, making out, mostly pretty cute but quite a lot of dick talk

Ben had stuck the heating on but it was still getting warmed up, a slight chill through the house. The two of you were rugged up on the couch with some mulled wine Ben had decided to make, a gingerbread scented candle burning in the kitchen making the whole place smell festive, and a Christmas variety show playing in the background. The tree was lit up, perhaps unnecessarily considering it wasn’t yet night but the sky outside was grey, threatening to snow. Almost a cliched holiday scene. There was a pile of presents underneath, opne you’d have to load into the car in the morning since they were mostly for parents and siblings, uncles and aunts. Tomorrow would be chaotic since you were intending to visit both his and your families – lunch with one dinner with another – but that wasn’t new. Since your very first holiday with Ben, Christmas had been like that. It only took a couple of years for the two of you to declare Christmas Eve your day. Just the two of you, getting into the holiday spirit and probably making out a little.

Tradition dictated that you each got to open one present on Christmas Eve. Usually, the silliest thing you’d got each other. You’d save the bigger, more impressive stuff for opening with everyone else, but there was always something smaller, something goofier that you could exchange the day before. Ben sorted through the pile under the tree until he pulled out a smallish square box, wrapped up in paper with candy canes printed on it. “Merry Christmas Eve, babe,” he said softly, handing it to you with a small kiss. You tore into it excitedly, revealing the box which claimed to contain a galaxy projector, “Oh my god Ben! This is so cool!” He gave you a pleased little grin, “I thought you’d like it.” You fussed about getting it out of the box and plugging it in as Ben set to opening the package you’d given him. “Oh score, babe! I needed new trackies” Ben said, holding up the grey sweatpants you’d bought him. You giggled, “no problem honey.” “Am I old? I just got ridiculously excited about what I definitely would have considered a boring present as a kid. Does that make me old?” “Aww honey, no. They’re very hip and cool. All the hot young things are buying them for their guys. The internet tells me so.” “What are you on about?” “You haven’t seen those insta reels? The memes about how hot guys in grey trackies are?” “Ummm no. Oh god maybe I really am old.” You snorted, “If you put them on I can explain what the memes are. But no undies okay?” “And that will make me young? Sounds crazy but okay, they look really fucking comfy.”

In the time it took for Ben to go and change you managed to get the galaxy projector working. It wasn’t quite as good as the box implied but it was cute and you liked how it looked. “Woah, hey, that’s pretty cool.” Ben said, stairing up at the stars on the ceiling, “I thought it was gonna be a bit shitter to be honest.” You were placing the projector on the coffee table, laughing, but as you turned you nearly choked. The memes had been right, it was hot. You could see practically everything. Ben was oblivious to your staring, “Babe you did so well, these are so comfy I love them.” He did a bit of a turn in them, letting you see his ass for a moment before the outline of his cock was back in front of your eyes. “Honey why don’t you come sit,” you patted the couch beside you. Ben seemed a little surprised but he obliged. “In fact, why don’t you put your feet up,” you scooted off the couch so Ben had space to stretch out. “Uhhh, yeah alright. Don’t you want to sit too though?” “Oh I will,” you let Ben get settled before pouncing, straddling him and leaning in to kiss him. Ben hummed into the kiss, his arms automatically wrapping around you and pulling you close. “Not sure what that was about,” he said softly when you finally broke apart, “but I’m not complaining. Just tell me what I did to get you so horny, so I can do it again.” “Did you not look at yourself in a mirror when you changed into these pants?” “No,” “So you didn’t realise how visible your dick is?” “Is it?” You laughed, “This isn’t helping make you seem less old. That’s what the memes are about and I can tell you they’re spot on. I’ve been staring at your cock since you changed.” “Oh, wel-” “Shh, don’t say anything else, it’ll only distract from making out.” Ben groaned as you rocked forward, his cock pressed against your cunt, “Yeah okay, good plan.

#my writing #my blurbs #blurb advent 2023 #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #ben hardy imagine

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baejax-the-great · 3 months

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[First, I was rereading "Agua Caliente" and I remembered a song that played a lot in my childhood (and I had kind of forgotten) bc the lyrics somehow matched the Patrochilles dynamic in this fic. This is kind of funny bc I would never in my life associate sertanejo (it's a type of country music, I think? Idk I've never heard country, but the aesthetic is kind of similar. Anyway, it's pretty popular here) with shipping an ancient Greek couple in modern AU, but ok. And I went to listen to this song again and now I'm listening to it on a loop, so thanks for that.]

Now the real question! It's perhaps a strange question, but do you plan what you write? Like, before you write, do you have the whole structured idea in mind? I could have sworn it was like that reading the fics, but then some notes on Ao3 and certain things you say on Tumblr started to make me reflect that maybe you don't plan as much as I thought… in that case, how do you manage to connect everything so well without looking like something was left out/without prior planning??? It's magic, technique, luck or actually do you plan?

Sorry if the question is a bit "???" but I'm REALLY thinking about this! I used to write fics years ago and I was in the "won't plan" group and as expected the fics came out obviously unplanned (but that was ok with me bc it was just to pass the time and I didn't expect it to be an engaging story or anything), and here's why this ask exists: it's precisely bc I was in the “won't plan” group that I'm really intrigued by the possibility of you NOT planning bc it just doesn't seem that way reading your fics...

The short answer is that I do plan what I write, but probably not enough.

I rarely start writing a fic with an entire idea. Often it's just a vibe. But I won't start posting a fic until I know exactly what the conflict is and how it will be resolved.

This was easy in ATG, for example, because I'd already written the resolution before I even decided to write the fic. Structuring it by Patroclus's age also helped, because I could make an outline with the stuff that needed to happen and then jam stuff I wanted to happen around it. That "Stuff" could be really specific--obviously Pat had to graduate school and Achilles had to go to the Olympics on specific years, and it was also like, this section should have them fighting. This section should have them getting along, but Achilles is hiding this big lie so there should be a weird tension.

In Sunset, it took me longer to figure out the conflict/resolution. Sure, I knew that Achilles was going to cry on a Chicago street corner and get naked in Pat's kitchen, but why was he there? How did he get there? I had already written Achilles settling in to Pat's place and the scene where he gets into the lake before I decided on Aphrodite being the key to explain this whole thing. Then I knew Pat had to die. But a lot of the stuff that happened in the middle was sort of on a whim (particularly Achilles getting on the wrong L train-that was definitely just an impulse I had while finishing that chapter). Tecmessa's chapter was also a later addition, and a deeply self-indulgent one, hah.

Agua was the least planned of these three, and in some ways it was because the idea was a lot simpler. After three years, Achilles runs into Patroclus again and they reconcile in some way. I knew exactly how Patroclus would feel about the whole thing (relieved, guilty, upset, wounded, hopeful, upset about feeling hopeful). My original plan was just to set up Achilles in his shop and his new life doing his best and have him run into Patroclus at the beach, and eventually they'd go to the desert. I wrote parts of their meeting first, and then I started writing the beginning and ended up scrapping most of that. I realized I was going to have to do a lot more writing for poor Achilles. My lack of planning here did cause some difficulties--I had like three versions of that date he went on with Pat with different endings. One involved Pat in the hospital, lmao. Zag and Meg coming to stay with Achilles were kind of whims, and I had meant to have Hypnos show up for "his turn" and have Achilles send him home because no, these were not team-building exercises, but then I forgot 😩.

The reason that I need to know the conflict/resolution at the start is because I do think all the scenes in a fic should relate to it in some way, either by building up the conflict or setting the groundwork for a resolution. Even for the impulsive scenes I add just for fun, I think about how they can do this. For example, Achilles getting lost on the L allowed me to build up Pat's unreasonable anxiety, show that Ajax was also feeling it to some extent, and end in Pat saying "fuck it" and just giving in to making out with his hot, ancient boyfriend. It was also something that happened to a friend who was visiting me from out of the country and didn't have a working cell phone. That moment of watching him through the window of the L as it slowly pulled away is just etched in my memory.

In Agua Caliente, almost anything could relate to the resolution, because the resolution was "Achilles having a life," thus it didn't require as much planning. Zagreus's apartment getting flooded (something that happened to me in grad school) showed Achilles attempting to be flexible with some success while allowing himself to become closer to Zagreus, which led to a point of connection with his kids. It also made it easier to explain why Achilles was doing Zag's delivery that day when he ran into Pat. There were only a couple things that truly needed to happen in AC for the fic to make sense, and that was a resolution with Achilles' kids and then with Patroclus, of course.

I do get loose threads sometimes, side conflicts or things that didn't end up going anywhere, and those things tend to annoy me until I figure out a way to resolve them or make them otherwise relevant. Or I don't. Or sometimes I realize I need to add something/someone into the fic, and it would have been smoother if I'd added it in an earlier chapter so it didn't seem like a convenient thing I'd just thought of to solve a problem. That's always annoying to me. But whatever. It's fanfic. That's the risk of posting while you write.

#actually now that I'm thinking about the L thing #did Julia suggest it?#I think I talked to her a lot about this part of the fic #either way it was a late addition #also looked up sertanejo music and reddit recommended the song o soberano #I speak zero portuguese beyond obrigado #but it had 'sober' in the title which felt fitting #I also broke my own rule with WitD #I don't actually know exactly how I'll resolve this atm #though I woke up with some ideas #anyway this is rambly #I once drew a truly shitty diagram of my process #if you have more specific questions I can try to answer #def should have had coffee before writing this

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thankyouforbeingsowrong · 10 months

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Hi there! For the WIP tag game, Music lessens AU and You Bring Me Home? 😊

WIP tag

You Bring Me Home

A sequel to Follow Me In Merry Measure, set around Valentine's day when Lyn and the family come to visit them in Oxford. James finds an unusual excuse to move in to Robbie's flat, because they are still crap at talking about what they want.

“I could lend you one if you like.” James says quietly, almost a question.

“Eh?” Robbie looks up from his food, confused for a moment, trying to recall what he said in the kitchen when James brought up the spare room.

“The bed from my flat. It’s not getting much use at the moment, it’s an almost new mattress, why not save some money?” The offer sounds casual, but James won’t meet his eyes, fiddling with his cutlery.

“You sure? What if you want to go home to get some peace and quiet while everyone’s here? It’s a small flat for five people, even just for a few days.”

Robbie searches his face for some hint of reluctance or obligation. He doesn’t want James to feel trapped here with his family, no matter how much they all got on at Lyn's.

“I’m sure.”

Robbie nods, taking him at his word, but the inkling of concern doesn’t completely dissipate.

Music lessons AU

I have been working on this for over a year and it keeps spiralling further out of control 😅

It's set around 2007, in an AU where James turned more to music (playing and teaching) after leaving the seminary and never joined the police, and Robbie ended up taking early retirement shortly after returning from the BVI. They meet when Lyn (through loving meddling to keep her dad busy without work) sets Robbie up to take guitar lessons with James.

It's very much a "looking for purpose" kind of journey, weaving some canon elements through the au and seeing how they differ with the new context.

I've got it split into 15 chapters (😬) that are all outlined if not partially written. I shared the first thing I wrote for it on here a million years ago, and I'll put some non-music shenanigans under the cut:

He feels soft leather on his skin as James reaches back to grab his wrists and pulls Robbie’s arms snug around his middle. James pats his hands where they’re clasped over his stomach, then revs the engine and pulls away. Robbie feels his stomach drop into his toes with the initial acceleration and reflexively squeezes James’ hips between his thighs, hugging him tighter while trying to stop their helmets from bumping together.

—

Robbie does as instructed, watching James confidently manoeuvre the bike around with butterflies in his stomach that are definitely to do with the anxiety of getting on the back of a motorcycle and not at all related to how close he's about to be to James. He takes a deep, steadying breath and climbs awkwardly behind James when he’s ready. Unsure what to do with his hands, he hovers them indecisively around James’ waist for a second and then rests them on his own thighs.

He tries his best to relax, not entirely successfully, but he manages to follow James’ body as he leans into each turn. Just as he's beginning to get used to the movement, they pull onto his street, and he has to pat James on the shoulder to point out his flat.

As they slow to a stop next to the footpath, he reluctantly pulls his other arm away from James and waits to be told when to get off. His hands are stiff from the cold wind, and his legs shake slightly when he's back on the ground, with leftover adrenaline and fatigue from tensing his muscles for most of the ride.

He pulls his helmet off.

“Do you want to come in for a cuppa?” He has to almost yell over the rumble of the bike.

“Sure.” James smiles and cuts the engine, flicking the kickstand down before climbing off with a grace that sets Robbie’s butterflies back into motion. He pulls off his helmet and Robbie’s fingers twitch with the urge to run through his messy hair.

#my fic #this is actually making me want to get stuck in and do some writing this weekend!

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sunsents · 3 years

Text

The Cardigan - F.W 18+

My first ever post and it's a goddamn smut one shot. This has been in my Wattpad drafts for way too long (wrote it three-four months ago), it's not the best, and I'm not proud of the writing but et eez what et eez. I really wan't to start publishing my work and gotta start somewhere. Also the smut is shitty, and the dirty talk is just goddamn vile. Also I'm a horny mf.

Summary ---> "Is that mine? You look better in it than me, that's for sure." An intimate night with Fred after you guys find the house all to yourselves. This is just pure filth, like scroll if you wan't plot. 🌚

Pairing: fred weasley/fem!reader

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: smut / overstim if u squint / cursing / thigh tiding / dirty talk / fred being a horny little shit / an attempt at innuendos / hand-job / cum play (?) / like one ass slap

Rating: 18+

DON'T REPOST MY WORK

The bathroom at the Weasley's were quite cramped, but you didn't care. Your shower was more than satisfactory, the wavering smell of Mrs. Weasley cooking downstairs mixing with the wonderful scent of Fred's shampoo. The hot water loosened all your fatigued muscles - those extra hours out on the field playing Quidditch was worth it - your muscles were taut, flexing wonderfully whenever you lifted your arm to rinse off the products in your hair.

When you opened the door of the bathroom, clouds of hot air escaping and surrounding the small corridor, you were surprised to hear no footsteps, loud chattering of your friends and the usual plates clinking in the kitchen. You figured going downstair naked wouldn't be a good idea, and entered Ginny's room.

The disheveled bedroom was empty, and you looked out the window to the vast garden and wheat fields that got darker with the hot summer night approaching. There was no sign of anyone and you were starting to get anxious. Maybe it was because of the unusual silence - the Weasley household always had some kind of chaos happening - nevertheless, you quickly slipped on some satin shorts and a soft, white knit sweater to keep the evening breezes at bay. After swiftly drying your hair with a towel - you were letting it air dry, Cosmopolitan said Cindy Crawford did it - you applied whatever product was routine for your body and left the room.

Your magical radio was playing a soft jazz from the den and immediate relief washed over you when you stepped downstairs. The creams and perfumes that stuck to your skin wafted around the air and filled the rooms with delicious essences, and your soft socks slipped and slid across the wooden floor to the kitchen as you pushed yourself with ease. You quickly caught yourself with a chair and laughed, being alone wasn't so bad, you figured you could find ways to entertain yourself.

Until, a low chuckle from the den caused you to yelp and almost fall on your ass, merlin forbid. You couldn't bear another injury after George two left feet Weasley accidentally kicked you on the shin while playing Quidditch.

Speaking of Weasley, Fred Weasley was sprawled out on the couch, wearing only his boxers and a long, loosely knitted cardigan sitting on his exposed skin. You felt your mouth water, his head was lazily thrown back, exposing his curved neck and Adam's apple, his freckles more noticeable than ever. He was staring at you, his lips tugging a smile and enjoying the show you put on. Humiliation, is what it was. You were sliding around floorings like Madame Maxine on ice.

Your blood suddenly felt on like liquid fire, and you opened the cupboards to get yourself a glass of water. "Aguamenti," you casted, and from the corner of your eye you saw Fred's gaze set on your exposed legs, trailing up to your ass that was slightly exposed from the length of your shorts. They rode up more when you stood on your toes to place the cup back on the shelf after chugging the liquid down and muttering a cleaning spell.

"Is that mine?" you cleared your throat, finishing up in the kitchen and walking over to one of the rocking chairs. You didn't know why Fred was sitting around practically naked - you didn't question because he was Fred Weasley and you were tired. You weren't complaining etiher.

"Yeah," Fred said breathlessly. "It's surprisingly comfortable."

"You look better than me in it, that's for sure." You chuckled darkly, eyeing his provocative muscles. The hickeys you had left from a few days ago were slightly healed, soft reds trailing his nape and they weren't helping the growing desire between your legs. "Where is everyone?" you asked.

Fred quickly noticed your poorly hidden lustful stares and moved the cardigan away with a sly smirk, revealing more of his abs and flexed thighs. "They went out to Diagon Ally, won't be back until ten." he said. You nodded then took a deep, shaky breath and picked up a magazine from the coffee table. You settled in your mind that maybe looking through the new season Versace bikinis would calm your lust.

Fred let out a long, erotic sigh, allowing a soft groan to escape his lips along the way. Your hand twitched, you were still oblivious to his intentions and crossed your legs for some friction. "Hey ____," Fred called out, and you hummed in response, not looking up from your magazine. You seemed to have read the same line five times now. "I think there's something in my eye, can you blow on it."

Your eyes went wide, Fred was vulgar. This was no surprise to you after dating him for almost two years, but saying something so shamelessly, no hesitation still made your heart stutter. Your imagination was running wild now, you pictured every single thing you wished to do to him at this moment, in those clothes. You quickly put your magazine down, more of slapped it on the table. "Sure, yeah." you said in a shaky voice, then stood up and walked over to him.

Fred's arms were wide on the couch, and one of them pulled your hand down when he was able to reach you. Your heart stopped for a moment, you felt herself land harshly on his thigh and the impact on your core caused a groan from the back of your throat to slip out.

Fred was rather enjoying himself, his head lazily leaning back on the pillow as he rubbed your thighs up and down, digging the pads of his fingers into your skin and causing an embarrassingly load of your juices to flow to your newly worn panties.

You readjusted yourself so the heat between your legs weren't in direct contact with his thigh. You scooted closer and had to bite back a moan when Fred jerked his leg up and applied pressure on your clit. You were trying your best not to show his effect on you, "Which eye." you hissed through gritted teeth, still pursuing his obvious lie.

Fred's shit eating grin only grew wider, and he took your hand and placed it right on his crotch. He was hard beneath his boxers, swelling bigger the second and you were fighting the urge to palm his cock. You shot him a warning look to which he playfully frowned, then gestured to his right eye. You leaned in closer, maybe he really did have something in his eye.

Fred's breathing was heavy, fanning over your lips as you tried to take a closer look. Your inspection was cut short when he gripped your waist, riding up your sweater to touch you directly. You gasped and straightened up at his rough hands kneading around your stomach. Chills were racing down your spine, you didn't want to give in just yet, just for teasing purposes, but Fred was making it unbelievable hard with his tousled hair and hooded eyes boring into yours.

Your panties felt soaked and you hoped he wouldn't notice, but when Fred gripped your shorts and pulled them down, his eyes fell on the wet fabric that was stuck to your entrance. You were painfully aware of how aroused you were, and your heated cheeks weren't helping with your embarrassment.

Fred licked his lips - his expression lust crazed - then he gripped one of your legs and guided it around his thighs, making you straddle him. He held both of your thighs and pulled you in closer, and when your knee touched his boner, it caused him to groan lowly and attempt to close the small gap between your two bodies.

You marveled at the idea of being any more closer to him, the aching on your lower abdomen making you grind yourself on his thigh, whimpering at the much needed friction. The scene looked erotic to you, Fred's finger had slithered down to your panties and moved them to the side to expose all of you, flushed and swollen. He gripped your waist again and started rocking your body on his thigh, "Ride my thigh baby, wan't you to get off on me," he said huskily, "Slow and good~"

You didn't know what else to do other than nod as much agreeable a nod could get. Fred started guiding your hips at a slow pace, not letting you fasten it once. He tutted when you tried for the second time, "Stop being impatient my love." he crooned, straightening himself up to finally meet your lips.

But you barely responded.

You were slack-jawed, your clit swollen painfully, your hips swiveling to get more contact. Pathetic really, is what it was. Fred said few words of filth and here you were, panting and rutting, thanking whoever up there to have the opportunity to ride Fred's obscenely attractive thigh. A thigh shouldn't be this attractive you thought, his skin warm and comfortable, generous muscles teasingly helping you get off. Emphasis on teasingly, he wouldn't let you have anything that easily. It was heaven and hell all at once.

Fred was sensually tracing the outline of your mouth with his tongue all the while, then dipped down and feathered kisses on your jaw that was just as slow as his pace. "Fuck, you're so filthy for this. Who knew this is all it took?" he groaned.

"You have such a responsive cunt babe, I can do whatever I want and you just lose it. Fuck-"

You were growing more frustrated the second and Fred was getting rather talkative, he ran his nose down your collarbones, sucking the supple skin into his mouth and leaving crimson marks. "Freddie please - just, mmmh!" you cried out a strangled moan, you had finally gotten what you wanted. You knew Fred could never resist the nickname, and in such a tone too.

