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its-avalon-08 · 3 months

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hi could you write a story about Carlos Sainz x Wife!Reader, where they just had a baby and Lando comes to visit them in the hospital. He is Carlos' and the reader's best friend and he was there throughout the pregnancy. Maybe Carlos and his wife ask him to be the godfather of their child….

thanks

norris are you crying? (cs55, ln4 <3)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x female!reader + lando norris (platonic)

✦ genre - just plain ol'fluff

The sterile white walls of the hospital room felt strangely sterile with the miracle cradled in Y/N's arms. A tiny, wrinkled face, a perfect echo of Carlos, slept serenely against her chest. Beside her, Carlos, eyes still puffy with exhaustion, held her hand, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Their daughter, Sofia, had arrived a few hours ago, a whirlwind of emotions and a head full of dark hair, just like her father.

A knock on the door, followed by Lando Norris' boisterous entrance, shattered the quietude. "Alright Sainz, let me see the little legend!" he boomed, his usual mischievous glint dimmed with a touch of awe.

Carlos chuckled, pulling Lando into a tight embrace. "Careful, mate. Still a fragile little thing."

Lando approached Y/N cautiously, peering down at Sofia with a reverence that surprised them both. "Wow," he whispered, his voice thick. "She's perfect."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling. Lando had been their rock during the pregnancy, the shoulder to cry on during hormonal meltdowns and the voice of reason when anxieties threatened to drown them. He'd even taken it upon himself to become an expert on all things baby, bombarding them with facts and advice while Carlos, bless his heart, fumbled through assembling cribs and figuring out pacifiers.

"So," Carlos began, bouncing Sofia gently in his arms, "we were thinking..."

Y/N squeezed his hand, already knowing what he was about to say. They'd discussed it before, late at night with the nursery glowing softly beside them.

Lando looked up, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "Spill it, then."

"We were wondering," Y/N continued, her voice catching slightly, "would you do us the incredible honor of being Sofia's godfather?"

Lando's jaw dropped. He blinked, then a grin erupted on his face, brighter than any podium finish. "Are you serious?" he sputtered, his voice thick with emotion. "Of course! I'd be, well, I don't even know what to say. Absolutely!"

He reached out, his finger gently tracing Sofia's cheek. A tear welled up in his eye, quickly brushed away. "I promise to be the best damn godfather she could ever ask for," he declared, his voice firm despite the tremor.

The room erupted in laughter, a mix of relief and joy. With Lando by their side, they knew Sofia would be surrounded by love, laughter, and someone who would teach her the finer points of both go-karting and taking selfies (much to Carlos's future chagrin).

As the sunlight dipped below the horizon, painting the hospital room in a warm glow, Carlos leaned towards Y/N, his eyes twinkling. "Looks like we just made a champion a godfather," he whispered, his voice thick with love.

Y/N smiled, her heart overflowing. Their little family, this perfect trio, was just the beginning of their greatest adventure.

The jubilant atmosphere in the hospital room quieted as Lando pulled out his phone, a sheepish grin on his face. "Gotta share this one with the boys," he explained, dialing a number.

Y/N chuckled, knowing the waterworks wouldn't be far behind. Lando may act like a goofball, but his emotions ran deep, especially for his friends.

As the call connected, a chorus of voices filled the room. "Lando! How's the little one?" came Max's voice, followed by Charles' enthusiastic, "Is she a Ferrari fan already?"

Lando sniffled back a tear, his voice cracking as he replied, "She's... she's perfect. Tiny little human, guys. And guess what?"

There was a beat of confused silence, then Oscar's voice cut through. "Did you manage to convince them to name her after Ricciardo?"

Lando choked back a laugh. "Nah, mate. It's Sofia. But..." He paused, his voice thick. "They asked me to be her godfather."

A stunned silence followed. Then, Max erupted in cheers, Charles followed suit, and even Oscar let out a surprised whoop.

"Lando, that's amazing!" Max yelled, his voice filled with disbelief. "The Godfather Norris! Sounds posh, doesn't it?"

Lando let out a watery sob, a smile splitting his face. "I can't believe it, guys. I'm gonna spoil her rotten, teach her all the best pranks..." his voice trailed off, replaced by more sniffles.

Carlos, who had been pretending to read a magazine, couldn't help but overhear the conversation. A smile tugged at his lips seeing Lando so overcome. He leaned over subtly, catching Y/N's knowing look.

"Seriously, Lando," Charles chimed in, oblivious to the drama unfolding in the room, "don't tell me you're crying already. You haven't even been 10 minutes !"

"It's just... I don't know, man," Lando choked out, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It means a lot."

Carlos cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him. "Sounds like someone's getting a bit emotional," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

Lando whipped around, his face instantly switching to a defensive scoff. "Who, me? Emotional? Absolutely not, mate. Just, uh, clearing my throat. Hay fever, you know?"

Y/N and Carlos burst into laughter. Max, Charles, and Oscar could practically hear Lando's blush through the phone.

Carlos, amusement dancing in his eyes, walked over to Lando and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Alright, alright," he chuckled, ruffling Lando's hair. "We believe you. You're going to be a fantastic godfather, just try not to scare her off with your... unique fashion sense."

Lando, still flustered, punched Carlos playfully on the arm. "Sod off, Sainz. Speaking of fashion, you're the one who wears those atrocious dad sneakers."

Y/N shook her head, a warm smile on her face. These two, with their playful rivalry and unwavering friendship, would make the perfect team for Sofia.

As Lando continued to chat with his friends, his voice regaining its characteristic bravado, Carlos couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. He leaned down and whispered to Y/N, "See? The best godfather a girl could ask for."

Y/N squeezed his hand, her eyes mirroring his sentiment. With Lando by their side, Sofia's life was sure to be filled with laughter, love, and maybe just a touch of healthy competition

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the hospital room. Y/N lay sleeping, cradling their newborn daughter, Sofia, close to her chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths filled the quiet room with a soothing melody.

Carlos, unable to sleep, sat in the armchair beside the bed, his gaze fixed on the two most important people in his life. He reached out a hand, gently tracing the lines on Y/N's face with his thumb.

"She's incredible, isn't she?" he whispered, not wanting to disturb their sleep.

Lando, perched on the window ledge, turned his head, his voice hushed. "She's perfect, mate. Just like your missus."

Carlos chuckled softly. "She's something else, Lando. You know, throughout this pregnancy, I kept thinking I couldn't love her any more. And then she goes and pulls this off." He gestured towards Y/N and Sofia. "This miracle."

Lando smiled, understanding washing over him. He'd seen firsthand Carlos's unwavering devotion to Y/N. "She's strong, Carlos. Stronger than you give her credit for."

"Stronger than us all, mate," Carlos replied, his voice filled with awe. "She's been glowing these past few months, like an... an angel."

Lando raised an eyebrow. "An angel who craved pickles at three in the morning?"

Carlos laughed, shaking his head fondly. "Even then. No matter what, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And the way she looked at Sofia... pure love, Lando. Pure, unadulterated love."

He fell silent for a moment, his eyes reflecting the soft light. "I never want to lose her, you know? Never want her to stop looking at me like that."

Lando hopped down from the window ledge, placing a hand on Carlos's shoulder. "You won't, mate. You two have something special. A bond stronger than anything."

Carlos let out a shaky breath. "I hope you're right, Lando. I hope you're right."

He leaned closer to Y/N, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. "Te amo," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can ever say."

As if sensing his presence, Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open. A tired smile graced her lips as she met Carlos's gaze. "Hey there," she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.

"Hey amor," he replied, his voice filled with adoration. "Just checking on my two favorite girls."

Y/N's eyes flickered to Sofia, then back to Carlos. Her smile widened, a silent testament to the love that filled the room, a love that promised a lifetime of happiness for their little family.

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sylusjinwoon · 4 months

Text

{ 020 }

- when you catch them falling asleep first -

featuring: gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, okkotsu yuta

warnings: crack for gojo's, but mainly fluff for the rest :3

[ gojo satoru 🕶️ ]

don't let gojo's pretty face and seemingly perfect life fool you: this man has a sole imperfection that takes the form of his MONSTROUS snores. and you swore that these snores are loud enough to cause tremors to be felt across your shared apartment!

you came home from work a little later than usual, murmuring your greeting all while taking off your shoes in the process. as you brushed back your hair while running a hand through them, you were left frozen on your spot when you heard an almost... unnatural sound coming from within the depths of your apartment.

"h-hello? satoru? are you there?"

fear began to quickly seize at your heart, with you straining your ears as you tried to decipher the strange and almost guttural sounds. it was almost like... someone sawing a log while growling at the same time, coupled along with some other wet sounds that made you tremble in response.

grabbing a hold of one of your umbrellas settled near your shoe rack, you slowly inch closer to the source of the sound, hoping that the umbrella would be sufficient enough to use as a weapon.

you could feel the ice cold sensation of your blood rushing through your veins, filling you with anxiety and fear at what was to come. the closer to got to your bedroom, the louder those sounds became.

with your eyes clenched shut, you slam open the door while crying out "YOU STUPID CURSE...!"

only to feel your words die out the moment you turned on the lights to see your boyfriend splayed out in bed, his hair a complete mess against the plush pillows while a string of drool was seen on the corner of his lips.

yet perhaps what was most shocking was how those noises were coming from him!

now, you've been subjected to satoru's obnoxious snores before, but they had never quite sounded this... horrendous. which meant that the sorcerer was probably caught in a deep slumber right now.

allowing the relief to course through you, you toss aside your umbrella and step closer to the bed. your arms were crossed over your chest as you look down at him, reaching out a hand to pinch at his nose.

"nngh nggh ngh?!" you had to fight back a giggle upon seeing your boyfriend's eyes clenched shut in response. his arms were flailing around randomly until they suddenly managed to find you, pulling you down into bed with him as a cheshire cat grin slowly spreads across his features.

"heheh... welcome home, babe...!" his voice was still hoarse, clearly only half awake when he manages to wrap his arms tightly around your form. his rich chuckles were felt against your ear, making you giggle as you cuddled yourself even closer to him.

"you're such a dork, 'toru! do you know how much your snores absolutely terrified me when i came home from work? i genuinely thought a curse had followed you back to our apartment!"

your boyfriend rolls his eyes at you, giving you a smirk before pinching your own nose in response as your voice took on a more nasally quality.

"ngh, shtop it! i wash genunelly tewwified!"

"well that's what you get for makin' fun of me! my snores aren't that bad, okay?!"

after spending some time teasing each other, your beloved convinces you to fall asleep with him (after taking off your clothes and changing you into something more comfortable.) with a content purr, you agree to fall asleep while in his embrace, snuggling up even closer to him, ready to close your eyes-

"scccchhhhhhzzzzzz hngggg..."

only for your eyes to go wide when satoru manages to fall asleep first, practically snoring within your ear as you simply lay in bed while silently groaning to yourself.

tonight was going to be a long night for you.

[ nanami kento 🗞️ ]

the hardworking man who can never seem to catch a break. nanami will often fall asleep when you least expect it, but truly, you never had the heart to disturb him.

you were in the midst of cutting up the ingredients for tonight's dinner, and when you told your beloved kento to lay back and relax, he finally relented without any protest.

he had just gotten back from a rather long and arduous business trip the day before, and you had hoped that he would take this chance and sleep in, simply enjoying his day off. you wanted nothing more than to cook him his favorite meals consisting of chicken alfredo with a heavy helping of garlic bread.

you purposely got up early, ready to buy fresh ingredients for tonight's dinner when nanami ends up waking up with you. despite the dark circles seen beneath his eyes, he insisted on accompanying you (to make up for lost time).

even your attempts at convincing him to stay home fell on deaf ears, with your kento joining you on your errands, but not before allowing you to have breakfast with him at his favorite café where he surrounded himself with delicious coffee and all of the pastries he had been craving for.

with your day pretty much starting out like a much needed date, you finally came home around 6pm, where you were able to shoo kento away from the kitchen as you began working on making the chicken alfredo.

it was around 7:30 that you completed your dinner and called out kento's name. "ken, dinner's ready!"

you continue stirring at the pasta dish, already salivating at the scent of the white sauce along with the juicy cuts of chicken. you trail your eyes over to the large loaf of garlic bread, wishing to save heating that for last so that your kento could enjoy it freshly baked from the oven.

"kento?" you shut off the stove just then, placing a lid over the chicken alfredo as you went into the living room to check on him. you peek your head into the living room to see nanami settled in his usual spot on the couch with what looked like an open newspaper settled across his face.

making sure that your steps were quieter, you tiptoe even closer to him, gently removing the newspaper to reveal him sleeping against the couch. you could see the way his eyelids trembled while he slept, the sight of it all being enough to make you smile in response.

letting out your own yawn, you figured that once you got hungry, you could simply reheat the food and place the garlic bread in the oven then. feeling a bit tired yourself, you settle yourself next to kento, with your head on his shoulder while cuddling against him before joining him for a peaceful slumber.