He had started to rub your clit, his other arm wrapping around the small of your back protectively. He groaned against your neck, sending shockwaves of pleasure trailing from your marked neck all down to your feet. But Fred wasn't stupid, he had caught on rather soon and chuckled.

"Bad girl." he mocked, then gave you a light smack on your ass, causing you to yelp and jump. You landed harshly on Fred's thigh again and the moan you let out was almost painful. You clutched onto his hair as he gripped your waist and continued to rock you on his thigh.

You let him guide your movement, your juices easily allowing you to slide yourself back and forth on him, and whenever Fred would pull you forward he would apply pressure on your clit by gripping your waist tighter and pushing you down. He fastened his pace with every grind, and every huff of air you let out when your hips would come in contact. "Oh fucking hell - yes," Fred heaved, your knee must've been grazing against his cock just right because he was letting out soft groans and curse words every other second, his hefty length visible behind the fabric.

You couldn't resist, he had such an attractive dick even after seeing it so many times. You started rubbing him from the outside of his boxers, digging the pads of your fingertips into his shaft whenever you could. Fred's head rested between the slope of your breasts, and his hips bucked up at your touch, rutting desperately into your fisted hand, causing you to loudly moan out when his thigh pressed on your swollen bud.

He was barely jutting your hips at this point, barely able to focus on your pleasure from the amount he was getting. Cocky attitude gone as soon as you touched him, you made him melt under your palm. "I love you so fucking much - ohhh...holy shit, keep rubbing me like that." he moaned against your skin, the intense vibrations making you shudder.

You started to move by yourself, quickly and desperately, your juices glazing the skin and soaking up your panties that was making it harder for you both. But it felt too good to stop and remove it, the heat in your core was growing and you closed your eyes to focus on the man that was letting out hot breaths between the valley of your breasts. His hand started playing with your nipple, squeezing it between his forefinger and thumb as the other gripped your waist and rocked you faster.

Your movement was getting sloppy, legs trembling and jerking whenever pressure was applied to your clit. You were whining the name of your lover, your voice almost pornographic. "Cum my love - fuck yes, cum all over me. Make a mess of me." Fred's hand left your nipple and guided your hips faster, the other pulling down on your thighs as you threw your head back. Fred started circling your clit to speed up your fast approaching release, but it wasn't even needed.

With a final, high pitched squeal, your vision went black, stars dancing around your lids. Your body shuddered violently, and you came hard all over his thigh. "You look so beautiful I-" Fred barely managed to let out before you gripped down his boxers and let his erection swing out. You wrapped your hand around the head and watched in amusement as pre-cum leaked out when you squeezed.

"What? Gonna milk me dry baby?" Fred chuckled darkly, his free hand running through his tousled hair while the other gripped and kneaded the side of your waist.

"I was hoping to do more than that, but for now..." you licked a long stripe up the base of his neck to the back of his ear, and bit. All the while, your hand started working around his painfully hard cock. Fred was almost heaving now, unlike you who just recently came down from your mind blowing orgasm.

"I-...please, I wan't-" Fred gulped, and in the very rare moments he didn't know what to say. You started pumping his cock, the moment you squeezed him tighter he was coming.

"Fuck fuck fuck - ____!" Fred released all over your hand, his dick twitching beneath your fingers as he leaned his body on yours and let out strangled moans against your neck. You licked your fingers clean, then gently lifted Fred's chin. His eyes were slanted in a deep post-orgasmic daze, and you started to give him slow, wet kisses. "Look how good you taste." you whispered, swirling your tongue around his as he groaned into your mouth.

You were obsessed with how mesmerizing Fred looked. When he came, when he cried out whatever filthy thing came to mind, that blissful glow he had after orgasming. You wanted to repeat those moments over and over again, come with him yourself and touch yourself to his noises. And his taste, you could never get enough of it.

#fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #hp smut #fred weasley smut #harry potter fic #reader insert #fred weasley imagine #harry potter smut

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lexiawrittings · 3 years

Text

The Compromise. IV

One. Two. Three.

PAIRING.

Dark!CEO!Steve Rogers x Reader.

SUMMARY.

Fight or Flight?

Steve doesn’t let you a lot of choice concerning his indecent proposal. All he wants is for you to give up to him, no matter the cost. He’s ready to do everything in his power to make you say yes.

However, will the CEO make you understand that you are meant together as he started to tell you his deep, troubling secrets from his past?

A/N.

Political Relationship/Marriage? AU. Dark AU.

This is DARK. ANGST (i’m sorry) SMUT (18+only, oral male receiving, light anal play). Mention of choking. Swearing. Slight mentions of Oedipus complex (not sexual), I'm not an expert, i wrote as i feel, so please don't come at me, if it's not accurate 😅. Again, sorry for the end.

Here it is, the fourth installment of The Compromise Series. I’m amazed at myself because I have a full-on story already outline (it’s a first for me!). I love writing this story!! Hopefully you will enjoy it too. As always, thank you very much for reading! Don’t hesitate to leave your thoughts, comments, and feedback.

P.S: Gif is not mine, credits to the owner and maker.

A lots of Love! Lex!xx

WORDS.3170ish.

°°°

" Don't make me beg. Don't make me beg. Don't make me beg. Don't make me beg. Don't make me beg. Don't make me beg. Don't make-…."

" Do you want a round trip, Miss? " The rough voice of the cashier behind the glass startled you and interrupted your thoughts.

You shook your head, dropping your eyes down before giving her the money for one train ticket to your hometown. She took it, looking at you warily before setting her gaze on her computer.

You were out of it for the rest of the day so the suspicious gaze of other people was understanding at this point. Leaving quickly, almost running, Steve's office you have been out for most of the day. Wandering through New York's street. And then you stared at the train station for a few hours before finally deciding to go inside to buy a one-way ticket. Your thought has been all around the place, thinking of all the options that were available to you. You decided that you couldn't stay in New York. Not anymore, Steve would never let go. He said it was love. Was it? You weren't convinced, although seeing the way his father behave toward him you had a better comprehension of how Steve could be cold and demanding at times. He grew up this way. Surely acting like his father does. Taking everything without ever asking for permission.

" Here's for you. " The clerk stretched out the ticket for you to take. She frowned her eyes looking at you more closely. " You sure, you ok, Miss? "

You nodded holding the train ticket that would bring you home tomorrow.

" I am. " You faintly smiled at her.

°°°

" Hey! " You called out. " Hey! That's mine, drop it, immediately. " You shouted out, bewildered but also angry at what you witnessed.

You were looking sharply at men, who had arms as big as your head, loading your couch, lamps, some box of stuff that appeared to be yours inside a big truck. A moving truck. Speechless, you stood awkwardly on the pavement watching them moving your furnitures. What's happening ?! Is it a prank? Briskly and feeling bold but also deeply annoyed, you stepped into the path of one of the huge men snapping one of your bedside lamps from his hand. He frowned at you, confused.

" What's going on here? " You asked almost yelling in the busy Hell's Kitchen street. " Why are you packing my stuff ?" You cried out your eyes following other men putting your dishwasher inside the truck. " I'm not moving! " Not yet. " Orders are from the boss. " The mover grunted nodding his head toward the building above your heads.

The boss? Oh, no. The man started to reach for your lamp inside your hands but you pressed the object to your chest glaring at him. He sighed backing away from you. You raised your head to watch your kitchen window from below, distress. What has he done? Climbing the staircase slowly, you tried to found the right words that would knock some sense inside Steve's head but as you reached your open door and stepped inside every coherent thought left your brain. Your boss was standing in your almost empty living room looking through one of the windows, his face calm and serene. You heavily sighed defeated as you stepped away to let a few men walked through the door. They were carrying your fridge down the staircase, their face reds from the efforts.

" And that's everything we will take today, Mr. Rogers. " Another man appeared from the hallway. Watching you briefly, he nodded before glancing back at Steve. " As per request, we didn't take the bed. Everything in the truck will be packed inside your private storage facility."

Steve nodded, dismissing the man who walked out of your apartment closing the door behind him.

" So, you know where I live after all. " You set down your lamp on your kitchen counter starting to remove your jacket. " Why they didn't take the bed? " " Because I plan to fuck you in it. " The blond-man replied never turning his gaze from the window.

Closing your eyes, you started to massage the side of your head, feeling a dull pain echoing inside your brain.

" Why did you move my furniture Steve? " You opened your eyes, biting your lips afraid of his answer. " You said you wanted romance, love, and all the bullshit! " He turned around, crying out loud, his eyes burning with rage. " I'm trying Y/N. I told you what I felt and you left. " He barked taking a step toward you. You took a step back. "I'm trying but my patience is running thin, baby." " I-I don't believe you. " You stammered biting your lips nervously in front of his angry presence. " No." You whispered shaking your head sightly dropping your eyes on the floor before backing away inside the open kitchen.

Nothing was left beside the plain island and empty cupboards, it was like nobody had ever lived here.

" I…" The blond man started behind you, breathing deeply. " Know I can be a handful. Especially to you. " He finally said with difficulty. " I told you it's the only way I know how to... I…" He paused again while you watched the sunset behind the tall buildings outside the window feeling the emotions from the morning coming back to stir your gut. " When we have sex everything is good. Everything is quiet. " Steve murmured his words surprising you.

You frowned your eyebrows, puzzled, and turned on your heels. You caught his deep blue eyes watching you, reluctantly before he turned his gaze on the hallway at his right. Leaning against the wall, Steve put his hands deep down inside his pockets.

" What's that supposed to mean? " You blurted confused, you saw him bite his lips, avoiding your gaze. " Steve, d-don't you feel the same way with every woman you sleep with? " " No. " He answered you, briskly shifting his sight on his feet. “ Only you. “

Quickly, he marched up to reach you, taking your hand in his grip to put it against his chest. His eyes downcast on the side, you set your gaze on your hand feeling the hammering of his heart under your palm.

" He mentioned my mom." Steve licked his lips, his blue sight was unfocused, not looking at you. " My father mentioned my mom, earlier. I haven't heard from her in a while. " " How long? " " Two years. "

Your confusion grew deeper. It was the same amount of time you started to work at Rogers Inc.

" Steve what the hel-" You exclaimed, trying to move your body away from him, but he slid his free hand around your waist, holding you pressed against his frame. You started to be alarm while his hold on you was tight. " Baby, no. It's not like that. " He whispered brushing his lips on your brows, still not looking at you. His actions soothing you for a bit but you still felt unease by his statement. " It's not that deep. I promised. " The blond-man added stroking your knuckles pressed against his hard chest. " I'm a fuck up, I know. I have a lot of sexual perversions but not that one. "

You breathed hard through your nose, raising your eyes to watch him. His blue eyes were avoiding yours. His sight set on something on the ground.

" I always have a hard time with other people. " Steve clenched his jaw, his hand sliding on the small of your back. " But my mom was the exception. " He closed his eyes briefly before dropping his gaze on you. " Until I met you. "

Dipping his head, Steve kissed you. His mouth soft against yours, you closed your eyes, kissing him back, gently. Grunting, he slid his mouth to bite your lower lip, hard. You quietly gasped, surprised while his large hand crushed yours firmly against his chest.

" Steve," You whispered against his lips. He drifted his face to your cheek, nibbling your skin with his teeth. " What happened between you and your mom? " " My dad. " The blond-man quickly replied, pressing your frame against his. He dropped his hand from yours to grip your shirt. " I don't want to talk about it." He groaned tilting his head onto your neck. " I've been hard for you since you came against my fingers. " He added quietly biting your earlobe and grinding his hips against you, making you feel his hard-on through his pants.

You hummed feeling your desire growing. Opening your eyes, you still felt unsure about everything, his revelations, his proposition, the wedding, his father, and the money. Your emotions were all over the place. As he pushed your head to the side to have better access to your neck, your eyes landed on your bag on the kitchen counter, the tip of your train ticket picking out.

" I need you Y/N. " He groaned, his lips pressed against your skin, letting open-mouth kisses on your throat.

Maybe. For the last time. Swiftly, you dropped on your knees in front of him. Letting go of you, Steve quietly grunted his heated eyes on you.

" Fuck yes! " He panted, his dark gaze watching your hands unbuttoning his pants. " That's my good girl. Filling her little mouth with my cock. "

Your hands started to shake as you pushed his clothes around his hips, letting him out. But as you looked up to see him flustered, his cheek pink as he watched you with his burning gaze, you grew confident. You leaned your open mouth toward his shaft, taking only the tip inside. Steve bit back a moan, biting his lower lip hard. His gaze grew dark. His reactions made you feel powerful, in control. Raising your hand, you started to touch him, kissing his soft but hard as steel dick.You licked him, slowly, teasing him.

" Y/N, baby, you're killing me. " The blond-man whispered, his nose flaring as he started to breathe loudly.

Dropping his hands through your hair he let you go at your pace, swallowing as deep as you could. You parted your lips to take him all in your mouth, your sight still on him. Using your hands below your mouth, pumping him up and down, increasing your rhythm watching him starting to come undone from your blowjob. You hummed pleased seeing him quietly moaned your name while your hands went further down, playing with his balls. Steve's blue eyes were dark, his pupils dilated looking at you fucking him with your mouth. The sensation between your legs grew as your desire to be touch there made you pressed your knees together. Slowly, Steve started to thrust his hips, making you taking him deeper. Harder. But you weren't done, you finally wanted him to beg. Hallowing your cheeks, one hand still stroking him, you let the other one down inside his pants and pressed him, there. He cursed loudly, groaning, his hips beginning to shake. He closed his eyes briefly before taking hold of your shoulders to make you stand on your feet. Without any warning, he pushed his mouth on you, licking your lips. You whimpered against him, holding onto his biceps while he enlaced you close to his chest.

" Fuck, baby that felt so good. " Steve growled low, loosening his grip on you, backing away. " Let's go to bed. " He whispered feverishly, his eyes warm with need.

You smiled at him, removing your shirt stepping into the dark hallway. The sun had finally disappeared on the city of New York, shadows and darkness filled your empty apartment as you both took out your clothes, leaving you both naked in the bed. The only source of light was coming from the streetlamp, which illuminated your bare room. You didn't comment on the lack of furniture, your lips kissing Steve's. Hovering your body, one leg between your legs, he rolled his hips. The tip of his cock brushed your clit making you arched your back, impatient.

" You looked beautiful. " Your boss murmured, humming, feeling your wetness below coaxing him. You opened your eyes watching his pink cheeks, and uncertain gaze looking at you. " You always do. Especially when you come around me, Y/N. " He added thrusting his bare dick inside you, slowly stretching you apart.

One hand on your thigh he brushed your clit, groaning against your neck. You cursed low, feeling him touching your most sensitive part of yourself.

"S'wet" Steve breathed out, panting. " It feels good." He rasped, sucking your throat.

The blond-man moved gently, biting your skin as you started to scratch his back with your nails, licking your lips. The delicious sensation growing deeper and higher. You moaned with pleasure tasting him on your tongue while his cock teased you before he sunk inside you deeply.

" Steve. I-.. " You cried out arching your back, feeling him shift his hips on you reaching your sweet spot. You already felt your orgasm building inside your chore, pulsing. " I-I…" " I want to see you. " He growled under your ear before swiftly changing your position. Holding your hips he lied down on the other side of the bed. " Ride me. " He panted, his eyes heavy with lust.

Sweat coating both of your bodies, you started to move, pumping him, increasing the rhythm. The sensation of him inside you felt different, filling you completely, you shivered gasping for air closing your eyes feeling the desire between your legs warm and delicious. You felt his fingers on your breast, grasping them before flicking the tip, his other hand took hold of your hip while he started to thrust up, joining you in the movement. Surprised, you opened your eyes looking down at him.

" Come for me, Y/N. " He ordered you, his mouth open, his eyes completely dilated watching you move on him. " Let me fill you up, sweetheart. " Steve groaned biting his lip tilting his head back. " Fuck."

Drifting his fingers between your leg, Steve started to stroke your clit quickly, rolling his hip under you. You whimpered his name loudly, the feeling of his cock inside you, his words, and the longing in his eyes was the end of you. You came apart, moaning his name as you felt the desire shattered between your legs making you shake. Steve was panting hard, chasing after his orgasm his sight on your trembling bliss. His movement became sloppy as you felt him filling you hard before he jerked his hips, his cock throbbing. His eyes rolling back, cursing loudly, Steve came emptying himself inside of you. Quivering, you collapsed on his chest, feeling the events of the last few hours weighing on you. Tiredness making your limbs heavy. One of his arms embraced you close to him, his fingers starting to caress your back, gently. You felt him getting soft, with difficulty you started to move away however his hold on you grew tight.

" Let me stay. " Steve said to you, his chest growing calmer under your cheek. You didn't know if he talked about sleeping or inside of you, either way, you shut your eyes, the after bliss making you feel good and sleepy. " I don't want any drop of my come out of you. " He whispered, grasping your chin with his hand to lift your face.

Catching your lips with his mouth, he bites down your lower lip before shoving his tongue inside your mouth. Slowly stroking your cheek with his thumb, you kissed him back putting all your emotions into it. You licked him, moaning softly against him.

" You and me, it made sense, baby. " The blond-man murmured, his lips brushing yours. He put a peck on your mouth. " Don't take my father's money, I'm wealthy. I will take care of you." He kissed the tip of your nose. " Sign the paper, marry me, and everything would be good. " He continued, sliding his hand on your neck.

You opened your eyes, catching him watching you with need. His eyes were dark in the dim-lit room. Slowly, he started to press your neck, making you gasp.

" S-Steve…" You stammered frowning your tired eyes. His face looked serene, almost calm while his grasp on you grew stronger and tight. " S-Steve, I- I c-can't…" You stuttered growing alarmed starting to pant for air.

Trying to catch your breath, you attempted to swallow, looking at him leaned his face toward yours, brushing slightly your nose together.

" Come on, baby. " He urged you, his voice quiet. " Do it. Make me hard," Steve grunted liking your lips with the tip of his tongue while he choked you tightly.

You gasped again, shutting your eyes briefly, afraid. You felt them gathering in the corner of your eyes. You felt the tears fall on your cheeks while you parted your lips to catch some air. Steve breathed deeply, groaning quietly as you felt his cock inside of you getting hard again.

" That's my good girl. " He murmured, pressing your neck once, strongly, before releasing you. You opened your eyes, panting hard and sobbing. You watched through your misty gaze his dark blue gaze following every tears falling on your cheeks. A grin appeared on the corner of his mouth. "Get on your knees."

Slowly you do as he told you, lips trembling, tears still falling. One last time.

°°°  You jolted awake, hot. You were too warm. Feeling something holding you down, you opened your eyes to your bedroom window. It was still dark outside, the sun not out yet. Slightly, you touched the arm closing on you, turning slowly around and met with the beautiful peaceful face of your boss. Ex-boss. It was the first time you slept with him in the same bed after having sex. You watched him closely, he looked serene like this. Almost normal. But suddenly, the thought of what he told you last night made its way into your brain: " When we have sex everything is good. Everything is quiet." You licked your dry lips watching him quietly, his arm around your waist you were crushed against his warm body. Deep down, you knew it wasn't loved he felt. Maybe infatuation. Maybe something deeper but not love. So you felt no regrets, quietly getting up from the bed, put some clothes on, taking a few useful items that were still around in a bag, and left Steve Rogers alone in your bed. You promised yourself it was the last time. You needed to put a stop to it and even though the distance wasn't your first choice, it was the best solution.

°°°

The door opened on the beaming face of your mother standing at the entry of your childhood home. After a few hours on the train, you were home. It felt good. The sight of your town and your house brought some comfort to your heart. Everything would be fine now.

" Oh, honey you’re finally here! " Your mother exclaimed, pressing you into a big bear hug against her heart. A bit confused by her words, you chuckled nonetheless, pushing down the tears of happiness. "We were growing worried." " Dad’s here? " You asked doubting your statement as it left your mouth. " No, honey. " Your mom replied, a hint of sadness appeared inside her eyes before quickly being replace by delights. You frowned in front of her odd reaction. She quickly smiled, letting you step inside your home. " No, no, your dad is not here. But your lovely fiancee and I thought you missed the train. You are quite late. "

Fuck.

°°°

Five.