[ fushiguro megumi 🐺 ]

the type to fall asleep in front of those who is truly trusted. like a wary dog wolf, megumi is the type to stay awake and wait until he's in the safety and comfort of his own bedroom to truly sleep. but lately... this seems to be changing when it comes to you.

you had invited megumi over to your place to have a movie night and a weeklong sleepover, not wishing to spend these long nights alone as your parents went on a much needed vacation together. they promised they would return in a week's time while giving you permission to invite a friend over to stay the night with you.

and of course, megumi ended up being your first choice.

you placed a lot of trust in him, despite being your best friend who just so happened to be a guy as well. had it been any other boy, your parents would have voiced their concern and suspicions-

but when it came to megumi, they could all visibly relax.

for starters, he truly wasn't like most boys who spent their whole lives salivating at the thought of spending the night at a girl's house. he was very deadpan and serious, not ever once treating you uncomfortably while maintaining a safe distance between you and him each time you were together.

(and so what if you happened to have the BIGGEST crush on him?)

if you were given a chance to be home alone like this, then there was no one you could possibly trust more than megumi. so when he finally arrives at your place right at 4pm, (his duffel bag in hand), you immediately went to hug him tightly.

"thank you so much, 'gumi! for agreeing to come over!"

"sure, don't mention it." his smile was a rare but tiny one, an expression he seems to save just for you while teasingly messing up your hair in response. his actions end up making you smile as you lead him to your living room, already setting up a blanket fort of sorts for you and megumi to enjoy for the duration of the week.

surrounded by bags of your favorite snacks and a box of half-eaten pizza, you held on tightly to your plushie as a scary movie was playing from your television screen. as the scary monster revealed itself from the shadowy depths of the forest, you let out a tiny squeak in response, momentarily looking away from the screen as your eyes met with megumi-

who was currently sleeping with a hand over his abdomen.

seeing such a sight made you forget all about the fear you once felt due to the movie, now filled with a fascination for the sleeping boy settled before you. making sure your movements were quiet, you shut off the t.v. and settle the remote off to the side.

holding your breath, you inch closer to megumi's sleeping form, and it brought you back to a certain memory you had from last year. it was the first time megumi had spent the night at your place, and it had happened because you wanted to study with megumi a bit for an upcoming exam.

what you didn't expect was for a storm to hit, making it impossible for megumi to return back home as you eagerly suggested that he spend the night at your place. he was hesitant and tried to convince you that he could walk back to the station without an umbrella, but it was ultimately the sight of your tears that makes him relent.

you wanted to give him your bed, but megumi absolutely refused to make you sacrifice your comfort for him. so, your friend ends up remaining on your floor with some of your plush blankets used as a makeshift mattress for him. that night, you had a hard time falling asleep since you were so aware of megumi's own movements as he tossed and turned throughout the night.

"megumi...?" you gave up trying to sleep, not liking the fact that your friend was having such a hard time falling asleep, too.

you swore you could hear him stiffen in the dead of night when you called out his name. "yeah?"

"are you okay? you can't sleep now, can you?" you ask him with a guilty sigh.

you remember hearing him let out a huff when he turns around to face you on the bed, "it has nothing to do with you, i'm just not used to sleeping in an unfamiliar environment. don't worry about me, just sleep like you normally do."

you rolled your eyes then, knowing that you couldn't sleep when your own crush friend was struggling to sleep. so, you joined him on the floor and kept him company throughout the night, talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

looking at him now, (seeing him in what had to be a deep sleep), you were mesmerized by how vulnerable he was. his spiked hair now remained mussed and flattened against the pillows, with his lips parted in tune to his own breathing.

reaching out a hand to brush back his hair, you sharply inhale when he opens up one eye to look at you.

"hm?" his gaze was still hazy with sleep, but you couldn't stop yourself from asking him, "you feel comfortable around me now?"

a tiny smirk paints his handsome features when he suddenly wraps his arms around your back. you let out a gasp, landing directly against megumi's chest as he brushes his lips against your hair.

"yeah, i do feel comfortable around you... something about you... makes me feel so soft... and warm."

megumi trails off just then, and judging from the way he tightens his arms around you before his breathing evens out, you had to smile and giggle a bit.

he had fallen asleep again.

not one to complain about being in megumi's arms, you let out a happy sigh before sliding your eyes shut, falling asleep within minutes as you dreamt of him...

[ okkotsu yuta 💍 ]

yuta was a notorious night owl, and most nights, you struggled to keep up with his late night binge consisting of movie marathon or shows that lasted several seasons. the only time you were able to convince yuta to sleep at a decent hour was when he was sick. and tonight was one of those nights...

your eyes were filled with concern for your boyfriend, feeling a bit panicked the moment he woke up with a fever.

his speech was slurred as he tried convincing you that he was just fine, but you did not believe him. forcing him to lay back in bed, it was now your turn to spoil him.

throughout the day, you made some soup for him while giving him his rounds of medicine with a tall glass of water to keep him hydrated. you took his temperature every couple of hours, and you were happy to see it steadily going down as the day progressed.

after caring for yuta, you spent the rest of the day tidying up your shared apartment, making sure that everything was back in its place so that once he felt better, then yuta wouldn't feel so stressed and have to worry about waking up to a messy apartment.

your last chore of the day consisted of you doing laundry, placing the newly washed clothes into the dryer before heading back to your shared bedroom with yuta.

the time read 9pm when you came back to your beloved boyfriend, letting out a sigh while stretching your body out. you already envisioned yuta scrolling through his phone after taking his medication-

so picture your surprise when you saw him still laying in bed, the damp handkerchief never leaving his forehead as his eyes were shut. his breathing was slightly labored, but not as bad as it had been this morning when the fever had first afflicted him. your heart seemed to melt at the mere sight of him, seeing his hand laying limply across your side of the bed, as if waiting for you.

"aw, my poor baby." you softly coo at him, shutting off the lights as you allowed complete darkness to settle across the room. walking to your side of the bed, you gently duck beneath the covers and slide closer to yuta, taking a hold of his hand with a bright smile on your face.

you listen as your boyfriend mumble a few words, finally adjusting his sleeping position as he turns to face you, the handkerchief now sliding completely off of his forehead in response to his movements. giggling softly, you take the damp handkerchief and remove it, placing the cloth on your nightstand instead while focusing your attention on him.

"sleep well, my love. i promise, i'll be by your side the whole time." you quietly promise him while squeezing at his hand in response.

and as you closed your own eyes, ready to join him in his land of dreams, you remain blissfully unaware of the smile that paints his features while he slept...

a.n. - i am so sorry, it feels like it's been forever since my last jjk update! but i hope this silly little update makes up for it 🥹 this is currently unedited, but i'll make any changes once this is posted!

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #megumi x reader #yuta x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #nanami kento x you #megumi fushiguro x you #yuta okkotsu x you #.stories

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cedarmoonzz · 28 days

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Are you planning on writing a part 3 of between the bars????? <3 love uuuu

slow like honey ꪆৎ ˚⋅

continuation of: between the bars and once more to see you

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

content: angst, making out, doomed relationship, mentions of sex, hurt/comfort

summary: unbeknownst to either of you, you both spend your final night together with stanford

Every anniversary for the past six years, without fail, you and Ford would go out to dinner. The tradition had started rather spontaneously. On your first anniversary, you had decided to forgo the usual gifts and opt for something more experiential. You chose a cozy little bistro near campus that served the most delectable pasta you’d ever tasted. The evening was simple yet perfect—filled with laughter, deep conversations, and the realization that you were embarking on something special.

Over the years, these dinners had become a touchstone. From greasy diners to hidden gems tucked away in the neighborhoods of Gravity Falls, each venue added a new layer to your shared story. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t expect Stanford to ask you out to dinner this time around. The routine felt like it might be breaking, perhaps due to the distance that had grown between you two. Yet, a small part of you held onto the hope that he would make the effort, just as he had every other year.

You stood before the scratched mirror in your bathroom, shifting your weight from foot to foot, the floorboards creaking beneath you. Your reflection stared back with a blend of uncertainty and anxiety, eyes flickering with the weight of the evening ahead. Ford should be coming up from the basement at any moment, and the thought sent another wave of nervous anticipation through you. You had dressed carefully for the occasion—your anniversary dinner—a night that demanded a touch of elegance. Clad in an outfit you had painstakingly pieced together from the second-hand shop by Greasy’s Diner, you hoped the thrifted treasures would suffice.

Boom.

You shut your eyes in frustration, the irritation gnawing at you as another tremor surged through the house. It was as if the very walls quaked in response to whatever Stanford was working on down there, deep in the basement. You could feel the reverberation in your bones, each crash and clatter below resonating up through the floors, making your knees tremble with the force of it. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was an intrusion, a relentless reminder of the chaos that constantly simmered beneath the surface of your life. You were tired of it, tired of feeling every impact three floors above, tired of the way the vibrations seemed to seep into your very being, leaving you on edge, unable to find peace even in your own home.

"Love is patient, love is kind," you mumbled to yourself, the words slipping from your lips like a mantra. You weren’t a religious person—never had been—but there was something about those words that clung to you in moments like this, offering a fragile thread of comfort. As the tremors from Stanford’s work below rumbled through the house, you shut your eyes in annoyance, your eyebrows scrunched up in frustration. Your fingers pressed against your temples, trying to steady the rising tide of irritation.

Boom.

You clenched your teeth at the second jarring crash, a sharp, involuntary reaction that echoed your mounting frustration. "It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud," you muttered, the words barely discernible through the tight grip of your molars, which ground together with an almost rhythmic intensity. The verses, typically a soothing balm, now slipped past your clenched teeth in a strained whisper as you furrowed your brows with even greater force. Your forehead creased into a landscape of deepening furrows, each thud from the basement resonating through your body like a series of small, electric shocks.

You pressed your palms firmly against your eyes, the warmth of your skin meeting the cool, smooth surface of your hands. Your fingers dug into the delicate flesh of your temples, as if seeking to erase the persistent, intrusive thuds from your mind. You leaned back and forth on your heels, the movement gentle yet rhythmic, like a pendulum swinging in a futile effort to find balance amidst the storm. The persistent tremors reverberated through your body, amplifying the agitation that simmered just beneath the surface, leaving you to cling desperately to the fleeting moments of calm you could muster.

"It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered—" The verse was abruptly cut off by a thunderous Boom from the basement. You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Oh, fuck this!" you erupted, the words a raw release against the relentless din that had finally broken your patience.

“Ford!” you bellowed, your voice a raw, resonant cry of frustration that seemed to pierce the very air. With a furious swipe, you raked your fingers through your disheveled hair, the movement almost violent in its intensity. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you with a thunderous bang, the sound reverberating through the quiet cabin like an explosion of pent-up anger. You stormed down the stairs to the first floor, each footfall a heavy, defiant punctuation to your mounting rage. The rhythmic, thunderous stomp of your steps matched the pounding fury in your chest, each stride an urgent testament to your exasperation with the relentless, disruptive noise. "You better be ready down there!"

You slammed your palm against the wall of the hallway, the rusty button of the elevator beneath your hand giving way under the forceful impact. The metal creaked and groaned as it sank slightly, a stark reminder of your mounting frustration. The wall seemed to reverberate with the intensity of your outburst, the weight of your anger pressing down on every crevice and corner.

“Screw this! Screw his stupid portal, his idiotic rules, and screw him!" you fumed, a snarl curling your lips as you impatiently waited for the elevator doors to open. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you—here you were, standing before the very elevator you had designed and built, now reduced to a mere gatekeeper to the "forbidden" basement below. The last time you had descended to that enigmatic lower level felt like a lifetime ago, but the memories flooded back as if it were yesterday. Back then, you hadn’t known that this creation of yours, this marvel of engineering, would one day become a barrier, a symbol of the very authority you now found yourself defying.

The whirring of the elevator mechanisms was almost taunting, each second stretching out as your frustration grew. But beneath that anger, a spark of anticipation flickered—this wasn’t just a return to a place you once knew; it was a challenge to the very constraints you had helped put in place.

As the doors finally slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Instead of the dim, empty hallway you expected, you were met with the imposing figure of Stanford. His presence filled the small space, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was no escape now, no turning back—the gatekeeper wasn’t the elevator after all. It was him.

You pause, breath catching in your throat, as you take him in. Ford’s usual ensemble of a white button-down, tie, slacks, and lab coat has been cast aside in favor of a more commanding and intimate appearance. The white button-down remains, a familiar anchor in this transformation, yet the sterile lab coat has been replaced by a tailored black blazer. The fabric clings to his frame with a sensuous precision, tracing the contours of his shoulders and tapering around his midsection, creating a figure that seems both powerful and inviting, a magnet for the eyes. His shirt, once meticulously buttoned to the collar, now betrays a more relaxed demeanor. The top buttons are left undone, exposing a sliver of skin that hints at the warmth beneath, while his red tie, no longer neatly knotted, hangs loosely around his neck. It rests on his chest with a kind of deliberate carelessness, the bold color contrasting against the pale fabric, drawing your gaze.