Tags: @chvntelle-99 @iloveshawnieboi @rebekahdawkins @preciouscupcake @dorothea-hwldr @onlyvisuallybasic @roxyfan14-blog @carrotfantasimp @syrenavenger

#Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader #Dark!Steve Rogers x You #Dark!Steve Rogers #Dark!Steve Rogers Imagine #Dark!Steve Rogers Fanfic #Dark!Steve x Reader #Dark!Steve x You #Dark!Steve Rogers Imagines #Dark!Steve Rogers Fanfiction #Dark Steve Rogers #Dark Steve #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers x You #Steve Rogers Imagine #Steve Roger Fanfic #Story: The Compromise IV #The Compromise Series

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ticketstomydaydreams · 3 years

Text

5:3666

(All We Have: Part Two)

Part One

Colson x Female Reader

Summary: You and Colson fall into a night time studio routine when he starts keeping you company through your insomnia and you decide to work though some past demons

Word count: 3,200 (ish, I lost count editing)

Feels: Fluff with a dash of past trauma

Warnings: Drug & alcohol consumption, domestic violence, cursing, Colson being so sweet it almost makes your teeth hurt

Companion playlist:

Machine Gun Kelly - 5:3666

Warren Zevon - I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

The Vamps - All Night

Halsey - You Should Be Sad

A/N: If you've been affected by anything in this story, please know you're not alone. My inbox is always open and I'm all ears 🖤

______

During the first couple of weeks of moving in, you’d been partying A LOT. The guys wanted to show you just how mad it got, breaking you into their chaotic household, blending the days together. Everyone was hyper and the house was buzzing with energy. You'd been so exhausted from all of it that you'd been all but passing out each night, but you couldn’t lie, it was great fun.

You’d tried to pass on a few nights but Colson would never hear of it, often forcing you out of your room to get involved as the house was filled with people, jam sessions taking place in between drinking games. It was a far cry from your usual homelife, your last housemate mainly kept to themselves so your place was normally pretty chilled. Colson had used your place as a quiet escape over the years, but it seemed you wouldn’t have the same set up extended to you here with this lot.

With the pandemic unfolding, the house had started getting quieter, less people in and out every night and everyone was settling into a lazier way of life. The gang were mooching around the house throughout the day and while the house was still lively at night, it wasn’t quite the party central you’d almost started getting used to. Your normal working routine went out the window as everyone had started working from home mainly and without your daily routine, followed by nights out partying, your insomnia was back with full force.

______

You were lying in your bed, trying to force sleep on yourself but after trying to nod off for a couple of hours, you accepted defeat and got back up. Throwing some sweats on and one of Colson’s huge hoodies (you’d been slowly sneaking them out of his closet, finding that the masses of material drowning your small frame were super comforting), you headed down to the kitchen, turned the stove on and filled the kettle up. You were scrolling through your phone when you heard footsteps on the tiled floor. Colson strolled into the kitchen looking disheveled in a white tank top and boxer shorts, hair ruffled and looking sleepy

“Dude, it’s 3am how come you’re up?”

“Couldn’t sleep, living that oh so fun insomnia life again” you sighed “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep either and heard someone moving about so thought I’d come down” He replied, climbing onto one of the breakfast stools

“Yeah, I think it’s not having much of a routine. Hate lying in bed staring at the ceiling so just got up. You want a cup?” you offered, pointing to the chamomile tea you were brewing

“Sure, thanks” he says, taking the steaming mug from you

You sit down at the breakfast bar with him and start chatting, scrolling through instagram as you do. After about an hour, as you’re talking about an article you’re reading, you notice Colson doesn’t respond and you look to your right and see he’s fallen asleep, leaning on his hand, his mouth slightly ajar.

“Hey, sleeping beauty” you whisper, rubbing his back with your hand “Go to bed”

He slightly jolts at your touch, opening his eyes “Nah man, I’m keeping you company”

“Some company” you laugh softly “pretty sure you just slept through all my rambling there”

He leans against your shoulder, closing his eyes again “Hey, at least you’re not sitting here alone. That’s something right?”

“That’s true” you smile, leaning your head against his “You’re very appreciated, do you know that”

You gently push him upright and stand up “Come on, let’s go to bed. I’m pretty tired myself, so you’ve definitely helped”

He’s laid his head down on his arm on the counter, his breathing getting heavy immediately so you pull his other hand making him stand up. He stands up and puts his arm around your shoulder as you walk towards the stairs, your legs feeling heavy as you climb each step, carrying some of Colson’s weight as he sleepily walks with you

Once you’re standing outside your bedroom doors, he pulls you in for a hug

“Night kid, don’t be wandering around bored if you can’t sleep yeah? Just come get me. Nothing worse than sitting up alone at night…”

“Will do. Thanks Col” You squeeze him a bit tighter as he kisses the top of your head

“Night” you smile, as he let’s you go and turns and heads into his room, waving his hand up behind him

Undressing and crawling into bed, your eyes feel heavy as your head hits the pillow. Colson was right, insomnia was a much less lonely experience with a friend.

______

Of course, as is always the way after your sleepless nights, you sleep in super late the following day meaning the cycle continues and you find yourself wide awake as the witching hour approaches. Feeling restless in your bedroom, you get up, and decide to head downstairs and out into the studio because you figure you might as well put this time to good use. You settle into a chair with your acoustic guitar and started playing, stopping and starting as you figure out a melody, working your latest lyrics in with it

“I wanna start this out and say, I gotta get it off my chest. Got no anger, got no malice…”

“I thought I told you to come get me if you couldn’t sleep”

You almost drop your guitar as you hear Colson’s voice behind you, “Jesus, how are you such an enormous human but you still manage to creep up on me all the time?”

“Just a stealthy motherfucker I guess” He laughs, flopping into the chair next to you

“Whatcha working on? That sounded sweet, keep playing…”

Colson knows you sometimes get a bit self-conscious with people watching you sing, so he lights his joint, rests his head on his hand and closes his eyes. You smile as you see what he's doing, thankful he always understands what you're like.

You turn back to your notepad, reading over your lyric outline quickly before repositioning the guitar in your lap and resetting the metronome

___

‘I wanna start this out and say, I gotta get it off my chest

Got no anger, got no malice, Just a little bit of regret

No, nobody else will tell you, so there's some things I gotta say

Gonna jot it down and then get it out and then I'll be on my way

No, you're not half the man you think that you are

And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs, and cars

I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you

'Cause you can't love nothing unless there's something in it for you

Oh, I feel so sorry, I feel so sad

I tried to help you, it just made you mad

And I had no warning about who you are

I'm just glad I made it out without breaking down

And then ran so fuckin' far, that you would never ever touch me again

Won't see your alligator tears

'Cause, no, I've had enough of them’

___

“Man, that was beautiful Y/N. I got some chills right there…You just wrote that?”

“Nah, it’s something I dug up from ‘back then’. Been going through some old lyrics and samples while we’ve got all this time on our hands. It’s kinda cathartic to go over some of that stuff now there’s a bit more distance you know”

______

A couple of years ago, you’d been stuck in a really toxic relationship with your ex, Stevie. Your time with him had been a tornado of arguments, drugs and the constant heartache of him cheating on you. Every time you’d get close to having the strength to leave, you’d always cave in and the mess would continue with you losing a bit of yourself each time you stayed. You’d become pretty used to his violent outbursts, he had always been controlling and short tempered, often pushing you and throwing stuff around your apartment. Despite his own frequent infidelity, he flew into a jealous rage with you constantly.

He’d always hated Colson, despite him being one of your best friends, and while he’d play nice to his face you’d always get it in the neck once you were alone about how you and Colson were ‘too close’ and he ‘didn’t trust him’. Before that final night you’d spent with him, things had been pretty good with the two of you for a few weeks, there hadn’t been much drama and so you hadn’t thought too much of inviting him out with you and the gang for a night out clubbing. Your good run had clearly come to an end, when you felt his hand grab your arm tightly and drag you off the dancefloor where you’d been dancing with Colson. You’d been bundled into an uber so quickly, you hadn’t even managed to get your handbag from inside. You saw Colson running out of the club, followed by Rook and Slim who was holding your bag, as the cab pulled away.

Once you were back at the apartment, he flew into a rage. You’d never seen him this bad before, his eyes were dark and when you tried to argue back, calling his jealousy ‘pathetic’ he snapped. He’d grabbed you by the throat and slammed you against the wall, “Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again” he’d spat in your face, before striking you so hard with his fist that the skin across your cheek split open. It was as if his actions had knocked him back to reality, he’d let go of you and you ran to your bedroom, locked the door behind you and started packing a bag. He hammered on the door, begging you to open it and you could hear that he was crying. You looked around for your phone before you remembered you’d left it at the club. Desperate to get away, you opened your laptop and brought up instagram, managing to send Colson a message asking him to send you an uber to his house straight away. You’d thrown your laptop and a few more bits in your bag, the battery dying before you had a chance to wait for a reply, before pulling the bedroom door open and barging past Stevie. He’d tried to grab you, but you’d finally had enough “Never fucking touch me again” you spat, pushing him off you. The hatred in your voice rooted him to the spot and he said nothing as you walked out, the door slamming behind you.

Once you were outside the apartment building, the reality of what had just happened and the situation you were in started to wash over you. You had no phone, no wallet, your laptop was dead. Just as you were starting to seriously panic, an uber pulled up and Colson had leapt out of the backseat. You’d been in total shock and had just let Colson guide you into the cab and then out into his house, up to his room. He didn’t say anything as he led you to his bathroom and lifted you up onto the counter. He grabbed a flannel and soaked it with warm water, rinsing it out before pressing it softly against the cut on your cheek, gently wiping away the blood that had mixed with your mascara laced tears. The tenderness of his actions was almost too much and you started to sob again.

“Hey, hey. Y/N, look at me” he said softly, lifting your chin so you looked at him, his blue eyes misty themselves “It’s okay, you’re safe here. Don’t move, I’ll be back in a sec”

He left the bathroom and returned with a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Putting them on the counter next to you, he crouched down and undid the straps on your heels, slipping them off your feet and then helping you down from the counter. “I’ll leave you to change”

When you came out of the bathroom, Colson was lying in his bed “Come here” he said, holding his arm and beckoning into his side. You crawled under the covers next to him and snuggled into him, his long arms wrapping around you.

“Col…” you said quietly

“Yeah?” he whispered back, stroking your hair off your forehead

“Thank you…”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve always got you Y/N”

______

“I hated that fucking guy. That night...I wanted to kill him after what he’d done to you”

You see him tense up at the memory and you lean over and squeeze his knee “You’re such an amazing friend, do you know that. I don’t know what I would’ve done that night without you”

"You're a fucking warrior Y/N, you'd have handled your shit. I was just happy you trusted me enough to let me be there for you. You deserve so much better than that" he says, covering the hand you'd placed on his knee with his, staring you in the eyes and returning the smile that's crept across your face

"You know there's been a few punches I've wanted to dole out on behalf of you over the years, but you've never let me" you tell him

"Too right I'd never let you. I never want you in the drama, you're too good for getting caught up in that shit" he replies, pointing at you with mock sternness

"Hey" he says, seeing your expression wash over with a tint of sadness "At least the sleepless nights aren't what they were then…

… If we're gonna work through some old demons this lockdown, I'm sure I've got some songs and lyrics that have never seen the light of day" He reaches over the desk and pulls his laptop towards him "You've inspired me… "

"Oh no, are we gonna fuck our heads up with this?" you joke nervously, worrying that Colson's going to delve into something that's going to upset him

"Nah, I got you covered and you got me, right?"

"True dat" you say, as he holds his fist out so you can fistbump, his eyes now focused on his laptop screen

______

You felt kinda bad, having kept Colson up all night with you the last two nights, especially as you'd got him reminiscing about some tough memories, so tonight you tried to sneak past his room when your restlessness got the better of you.

"Nice try kid!" Colson says as he throws his bedroom door open, causing you to yelp in fright. standing there topless with his sweatpants hung low in his hips, he lights the joint hanging from his mouth "I told you we were in this together now"

"I felt bad, making you stay up with me"

"You didn't make me do shit…Wait a sec, let me find a hoodie. If I have any left in here…" he says, giving a pointed look towards the huge blue hoodie you were wrapped in before walking back into his room and rummaging through his drawers

"Oh shush, you have like a hundred…"

"Right come on" he says, pulling a pink hoodie over his head and flipping the hood up over his messy hair "Let's see what we get into tonight…"

______

And so the nights went on like this, the two of you falling into an easygoing studio routine. If there wasn't anything else going on in the house, you'd eat dinner together then head to the studio and work through the night into the small hours, skipping out the pretense of trying to sleep. You were both pretty productive at this time it seemed, both being proclaimed night owls, and keeping busy during these uncertain times was keeping your minds off the unfolding pandemic.

Considering he’d referred to his home studio in the past as the ‘rage cage’ (and it certainly could still be party central when the entire crew got involved), it was actually a place you drifted towards to relax these days. You’d always worked well together in a studio, but over the weeks spending so much time just the two of you, you became more in tune with each other, noticing when one of you had hit a wall and it was time for bed. Sometimes you'd work in comfortable silence, side by side, engrossed in your own seperate tasks. Sometimes barely any work would get done as you put the world to rights talking about anything and everything in a late night impromptu therapy session.

This evening, you'd been sitting cross legged in your chair for hours now, focusing so hard on editing a song which was driving you mad, you hadn't realised your feet had gone numb. As you try to move, your knees crack and pins and needles shoot through your legs. Colson looks up from the screen he'd been engrossed in after hearing you groan and sees you rubbing your feet trying to bring back the feeling to them

‘C’mere’ he said, before turning his chair towards you and leaning down to grab your legs, bringing your feet up onto his lap. He pulls your socks off and begins massaging your feet. You lean your head back, eyes closed and let out a long ‘hmmm’. You don’t see Colson glancing over at you and shifting in his seat as he lets out slow breath before turning back to his screen

“Now this is the kind of work session I could get used to”, you sighed "You being my studio bitch on hand for foot rubs. Although, I imagine this enjoyment goes both ways Mr Foot Lover” you tease, throwing him an exaggerated wink

Colson throws his head back with a hearty chuckle, and light heartedly slaps your calf

"Keep it in your pants Y/N"

You laugh and wiggle your toes, Colson letting out a dramatic, throaty groan in response. "Those are some sexy little toes though" he states, sticking his tongue out.

Still laughing, you put your hand to your chest, and gasp as you feign prudishness and try to pull your feet away. He grabs both your feet in one of his hands, keeping them in place then leans over the desk and pulls your laptop towards you

"Get on with some work you, this is supposed to be keeping you motivated, not distracted"

He scolds affectionately, with a smile on his face

“Okay, okay, spoilsport” you grumble as you pull your computer onto your lap

Half an hour passes, your legs still on Colson’s lap with him still massaging your feet absentmindedly with one hand while he works, and your eyes begin to feel heavy. You don’t realise you’ve fallen asleep, until you’re awoken by a “woah” from Colson as he catches your laptop which is about to fall. Taking it from your lap, he states “Right, time for bed you”

You check your phone and see it’s already 5:36am.

You stand up and stretch then walk over behind Colson, putting your arms around his shoulders, and resting your chin on his head. Looking at his screen, you yawn “You got much left to do?”

He leans back into you, bringing his hand up to rest on your arm, “Making some good progress so just gonna finish a couple of bits”

“Okay dude” you gently kiss the top of his head and squeeze the back of his neck a couple of times as you turn to leave “Try and get some rest, we’ve got a long day of sweet fuck all to do tomorrow” you say through another big yawn

“Heh yeah, Night Kid” he says softly, letting out a yawn himself. Colson turns and watches you head out of the studio and lets out a big sigh. Feeling the back of his neck still tingle from where you’d squeezed it, he’s suddenly aware of how empty the room feels without you in it....

______

Taglist: @triplexdoublex @thisshitisfuckingdifficult @brightblaqkkheaven

Lace Up! ❌❌

#colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #mgk imagine #mgk x reader #mgk fluff #mgk smut #Colson Baker #colson baker smut #Mgk #machine gun kelly #mgk fanfiction #Mgk fic #Colson fic #Colson imagine

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

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Melting Wax, Crawling Vines: Part 3 (Vincent Sinclair x Fem!Reader)

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Warnings: character death, intent to kidnap, violence, abusive relationships, domestic physical and verbal abuse, blood mention, stalking, basically the reader has been in her own horror movie

Word Count: 3302

Basically, when I said this was gonna be the darkest thing I ever wrote, this was one of the chapters I was talking about. Vincent is coming the next chapter though!!

@meanduck

You were at your sister's house, and you'd almost been able to relax. It had been three weeks since you'd left your ex, three weeks since you'd seen him.

At first, he'd been heavenly. You'd cultivated your relationship, thinking that the pair of you were growing together. It wasn't until you'd been with him for a few years that you realized you hadn't. You hadn't grown together, he'd grown around you . He'd grown around your life like vines around a tree, taking root in your soul and wrapping tightly around your every activity. And, at first, you didn't even mind it. Your parents had passed away during your relationship and you'd only had your sister and him to keep you going. You thought he was simply keeping you upright, from falling over and being consumed by the earth. That he held you up and kept you growing. Until you found that his leaves were soaking up all your sun.

It'd been little things at first. Comments here or there. Things he would never say in front of your friends or your sister. Just things that chipped at your self esteem. Then, the comments became yelling at you until you cried. Then- You shook your head. You didn't want to think about the shiner on your cheekbone or your busted lip. You hadn't looked at a mirror in the entire week you'd been at your sister's. Usually, you'd been able to cover up the results of his anger, and you'd made sure to avoid anyone until it faded into something a little easier to explain. But a shiner right near your eye and a busted lip? One surprise visit from your sister was all it took for you to crumble, to tell her everything. You tried to explain that it wasn't his fault, that he just got angry sometimes, but she'd packed you away in her truck and had about a quarter of your things at her house the next day.

He had called. Over, and over, and over. Your sister picked up the phone each time, and had started hanging up the second she heard his voice after only a day of his insistent calls. She helped you build yourself back up, even if you'd only break back down the next day. And she even insisted that you file a restraining order. You'd been granted a PFA, and you'd finally gotten an official restraining order earlier that week. Some of your friends still couldn't believe what they heard, and you figured not all of those ties were going to last. Especially when he was in their ear. So, you spent most of your time at your sister's house, which had grown quiet ever since he'd been given notice. No calls, no voicemails, nothing. You were almost at peace living with her.

The pair of you were sitting in her living room, eating ice-cream and watching reruns. You'd reached over to give her hand a squeeze, a silent thank you. She'd decided to stay home from work that night, simply because you weren't sure you'd be able to withstand the night by yourself. She'd understood, and she'd told you,

"They can manage without me tonight." She was a waitress at the nearby diner, one she'd been working at ever since you were teenagers. She always made the same joke. You were the one that went to college, she was the one that waited tables. That was just that. Your parents hadn't had enough money to send you both, and you felt a little bad about it now, but you were sure you could make it up. Once school started again in September, you could help her pay for her house. Maybe she could take time off and take some night classes. Even if she assured you she was content with how things were every time you brought it up, you thought it could be good for her. Helping her was easier than helping yourself, after all.

When a commercial began to play, both of you groaned.

"They always pick the worst times." Your sister said as she fumbled for the remote. You leaned back, sucking on your spoon as you said,

"That's, like, the point. They wanna keep you in suspense." You said, and she rolled her eyes before she started flipping through the channels to find something to watch until the commercials were over.

"Suspense, my ass." She said, and you stifled your laugh with another bite of the frozen treat. She smiled at you, and, for the first time in a really long time, you felt safe again.

***

"I thought a beer might fit the occasion better." Bo said, and you accepted the drink all the same. He might've been right about that, and you watched as he flipped the cap off for you before handing you the drink. You took a long swig, having sat up, and wiped your mouth after you pulled the bottle away from it. You stared down at the green bottle in your hands, wondering where you should even start. At the beginning? You thought.

But where was that? Your first date? His first comment? The first time he hit you? You took another swig. You decided that that night was the only really important night. But you hadn't even pried open the wound yet and it already stung. You played with the rim of the bottle opening as you began,

"I wasn't completely honest with you, Lester. I'm not just moving. I'm- I'm running away-" You stopped yourself to take another swig. It was hard to admit, but how else could you say it? You were running. To a new town, a new job. A whole new life in hopes of abandoning him with the one you'd left behind. The boys had gone quiet to let you talk, but Lester pressed on by asking,

"From what?" And you grimaced. It wasn't a what. The monster in your nightmares, the person that had plagued your young adult life. He wasn't a what, even if he acted like it sometimes. Even if it would be easier to understand him if he was a what.

"A who." You quietly corrected. You stared down at the bottle, missing the look the boys shared. "I'm running from a who. He, um," You paused, blinking quickly to push back the tears before just screwing your eyes shut altogether. The palm of your hand pressed against the bridge of your brow as the images of that night flooded back.

***

Just after that feeling began to settle, you heard a sound of a car hitting gravel. Both of your heads turned and it only took a second for both of you to realize who it was. You'd both seen the car time and time again over the years. In a second, all safety had snapped. Your sister was launching herself off the couch, heading straight for the front door and scooping the phone up on the way. She was already dialing 911, but there was a pause. His car door didn't open and his feet didn't hit the gravel. You didn't have time to figure out what had stalled him, because your sister was already talking to the cops. She was already telling them about the restraining order and that he was here, unannounced. You were frozen on the couch, and all you could do was listen. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your mind was fuzzy. What was he doing? Why is he here?

There were a million possibilities and then one made itself clear, one that shook you and made a cold sweat appear on the back of your neck. Your sister was supposed to work tonight. You were supposed to be alone.