His brown hair is tousled, strands falling just out of place, as if touched by the wind—or more likely, the consequence of his own distracted hands. This subtle disarray only adds to the intimacy of his appearance, a sign of his vulnerability beneath the polished exterior, inviting those who see him to look closer, to wonder what thoughts lie beneath the surface.

But it's not just his appearance that tells a story. His face is flushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks and down his neck, as if he’s been caught off guard, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. He stands in the elevator, holding a bouquet of flowers, his eyes locking onto yours with a magnetic intensity. There’s an urgency in the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that betrays a rush of emotion barely held in check. The sight of him like this—disheveled, out of breath, yet so achingly poised with that bouquet in hand— almost makes you laugh.

“[Y/n],” he says, still out of breath, his voice carrying a hushed intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. He extends the flowers towards you, his eyes skimming down your figure with an unmistakable admiration. "You... You look very beautiful." The words tumble out, raw and unguarded, his gaze lingering on you as if trying to commit every detail to memory. There's a vulnerability in his expression, a softness that contrasts with his usual composed demeanor.

The image of Ford standing in the elevator is a stark reminder of your first date all those years ago. You recall a younger Ford, clad in a sweater and slacks, nervously thrusting a bouquet of carefully wrapped lillies towards you as he stood at the foot of your apartment door. His face was as red as the blooms he held, a mixture of anticipation and awkward charm that made your heart flutter then, just as it does now.

Despite the passage of time, Ford remains fundamentally unchanged. You met nearly eight years ago, when you were both twenty years old, grouped together in an Advanced Quantum Dimensional Physics course on a project. Back then, his boyish charm was evident in every nervous smile and every hesitant gesture. Now, even beneath the weight of work and the stress that comes with it, that same charm endures.

"Thank you, Ford," you say, taking the bouquet with a soft smile. "What’s with all the noise? I was about to go down to the basement and beat your ass." Your tone blends relief with playful annoyance, adding a touch of levity to the otherwise tender moment.

Ford’s eyebrows raise, and he snaps out of his thoughts, his face flushing as he tears his eyes away from your form. He gives a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed by the chaos he’s caused. "Oh! Yes, my apologies. I was, um, looking for my car keys. And I seem to have knocked down a grand total of... three destabilizers? Maybe two particle accelerators.”

"Five pieces of high-tech machinery and we still can't afford a new dishwasher?" you tease, raising an eyebrow at him. Your tone is light, but there's a hint of exasperation mixed with amusement as you look at the mess.

“These are necessary purchases, my dear!” he huffs out a laugh, stepping out of the elevator with a charmingly disheveled grace. He extends his forearm toward you, a gesture both gallant and inviting. “Are you ready to go? Our reservation should be starting soon.” His playful grin and the warmth of his gesture make it clear that he’s eager to move past the chaos and enjoy the evening with you.

You take his arm, linking it with your own as you grin up at him. “As long as you agree to order a bottle of Cabernet for the table, I’m ready to leave when you are.” The easy familiarity of the gesture tugs at a longing inside you, a reminder of the effortless closeness you once shared. Lately, things have been strained between the two of you, and you’ve found yourself ruefully returning to your smoking habit in secret, having learned your lesson from the last time Ford caught you. You wonder if he can smell the smoke on your breath, if the scent lingers in your hair despite the deep conditioning you just underwent. The memory of smoking with a grocery bag tied over your head just two hours prior while re-reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar for the fifth time that year brings a pang of regret. You can’t help but feel a tinge of anxiety about whether this secret, this small escape, is detectable to the one person whose opinion matters most.

“Let’s make that two bottles, love,” Ford says with a smile that highlights the bags under his eyes. They’ve deepened, you notice, but he’s still impossibly handsome to you.

The car ride to the restaurant was enveloped in a serene silence, punctuated only by the soft strains of Fleetwood Mac’s newest single emanating from the 8-track tape you had insisted on playing. As the car glided through the wintry landscape, the world outside was a wintery tableau of stillness and quiet beauty. The darkness of the evening, settling in at 7 p.m., cast a soft, muted glow over the landscape. The trees, tall and skeletal, stood cloaked in a delicate blanket of snow, their branches heavy and laden with white. The ground beneath them was similarly covered, the snow pristine and unblemished, save for the occasional delicate track of a nocturnal creature.

The snowy expanse reflected the faint, ambient light of the car’s headlights, creating a shimmering, ethereal quality that danced across the landscape. The quiet was profound, only occasionally interrupted by the gentle crunch of tires over snow or the faint rustling of branches. The scene outside was serene and almost magical, a winter wonderland wrapped in a velvety cloak of darkness, enhancing the feeling of calm and intimacy within the car.

Stanford’s hand rests on your thigh, his left hand gripping the steering wheel while his right palm lies flat but carries a faint tension, as if it’s holding back something unspoken. It’s been two weeks since the night you shared in the snow and a month since his fallout with Fiddleford. Life has settled into a rhythm that feels both familiar and strained.

Despite his efforts to show his love—choosing to spend more nights with you rather than immersing himself in work on the portal—there’s an unmistakable edge to his presence. His hand, warm against your skin, still carries a subtle rigidity, a reminder of the underlying unease between you. His gazes linger longer than usual, and you’ve felt him study you with a mix of affection and concern. His eyes always narrow, as if trying to decipher something elusive about you.

Lost in the whirl of your thoughts, you’re only dimly aware as Stanford navigates the car to your destination. The vehicle glides into a snug parking space near the restaurant—the only refined dining spot in Gravity Falls, a testament to its understated elegance. The night’s darkness casts a soft glow on the restaurant’s exterior, hinting at the warmth and sophistication within.

Stanford’s deft hands turn the keys in the ignition, the engine’s hum fading into silence with a satisfying click. As the car stills, he turns to face you, his expression a blend of eagerness and intimacy. His gaze lingers on you, soft yet intense.

"I want to speak to you about something," he begins, his voice breaking through the silence left in the wake of Stevie Nicks’ fading melody. The suddenness of his words contrasts with the stillness in the car, his tone carrying a weight that pulls your attention fully to him.

Suddenly, your seatbelt feels constricting, as if it’s tightening around you, making it difficult to breathe. The air seems to thin as you take in his gaze, the intensity of his eyes pinning you in place, filling the space between you with a palpable tension. "About?"