When that door finally slammed, you threw the ice-cream out of your hands the second you realized. He wouldn't come through the front. He wasn't stupid. You ran to the back, locking the door just as a dark figure appeared through the blinds. A silhouette outlined by the setting sun. Your sister was grabbing you, yanking you away from it as the handle shook. He was trying to get in. You could feel tears beading at your eyes, but your sister was slapping a hand over your mouth when you heard the glass shatter and tugging you under the dining room table.

***

You didn't have the words to describe what he was. He was a lot of things, and summing him up seemed just a little too difficult in your current state. You waved a hand, waving away their hands when they reached out to touch you. You didn't need to be consoled. Well, perhaps you did, but you weren't sure you'd be able to keep your composure if you were. You didn't want to cry in front of strangers, especially ones you'd just fainted in front of. Instead, you tried to focus on telling them what you knew. You started with how you knew him.

"My ex-boyfriend. He, um, he's really-" Psychotic. Abusive. Violent . "Dangerous." That was the word you landed on. "I left my hometown to start over and to, well, leave him behind. But, he," You stared at your hands, before you took another swig. "He found my new apartment complex. That's why I-" You said, gesturing your hand to point out the current situation. You heard Bo suck in a breath. You looked up, seeing that he was lifting his brows and shaking his head. When you looked at Lester, he was rubbing the back of his neck. They were quiet for a moment, before Bo gave you a pat on your leg. His tone seemed to shift, a charming facade replacing it.

"Well, y'know, maybe he just wants to talk. Just wants closure. I mean, you did date him, so he can't be that bad." Bo said, and your face fell. His eyes followed the change, and his own attempt at a smile faded. You knew he couldn't have known. That he was just trying to be polite and make you feel better. You knew you shouldn't take it personally or snap at him. But, you couldn't help the coldness of your voice when you said,

"He killed my twin sister. The only closure he wants is to finish the job." And you downed the rest of the bottle.

***

You and your sister had been hiding. Under the table while he checked the living room, darting towards the living room the second he went back into the kitchen. He'd been talking the entire time. Almost as if he wanted you to know where he was,

"Yoo-hoo. I didn't expect you to be home tonight, I'll tell you that. But that's fine. I'm here to take your sister home." You'd heard him head towards the other side of the house, back towards the laundry room and the guest bathroom. "A restraining order? Now, I thought maybe she was just going to take some time to herself. Realize how much she missed me. But I got that notice and, well, I knew you'd stuck your hooks in deep." You could almost imagine him wagging his finger. He was heading towards your sister's study. "Y'know, you two might be identical, but," He paused. You could practically see him shaking his head. "I could always tell the difference. My baby she's just- She's a little softer, ain't she? And she's got that smile." He whistled. "No wonder all those kids listen to her. She could stop traffic with that smile. She's here, ain't she? Well, honey, stop hiding, okay? Just stop hiding, and we'll go home. I won't do nothing. Promise." And you could nearly hear him cross over his heart. Your sister placed a finger over her lips, and you held a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. As if she believed you might really sell them out, surrender yourselves to him. She peeked over the couch, before she was dragging you by your hand towards the central stairway. She peeked past the banister, her china closet and umbrella holder on your left. You looked around, making sure he wasn't coming back. He was being quiet now, and the silence made it so the only thing you could hear was your heartbeat thumping in your ears. You looked down. There, leaning against the china closet, was a wooden baseball bat. You wrapped your hand around it, tugging it close to you as you sister leaned close to whisper,

"We head for the attic, close the stairs, and wait for the police to come. Okay? Don't look behind you and just run." She said, and you gave her a nod. But, just as you rounded the corner and got halfway up the stairs, you heard the slap of your ex's hand against the banister.

"Gotcha." You turned, and you didn't think. You swung, surprising the man and hitting him square across the face. Right across the mouth. In all the years you'd dated, you'd never once striked him. You hit him again, the force behind the blow making him fall back and land on his back. You wanted to hit him again. Make sure he wouldn't follow you up the stairs. Make sure he wouldn't bother you ever again. A rush of adrenaline had gone through you, and you knew it would be so easy. One or two more purposeful swings and you'd never have to worry about him again. But your sister was yanking the bat out of your grasp and pulling you up the stairs.

He was down, but he wasn't out. The second the pair of you had gotten the stairs to the attic down, you heard the top stair behind you creak. Your sister had ushered you to go up first. To get to safety. But you turned around, seeing that, while his mouth was bleeding, he could walk fine.

"You bitch." He cursed, taking a step towards you on the landing. Your sister swung the bat, just as you did, but the element of surprise was gone. He caught the swing, and you hadn't been able to see the look on your sister's face as he yanked her forward by it. "Fuck you." He said to her, and you screamed a cry of,

"No!" As he wrestled the bat out of her grasp and threw her down the stairs. You stared, unblinking. People fell down the stairs before and walked away completely fine. And some didn't. Your sister laid in a heap, unmoving. You'd heard the sickening crack, the sound of bone crunching. A sound that let you know that she wasn't going to get up. She wasn't going to save you this time. You'd frozen, staring at the girl at the bottom of the stairs. At the face that had matched your own, but who's eyes had gone blank. He'd practically leapt towards you. His hands on your arms, his grip tight enough to crush bone. His breath was hot in your face as he spat out the words,

"You think you can leave me? You think what she got was bad? When I'm done with you, you'll wish it was you at the bottom of the stairs." But the next sound was the sound of a siren, and you watched as your ex's head swiveled towards the door. Again, you didn't think. You threw your head forward, headbutting him hard enough to make your ears ring and to knock him back. You'd hit him right in the nose, and it was gushing blood. His grip loosened and you pushed him the rest of the way. You pushed yourself to turn around, scampering up the stairs. You yanked the stairs up just as he tried to pull himself up, and brought the string with you. You sat there, holding onto the string so tight that your knuckles had turned white. You were breathing heavily, and a sob racked through you as what just happened finally caught up to you. You laid on the floor of the basement, the smell of dust clogging your nose as you cried. For the first time in your entire life, you were completely alone.

***

"You hit him with a bat?" Bo asked, a soft chuckle of surprise leaving his lips. You'd explained what happened, how he'd broken in after hearing about the restraining order. If Bo hadn't already refilled your hand with another beer, you would probably be mortified that you were telling them this much.

"And broke his nose." You said after taking a swig, wiping your lips with your sleeve once again. That was the only bit of satisfaction you'd gotten from the situation, even if regret outweighed it in multitudes. "I-I know it's not good to say this, but I really," You paused to take another swig. "I really wish she'd let me finish it. Then, then," The words were thick in your throat. "Then, she would've lived." You gestured with the bottle for a moment, your mouth opening as if you had more to say, before you snapped it closed. You were staring straight ahead, refusing to meet either of their gazes. Even if they seemed warmer than ever. "I should've killed that sonovabitch." You mumbled to yourself, taking another long swig until there was only about an inch left in the bottle. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "I need to- I need to call my friends. Tell them what happened." You were moving to get up, moving to stand. But Bo was placing a hand on your shoulder and saying,

"No, no. That's not a good idea, darlin'." And your gaze turned confused. His voice was as charming as ever as he said words that disturbed you to no end. "Obviously, one of them is a rat. How else would he have found you?" He asked, and you stared at him. Perhaps you were drunk, or maybe he was truly right. You looked away, considering the idea. "Or maybe one of them didn't mean to give it away. Either way," He sighed, shaking his head. "The less people know the better."

"Well, I've gotta- I've gotta head home then. He'll think I'm- I'm in my new town-" But Bo was cutting you off again.

"Listen, honey, if I was a crazy psycho like that guy," He said, making a gesture with his thumb. "The next place I'd look for you is in your hometown. Now, you were gonna have to stay the night in Ambrose anyways, right? I haven't even started on your car." He pulled back, throwing up his hands. "And Ambrose isn't even on a map. So , the smartest thing to do is to stay here, in this house, until you figure out your next move." And maybe you were just drunk, but Bo was making perfect sense. Still, you said,

"I couldn't- I couldn't ask that of you. I don't have money to pay rent and I don't- I probably can't even pay for my car- "

"You're not asking, I'm offering." He said, poking a finger at you and then at him. "And, as for payment, I'm sure we can work something out. Now, I-" He looked up, glancing at Lester. "Wouldn't feel like a good christian if I just let you leave after hearing a story like that. You'll stay in Ambrose, and we'll look after you until you figure out what to do." And you could feel your lip trembling as you looked at the man. You launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and hugged him before you could even think twice. He seemed surprised, and he awkwardly pat your back as you whispered a mantra of,

"Thank you." Over and over.

#house of wax #house of wax 2005 #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #lester sinclair

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matchamorphosis · 3 years

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 1-800-𝓘-𝓛𝓞𝓥𝓔-𝓤

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 || waiting for you and your beau’s dinner reservation later on tonight you and he spend valentines day together through the devotion of your dial rotary telephone

𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮 || fluffy smut

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 || steve rogers × [black//woc]!reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 || 4.6K

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 || 18+ nsfw, introduction to phone sex but i don’t go any bit further, body worship, captain kink, one bibical mention, reader gets spoiled to the t!, but still this is not suitable for anyone that isn’t 18+

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓼 || move over darling by doris day ♡ all of me by billie holiday ♡ unforgettable by nat king cole ♡ dream a little dream of me by ella fitzgerald & louis armstrong

𝔀. 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 || this is my gift for the divine @denisemarieangelina! for @chrissquares + @drabblewithfrannybarnes + @amythedvdhoarder Hoelentine’s Day Challenge! ♡ i’m very anxious to share this because i did this simpler version of writing then what i’m usually used to but I hope you enjoy this lovely and happy valentines day! muah! ♡ please tell me if you don’t like this because i can always add onto this if you want more! ♡ anyways i hope you cherubs enjoy this to! ♡♡♡

BABY PINK ENVELOPES FILL THE SPACE IN YOUR HANDS

humming along to the musing record that spins on the turntable the kitchen is alive with the sentimental lyrics of Nat King Cole and Billie Holiday you sway your leg over your knee as you read the bush colored letters. the quaint apartment complex fills with blissful warmth, for the maiden in the kitchen enjoys her breakfast yearning for her partner to return as quickly as he promised. analyzing the intricate curves and dips of Steven’s handwriting, it pulls you into a hypnotizing trance as your mind fills with nothing but his deep voice as you read along.

cordial elements wrapping the visible areas of skin your Valentine’s sweethearts button down doesn’t cover. it is a relaying fact that the crisp expansive piece makes your body seem petite but because of its obscene size the fabric falls past your shoulders in a graceful fashion. clumsily buttoning up the blazer wrongly that early morning, it only adds onto the carefree nature that exhibits and adds onto your soft sways and musical hums.

reaching for your steaming pink mug of milk chocolate cappuccino that lays near more open letters and more envelopes free from their wax sealings. you plan on opening all of them throughout the day, holding onto the handle you bring it up to your soft lips. attentive fingertips trace the cursive black ink of Steven’s handwriting in a lovesick gaze. the accidental ink splotches and small charcoal sketches of floral anatomy make the pace of your heart slow in a tender beat.

despite your devoted attention being on your beau’s love letters there are other envelopes that aren’t just from your Steven. although to make it easier to recognize the difference between the uninterested letter from past lovers and secret admirers Stevens envelopes are printed in your favorite shade of pink.

these darling letters that Steven is now confident to share with you are filled with small poems. being terrified of gifting you in the early phases of your relationship, your holding the multiple pages amongst pages of dazing sketches of your bodies beautiful features. paragraphs that outline his love letters to you which he kept hidden in a journal. reading and daydreaming as you take in each poetic sentence of your beau explain and sharing each love struck moment of his days that he adored spending with you.

the timeline of these letters go back from days, to weeks to whole years. it astounds you how you’ve never caught Steven in the act of writing poetry or making a love entrée yet you aren’t at all complaining. however the envelopes were a surprise to come across to when you looked over the mail. they weren’t in your daily sack delivered by the porter but laying in a huge pile on your kitchen island before he left that morning.

they went handsomely with his gifted bouquet of your favorite flowers that decorated each room of your apartment. a bud of them you found laying amongst the colorfully cream colored candles is now in your hair tucked behind your ear. Steven’s handwriting displayed on the front-

for my darling

they were just waiting for you to read and so here you are soaking in each vow hidden in his whimsical sonnets and ballads.

smelling both the sweet nectar of the flower and the divine cocoa of your cappuccino you continue reading from his letters. mirthful eyes dashing along each word of the little poem he wrote for you, the gleaming smile that frames your face doesn’t settle down one bit as you read and sing them not louder than a breathy whisper. giggling aloud and kicking your bare feet in the air when you read Steven’s beautifully crafted poetry centered and dedicated to you and only you.

the letters seem to distract you from the vast amounts of gifts, arranging from exquisitely wrapped small boxes to large gift bags bearing designer brands. Steven sent each gift along with the blush colored letters but they lie unattentively under your pedicured feet that bounce along with the turntable. singing along Billie Holidays lyrics of April in Paris as you continue to read and sip from your chocolatey cappuccino. the letters themselves are elegantly scattered onto the marble island where you bite into one of the buttery croissants that are bunched in a wooden basket you have prepared since the morning.

of course you weren’t supposed to eat alone, by all means this day of domestic and fairytale romance wasn’t suited to be spent alone. it of course isn’t suited for you in the slightest, not like you to bear this inconvenience.

in front of you -well behind the sketches your dreamily admiring- rests a large breakfast consisting of baked sweet and savory pastries, sunny yellow omelets and fresh ripe fruit. the early meal was suppose to be a little feast for both you and the public hero but of course your heroic beau had his urgent errands to run. a phone call rudely interrupted the session of your passionate lips and tongues destine to spiral you both on the cloud of desire.

the ringtone acting as nothing but an irritating background noise, it cause the blond to pull away to deal with it. walking away from you and out of your private bathroom suite and as obvious as this is going to sound- Steven didn’t decline the call. from your position as you sat on the marble and gold flecked kitchen sink, your hand rests on the golden swan at the faucet.

listening as you heard him hum along to whatever the dispatcher had to say before hanging up and heard his footsteps coming closer and there you say your lover. smiling to him as you pulled him towards you, lips gracing his he cut the devastating news to you of his unplanned errands. apologizing to you with a kiss but ending it with a promise for an intimate dinner reservation he did plan beforehand.

then with a change of clothes, he was out the door but you willed yourself to not be upset at him. your Steven always kept his promises and you were still swooning over the lovely events that happened last night that still show the results of it all on your skin and a delicious soreness in between your legs. ending passionately in wine soaking your thoughts and actions you both headed to your apartment and tangled in your sheets. you now are wearing his button up he wore to the dinner reservation that night, slightly wrinkled yet smelling of Stevens entrancing cologne.

it brings you back to that night and you could still feel the searing butterfly traces of his lips along your collarbones, neck and breasts. dainty and vivid as the white sunshine that streams through the high white apertures of your apartment.

it’s all beautifully cinematic

the music playing on the record as you enjoy your breakfast while reading your lovers letters to you. chocolate spread used to smear over the flaky pastry in your hand smears the corners of your lips and you wish Steven is here to thumb it away. a sorrow filled sigh break through your lips, knowing these letters are all you have of him at the moment as he’s out busy at Stark Tower doing only god knows what and bumping heads with only god knows who. silence only greets those thoughts and you realize that the collection of records playing your favorite romance artists have stopped sounding out their hearty tunes.

frowning, you get up and replay the record before returning back to the kitchen and to your seat. hands go back to the letters and your heart warms up in a matter of blissful seconds, cheery contentment dawning your face in delightful charm. although a question still dances along the crowded ballroom of your mind-

whatever will you do with the time you have alone on Valentine’s Day awaiting for your beau?

it is only eight in the morning, Stevens plans are set around nine tonight and you could do so much more than just doll yourself up. finishing your lavish breakfast you begin tidying up once you place another record on the sitting room turntable. the music flowing throughout the large and finely furnished apartment, it creates a heavenly picturesque glow that brightens the golden framed paintings and renaissance clawfoot furniture.

you feel like an old Hollywood actress staring in her romantic comedy, it makes you nothing but languorous glee. the beauty of your vivid imagination pulling your typewritten script and setting your scenes to hear the director yell action! manifesting the movie with each pirouetting step, you feel the timeless sensation of Audrey Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor gracing down on from the heavens.

singing along with the records, recited movie lines from Breakfast At Tiffany’s and Rear Window. romantically immortal films consisting of elegant tailored outfits of Chanel and Moschino that the leading actress would flirt with her on screen partner, long and lust filled stares between your lover and the epitome of transatlantic accents that would make an European swoon.

the craftsmanship of your fantasy aiding you by hiding away any untouched breakfast foods, biting into a jam filled puff pastry you keep the sweet confectionery in between your teeth as you organize Steven’s letters. filing them from the ones you have read, that you carefully fold back into their envelops- to the ones you plan on reading later. clearing them away safely on an ivory tabletom dancing along with the beat of the record.

pulling yourself back into the visionary scene of your beloved vintage films, a baby blue Dior headband frames your heads crown and keeps your untamed bed hair away from your temple as you start a kettle of tea. retrieving your personally cherished china set from your glassy cupboards, soaking your desired teabags, home grown herbs and honey dewdrops into the separate porcelain teapot. turning the nob on the stovetop off once the screeching kettle ready with boiling water becomes louder than the music, it quietly dies down and you hum as you place the boiling water into the small porcelain teapot.

steam erupting, its soothing when the scorching water drenches in the tea ingredients that begin to linger a sweet smelling scent. peachy cheeks soft and dewy as the sweet sunshine bounces off them, you carefully unfold each divinely wrapped box covered with glossy ribbons and confetti gift bag covered in strawberry scented tissue paper. blowing and sipping from your tea cup, you tenderly bundle Stevens button up around you as you examine his gift.

each eye grabbing and more expansive with each one passing you look over the heavy offering of baby pink and cream tulle trimmed Agent Provocateur lingerie. the occasion of lacey babydolls and pink fury teddys holding cupid hearts coming once with every three bags you also discover the silver Tiffany charms in powdered pistachio blue boxes. pastel pink heart-shaped pastel boxes of Chardonnet et Walker pink marc de champagne truffles make your mouth tingle.

mink coats and cashmere sweaters dedicated to wrap you nice and warm in the snowy weather. a starlight smile shines at the fact of Steven remembering you looking through a few catalogues days after New Years. princess cut Dior earrings that shine like dangling stars and heart-shaped Prada handbags that would make any winged cherub strike their golden arrows into.

Steven always went above and beyond with your Valentine gifts and you weren’t even halfway done with opening the boxes and bags but seemed fit to prepare yourself for the day ahead of you.

curves swaying along with Louis Armstrong's flaunting trumpet and Ella Fitzgerald's sweetly divine vocals once you get from your criss-crossed position on the floor. passing the wrapping paper and ribbon bows scattered in a sprawled lovecore mess, you make your way to your bedroom. bare feet adding against the carpet, passing golden framed body length mirrors and vase upon vase of flowers and burning candles. a silver tray bearing the porcelain petunia painted tea kettle, china tea cup and Stevens letters in your hands.

entering your open bedroom filled with crisp sunshine, your eyes dash over to your mess of a bed. white sheets that once held two giggling and kissing lovers is now empty with the exception of your pet laying lazily on the wrinkled plush comforter. blowing a kiss to the sleeping fluffy beauty before opening the molded white door to your private suite.

dancing along the white marble of the floor you run your bathtub full of hot water. taking your time preparing your dress and the lingerie you’ll wear tonight, it wasn’t exactly easy. Steven took a great joy in gifting you all the luxuries of jewelery, lingerie and clothing you desired, took great joy in fucking you in them as well. but as you enter the bathroom and exit to go through your wardrobe in your closets you go through boxes upon boxes of lingerie.

rummaging the organized baby pink boxes that you took hours organizing, you did realize that some bralettes were missing their panties yet you remember your gentlemen liked keeping a pair or two in his office when he’s away. you settle with not wearing anything Steven bought you but what you ordered on a website that caught your attention, more so intrigued of the fabulous singer and actress who ran the brand.

the divine deep red Valentines Day pieces of Fenty Lingerie were expansive but so was your credit card as you ordered the whole collection. hiding the box away from Steven and his too curious grasps you now reveal the box and open it. taking out the desired heart bralettes and Gartier belted thigh highs that went along with the lewd sheer panties you let out a delightful squeal at the thought of Steven ripping off your silk slip dress to reveal this sinful number.

sipping from your tea, you go through your jewelry boxes settled on seashell chests on your vanity. retrieving your dearest diamond accessories to go along with the slip dress you head back to the bathroom. the water rising to your favorable height you fill the marble crest with rose petals, rose oils, rose water and rose bubble bath. of course, with Steven’s relentless showing of gifts there were enough Italian imported red wines for you to bathe in but you settled for your rose bath set that was tucked in the corners of your towel closet.

burning Diptyque candles around the tub, you settle your delicate cup down on the tray. departing from your beaus button down, you sink your feet and body into the floral water glowing in pearly bubbles smelling just the tint of sea salt. dissolving your thoughts and worries in the soft pink-hued mist your hands reach for Steven’s letters. carefully undoing the crimson wax seal your fingers grasp the letter and polaroid photographs it holds.

giggling when you read that this specific letter is about you and Stevens first time. reading along the lines of his amusing embarrassment of him not knowing what he was doing exactly it still warms your heart when he stated in his own writing that he was grateful and happy to share that moment with you.

the letter going into detail of all the moments that break you into laughter- such as when you and Steven rolled off your bed unaware as you and him were to wrapped in the passion- to your face heating up when he went into erratic detail of his hand placements on your ‘Aphrodite like body encouraging the Aries affair to overturn gracefully, to repent in no favor but yours’.

not being ashamed to write down every moment of the midnight passion. from the way you tongues and lips were locked and didn’t dare separate for air, to how his hands ripped your clothes into shreds ‘to praise and worship the skin that sparkled and shone like buried treasures for my hands to caress’. a heavenly burn begins fluttering in between your bubble sud thighs when you look over the polaroid's. some you took and some he took but all in all they showed you and him doing, well-

your first time

a slow hand that doesn’t hold the scandalous polaroid's flows down to your bubble covered breast. pinching the nipple, the sensation only sends the pleasure down south to your hidden jewel. biting your bottom lip, you crave for Steven’s hands. crave his lips, crave his touch...

generally, his attention but you cannot go past your golden rule no matter how good the thought of your fingers stroking your folds sounds. knowing its best to not break the rule of touching yourself without his permission the thought of it sits pleasantly in your head. trying to distract yourself the growing sensation with his other letters and plucking one of the fifty fluffy macaroons that lie on the pretty Laudree packaging.