Stanford reaches to unbuckle his seatbelt, the click of the release sounding louder in the quiet car. He turns toward you fully, his body shifting to close the distance. You instinctively move to do the same, freeing yourself from the confines of your own seatbelt, now facing him without any barriers between you. His eyes meet yours with a mixture of resolve and vulnerability as he speaks, "About what you asked me. If I'm... still in love with you." The words hang heavy in the air, the gravity of the moment pressing down on you both.

You say nothing, your breath catching as you stare into his eyes, feeling yours widen in surprise. The weight of his words settles over you, and your gaze falters, drifting down to your hands as they instinctively wring together in your lap. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, as you wait for him to speak, your heart pounding in the quiet space between you.

"[Y/n]," he mutters softly, but you don’t respond, your thoughts too tangled to form words. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek in his palm, urging you to meet his eyes. "There is no one else on this earth who I love more than you." His voice is earnest, but as you look at him, you can’t help but notice how much older he seems—the streetlight streaming through the windshield casting harsh shadows that emphasize the worried wrinkles and dark circles beneath his eyes. "It pains me that you think otherwise," he continues, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, his expression a blend of sorrow and love.

"And I know that this... project of mine has formed a rift between the two of us," he admits, his voice heavy with regret. His hand stays on your cheek, the warmth of his touch at odds with the cold truth in his words. "I’ve been cruel to you—cold. None of it would be possible without you. I just... wanted to inform you that I am in the process of dismantling the portal.”

His confession hangs in the air, a quiet revelation that sends a wave of shock through you. The project that consumed him, the very thing that had driven a wedge between you, was now being taken apart. His eyes search yours, seeking understanding, forgiveness, something that might ease the burden he’s carried alone for too long.

“Stanley is coming tomorrow to help me put an end to this blasted mess I've created," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud makes them more real. The mention of Stanley, his estranged brother, only deepens the weight of his confession. You can see the turmoil in his eyes, a mix of relief and fear, etched deeply into his features. His expression is fraught with worry and trepidation, as if the enormity of what he’s undertaking has finally caught up with him. His hand remains steady on your cheek, but there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you haven’t seen in a long time—a silent plea for your support and understanding as he faces this daunting task.

He looks worried, more scared than you’ve ever seen him before. There’s a tremor in his eyes and a depth to his expression that speaks of hidden fears. You know him better than you know yourself, and it’s clear to you that he’s concealing something. The anxiety etched into his features, the hesitation in his voice—it all points to a deeper truth he’s not yet revealing. The sense of something left unsaid lingers between you, an unspoken tension that underscores the gravity of his confession.

"Oh, screw it," you think, your heart swelling with joy despite the unspoken tension. You’re too overwhelmed with happiness to let the hidden fears or unspoken truths weigh you down. A radiant smile spreads across your face, transforming your expression into a broad, irrepressible grin. Leaning into his palm, you let the warmth of the moment wash over you. "No more late nights in the basement?" you ask, your voice light, as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted. The joy in your tone contrasts with the earlier seriousness, cutting through the atmosphere like a breath of fresh air, and you bask in the simple, unadulterated relief of the news.

"No more late nights in the basement," he repeats, his voice carrying a note of relief as he takes in your smile. The tension seems to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a softer, more hopeful expression. "I also wanted to ask you something else," he continues, his gaze shifting to meet yours with a mix of earnestness and anticipation.

Your eyes widen just a fraction more as you absorb his words, a thrill of anticipation sparking within you. "What else?”

Ford’s face suddenly flushes a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably, moving his hand from your cheek to tug nervously at the collar of his button-down. “I was, uh, thinking,” he begins, his voice wavering slightly, “Maybe, once this is all over, of course, maybe we can start preparations for the… for the wedding.” The words stumble out of him, each one laden with a mixture of hope and trepidation. The vulnerability in his gaze contrasts with the warmth of his earlier demeanor, as he waits for your reaction to his tentative forwardness.

You’re convinced you’ve never been more ecstatic to hear this man’s voice in your life. A joyous giggle bursts from your throat, escaping before you can even catch it. The realization that your endearing, slightly clueless fiancé will finally become your husband sends a wave of elation through you. Your heart is practically dancing with delight, overwhelmed by the sheer excitement and happiness. The world around you seems to shimmer with a new, vibrant energy, and every thought and worry melts away, leaving only the radiant joy of this moment.

Without a second thought, you practically leap from your seat into his arms. The car’s interior transforms into a haven of warmth and affection as you envelop Stanford in a cascade of kisses. His face, already flushed from his earlier nervousness, now lights up with genuine laughter, the sound rich and full, reverberating through the confined space. His arms come around you with a comforting firmness.

"Yes! Fucking finally, yes, Ford!" you laugh, your voice trembling with the sheer joy of the moment. Your hands cradle his face with a tenderness that feels almost sacred as you lean in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and the kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of exhilaration and relief that seems to transcend all the struggles you’ve faced. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer against him, fully settling you onto his lap. The lack of the car's heater does little to bother you as you nuzzle your face into Ford’s neck, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace.

Stanford laughs softly, his breath warm against your skin as he rubs your back soothingly. "Y/n, darling, we're going to miss our reservation," he murmurs with a gentle chuckle. The sound of his laughter reverberates through his chest, adding a comforting rhythm to the moment.

You pull away from the crook of his neck, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Stanford’s hair is now a delightful mess from when you ran your fingers through it moments prior, with rebellious strands splaying out in charming disarray. The collar of his white button-down, once meticulously aligned, now tilts at an angle, as though in a state of blissful disarray. The black blazer, once a paragon of tailored precision, is now creased and rumpled from your shared embrace, the fabric bearing the intimate marks of your contact.

His red tie, previously a picture of neatness, now drapes at a rakish angle, adding an alluring quality to his look. The flush on his cheeks, deepened by the kiss, contrasts vividly with his slightly tousled appearance, while a faint, tender smudge of lipstick lingers at the corner of his lips. You gaze at him, overwhelmed by the fierce surge of love you feel. Despite the messiness, there’s an undeniable intimacy in his appearance, a tangible trace of the passionate moment you shared, making him look both endearing and irresistibly human.

“Forget the reservation,” you say in one breath, your voice breathless and urgent as you surge forward to capture his lips with yours once more. The words barely escape before your lips meet his, and the world outside melts away, leaving only the heated, intoxicating connection between you.

It didn’t last, the kiss. It was intense but fleeting, a fervent moment before Stanford gently pulled away, taking your hands in his. He lifted them to his face, pressing tender kisses to your fingers, to your palms. His expression was a heady mix of adoration and intoxication.