Steven gifted you all the luxuries that would substitute his absence, but all you ever wanted was him

heart thumping in this truth you again attempt to distract yourself with his blush colored letter. cooing at Stevens cute sketches of you and reading poems dedicated to his first impression when meeting you- but you cannot think of anything or concentrate on anything but the first letter. giving cheating glances back to the polaroid's, your glance is captivated by Steven’s handsome and muscled physique in the contrasted filter. the faintly colored noir-film like pictures emphasizing on his golden skin rippling against the sheets caging you in with his arms.

the night replays with the jazz music in the ballroom of your mind, throwing your head back you feel yourself underneath him just as you were then. hands in his hair and his clenching the sheets besides your head when you kiss passionately as he rubbed his hard member against your forbidden fruit.

it didn’t help your case at all that you’re embellishing that night into your thoughts. it’s only making you desire your sweetheart more and more, needing him more and more as the minutes passed.

wanting- no, craving to hear the sweet music that is his voice

yearning to descry the divine tinge of his tongue clicking to his teeth when you says your name so sweetly. to imagine the movement of his tulip petal lips as he speaks his ‘I love you’s’ like a prayer and he’s on his knees for a goddess.

oh you needed it just as much as his instructions on how to handle your distressing state. realizing the soft pink dial telephone that stood at the opposite side of the tub you bite your lip in thought.

should you call Steven?

it makes you wonder, shifting against the water careful to not spill any over the edge. chewing on a raspberry macaroon at the thought, you pout not knowing exactly what you’d say. you and Steven have been in a relationship for years now, it should be simple to call your lover and talk to him about this yet a sparking idea light up like a shimmering star above your head.

you and Steven were both helpless for dirty talk, your words and underlying message would pull him out of whatever he was in to cater to help you with your problem.

your thundering impatience and searing lust had shameless minds of their own as you pulled the cushioned ottomon closer to you and dialed Steven’s office number through the rotary disc. heart strumming along with the music continuing to play in the distance you do not exhale a breath as you hear the sound of the phone dialing. the powdered pink handset in your hands. chin resting on the rim of the porcelain tub as your lips brush against the mouthpiece in the shape of a heart.

when the dial ends with the sounds of him about to speak a gleaming smile radiates off your lips, pulling the handset closer to you to speak.

“Steven!” your giggle that follows afterwards makes a dimpled smile pull at the blond’s lips and he lightly chuckles.

your presence melting away anything else that captured his attention away from you. fortunately you weren’t the only one craving the love and affection of your partner, Steven was in a busy meeting with Tony and the other avengers at the grey and stern table. argued his way through and pursuing a solution to the worldly crisis that was in their hands but with the progress he’s making he’s sure to help the team come to an agreement.

“how are you doing, my love? did you enjoy your gifts? i’m counting down the hours till I pick you up for our reservation. treat you how you should be treated today,” Steven’s tender words breaks your dreamy state and your wispy babydoll lashes flutter at the sound of his voice.

“well right now i’m taking a bath. drinking some tea, reading your letters and i just so happened to cross on this one specific letter…” your teasing voice flowing through the mouthpiece and into Steven’s ears.

striking his brain, trying to comprehend what you're saying and trying to decipher whether your giggles are aimed towards him or onto something else. you made it known how much of a tease you were, from your suggestive dresses you’d torture him with when you’d attend gala’s to your shameless yet elegant class as you’d whisper all the dirty things you want him to do you once you two got home.

indeed it worked like a charm, sometimes it left little self control as he’d take you in that backseat of the sleek vehicle. it’s definitely working now

“alright what are going on about you little minx?” Steven states, a tint of his dominance in his voice but you continue to drift in your fit of giggles as you bend your knee to your chest in exuberance.

pulling Steven’s letters that rest besides the silver tray of macaroons and tea, you hug them to your chest as you reread his paragraphs upon paragraphs of his thunderous thoughts and detailed emotions ravaging you in sinful detail.

“oh, nothing Stevie... just couldn’t stop thinking about a little something, do wanna know about it?”

“absolutely darling. anything is better then being in that room with those blockheads,” Steven didn’t know he said that thought aloud but you don’t care.

you’re panning on relieving the throbbing pleasure pulsing at your slicked core and maybe undo some stress he’s under if he’s a fair distance away from wandering ears.

“will do Captain, ‘the second our mouths collided was an ambrosial taken place. a supernova in labor between our bodies thriving to find our peak, creating a cosmos of divination as her walls wrapped around my cock. the indescribable pleasure as unforgettable as the dimple at the corner of your fiery lips and enchanting sparkle in her eyes. the moans that flowed from her mouth soft and encouraging-

“‘-as I wrapped her thighs over my shoulder and thrusted my cock deeper and deeper into her forbidden fruit. her sweet, forbidden fruit so sweet I wouldn’t dare reject if a serpent offered so.’ I was hoping you’d read that special one, you need to understand how lovesick I was for you then. i’m still lovesick about you now but its gotten impossibly stronger now than before.”

that statement makes you shift in the water, rubbing your thighs together as your fingers rest in between them. imagining its Steven’s large hand that’s pinned at the plushness, however you’re yearning for the warmth, security and skill they hold that your hands don’t nearly possess.

“lovesick you say?” you purr, the sinful sound rolling off your tongue it makes roses blush on Stevens cheeks.

an unknown tightness of his trousers making itself known, he grits his teeth at your tactic but he cannot help it. he gives in so easily for you, it impossible to repent and withold

“yes doll, i’m lovesick. lovesick for you and only you. now answer your Captain, did you enjoy your gifts?” his voice growing and deepening, lust soaking his thoughts and hardening his member at the thoughts of you, you, you.

holding the phone in between your ear and should as you pluck another macaroon from the assortment. a smirk plays on your lips knowing that your plan is working, you can here his little grits and groans as he locks his office door.

“I did enjoy your gifts Captain, and I love the fact that seventy percent of them all are tiny pretty things that barely cover my body. I love giving you a good show when you get home from work,” your voice smooth as the buttercream roses you decorate with your heart-shaped cakes.

your free hand tweaks at your nipple, the remands of strawberry vanilla from your previous macaroon stick on your tongue but how how you want to taste the pre cum that leaks from Steven’s tip. the filthy thought has you abandoning your breast to give attention to your cunt, a whimper excluding your lips when it burns so good at just the touch.

“mhm I knew you’d enjoy them doll. you always pull such good performances for me in them. so sweet and pretty, all for me to rip it off you,” you don’t mean to slip past a moan as your fingers rub your pearl but it’s too late to take it back when he hear Stevens stern exhale.

“are you touching yourself sweetheart?” his voice isn’t smooth and suave no more but raspy and demanding, making your fingers stop their rubbing motion.

“n-no,” you fib but all you want to do is sink in the bubbly warm water when you hear Steven darkly chuckle.

“don’t lie to your Captain sweetheart. are you touching yourself? tell the truth,” you gulp at that, mouth shaking as you bring the sound piece of the handset closer to your lips. internally hoping and praying that Steven will give in to you, even when you’re breaking a golden rule.

“yes. yes I am Captain,” your breathy whisper holds all the euphoria and lust you're body is swimming in and it doesn’t help that you hear the metal clank of a belt unbuckling.

“without my permission?” you can’t decipher his voice, whether or not he’s angry or disappointed your fingers stop tracing the bubbly surface of the pink tinted water.

“y-yes, Captain- but I just couldn’t help it! you left me and my mess alone this morning. i’m so lonely here without you,” you mellow, your fingers once again tracing your lower lips.

not daring to plunge them deeper once you hear the light sound of Stevens heavy breath fanning into your ear. shivers sending up and down your spine deliciously, it’s like he’s here with you now even when he’s on the other side of the city.

“mhm, you just couldn’t help it, sugar can’t you? you need me right now don’t you sweet girl? you need your Captain to help you?” nodding hysterically along with him.

coming to a realization that your lover can’t see you nod your head, your pretty lips you’d let him kiss and use any day pull into a pout. knowing you’re going to have to beg him to allow yourself to touch your pussy.

well, his pussy

“yes please! I-I need you Ste- Captain! please I need you!” your breathy voice begs and on the other end Steven has a smirk playing on his handsome face.

it’s hours until he’ll be done with his meeting and hours until he picks you up for your dinner reservation but he’s in your debt. you never know this but Steven was sprawled in your hand, whatever you desired and needed he’ll give you within the snap of his fingers. if you needed him when he’s away, he’ll make it seem he’s right near the tub. guiding your fingers in and out of your hole and leaving praises and affirmations into your ear.

“how can I say no to you doll?”

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

#1 Victory Royale

✧ pairing: college student!spinner x student!afab!reader

✧ word count: 4.4k

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, light angst, mostly soft/fluff, smut, could be hate fucking if you squint, afab reader but no pronouns, this is pretty tame, by like my standards, I wrote this at work, not really a warning, but it felt like you needed to know that

✧ summary: relationships suck and Spinner is starting to think maybe he does too

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, welcome back to more college au bs from me. This is set in the same universe once again as all my other college pieces. A very sweet anon asked if we'd ever get to see more of Spinner, so here he is! Also with another cameo from shiggy's bitch (endearing) cause I can't help myself.

“Ughhhhhh….”

Spinner’s groaning echoed through the tiny apartment, the heavy sound of creaking couch cushions under his weight following.

“What?” his long-suffering roommate shouted out their bedroom door, rapidly shoving clothing and a toothbrush into an overnight bag.

“Uggghhhhhhh!”

He let out with another, louder dying animal wail. He’d been like this since they woke up—wallowing in some strange concoction of self pity and Red Bull on the kitchen floor when they walked in for water two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” they mumbled, tossing their bag to the floor and marching, more than a little disgruntled, into the hall. “What do you want?”

Spinner was sitting upside down on the couch now, feet up against the wall tapestry and cotton candy hair splayed out on the floor. He stared blankly as his friend came into view—arms crossed, frowning at him from the end of the hall—and opened his mouth once more, letting out another garbled grunt that had one of the neighbors pounding twice on the wall to shut his dramatic ass up.

“Dude seriously, are you gonna tell me who pissed in your cereal or are you just gonna scream until the guys next door kick a hole through our wall?”

They almost felt bad as he looked away, sniffing and letting himself slump farther off the sofa until he was sprawled completely on the hardwood and staring, glassy eyed, up at the ceiling.

When he finally spoke a full sentence, his gaze was locked on the water stain above him from a year ago when the upstairs neighbors flooded their apartment trying to make jungle juice in the bathtub.

“I don’t know, I’m just in my feels as the kids say,” he sounded so dejected—strange for someone who was perpetually energized to a frustrating degree—that their shoulders immediately slumped from a hardass square to a softer, more sympathetic angle

They padded over to join him on the floor.

“Care to elaborate, oh roomie of mine?”

There was a pause and Spinner tapped his nails against the hardwood idly before responding.

“I guess I’m just feeling, like, fucking I don’t know,” he sighed, knocking his head against the dusty boards, “left out I guess? That’s not quite right, but it’s just Magne mentioned last time she came to The League meeting that Jin was seeing somebody and it just got me all introspective and weird…”

“Hm,” his roommate hummed thoughtfully and studied the way the textured white ceiling gave way to the rings of brown water damage, like a dead and dying flower, “I thought you and Jin weren’t ever that serious?”

“We weren’t,” Spinner groaned again and rubbed his eyes. “We went on like, one date a year ago and I haven’t thought about it really at all since then. I’m not sure why hearing he’s got someone else now made me so fucking...jealous I guess.”

“I mean, maybe you just never really gave yourself the time to process it?” they asked and received only an annoyed huff and accompanying groan. “Sorry, should have asked if you were looking for advice or just wanting to rant. My bad.”

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s just…”

Spinner trailed off and they shifted as the hard floor bit at their back and made it ache. The muscles were sore already as it was, and Tomura blowing their fucking back a few times a week wasn’t really helping. They’d created some kind of perpetually horny monster, but something told them cracking a joke about it wasn’t really going to help the situation much. Thankfully, Spinner found his way to filling the silence a minute later.

“I don’t think it has anything specifically to do with Jin. Yeah I liked him, we’re still really good friends and I don’t feel like I need him to be more than that. It’s just that—and this is gonna make me sound like a massive asshole—but with you and your new fucking boyfie and now even Jin finding someone to date I just keep seeing reminders everywhere of how motherfucking isolated I am.”

“Oh,” they felt their face burn a bit, guilt frothing as they were forced to acknowledge the fact that in all the time they’ve spent holed up with Tomura, Spinner had been discarded like an old Steam game, bought impulsively on sale and never played again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been prioritizing you—”

“No, no, no shut the fuck with that,” he waved his hand to cut them off and pushed himself up on his palms. “I know I’m not being fair about it, and I really am happy for you guys, but idk man….I just feel like I’m never gonna find that you know?”

Beside him, his roommate remained sprawled out on the floor like a homicide tape outline and was just as deadly quiet.

“I just,” he continued, running an angry hand through his hair, “I know I could be such a good partner. Like I’m funny and I’m not a fucking creep, which is actually a plus to most people.”

He shot a side glance down and they rolled their eyes, sitting up and knocking his shoulder roughly till he toppled back to the dirty floor and they stood above him.

“Fuck off,” they chuckled.

His roommate watched as the laughter seemed to infect him like a bad cold, creeping down the back of his throat and shaking in his chest.

“No I’m serious, I would be such a fucking great boyfriend. I give goddamn top quality cuddles and I actually know how to do laundry, what more does one need truly?”

“Damn bro, you’ve known how to fold your own clothes this whole time?”

The giggling spread into the quiet space, rocking through both their shoulders and leaving the air feeling light—fresh like the first nights of Spring. When it finally petered out into friendly silence, they were both far lighter.

“I just like the way you fold my t-shirts, the sleeves don’t get those weird creases when you do it,” he muttered and stood, doing his best to fix the wild pink locks that stood on end from his fidgeting.

“Yeah I’m sure,” his roommate rolled their eyes and turned back down the hall.

When they left for the night to stay over with their boyfriend, Spinner tried not to acknowledge the way he subconsciously glared at their back as they walked out the door, skipping yet another League meeting to swap spit with that guy from their English class.

He tried even harder not to think of how their bed would be warm and their legs would have legs to tangle with, their chest have a chest to lay against, while he heated up instant noodles in the microwave and fell asleep alone on their living room couch.

Not to mention that tonight was the big tournament with that new group on campus. He was really banking on his bff (best fucking friend as they were always sure to clarify) and him teaming up to crush those assholes from The Commission or whatever they called themselves.

Fucking lame as shit name in his opinion.

In any case, he’d have to settle for Magne again, and she was such a loose cannon they were sure to get their asses handed to them. She was a great fucking tank, he’d be the first to admit, but strategy was not a strong point of hers and they desperately needed that tonight.

He could feel the sinking weight of failure rolling in the pit of his stomach already even as he dragged himself into his room to tug on an old pair of jeans.

It bothered him way more than it should, the idea of losing some gaming tournament that, by all means held little to no actual significance.

Spinner knew the stock he’d started placing in games was growing to an unhealthy degree.

He knew that.

But self awareness rarely did anything to alleviate the irrational fear of failing at one of the only remaining consistencies in his life.

It stung worse when the tournament kicked off and by the third round, Spinner was the only remaining League member in the brackets.

“Fucking shit…” he muttered to himself, the small basement room alight with the blue glow of the monitor and the sound of frantically smashing controllers.

Behind him on the couch—stolen long ago from the theater building—Magne held him by the shoulders as he grit his teeth and leaned into the movement of his avatar on screen.

“You got this babe,” she shouted, cheek pressed up to his ear. “Make ‘em eat shit for me!”

“I would if you stopped distracting me,” Spinner hissed back.

Really it wasn’t Magne’s aggressive and somewhat bloodthirsty style of encouragement that shook his focus so badly.

It was his opponent.

The fucking president of The Commission sat, thighs spread and pressed to his, resting your weight on your elbows and snarling beside him in the couch.

Your face was split in this heart stopping grin as you quite deftly dodged all his attempts to get a hit in and managed to land a few of your own in the process.

And you looked really hot doing it.

Which was definitely just a side effect of the punch he (didn’t) drink and the body heat fueled temperature of the room—sweaty skin against sweaty skin making his mind wander against his will.

The shifting in his seat was absolutely just to illogically make him move faster and had nothing to do with how tight his pants now seemed.

So much for not being a fucking creep.

Your teammates were gathered in a circle behind you, enraptured and exuding the kind of smug confidence that said quite clearly The League was fucked from the second they walked in.

Not even two minutes later your hands were thrown up, punching the air and your team piling over the back of the couch to drown you in a sea of celebratory limbs.

Spinner felt himself deflating even as he was toppled off the couch by your screaming members and The League collectively cursed in the background.

Truthfully he’d known the chances of winning were slim.

Ever since his roommate started getting busy with classes and clubs that ‘looked good on their resume,’ The League had gone downhill rapidly. It was a problem since long before that Shigaraki guy swooped in and stole them away, but Spinner couldn’t stop himself from lowkey holding that against him.

The League had consumed so much of his life in college, functioning as a haven where he was finally respected and belonged to an extent he’d never experienced before.

The stink of failure and loss, not of the game but the only space he’d ever really occupied without complaint, burned his face and made the room feel more suffocating than usual.

Magne looked as though she wanted to give him one of her signature—and admittedly very comforting—hugs, but the deadly look of disappointment on Spinner’s face must have made her think twice.

The rest of his team seemed to read this sudden downward shift in the room as they began to filter out, climbing the steps onto street level and away from the suddenly stuffy, uncomfortable meeting spot. Normally everyone would stay and finish off the drinks snuck past the janitorial staff, eating Doritos until well past midnight. This time they couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

He couldn’t really blame them.

The multimedia building was a strange place after hours. Once Spinner might have called it something rare and liminal, now it felt more like a prison.

He stood, packing up the consoles a bit more roughly than necessary when someone cleared their throat behind him.

He turned to see you, standing alone with hands on your hips and scowling like you were the one who just got their gaming reputation ruined.

“Dude what the fuck was that?”

Spinner bristled at the knife sharp point of your tone.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “You seriously waited around to rub your win in my face?”

You rolled your eyes and took a step closer around the couch. “I’m not talking about the fucking game dumbass. Why the hell are you pouting like I stole your fucking candy or some shit? You ruined the vibes man.”

“If anyone was ruining the vibes, it was you and your cocky ass team.”

Spinner felt himself stepping closer too, pulled in by the celestial weight that accompanied any kindling argument.

“Me?” you pointed to your chest and scoffed, “Wow, I was really hoping you’d actually possess a bit of emotional maturity, but if this is how you get after a loss I’m not shocked your fucking club is bleeding members.”

At some point the two of you had gravitated close enough that he felt the puff of your last breath on his cheeks. Two comets, ready and willing to collide.

“I’m not being the asshole in this situation, you know that right?” Spinner glared down his nose at you, heart pounding in his ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t make fucking unfounded assumptions about people you don’t know.”

“So then why are your panties in a twist over a fucking game?” you retorted.

He was peripherally aware that your eyes had taken on the same laser focused quality as they had during the last round. Determined and locked onto him without sparing a glance to anything else.

It was this same undivided attention that he’d envied in you as you played, and as Spinner felt it trained on him, his pants once again felt uncomfortably restrictive.

“It’s not about the fucking game okay!?” his voice came out hoarse and far more petulant than he’s been aiming for.