You couldn’t recall ever feeling so radiant, so utterly cherished.

“You are an absolute vision, my love,” Stanford murmured, his voice a soft reverence against the inside of your wrist. He kissed the delicate delta of veins there, his lips tracing a path to the center of your palm, each kiss a silent testament to his deep affection. “You look stunning, incredible—breathtaking. [Y/n], these past few months have been a torment without you by my side. Nothing has made me feel so alive as I do now, looking at you.” He laughed softly, a sound of pure joy, and pressed your hand to his chest. “Do you feel that? My heart is pounding.”

Miraculously, even through the layers of fabric, you could feel the thunderous beat of his heart. He wasn’t exaggerating; his pulse was racing. You took his hand and guided it to your chest, so he could feel your own heart racing in sync with his.

“Look at you,” you said, breathless and beaming. “Dashing, roguishly handsome in your suit. How am I going to keep my hands off you tonight?”

Stanford’s cheeks flushed so deeply that his blush was visible even in the dim light of the car. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his voice was strained with longing as he replied, “Then don’t. Keep them off me, I mean,” he said, leaning closer, his mouth moving toward yours. “Hold me, touch me however you like…”

The temptation was almost unbearable. Dinner seemed a trivial pursuit compared to the desire to peel him out of his suit, to undress him slowly and explore every inch of his body. It had been far too long.

You leaned in, placing a tender kiss on his cheek before brushing your lips against his ear. “Maybe we should go back home first,” you suggested, pulling back and beginning to disentangle yourself from his embrace.

“That's not a bad idea,” Stanford says, his voice steadier now, though his cheeks still carry a hint of the earlier flush. He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, which had been askew from your earlier embrace. “We can order takeout for dinner. Although,” he adds with a playful glint in his eye, “I must admit, I find something else much more appetizing.”

#ford pines x reader #gravity falls #angst #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines #gf fandom #fiona apple #ford pines #fleetwood mac

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ahhhwomen · 7 months

Text

Nothing really matters.

Vampire Empire

Part 3

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Well this was depressing to write... Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death Minors DNI 18+

Summary: You feel numb, what does it matter anymore?

Word Count: 2.1k

Taglist: @thinking1bee

The next time either of them sees you is in one of Natasha’s business meetings a few weeks later.

Back in Carol’s possession, you kneel in the corner of the conference room while Carol raises her voice at anyone with a slight attitude toward her idiotic ideas.

After half an hour, the constant bickering between the blond woman and Natasha’s respective staff members had become background noise.

There is a crinkling of paper as Natasha scuffles her documents around for a moment while deep in thought. The paper is smooth and high quality, her golden rings glide against the white surface, and she traces black lines of information she can recite in her sleep.

To Natasha’s surprise, you had seemed indifferent to her presence, you didn’t even glance at her once during the introduction to today’s meeting.

Following the same line back and forth, the ink smudges and blurs after the seventh round of Natasha's thumb gliding gently on top of the unimportant details.

She had to give credit where credit was due. You were poised and unbothered.

She could not say the same for herself, however.

Ever since she could smell you getting in the elevator with blondie, she kept glancing toward the door, waiting for your arrival. And now, she continuously spares a glance in your direction when she thinks someone talks too loudly or expresses themselves with broad gestures.

It doesn't take long for her to understand you a little better.

Carol changes you.

Your eyes are cast downward, and you hold your head low in a display of obedience. You are sitting on your heels with your hands just out in front of your knees. Your back is strung tight to form a perfect line and the muzzle is only for show. But whereas your posture and attitude would be considered perfection, your eyes are empty.

Natasha’s chair creaks and groans as she rocks back and forth, the leather cushion softens the knockback as her leg bounces against the flooring, unfitting of her usual characteristics, she can’t seem to keep her calm and collected demeanor.

Small tears and wrinkles form, as Natasha tightens her hands against some case report she wrote half-heartedly before bed the previous night. She inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring.

You are still covered in bruises.

They are healing, and so are the once red and angry lines, they are now pinker and more muted. But it’s clear some of them were fresher, it had been close to a month since she had seen you last, yet the color of some were as fresh as a daisy.

Specifically, your face seemed to have been put through the gutter.

Though it was clear that whatever transpired that day hadn’t been repeated, she could still sense in you that Carol wasn’t very light-handed.

She tells herself it is because she pities you for having to go through the blonde’s rage, but there is also something about the two small puncture wounds on your neck that aggravates her.

Her fingers drum against the table in annoyance while she thinks it over, her nails clicking against the resin top of her newly polished conference table.

Pinching the skin between her eyebrows she sighs loudly. Enough so, that the man currently presenting stutters and has to loosen his tie before continuing with a slight tremor to his hands.

She can’t figure it out.

She huffs and readjusts her posture to show she is listening.

Never mind, the little mystery you are, she has business to attend to. With one last glance, she emerges herself back in the matter at hand and makes sure to fix Carol with a hard glare whenever something becomes too heated.

You are sitting on an old wooden bench in the garden.

The flowers bloom around you and rustle in the fresh, spring, wind. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the rosebush across the tiny plot of land. The birds sing in a tune you are not familiar with, but it’s nice. Lilies hug your legs, all colorful and fresh, there are tiny little droplets atop their pedals, it must have rained before you got out here.

That would explain the chill that settles deep in your spine.

There are dogs around, you hear them bark and growl at each other on the other side of the fence, but you don’t mind.

Because you are in the garden. With a fence between you and them.

Until one of them jumps the fence.

You have been staring at the ground with a slight tremor lacing your every move for the better part of an hour. She seems like a calm dog, but she’s big, bigger than you, and there is this presence to her that you don’t know what to do with.

She smells like the flowers around you, maybe that’s why you don’t flee. No matter how much you want to, you are frozen in your seat as the big hound stares at you.

She licks her snout and blinks slowly while you sit there. It feels like she is mocking you, almost as if daring you to move.

The wind picks up every now and then, the howling of the other dogs growing louder and more concerning, but the big dog doesn’t bat an eye. She growls deeply, but you can tell it isn’t directed at you, and then the other dog’s calm.

Maybe she is a nice dog, but it doesn’t matter.

A dog is a dog.

The fence opens with a piercing screech. Even as you close your eyes in hope, the big dog does nothing. She doesn’t run away, but she doesn’t help either.

She just watches as Master drags you away. You don’t know why you thought she would do anything else.

Master is right.

Master is always right.

No one will help.

You don’t deserve it.

When the meeting commends, Carol drags you out of the room quickly, she has other matters to settle tonight, and she can’t be bothered to stay here too long.