Though he quickly felt the embarrassment give rise to a secondary heat as you both breathed each other’s air and searched the face across from you.

“Then what is it about?”

That strange, unexplainable, inexplicable rush of potential filled the small gap that remained between your bodies—the kind of tension Spinner was beginning to think he’d never feel again.

He’d kissed plenty of people. Almost more than he’d like to admit, or that they’d like to admit more accurately.

But when his flickering eyes found your hard stare still and unwavering from his, it felt incredibly natural to lean in and press his lips against your fading frown.

It was slow going, the few centimeters that separated you seemed like miles as he moved slowly, never breaking eye contact until his mouth was finally slotted over yours and you weren’t pushing him away.

There was still a bit of lingering confusion, as this was decidedly not what either of you appeared to be expecting from the prior conversation. That coupled with the fact that Spinner wasn’t entirely sure he remembered your first name made the feeling of your tongue prodding at the seam of his lips all the more startling.

When he gasped, you slid your hands up his chest and licked into his mouth. Tongue tangling between breaths, Spinner felt himself getting lost in the familiar and coveted taste of another mouth, another body, another hand that grasped, that desired, that wanted him.

***

Your knees dug into the cushions on either side of Spinner’s thighs as you bounced in his lap. He fought to keep his eyes open against the pleasure of his cock sinking into you over and over again, so he could watch the way your head was thrown back and your chest heaved with the exertion.

He dug his hands into your hips and let his head hit the back of the couch, feet planted on the floor to help his hips thrust up into you, earning him some of the prettiest, stifled moans he’d ever heard.

Truthfully, he had not expected to fuck you. He figured you might be down to just make out for a bit until the cleaning staff came and booted you from the building, but both your pants had quite quickly and naturally found their way to the floor.

Neither of you spoke much, which he was thankful for. That would have been far too complicated of a conversation, especially considering you really didn’t know each other all that well.

Spinner usually liked to do a bit of ‘getting to know you’ type activities before he hooked up with people, which he did with surprising frequency for somebody so starved for a long term thing. Sex just fucking felt good and it was this eagerness that was his downfall. Most people he’d fucked around with seemed to read the urge to get into their pants as a diminished interest or emotional attraction and Spinner ended up with more friends with benefits than actual friends...or benefits.

Regardless, it was fine by him that the only form of communication passing between you for now were scattered groans of pleasure and the wet slap of your ass against his thighs.

He’d nearly forgotten how fucking amazing pussy felt.

For no particular reason, Spinner had always found himself fooling around with bodies more similar to his own. Not that he had any real preference, though the lack of experience often made him a bit nervous in the whole ‘pleasing your partner’ department, despite many helpful lessons from his roommate.

That was all to say that Spinner was incredibly thankful you reached down to guide his hand that had clumsily begun rubbing circles on your clit. That is until you simply knocked it away and went back to riding his dick like a fucking champ.

Then he did speak.

“Wanna make you cum,” he mumbled and really did sound like he was pouting this time.

You peered down at him, slowing your pace so you sat flush in his lap, grinding his cock deep against your walls. Spinner keened as you clenched around him, pussy so deliciously warm he felt himself near to drowning in the feel of you.

“Mm fuck,” you panted, leaning in to steal a few more messy kisses from him before lifting up and enveloping him in the slick heat all over again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” he nipped at the column or your throat, careful not to leave any lasting marks just in case. “If I’m finishing, you’re fucking finishing.”

You pulled back and stared at him for a moment. He felt you purposefully tightening around him just so he would squirm under your curious gaze. After a moment you smirked and rolled your eyes again, taking his hand and guiding his fingers back to that little nub just above where his thick length was seated inside you.

Spinner was proud of his dick, it was hefty but not so long that it was a hassle to fit—just enough to reach all the important bits. He was sensitive as hell too most of the time, so just about any pressure felt amazing. But the best part of it was watching whoever he was fucking fall apart on his goddamn perfect cock.

So when you whispered, “Like this,” and showed him the rhythm and motion you liked, he pulled himself back from the brink to pay attention, speeding up until that look of cooled control slid right off your face.

“Ahh, yes fuck...” the words tumbled from you freely now. “Shit, yeah just like that—”

Spinner could get fucking drunk off the low groan that left you as he planted his feet more firmly and bucked his hips up. He must have hit something good by the way you choked and moaned boarding on too loud, though he had neither the heart nor self control to stop you.

“Feel good?” he grunted, picking up the pace and force he thrust into you, so that you had to loop your arms around his neck and hold tightly as he speared you on his cock.

“Fuck...yes..” you whimpered into his shoulder which did wonders for his ego.

Spinner kept up his rubbing frantic patterns on your clit and feeling the gradual constriction of your walls around him—the coil growing tight and ready to snap. He nudged your cheek with his until you pulled back a bit to face him.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, sucking your tongue into his mouth for a moment and tearing himself away so he could watch as you came undone around him.

You gave him a strange, soft look and pressed your forehead to his, eyes zoned in on only him.

The rest of the room, the whole fucking basement and campus melted away under that stare.

Your nipples peaked through your shirt, brushing against his as you were jostled into him by the movement of your hips. As you reached your peak, words devolved into increasingly breathy gasps. It took Spinner an incredible amount of concentration not to fucking paint your insides then and there.

Your pussy was so goddamn tight and warm and milking him just right, it was a fucking impressive feat to remain staunchly at the edge of his peak as your mouth fell open and your fingernails scratched at his back when you finally came—the telltale spasms around his cock and the near sobs coming from you more than enough indication.

He lost himself well and truly then.

Lost in the false sense of intimacy that came with being allowed to see you fall apart, this person he barely knew yet made him feel immensely important in that moment. Your breath and spit was in his mouth, the smell and feel of you soaking his length pushed him beyond the realm of conscious thought.

There was only a deep and burning need to be closer to you. So, so much closer.

His hands moved of their own accord, hooking under your thighs and flipping your bodies so your back hit the cushions and he hovered above you. The angle allowed him to slide deeper, pulling out and thrusting his hips in fast, hard strokes that hurtled him towards release.

Spinner couldn’t keep himself quite now either, panting and moaning and gasping unashamedly with his eyes screwed shut as you took his cock so unbelievably well.

It wasn’t until your hands, softer than he’d imagined, cupped his jaw and pulled him down to meet you that he was brought back down from whatever higher plane of existence his impending orgasm whisked him too.

Your lips weren’t nearly as frantic as the rocking of his thighs, the slap of his balls against your ass. The sweetness was an odd but welcome contrast.

“I’m gonna—fucking mm...” he tried so hard to get his tongue to form the words but he could feel himself slipping further as you started clamping around his length again.

“I know,” you breathed against his lips, faces pressed together and unmoving eyes steady on his own. “Ahh, inside if you want.”

He did want.

Oh fuck did he want nothing more in that moment to stay sunk in your warmth and pump you so full, but the last few remaining logical braincells reminded him that was not a great idea. Not without a more in-depth conversation neither of you was in a state to have.

“Shouldn’t...” he groaned and moved to pull out but your ankles locked around his ass and forced him back down.

“It’s okay,” you huffed and rocked into him, squeezing around the sensitive head of his dick just once, just right and that did him in.

It was something in the way you looked at him, so that he could feel nothing but secure—nothing but safe wrapped up in you. Something about the way you pressed him closer, in the movement of your thumb on his cheek.

It scratched some deep seated, lonely itch in Spinner.

Made it feel like this meant a hell of a lot more than it probably did.

In seconds he was blowing his fucking load right into you, milking himself in your heat until he was spent and overstimulated. You were kind enough to pull him to you, turning your bodies so you laid side by side on the coach, his softening cock slipping from you in a gush of release.

For a minute or so, neither of you spoke, just stared, long and comfortable at the stranger you’d just fucked on the gaming club couch.

Well.

Fucked wasn’t really the word he’d use at that point to describe what you’d just done, but anything more than that felt presumptuous.

You broke the silence as he nuzzled into your palm.

“You really needed that didn’t you?”

Spinner couldn’t help the familiar, infectious laugh that rattled in his chest. He liked the smile it earned him, far more genuine than any others you’d worn that night.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

You hummed, nodding in response. “Mm, me too.”

And somehow, for no real logical reason, Spinner knew you understood. That you felt the same isolation, the same starvation for love, for holding weight in someone else’s world.

That the games were just a placeholder, a way to fill the space, to get lost in other lives, in other stories where he did matter. Where his actions had foreseeable and measurable worth. That’s why it hurt to lose. Not for the glory, but for the destruction of the only remaining diversion from how empty his reality felt.

Even if it wasn’t really.

Even if there were friends and benefits and friends who offered both. His roommate could let him rest his head in their lap on movie nights or sleep in his bed on occasion when the heat went out and he got cold too quickly. But none of that quite filled the hole like you now, holding his face and knowing the struggle without him having to explain it.

Nothing like you pulling him in and kissing him too familiarly for someone he’d only known a day.

Magne used to say something about shit like this. Something like how people bond in train cars when there’s a rat eating a slice of pizza and you all watch it happen. Some weird camaraderie forged in the shared experience of life being a little fucking freaky a lot of the time.

That was how it felt when you slipped your leg between his and brushed your lips together again. Content to lay, half naked in the media building basement, making out with some guy you beat at Smash and fucked right after.

Reveling in the brief but meaningful feeling of mattering in some small, strange way to someone else.

Of holding weight.

Of being held.

#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner x y/n #spinner x you #college au #mha angst #student!reader

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waitimcomingtoo · 4 years

Text

Chemistry Under Candlelight

Synopsis: Tom nervously prepares for your first date

continuation of Chemistry on the Couch but can be read on it’s own

Masterlist

“Hello beautiful. I hope this text finds you well. I have not stopped thinking about you since we kissed in the elevator. I enjoyed that kiss very much and I was hoping we could perchance go on a date?” Tom read robotically from his phone. “How’s that?”

Tom looked at his friends expectantly after he read them the first draft of his text to you. It had been three days since you kissed him in the elevator and he wanted to play it cool, but he needed some help.

Zendaya and Harrison looked at each other with a similar look on their faces, avoiding eye contact with Tom.

“If you want her to get a restraining order, it’s smashing.” Harrison said finally, giving Tom and encouraging smile.

“I thought it was great.” Zendaya added and Tom sighed in relief. “Are you method acting for the part of a stalker or something?”

“You guys are supposed to me helping me.” Tom whined. “Clearly I need it.”

“What makes you think we can help?” Zendaya scoffed.

“You’re supposed to be an expert on this, Daya.” Tom said. “You’re the smoothest person I know.”

“Thank you. A little Shea butter and coconut oil goes a long way.” She smiled as she stretched ostentatiously.

“That’s not what I meant.” Tom groaned. “Look, I really like this girl. The whole world knows I really like this girl. I can’t mess this up. What am I supposed to text her?”

“How did you leave things?” Harrison wondered, figuring that was a good place to start.

“We made out in the elevator and she left in my hoodie and sweatpants.” Tom soft softly with a shy smile on his face. “She also told me to text her.”

“Give me your phone.” Zendaya rolled her eyes and held out her hand.

“Why?” Tom asked as he handed it to her.

“Because I don’t want to listen to you whining for the rest of your life because you ruined your chance with Y/n by sending her a creepy text.” Zendaya said simply as she began to type. “There.”

She handed Toms phone back to him and he eagerly took it, turning it to read what she sent.

“How’s my hoodie treating you?” He read the text sent to you. “That’s it?”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” Zendaya shrugged and leaned on her hand. Tom looked at the text, skeptical of how different it was from his original one. There was no romance, no passion, no-

“She answered!” Toms train of thought haulted abruptly when he heard his phone ding. “What do I do?”

“I suggest you read it. Just a thought though.” Harrison said sarcastically from the other couch. Tom swallowed nervously before looking down to read your response.

“It’s been keeping me warm. You’d probably keep me warmer though.” Tom read out loud. “And then she put the emoji with the eyes looking to the side.”

“That’s good.” Zendaya nodded. “That’s flirty. Flirty is good.”

Tom opened his mouth to speak but shut it suddenly as his eyes grazed his screen, a sheepish smile lighting up his face.

“What?” Harrison wondered what had made his friend react like that.

“She said it smells like me.” Tom said with a sense of pride as he looked up from his phone.

“That could be a bad thing.” Harrison shrugged. “It could smell horrible.”

“She’s talking about your cologne.” Zendaya gave Harrison a warning look before looking back at Tom. “Tell her you bet it smells even better now.”

“I bet it smells even better now…” Tom spoke out loud as he typed.

“Perfect.” Zendaya smiled, relaxing back into the couch.

“…because your body has been inside it.” He continued before looking at Zendaya for approval. “That good?”

“Can you honestly look me in the eyes and ask me if that’s good?” Zendaya asked through gritted teeth.

“What’s wrong with it?” Tom held up his hands in defense, unsure why she got so angry with his message.

“With his whole chest, too.” Harrison mumbled as he shook his head. “He asked that with his whole chest.”

“I’m so disappointed in you. Give me your phone.” Zendaya held out her hand again.

“Okay, but I totally could’ve handled this on my own.” Tom said timidly as he handed his phone back to her.

“Tell that to the God awful text you almost sent her.” Zendaya rolled her eyeshadow she typed. “She wrote back.”

“That was fast.” Harrison noted. “That means you have her full attention right now.”

“What’d she say?” Tom bounced up and down as he grew impatient.

“You’ll have to come find out for yourself.” Zendaya read off Toms phone. “And then a smiley face.”

“A smiley face emoji or a typed out smiley face?” Harrison asked.

“Does that matter?” Tom wondered.

“It’s crucial.” Harrison insisted. “Which is it?”

“Typed out.” Zendaya wiggled her eyebrows and Harrison looked impressed.

“Oh, dude. She’s into you.” Harrison smirked.

“You can tell just from a colon and parentheses that she’s into me?” Tom asked, hoping his friend was right.

“Yeah.” Harrison said like it was obvious. “Can’t you?”

“I honestly don’t think I can do much of anything.” Tom mumbled.

“I’m writing her back.” Zendaya announced as her fingers flittered over his phone.

“What are you saying?”

“I asked if she was still in London.” Zendaya replied. “She’s here until the 4th. What’s the address of your weird house with the stupid chickens?”

“You mean my lovely house with my beautiful chickens?” Tom sassed. “It’s 221b Baker Street.”

“She’s coming over tomorrow. You’re making her dinner.” Zendaya said simply as she handed Tom his phone back. Toms face lit up as he read the texts for himself. He already knew what they said, but he could read it in your voice when he looked at them.

“And then you’re gonna hit that.” Harrison interrupted his thoughts with a loud clap of his hands.

“Harrison!” Tom snapped. “Why would I hit her? You should never hit a woman.”

“That’s…I didn’t…no.” Harrison rubbed his eyes as Tom completely misunderstood what he was saying.

“I don’t have time for your games.” Tom whined, still not getting it. “I have to learn how to cook in less than 24 hours.”

“You also have to thank your friend for securing you a date with your dream girl.” Zendaya shrugged as she sighed loudly.

“Yes. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.” Tom said sincerely as he took another look at your texts.

“I do what I can.” Zendaya nodded. She’s never admit it, but she hoped this ended well.

“I don’t get a thanks?” Harrison asked with offense.

“You can get a thanks if you help me cook dinner tomorrow.” Tom pleaded as he clasped his hands under his chin.

“Sounds good to me.” Harrison agreed, making Tom sigh in relief.

“I have a date with Y/n tomorrow.” Tom spoke, letting it sink in as he said it out loud.

“You do.” Zendaya laughed. “Don’t blow it.”

“I won’t.” Tom shook his head, still staring at your texts. “I won’t.”

“Call me Remy, because your boy came through with the food.” Harrison said proudly as he held up a glass pan covered with tinfoil. He had a big reusable bag around one arm, looking far more prepared than Tom was. His shirt was only half buttoned, as it was only one of many that he had tried on. Of course Tom had waited until he had a date with you to realize he hated all his clothes.

“You’re a life saver, Haz.” Tom thanked his friend. “What did you make?”

“Personally I made a phone call to Sam and asked him to make me a roast chicken.” Harrison admitted. “Then I made the drive over here with said roast chicken in my passenger seat.”

“Works for me.” Tom shrugged, taking the chicken and walking with Harrison to the kitchen.

“I also made a trip to the store and got ice cream sundae supplies. I figured some cute domestic shit could come out of that.” Harrison shrugged as he set the reusable bag on the table.

“Good thinking. How did you get so good at this?” Tom wondered as he put the ice cream in the freezer.

“Years and years of watching reality TV.“ Harrison sighed, looking off in the distance for a moment. “Now, what’s going on with your shirt? You look homeless.”

“I can’t find an outfit.” Tom whined anxiously as he flapped his hands.

“Okay, calm down.” Harrison said as he put his hands on Toms shoulders. “You’re acting like a teenage girl in opening scene of a Disney Chanel original movie.”

“What do I wear?” Tom asked desperately. “I hate all my clothes.”

“Wear the navy shirt with the white outline on the pocket. It brings out your eyes.” Harrison shrugged as he licked his hand before using it to fix Toms hair. The two boys stared at each other for a moment as an awkward silence settled between them before Tom cleared his throat.

“I love girls.” Tom nodded repeatedly, using a deeper voice than usual. “I can’t wait to go on a date with this girl.”

“Me too.” Harrison agreed, cracking his neck on both sides and flexing his muscles. “I like girls. Girls are great.”

“I’m gonna go get changed.” Tom pointed to his door and Harrison nodded eagerly.

“Good idea.” He said. “I’ll put the chicken in the oven.”

Tom dashed to his room, laughing a little to himself as he went. He returned shortly with the navy shirt on, feeling more confident than before.

“Can you set the table while I get the candles?” Harrison asked from the kitchen as he took the rest of the sundae supplies out of the bag.

“Candles?”

“It’s called, romance, Tom.” Harrison scoffed. “Girls love candles. Have you ever walked past a Yankee Candle store in the mall? It’s just a bunch of girls with their noses shoved in candles. They go crazy for them.”

“My mum loves candles.” Tom folded his arms as he realized.

“Exactly.” Harrison smirked. “Where do you keep yours?”

“The closet.”

“I’ll go grab them.” Harrison said as he left the room. Tom took out two plates and put them at opposite ends of the table. He was busy setting out utensils when Harrison returned with the candles.

“I told you to set the table.” Harrison said as he set the candles down.

“I did!” Tom pointed to the table. “All the utensils and plates are out.”

“You put the place settings at the heads of table.” Harrison rose his voice as he gestured to Toms work. “What is this, Beauty and the Beast?”

“What was I supposed to do? Seat her next to me?” Tom asked like it was ridiculous.

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do!” Harrison yelled. “Do you not have vision?”

“I think it looks nice.” Tom defended his work.

“This is not nice.” Harrison shouted as he roughly grabbed the place setting. “This is the Last Supper.”

“What do I do?” Tom panicked. “She’s gonna be here soon.”

“She’s gonna sit at the head of the table because she’s the guest.” Harrison explained as he moved a plate to the other end of the table. “You’re going to be sitting to her left because once the sun starts setting the lighting will make your eyes and skin glow. Girls love that. Hell, I love that.”

“Okay. Sun, eyes, got it.” Tom nodded as he mentally took note of everything Harrison was saying.

“Do you have a vase?” Harrison asked he he neatly set the table to perfection.

“No. I have glass cups?” Tom offered in its place, getting an angry look from Harrison before getting slapped on the back of the head.

“Ow!” Tom rubbed the back of his head and looked at Harrison angrily.

“That’s not the same thing!” Harrison snapped. “I’m gonna see if Mrs. Beverly next door has a vase we can borrow. Stay here and don’t touch anything.”

“I’m in my own house. If I want to touch something-“ Tom cut himself off when he noticed the death glare Harrison was giving him.

“I won’t touch anything.” Tom said sheepishly. Harrison gave him a tight, sarcastic smile before leaving the house. He returned shortly with a vase in one hand and daises in the other.

“She gave me flowers too.” Harrison smiled proudly as he filled the vase with water and put it in the center of the table. “Now you look put together.”

“I look put together because I have flowers on my table? I doubt it.” Tom scoffed, though the flowers did add a nice touch.

“Oh my God. Were you raised by bears?” Harrison groaned as he lit two candles, one on each side of the vase.

“I don’t know how to do this! I’ve never done this.” Tom reminded him, secretly impressed with how nice Harrison had made the table look. The smell coming from the kitchen was heavenly, and Tom knew he looked good. He was starting to think he might actually pull this off.

“I know.” Harrison sighed, calming down now. “I can’t believe your first date is with your dream girl. No pressure, right?”

“Go big or go home.” Tom chuckled, nervously toying with the bottom of his shirt. The doorbell ringing made both boys heads snap up before looking at each other in fear.

“She’s here. Quick! Hide in the closet!” Tom whispered harshly as he pushed Harrison towards the coat closet.

“Or I could go out the back door. That’s also an option.” Harrison whispered back sarcastically.

“I might need you for something. You have to stay. But you know, in the closet.” Tom smokers apologetically as he pushed Harrison inside.

“The things I do for you.” Harrison shook his head in disdain as he squeezed in between Toms coats.

“Love you.” Tom said weakly before closing the door.

“Yeah, whatever.” He beard Harrison mumble as he opened his front door. You stood on his porch in a dress the color of a red velvet cupcake. Your lips matched the color of the dress and for a moment, Tom couldn’t think of anything else.

“Hi.” He blurted, a shy smile crossing his face as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Hi. I missed you.” You laughed lightly as you pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back comfortingly when you noticed how nervous he was.

“I missed you too.” Tom mumbled into your ear before letting go. You kept your hand on his shoulder after pulling away, seeing the look of fear in his eyes and he stared at your lips.

“You look scared.” You chuckled. “Are you wondering if you should kiss me or not?”

“Are you a mind reader?” Tom asked with wide eyes, being as that was exactly what he was thinking.

“No. Just a face reader.” You joked as you gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“I didn’t want to assume you wanted to kiss me.” Tom spoke softly, avoiding eye contact by looking at the ground. You smiled at his shy demeanor before putting your pointer finger under his chin, using it to tilt his face up. Before he could react, you were leaning in and kissing him. You let it linger a moment before pulling away, feeling a sense of pride when you saw how flustered it made him.

“I wanted you to kiss you.” You whispered against his lips before leaning back, giving him time to relax. Tom put a hand over his heart, grinning cheekily as he caught his breath.

“Somehow, it’s even better than I remembered.” He laughed in disbelief at what just happened.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” You raised an eyebrow, signaling to him that you enjoyed it as much as he did.

“Let me give you a tour of the house.” Tom said confidently, taking charge now.

“Sure.” You linked your arm with his and followed him through each room of his house. You clocked a framed picture of you and him as kids from the Secret Life of Arietty premier, feeling your face flush to know he cherished that moment as much as he did. Finally, he brought you to the table.

“This is the living room.” He gestured to the table before he heard the oven ding. “And that’s our food.”

“It smells amazing, Tom. I didn’t know you could cook.” You complimented him as he walked a few paces away into the kitchen.

“I didn’t either.” Tom laughed nervously, feeling bad for lying to you.

“What did you make?”

“I made…something.” Tom blinked as he forgot what Sam had made. “Something delicious.”

“Sounds great. Thank you.” You said sarcastically before laughing at his strangeness. Tom gave you a bashful smile from the kitchen before opening the oven.

“It’s chicken!” He called from the kitchen. “I made chicken. All by myself.”

“I’m so proud.” You laughed again, chalking it up to him being nervous.

“OW.” He yelled from the kitchen. You looked up and saw him bouncing up and down while clutching his hand.

“Is everything okay?” You worried.

“I forgot things in the oven are hot.” Tom responded, pain evident in his voice. You were by his side in no time, touching his back gently to let him know you were there.

“Let me see.” You instructed as you took his hand and found a red mark on his palm from where he touched the pan.

“Ouch.” He laughed weakly, taking notice of how close you were standing to him. You smiled assuringly at him and walked him to the sink, turning on the cold water and putting his hand under it. He winced at first, but the pain slowly melted away the longer his hand was under the water.

“I can’t believe I did something so stupid.” He shook his head, feeling embarrassed for goofing up in front of you.

“It’s okay.” You shook your head. “I do this all the time.”

“You do?” He asked, wondering if you were just trying to make him feel better. “ Do you cook a lot?”

“No, not at all. I’m terrible at cooking.” You chuckled. Tom laughed too, knowing he had that in common. “I’m a decent baker though.”

“Last time I baked I had to call the fire brigade.” Tom recalled his nearly fatal cupcake incident.

“I’ll have to show you how to do it sometime.” You looked at him through your lashes, nudging him slightly as you turned the water off.

“It’s a date.” Tom smiled softly. You brought his hand to your lips and pressed a kiss to the burn, leaving your lipstick stain with it. You grabbed the oven mitts and took the chicken out before turning the oven off.

“Here. I’ll bring this to the table.” You said pointedly as you walked back to the table.

“I’ll get the drinks.” Tom decided. He joined you at the table with a bottle of soda a bucket of ice.

“Ginger ale.” You looked up at him in shock when you saw what he was carrying. “That’s my favorite.”

“I am your biggest fan, after all. I know these things.” Tom shrugged causally as he poured some Ginger ale into your glass. After setting the bottle down, he pulled your chair out for you so you could sit down.

“Here’s to our first date.” He smiled as he held up his cup.

“First of many.” You added as you clinked your glass against his.

You made easy conversation as you ate, always making Tom laugh at something or another. He was falling in love with you every second, and the same could be said for you.

“These flowers are beautiful.” You said as you stole a carrot off his plate.

“Thank you. I grow some in my garden by the chickens.” He lied, not even knowing what he was saying at this point. He was pretty sure Harrison stole the flowers from Mrs. Beverleys backyard.

“You own chickens?” Your jaw dropped as you turned around to see into his backyard.

“Yes, but don’t worry. The chicken we’re eating now is from the store, not my backyard.” Tom assured you, making you laugh.

“Okay good.” You chuckled. “The candles are a nice touch too. You really know how to set a table.”

“Only the best for my girl.” Tom shrugged as he took a sip of his drink, immediately scrunching his eyes in embarrassment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to call you my girl.”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked it.” You bit your lip and looked at him fondly. Toms eyebrows raised, always pleasantly surprised by you.

“Okay then.” He smiled proudly. “Then would my girl like some more ginger ale?”

“I would.” You giggled as you held up your cup. You took a long sip before leaning on one hand and running your fingernails over his hand with the other.

“You know, the sun is hitting you perfectly right now.” You told him, timidly looking at him from your seat. “You look beautiful.”

Tom gasped a little as Harrison’s plan worked before blushing at your compliment.

“So do you.” He said softly, not feeling confident enough to look at you when he said it.

“The chicken was really good, Tom.” You changed the subject before you turned into a blushing mess. “How did you season it?”

“Oh, you know…salt.” Tom said the first thing that came to his mind.

“Salt?” You asked, surprised with his answer.

“And pepper.” He added quickly.

“Salt and pepper? What made it spicy?” You wondered.

“That would be the cinnamon.” Tom was just listing all the spices he knew at this point, feeling caught in his web of lies.

“Wow. I would never think to put cinnamon on a roast chicken.” You jutted your lip out, looking equally impressed and confused.

“Me either.” Tom squeaked, the guilt of lying getting to him now.

“I can take your plate if you’re done. I’m just gonna rinse it and then grab dessert.” He changed the subject quickly before you could think too hard about the chicken.

“Or we could rinse the dishes together.” You suggested. “It’ll go even faster.”

“You’re always thinking ahead, aren’t you?” He noticed. “I can barely think in the present.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tom. I can do enough thinking for the both of us.” You laughed as you took his hand and lead him to the kitchen. He turned the sink on and was about to put his dish under it when you stopped him.

“Wait.” You kept his hand back. “Wait for it to get hot.”

“Why?”

“To melt away any sauce. Cold water won’t get it off.” You explained. Tom looked up, thinking about what you said and realizing he was never able to get sauce off his plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

“Honestly darling, I have no idea how I’ve survived this far without you.” Tom said bluntly. Your laugh echoed through the kitchen as you rinsed the plates before putting them in the dishwasher.

“I don’t know either.” You shook your head playfully. Tom felt a surge of confidence go through him, leading to him leaning in and kissing your temple. He quickly turned away and went to the counter, gathering the sprinkles and whip cream before you could see his blush.

“Can you carry these to the table please?” He requested as he held them out.

“Are we making sundaes?” You gasped as you took the sprinkles from him.

“We are, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s perfect.” You gushed. “I haven’t had a sundae since I was a kid.”

“I know. I haven’t had one since yesterday.” Tom sighed dramatically as he got the ice cream from the freezer, missing the way his joke made you light up.

You walked back to the table together, immediately sensing something was different.

“Why is it dark in here?” Tom asked as he set the ice cream down.

“Looks like your candle burned out.” You answered as you picked up one of the candles. You held it out for him to see, and he could see that the wick had burned all the way to the bottom.

“Shoot. We simply cannot eat this without candles.” Tom joked, trying to keep calm as the newfound darkness threatened his perfect dinner.

“Obviously.” You humored him.

“I have to get another one.” He decided, feeling frustrated with himself for literally leaving you in the dark. “How could I let this happen? We can’t have a candle lit dinner without candles.”

“Tom, it’s okay.” You told him, sensing that he was psyching himself out. “We don’t need candles.”

“No, it’s not okay.” He shook his head. “I should’ve checked how much wax was left before I lit them.”

“Tom. Look at me.” You took his face between your hands and made him look at you. “No one checks how much wax is left. I get the feeling you’re a little stressed out, yeah?” You asked calmly.

“A wee bit.” He smiled weakly.

“I’m gonna get the candles while you try and relax, alright?” You brushed your thumbs against his cheeks to calm him down. “Where do you keep them?”

“In the closet by the front door.”

“I’ll be right back.” You let your hand drag on his cheek as you walked towards the closet.

“Okay. I’ll be here.” He called after you before taking a seat and trying to relax.

You found the closet he was talking about and opened it, jumping a little when you were met with two blue eyes.

“Oh. Hello.” You greeted as you reached for the candles on the top shelf.

“Cheers, mate.” Harrison nodded in embarrassment. “Are you having a good time?”

“I am.” You answered honestly. “Are you?”

“I’m alright. A little cramped.” He shrugged.

“Hey, Tom?” You called out.

“Yeah, darling?” He answered as he walked to where you were.

“Are you aware there’s a grown man in your closet?” You asked him as you nodded towards Harrison. Toms eyes widened as he realized he forgot all about Harrison in the closet.

“Oops. This isn’t the bathroom.” Harrison said weakly, trying to lie for Toms sake.

“Harrison, could you please come out of the closet.” Tom gulped.

“Tom, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.” Harrison declared as he stepped out of the closet.

“No, not like that.” Tom waved his hand is dismissal of Harrison’s joke. “Get out of my coat closet.”

Harrison shut the closet door and gave you an awkward smile and wave, which you returned.

“Y/n, this is Harrison. He’s my best mate and a much better at this than me. Everyone’s better at this than me.” Tom sighed. “My brother made the chicken and it was Harrison’s idea to have the candles and the flowers and make sundaes. All I could think of was pulling your chair out.” Tom looked down in shame.

“I appreciated that.” You said sincerely, stepping closer to him to let him know he still had you on the hook.

“You’re probably wondering why I offered to cook you dinner if I can’t cook, but I didn’t even offer to cook you dinner. My other mate was the one texting you because I had no idea what to say and I didn’t want to blow it with you.” Tom was confessing all his secrets now. Harrison quietly stepped back, letting the two of you speak.

“So you got your friend to flirt with me through text?” You asked for clarification.

“Yes.”

“And then hired your other brother to make us dinner?” You pointed your thumb towards the the kitchen.

“Yes.”

“And then got your other friend to prepare everything before you stuffed him in a closet?” You chuckled playfully, making Tom look up. He thought he had completely blown it, but the look on your face told him you found it funny.

“Yes.” Tom replied. “But in my defense, he willingly went in the closet.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say willingly. Forced might be a better term.” Harrison mumbled as he averted his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning.” He sighed. “And the truth is, I don’t know how to do this. I can’t talk to girls, especially ones I’ve fancied my entire life. And I’m a shit cook. I can’t even boil water. I’ve been lying to you all night. I can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now.”

You took another step closer to Tom and ran your fingernails over his arm.

“I’m thinking the best part of my week has been sitting here talking to you.” You told him, much to his surprise. “Not the texting, not eating the food I thought you made, just talking to you. That’s what I’ve enjoyed. Don’t get me wrong, the food was great. But I could not care less if you made it or not. All I care is if you want to go on another date after this one. And another one after that.”

“And another one after that?” Tom asked hopefully.

“Yeah. And-“

“Let me guess, another one after that?” Harrison cut in with a roll of his eyes.

“Stop listening, you trilobite.” Tom snapped before returning his attention to you with a loving smile.

“I was just leaving.” Harrison nodded curtly and excused himself.

“I really like you, Tom.” You stoked his cheek as you spoke. “So if you need your friends to text me and cook for us, that’s fine. As long as you’re the one I’m talking to, I’ll be okay.”

“I have a proposition for you.” Tom smiled, putting his hand over yours to keep it against his cheek.

“I’d love to hear it.” You raised an eyebrow.

“I will take you on as many dates as you want.” He began.

“Okay. Sounds good so far.”

“But I get to call you my girlfriend, not just my girl.” He smirked, slinking his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest.

“I think I can work with that.” You told him before connecting your lips to his.

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland blurb

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lets-steal-an-archive · 3 years

Text

'Golden Girls' Polishes Its Scripts: Daily Revisions Geared to Sharpen Story and Hone Those Laugh Lines

TRUE OR FALSE:

Actresses Bea Arthur, Estelle Getty, Rue McClanahan and Betty White write their own dialogue for "The Golden Girls." (FALSE)

Older female writers write all 25 episodes each season because no one else could understand the problems of older females. (FALSE)

In order to keep the shows consistent from week to week, one writer prepares all the episodes. (FALSE)

Ten staff writers work together to prepare a season's worth of scripts. (TRUE)

It's a Monday morning in early October and on a sound stage at the small Renmar Studios in Hollywood, the "golden girls" have gathered to read a new script. This will be episode No. 60 of the series and it will air about three weeks later — on Halloween.

Everyone in the room has heard about this week's story line: Rose writes a letter to Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. But apart from the writers, no one has seen the final script until now. It was completed on a Saturday, photocopied 150 times on Sunday and distributed this morning to NBC; co-producer Touchstone Pictures; the show's creator, Susan Harris; the show's lawyers and researchers, and the "Golden Girls" cast and crew.

"Hopefully, they'll laugh," murmurs head writer Kathy Speer as she prepares to hear the "table reading." "If they don't, we'll be here fixing the script for a long time."

The table reading really is at tables — eight of them arranged in a rectangle. The actresses and guest actors sit on one side, facing the writers. To the actresses' left are director Terry Hughes, executive producers Paul Junger Witt and Tony Thomas and co-executive producers/head writers Speer and Terry Grossman. To the actresses' right sit NBC representatives, the show's casting director and props and wardrobe personnel.

They begin. Director Hughes reads the stage directions: Interior, kitchen — day. Sophia is seated at table. She is reading book entitled 'Magic Made Easy.' Dorothy enters.

Bea Arthur, as Dorothy, reads: "Hi, Ma."

Estelle Getty, as Sophia, reads: "Give me your watch."

Another week is under way. As the actresses go through their lines, everyone else listens intently. They laugh (or don't laugh) and take notes. By the Friday-night tapings, this script will need to play at 22 minutes. But Friday is a long way off.

As soon as the table reading ends, the writers, producers, director and an NBC program executive huddle to discuss script changes. Then, while the actresses begin rehearsals using the first draft, the writers rush off to their yellow stucco two-story building nearby to begin rewriting.

"The secret of TV half-hour comedy shows is the revisions," explains Dean Valentine, NBC director of current comedy and also the program executive on "Golden Girls." "What they start out with is 75% away from what they end up with."

"I don't think this episode is going to need much work," co-head writer Terry Grossman announces cheerfully on his way back to his office. "It got a good response at the table. We just have to cut it, smooth out transitions and clarify some story points. New jokes will be the tough thing." He anticipates a few hours' work.

"Early in the first season we were throwing out whole scenes," he recalls. "Now we know what works for each lady and what she does best. That's the advantage of being in the third year of the show. The disadvantage is that stories are harder to come by."

Grossman heads into the office he shares with his wife Speer, who is also his writing partner. They are in charge of the writing staff. "That means we are the two who get yelled at the most when something goes wrong," he jokes.

Also piling into the conference-sized room are supervising producers Barry Fanaro and Mort Nathan and producer Winifred Hervey. Despite their titles, Grossman explains, "We're all writers."

"We are the five most dull people," Nathan insists.

"We're much funnier on paper," Hervey adds.

These five, all in their 30s, met when they worked on "Benson," an earlier Witt-Thomas-Harris series. They have been with "Golden Girls" since the beginning, and every Monday they jointly rewrite the script being taped that week. They jokingly call themselves The Gang of Five.

While they start rewriting, the show's other five staff writers — Chris Lloyd, Jeff Ferro, Frederic Weiss, Robert Bruce and Martin Weiss — go back to their own offices to work on new scripts.

"To keep quality, you like as many writers as you can afford," Speer explains. "This year, we have six 'entities' (writing teams) — four sets of partners and two individuals. And we also use a few free-lance scripts each season."

Approximately 25% of the show's budget goes to the writers, executive producer Tony Thomas says. Staff writers on a comedy series earn a weekly salary plus separate payments for completed scripts. A free-lance writer who does a story outline, a first draft and a second draft can earn about $11,000. (Note: All outside script submissions must come through agents.)

"A good comedy requires a lot of teamwork, a lot of people sitting in a room working together," Thomas emphasizes. "A good team is rare, but it's not extremely rare. It's like winning the NBA title. We had it in 'Soap,' and we had it for some years in 'Benson.' Obviously this is one of the most successful staffs we’ve ever put together."

Both Witt and Thomas deal with day-to-day details on "Golden Girls." Harris, who created the series, is less involved this season because, according to Thomas, "She is working on a feature for Disney with us. But she reads all the scripts and is familiar with most of the stories."

Flashback to the previous Friday, a week when "Golden Girls" wasn't taping. Every fourth week during the season, the show shuts down, giving the actors and crew a rest and allowing the writers to catch up.

The Gang of Five is trying to explain how their writing process works. They insist on telling, rather than showing, because, as they say, they're shy. "At the beginning of the season, even having our new writers in the meeting made me a little uncomfortable," Grossman admits. "It slowed down the process."

"One of the most important things that exists with this group is that the bottom line is making the show as good as possible. It's still very difficult when your script is read for the first time and the material doesn't work. It hurts for a moment. But there's no time to take it personally. It didn't work, and the clock is ticking. You better keep moving and get it right."

Like all sitcoms, "Golden Girls" has a "bible," a book that synopsizes everything that has happened on a series. Thus, new writers don't have to watch all the previous episodes. But there is no master plan of what will happen in the future.

The idea for "Letter to Gorbachev" surfaced last May at a beginning-of-the-season meeting of the writers and producers. "It was one of 20 or 30 story notions kicked around," Barry Fanaro recalls. The obvious similarity to Samantha Smith's letter to then-Soviet leader Yuri Andropov isn't mentioned.

"Most of them didn't work,” adds Fanaro's writing partner Mort Nathan, "but this one sounded amusing. Because Rose is a childlike character, we wondered what would happen if she wrote a letter to Gorbachev about world peace. We started fleshing it out, but we couldn't think of a second act. We went round and round, and finally six weeks later we came up with a way to make the story work."

"The five of us went over it scene by scene and agreed it was workable," Fanaro continues. "Then Mort and I went off and wrote it. It took about 10 days because we were also working on other things."

Each "Golden Girls” episode is written to a formula: "the idea, the act break and the resolution," Grossman explains. "Usually there's an 'A' story and a 'B' story going. It's the natural structure."

Although Fanaro and Nathan, who won a writing Emmy last year for a "Golden Girls" episode, wrote the basic Gorbachev script, the story the audience will see has gone through the usual "Golden Girls" grinder: The Gang of Five read and dissect the first draft, adding new scenes, new lines, new jokes. "It's really a team effort," Grossman stresses.

The jokes can be the easiest part — or the hardest. "They're only hard to write when you've got one that isn't working," Grossman says. "A joke in the middle of a scene can be weak, but the 'out joke' — a snappy one-liner that ends the scene on a laugh — has to be strong."

"We may decide a scene needs a new opening," Speer explains. "There will be a long moment of silence. Then someone will ask if anybody's eaten at some new restaurant. In the course of conversation, somebody will say, 'Wait a minute. I have an idea.'"

"With five of us, at least one of us is paying attention," Hervey deadpans.

"Good writers should be able to write for men, women, old or young," Grossman says. "We all draw on other people in our lives — parents, grandparents. Part of the reason for the show's popularity is that these are very vital people. The very same story you've seen 100 times on every sitcom takes on new light with characters in this age group. That makes life easier for us.

"Also, these four actresses are sensational. To have the entire cast be able to give such high-caliber performances means you don't have to adjust your material. You write the material, and they deliver. If they can't make it work, there's something wrong with the material."

The week goes by quickly. On Tuesday morning, the "golden girls" read over the revised script and discover that one scene has changed considerably. Some lines have been cut, while others have been sharpened. There are several new jokes. A press conference scene has been shifted from a hotel room to the ladies' living room.

On Tuesday night, the Gang of Five works late. During the day's rehearsals they realized that the revised scene didn’t play well so they jettisoned it and added some new dialogue and a few more jokes.

Following Wednesday's rehearsals, they hone the script a little more. Time is pressing. By the Thursday afternoon dress rehearsal, the actresses try to be script-perfect, although they often aren't. By now, the original 52-page script has been reduced to 50 pages, and almost every page has had at least one alteration.

For instance, on Monday when Blanche accidentally spat Coca-Cola on a Soviet Embassy official, he responded by saying, "No apology necessary." Now he says, "No need to apologize. In Moscow, we have to stand in line four hours to get this."

Late Friday afternoon, the audience files into Renmar Studios to watch the first taping. The writers are standing by, just in case a last-minute problem occurs. During the 90-minute dinner break, while a new audience is arriving, the cast, writers and producers calmly discuss how to improve the second taping. A few lines are cut, the taping is completed, and it’s on to the next week.

Source: Mills, Nancy. 1987. 'Golden Girls' Polishes Its Scripts: Daily Revisions Geared to Sharpen Story and Hone Those Laugh Lines. Los Angeles Times, October 30, https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1987-10-30-ca-11702-story.html

#the golden girls #how the sausage is made #from the archives #tv writing #i just thought it was neat #long post

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nostalgiahan · 3 years

Text

Euphoria

word count: 4k (holy shit)

genre: smut

content/warnings: explicit sexual content, threesome, restraints, pillow humping, oral (both receiving,) anal (m receiving,) face sitting, consent, discussion of boundaries, aftercare :)

pairing: dom!chan x sub!felix x afab/switch!reader

a/n: it is heavily implied that felix goes into subspace at the end! however you can interpret it however you want <3

You never planned on having two friends with benefits at once, but it turned out to be better than you could have ever imagined. You were originally just looking for someone to take your emotions out on after a long day, break them down to the bone and then put them back together again. You found that in Felix, your perfect boy; always obedient and eager to please, even if that meant getting orgasm after orgasm cruelly denied or being overstimulated to the point where his lithe frame was shaking and his eyes were puffy and red from tears. In the end, though, you were always there to calm him down, to rub lotion into his sores and to kiss his bruises better, to run your fingers through his hair as he cries into your chest. That’s what makes it worth it for you.

However, soon enough, you became burnt out. Domming Felix was fun, but it was tiring, and sometimes you just wanted to be taken care of. This lead you to Chan; similar to Felix in some ways but entirely opposite in others. Where Felix was timid and obedient, Chan was outgoing and domineering; ready to degrade you and pound you into his creaky bed or call you sweet names and milk multiple orgasms out of you until you were relaxed; whatever you happened to need that day.

So here you were. You had thought for some time about introducing them to each other; after all, they would fit together perfectly. Chan was the Yin to Felix’s Yang; one unabashedly dominant and the other perfectly submissive. You would love to just sit back and watch their dynamic play out. However, you also felt that doing that would make things more than just casual, and you weren’t sure how either of them felt about it. That was, until after one of your sessions with Felix.

You two were in the bath, his back against your chest, and you thought he was asleep until he turned around to press a peck to the top of your breast, his favorite way of getting your attention.

“What’s up, Lixie?”

“Um, I’ve been thinking about… something. Lately.”

“Yeah? What is it, baby boy?”

You maneuver him so you’re both sitting up in the tub, facing each other. At that, Felix averts his gaze.

“What do you think about, maybe, bringing in another dom?”

It’s silent for a bit before Felix speaks again.

“I mean, it’s okay if not. It’s just… you’re a really good dom, but I’ve been thinking lately about how hot it would be to be dommed by… two people at once. I don’t know. I feel like it’s weird.”

You bring a gentle hand under his chin, guiding him to look you in the eyes.

“Sweet boy, it’s not weird. I’ve been thinking about it too.”

You pull him against your chest again, and your hand returns to his hair.

“I have another friend with benefits, you know. His name is Chan. He’s a really good dom, and I’ve been thinking about introducing you two for a while.”

Felix relaxes noticeably against you, nuzzling his face into your chest.

“How about I text him right now?”

“Mmm. Bath first.”

“Of course. We’ll finish our bath, and then I’ll fix you some tea, and then we’ll text him. Sound good, Lixie?”

Felix nods against your chest, and not five minutes later, he’s dead asleep.

About half an hour later, the two of you are in bed, phone in hand. You’ve already shown Felix Chan’s pictures, and he seemed intrigued, given the way he shifted in his spot and gulped a bit louder than he probably intended to.

“Alright, Lixie, what do you want to say? He already knows that you’re my sub, but not much else.”

“Uh, we should probably get straight to the point, I guess. Something like, ‘Hi, my sub and I want you to fuck us.’”

He giggles, a cute sound that makes the air in the room feel lighter.

“Okay, maybe that’s too forward.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Felix is still giggling slightly as you type out a draft in your Notes app.

“How does this sound, baby boy?”

Hi, Chan. My sub and I were talking about how we might want to introduce another person into the bedroom, and I’ve been thinking about introducing you two for a while. Is this something you’d be interested in?

Barely a minute passes before Chan replies. It’s short, but it’s all the two of you need to hear.

Of course

The three of you settle on a time and date, about a week later. You didn’t have the foresight to set up a group chat or anything of the sort, so you’re going into this completely blind. Whatever. It’ll be fine.

The first one to arrive is Chan, and he has a duffel bag with him. Expected, but a bit intimidating.

“We could’ve just used my stuff, you know.”

“Eh, it’s more fun this way. Then I get to surprise both of you.”

You scoff but walk across the room to hug him. He takes you in his arms and chuckles when he feels you practically melt against him.

“Long day?”

You just sigh and Chan pecks the top of your head, squeezing you even tighter.

“Don’t worry about a thing, baby. Just let go for tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A few minutes later, Felix walks in, carrying nothing but his keys and phone. He sets them down nervously on the table by your front door before latching onto your side like a shy child might with their parent.

“Hi, lovely.”

Felix makes a muffled noise into your shirt but doesn’t move to greet Chan.

“What’s wrong, baby boy? Nervous?”

Felix pulls away to nod, gaze fixed firmly on the floor. Chan coos before approaching Felix slowly, just trying to get a closer look at the boy.

“You’re more… intimidating then I thought you’d be.”

Chan smiles wide and giggles brightly at Felix’s statement.

“Don’t worry, Felix. We don’t have to go faster than you’re comfortable with. Besides, we still need to have a talk about boundaries.”

Felix nods slowly, seemingly pleased with Chan’s statement.

“By the way,” you say, the two boys perking up at the sound. “I ordered pizza, it’s in the kitchen. We can have dinner and talk, and maybe you two can get to know each other.”

Felix jumps up, nervousness seemingly forgotten as he rushes to the kitchen, a big smile on his face. He rips the pizza box open, grabbing a slice for himself and shoving it into his mouth unceremoniously, forcing a giggle out of you. As everyone gets their pizza and settles down, you turn on some soft music and invite everyone to sit on your couch. You figured it would be better to have this conversation on neutral ground. Felix immediately curls into your side, now staring inquisitively at Chan, who’s sitting on your other side.

“So, uh, I figured we should just establish some hard boundaries first. Lix, do you want to go?”

Felix nods and grabs his phone from the side table, seemingly opening something on it.

“I wrote down what I wanted to say so I wouldn’t forget.”

Both you and Chan smile at that.

“So, uh, I can’t really handle intense degradation. I can do it if you mix in nice words, but I much prefer praise. I like knowing I’m doing well. Uh, and no bodily fluids or gross stuff like that. And aftercare is really important for me. I need a lot of it.”

Chan nods, looking attentively at Felix.

“Pretty much anything else other than those things is fair game.”

Chan leans in just slightly.

“So what do you like, Felix?”

Felix looks back at his phone, the tips of his ears and nose turning a light pink.

“Uh, choking. And pain. And, uh, praise, obviously. I like being marked up, too.”

Felix’s face gets adorably redder as he reads off the items on the list. You look over and notice Chan is trying to cover the outline of his half-hard dick in his sweatpants with a slice of pizza.

When Felix is done, Chan asks him another question which makes Felix choke on his own spit.

“What do you like to be called?”

After taking a moment to collect himself, Felix speaks up.

“Uh, I didn’t write that down.”

“That’s okay. If you remember later, just tell me.”

“Okay. Well, uh, Lixie and Lix are always good. And uh, baby boy, or any variant of that, really. And, uh…”

Felix murmurs the end of his sentence and although you already know what he said, you still lift his chin up with your hand and guide his gaze towards Chan’s

“Go ahead, Lixie. Tell him your favorite pet name.”

Felix looks away, and in a very small voice, says,

“Kitten.”

Chan’s eyes visibly darken and he shifts in his seat, clearly trying to restrain himself until the conversation is over. You smile contentedly, and decide to continue the conversation yourself in fear of Felix becoming impossibly more flustered.

Eventually, the conversation comes to a close, and the three of you stand up to head to your bedroom, Chan grabbing his bag which Felix didn’t notice until now. His eyes widen and he grabs your hand, squeezing hard. You squeeze back to offer him some reassurance as the three of you slip into the bedroom.

Turning Felix around to face you and taking both of his hands in yours, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Are you still nervous, baby?”

Felix nods and looks away again.

“You know we can stop any time if it gets too much for you, right?”

He nods again.

“I want to do this. I’ve just never done this before.”

“That’s okay, Lixie, just try to relax, okay?”

He nods and you let go of his hands, turning towards Chan.

“Is everyone good with using the traffic light system?”

The both of them nod.

“What is everyone’s color?”

Everyone says green.

“Alright. Lixie, why don’t you sit on the bed for me?”

Felix, ever obedient, sits with his hands in his lap, fingers nervously picking at the sleeves of his hoodie. You approach him carefully and take his face in your hands, leaning down to kiss him gently. He immediately reciprocates, falling into the comfortable rhythm that the two of you share. Chan watches from the sidelines until you pull away, beckoning him with a small tilt of your head. He pads over softly until he’s standing in front of Felix, running his hand through the younger boy’s hair. Felix tentatively places his small hands on Chan’s waist, and the older smiles before leaning in slowly to kiss him. It starts out slow and sweet, but soon Felix is grasping at the fabric of Chan’s shirt, letting out tiny whimpers into his mouth. It’s adorable, watching Felix fall apart like this.

You decide to sit behind Felix on the bed, wrapping your arms around him for a quick hug before dipping your hands under the hem of his shirt, letting them explore the skin there. Felix whines at the unexpected touch but keens into it, prompting Chan to pull back and pull Felix’s shirt off.

He’s flustered at first, covering his chest with his hands, until you pull them away and start brushing your fingertips over his pert nipples. He lets out a long, drawn-out whine, arching into your touch.

“Does my pretty boy like having his nipples played with?” Chan asks, smirking down at Felix. He nods frantically as you increase your speed, causing him to squirm even more in your hold. Chan hums appreciatively before motioning for the two of you to scoot back on the bed, and when you do, he settles in between Felix’s legs and starts to mouth at his cock through the younger’s jeans. Felix cants his hips up into Chan, but the older is having none of it and pushes his hips down violently, coaxing a gasp out of him.

“Stay still.”

Chan unbuttons Felix’s jeans and and pulls them down, along with his underwear, agonizingly slow, relishing in the younger’s sigh of relief. He’s already fully hard, and it must hurt.

“This worked up already?”

Felix nods frantically, just trying to get Chan to get on with it. Chan walks away, and retrieves a pair of pink leather cuffs from his bag.

“I’m told you look pretty in pink.”

When Felix stays silent, you lean up from where you’ve been sucking gently on Felix’s neck to murmur in his ear.

“Is that true, Lix? Tell him.”

“Y-yes, I look pretty in pink.”

Chan nods approvingly as he snaps the cuffs around Felix’s wrists, securing them behind his back. He assumes his position between Felix’s legs again, hands wrapping around his now bare thighs, shocked to find that his hands are big enough to wrap around almost halfway. He can feel his dick twitch at the thought of being so big that he can literally split Felix in half.

When Chan wraps his lips around Felix’s tip, he can tell the sub is using all of his self-control not to fuck up into his mouth. However, nearly as soon as he starts, Chan pulls off, leaving Felix whining for more.

“Tsk. Be patient, kitten.”

Chan’s ego swells when he sees Felix’s dick jump at the pet name. He looks towards you, where you’re still kissing all over Felix’s neck and shoulders, running your hands up and down his sides, and lifts your chin up, giving you a quick kiss.

“What do you think about helping out our y/n? They deserve it for introducing us, don’t you think?”

Felix nods, but tugs at the cuffs restraining his arms. He wants so badly to touch, but he knows Chan won’t let him.

“Go ahead, then. I’ll get you started, yeah?”

Felix can only nod as he watches Chan undress you to your underwear, rubbing his fingers lightly over your slit and reveling in the low groan you let out, completely opposite to Felix’s whining.

“Alright, go ahead, baby boy.”

Felix looks at Chan, confused. How was he supposed to get your underwear off if he couldn’t use his hands? Chan just shrugs and sits back on his heels, undressing himself and palming himself through his underwear as he watches.

Felix tries to be sexy and pull your panties down with his teeth, but he can only get them down an inch or so before he gives up. He eventually settles for just mouthing at your clit over your underwear, but it’s still not enough. He switches between your clit and nipples before just giving up for the second time and sitting back, looking at his knees dejectedly. Chan sighs before moving Felix aside and huffing in fake disappointment, pulling down your panties and unhooking your bra with his hands.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Felix whines, but he yelps when Chan delivers a harsh slap to his thigh.

“No talking back.”

Felix sighs and huffs out a “fine” before leaning against you, signaling that he wants you to touch him.

“Poor Lixie. That must hurt, huh?” You gesture towards his cock, angry red and straining against his stomach. He nods and you hum, reaching out a hand to stroke him slowly.

“You remember what Chan said, baby boy?”

Felix nods.

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“Stay still.”

You hum approvingly and continue to stroke Felix lightly, squeezing involuntarily as Chan’s lips wrap around your clit and suck. You try your best to keep going as Chan licks up your slit, making lewd slurping noises that cause Felix to thrust up into your hand. He doesn’t process that he did until he feels another slap on his opposite thigh and your hand move away from his cock. He whimpers to try and get your attention, but both of your hands are tugging at Chan’s hair, and all Felix can do is watch.

Eventually, Felix’s helpless whines catch Chan’s attention and he grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, tossing it in Felix’s direction.

“You want relief that badly, huh? Be patient for us, kitten. For now, hump that. I’m busy. And don’t you dare cum until I tell you to.”

Felix whines but complies, situating the pillow between his legs and rutting into it as he watches Chan eat you out.

Meanwhile, your eyes are screwed shut as Chan picks up speed, letting out loud moans that only make Felix more desperate for you. You can feel your first orgasm quickly approaching, and you make sure to let Chan know. He just hums against you and sticks two fingers inside of you, making you nearly scream in pleasure. Your grip on his hair grows ever tighter as you beg him to let you cum. He pulls away just slightly to give you permission, and almost on command, you’re cumming all over his fingers and tongue. Chan just laps it up eagerly and shifts his gaze to focus on Felix, who’s rutting into the pillow faster and faster.

Chan lifts Felix’s chin up and kisses him hard, almost toppling the poor boy over with the force of the kiss. He slows down, and eventually comes to a stop, panting as tears line his eyes, threatening to fall from how desperate he is to be touched again.

“Come here, baby boy. You were so good.” Chan unclasps the cuffs and Felix takes a moment to stretch his wrists. Chan kisses the spots where Felix tugged too hard and left red marks, causing the younger to look away and blush.

As Chan is leaning Felix back on the bed, kissing down his body, an idea pops into the sub’s head.

“Hey, Chan, uh…”

“Yes, Lixie?”

“I was wondering if, uh.”

Chan cocks his head and rubs his thumb over Felix’s cheekbone as he waits for him to finish his sentence.

“Yes?”

“Uh, if it’s okay with you, I want you to fuck me.”

A short silence passes before Felix covers his face with his hands, trying desperately to backtrack.

“I mean, it’s okay if not! I know some people aren’t really into that, and, uh, it was just a suggestion, but if not-”

Chan silences Felix with a kiss.

“Sweet boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Felix sighs in relief.

“Y/N, why don’t you help prep our kitten?”

You nod and reach towards the bedside table where the lube and condoms are kept.

“Lix, is it okay if I fuck your mouth?”

Felix sputters out an overenthusiastic ‘yes,’ bringing his hands towards Chan’s thick thighs. The older just laughs and discards his boxers before situating himself on Felix’s chest, the sub’s mouth watering at the sight of Chan.

Chan has just started pushing gently into Felix’s mouth when you put your first finger in, slicked up thoroughly with lube. He moans louder than you’ve heard him all night when it’s fully situated, at which Chan groans and pushes in further. You can’t see what’s happening, but the sounds give you a clear enough picture, sloppy and wet and absolutely filthy. When you tease a second finger at Felix’s hole, he groans, causing Chan to buck forward into his mouth.

When Chan sets a steady pace, you push a second finger in, and then a third. You don’t purposefully aim for Felix’s prostate, but you must have hit it because a moan even louder than the ones before it reaches your ears and a gush of precum dribbles out of Felix’s slit. You decide to treat him and wrap your lips around his tip as you stretch your fingers out inside him. Chan just keeps fucking into Felix’s mouth faster and faster, and you can tell he’s getting close, but he pulls out right before he cums, much to Felix’s dismay.

Chan gets off of Felix’s chest and rolls on a condom as you decide he’s stretched out enough.

“Ready, kitten?”

Felix nods, whining desperately. There are tears tracks drying on his face, which must have been from Chan fucking his mouth just moments before.

At first, you just want to sit aside and watch as Chan takes your pretty kitty apart. You do for a bit, reveling in the way that Chan throws his head back as he tries not to cum right away from Felix’s tightness, or the way Felix bites on his knuckles and arches his back as Chan pushes into him. However, once Chan is fully settled inside Felix, resting a comforting hand on the smaller boy’s inner thigh, you have a better idea. Crawling towards the two of them, you give Felix a soft kiss before setting yourself over him, dripping heat right above his mouth. You’re facing Chan and he gives you a look, but when you say in a low voice that face sitting is Felix’s favorite, he nods.

You can feel puffs of air on your cunt as Felix tells Chan to start moving. Then, you lower yourself onto Felix and when his tongue starts circling and gently biting at your slit, you throw your head back in pleasure. Chan grabs the back of your neck and tugs you in for a kiss, and it’s more of an exchange of spit and clashing teeth than a kiss but it works.

Chan starts fucking faster into Felix and the younger lets out a loud, high-pitched moan, his mouth leaving your cunt as he lolls his head back onto the pillow. You reach behind you and grab his hair, pushing his face up into your slit rather forcefully. His licks and sucks get more frantic as Chan thrusts even faster, and he lets out moans into you, wrapping his arms around your thighs for purchase.

You can feel your second orgasm of the night coming on.

“Can you keep holding on for me a bit longer, baby? I’m close too.”

Felix moans frantically, freely fucking himself back onto Chan, nearly screaming when Chan holds his hips up to more easily hit his prostate and wraps a hand around his dick. Chan hammers that spot over and over, Felix letting out helpless moans and screams as he approaches his high. Chan can tell that he’s close, but he knows Felix won’t be able to ask him for permission to cum in his fucked-out state.

“You can cum, Lix. Go ahead and let go for us.”

With a strangled scream, Felix cums hard onto his own stomach. Chan follows soon after, letting out a low, loud groan as he rides out his high inside Felix. You reach a hand down to your clit to finish yourself off, body convulsing as you fall over onto Chan. He pulls you against his chest as he stills inside Felix, the three of you breathing heavily. When you get off of Felix, you notice that he’s fully crying.

“Lixie, are you okay?”

Felix just groans, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. Chan pulls out and discards the condom as you pull Felix’s head into your lap and stroke his hair. His entire body is limp.

Chan once again returns to his bag and pulls out a big fluffy blanket sporting a paw print pattern and a few extra pairs of clothes. He drapes the blanket over Felix, tucking it in around the sides and brushing some stray, sweaty strands of hair from the younger’s forehead.

Felix’s eyes flutter shut, and you lean into Chan, exhausted.

“That was… really good,” you say groggily.

Chan just nods, putting an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head tenderly. You busy yourself with threading your fingers through Felix’s hair and trying to get all the knots out. Chan reaches over for the clothes and tugs a shirt over his head, wiggling his legs through some sweatpants. The two of you work together to wipe Felix down and dress him in a similar outfit, before you pull on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants identical to the ones that Chan is wearing.

After a bit of maneuvering, you’re sandwiched in between the still asleep Felix and a very, very, tired Chan.

“Do you want to do this again sometime?”

You laugh hoarsely and nod. “We’ll have to ask Felix when he wakes up.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t be opposed.”

You hum, and Chan wraps his arms around you even tighter then they were before, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Pancakes and bacon when we wake up?”

“Absolutely.”

#stray kids smut #stray kids #stray kids chan #stray kids felix #skz #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids x reader #bang chan #felix lee #skz smut #skz x reader #wow this is just... pure filth #god if you see this i'm sorry

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