Your knuckles rasp against the expensive flooring of Mrs. Romanoff´s office. The tasteful tree-work makes your bones ache, and your tag jingles repeatedly as bone connects with fifty thousand dollars worth of Brazilian rosewood. The blond woman tugs at your leash impatiently.

“Carol. Wait a moment.”

Please don’t.

Master halted her movements just before she passed through the elevator´s door, effectively also halting yours.

“There is some paperwork James wants you to finish up before you leave.”

Natasha waves her hand around with a roll of her eyes, showcasing false annoyance she knows the blond will eat right up, “Something about an unsettled bank record?” The redhead squints in the blonde’s direction, displeasure hidden not so greatly on the CEO’s face.

Natasha has to work extremely hard to not showcase how disgusting she finds the woman in front of her to be.

The woman beside you tenses up. She bunches her eyebrows and sighs before nodding slowly and releasing the tight clutch on your leash.

A pointed finger comes into view as Carol shifts her body towards you and tilts her head downward to face you. “Stay here.” Her voice leaves no room for arguing, it’s a clear command, you know she only does it to showcase her power over you. You couldn’t talk back even if you wanted to, the clinic made sure of that long before you even knew Masters hard angles.

Nonetheless, you bow your head and place your rump back onto the cruel flooring, somehow it feels even stiffer than the concrete inside your familiar slammer.

There is a long and rather awkward silence before Miss Romanoff clears her throat and breaks the stillness.

“Are you in pain?” Natasha gestures towards her own face as if you need a hint to understand what she means.

Just a few months ago, Romanoff acknowledging you in the slightest would send you through a rollercoaster of fear and wonder. Now you merely play dumb and tilt your head in confusion.

Of course, it hurts.

That was the point, wasn’t it?

“You smell different.” Carol scrutinizes you from afar.

If it weren’t for the years of experience you have with this sort of thing you would give yourself away immediately by tensing up and begging for her mercy, instead, you remain impassive.

The blond woman studies you carefully, waiting for any telltale that you heard her.

It’s easier than you thought.

Maybe it’s from the emotional drainage these days have been, but you barely feel anything as Carol looks you over. No matter how much she has hurt you, her eyes hold nothing compared to the power that the Maximoff clan’s leader has in hers.

You can hear the familiar crunch of rough concrete beneath a heavy army boot.

Master moves closer, but still, you feel nothing.

It’s been three days since that day. The first night you sobbed your sorrows, your pain, your fear, everything that has been building up and suppressed throughout the years all expressed in a puddle of tears and blood.

You don’t know what the women wanted, but something about them had made ancient wounds reopen, and the floodgates that followed were inevitable.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, you find it more likely that you passed out from dehydration or exhaustion.

The other days had passed in a blur.

It’s like you have been stuck in a trance where nothing really matters anymore.

Then the smashing of keys came back, and still, you were inconsolable. You didn’t even acknowledge her when she ran her hands over your bare body. Didn’t blink as her hands took a threatening hold of your collar.

She was testing this new side of yours; you could tell it angered her that she didn’t affect you.

You ruined her little power trip of the day.

She grips the back of your neck and forces you to face her. “Look at me when I am talking to you!” Spit sprays on your face as she talks through gritted teeth.

You don’t care, you just stare at her through hooded eyes, looking but not seeing.

Her hand connected hard with your face; you could feel the vibration inside your skull. And yet, all you could think about were them.

The feeling of concrete pouring through your veins wasn’t so scary anymore.

*slap*

You wonder what would happen if she went all the way…

*slap*

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they killed you.

*slap*

“LOOK AT ME!” Carol screams into your ear, but it is fuzzy and unintelligible to you.

*slap*

“CAN’T YOU TELL I AM TALKING TO YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH!?”

*slap*

“Look at me?” Her hand strokes your chin lightly, but you know her…

*slap*

Your head bounces against the pavement.

*slap*

Your vision becomes blurry and unfocused.

She hit you a total of twenty-four more times, before finally relenting and stomping away.

From that day forward you decided to play into it, pretend like what took place with the powerful women never happened to begin with. You were sure it would anger them.

If this is what Carol does when you ruin her little high.

Maybe, they will return and finish what they started if you ruin theirs.

Natasha scratches the nape of her neck as you sit there staring into nothingness. Your brows are slightly raised, and your eyes are wide, to Natasha, it seems like you are in a completely different world.

She leans against the wall, her shoulder squishing against the glass panel, and she crosses one leg over the other. Relying solely on her right leg to hold her up, she looks down at her dress shoes.

Her question was stupid, she knew as much, but what else was she supposed to say?

She wanted to talk to you.

Nat knows she should just leave you be and return back to her office, but when you were being led out of the room earlier your eyes had connected with her, it was a mere millisecond. But in that moment Natasha had felt a chill run down her spine.

Something was definitely wrong.

However, she didn’t expect you to completely shut down after just one simple question.

You are unresponsive to any stimuli while you sit in the hallway with Natasha’s presence close by. The older redhead tries to tap her foot or grunt obnoxiously, just to get a response, but nothing.

It’s not until you can hear Carol’s heavy footsteps that you quicken up and bow your head down.

Carol nods in Natasha’s direction before she passes her and collects you. Her gruff hands slide up and down the expanses of your leash until she finds the position that will yield her the most amount of control over your movements.

If the circumstances were different, Natasha would kill Carol on the spot.

Yet, as Carol takes ahold of your leash and steers you both into the elevator, Natasha lets you go.

Convincing herself it’s for the better. Again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat

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alyrasturnz · 1 month

Note

hii:3

can u write something where matt and y/n are arguing but matt is a soft arguer while y/n is freaking out ??<3

IM LISTENING.

❐ summary » as y/n screams and yells, pouring out her frustrations and fears, matt listens with a quiet strength. his calm presence contrasts sharply with y/n's fiery outburst, creating a dynamic tension. despite the chaos, matt's gentle words and unwavering patience begin to soothe the tempest within y/n, guiding her back to a place of understanding and connection.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » arguing

❐ a/n && w/c » this was meant to be one of the ten fics for my 1k special but i lowkey got #lazy • 1.50k

you traversed the room in restless strides, each breath a jagged fragment of the storm brewing within. the argument's weight bore down upon you, an invisible hand squeezing the very air from your lungs, while tears cascaded down your cheeks, mingling with the turmoil of your thoughts.

words tumbled from your lips in a disarray of anguish and vexation, each syllable fracturing under the strain of your quivering voice, a testament to the tempest raging in your heart.

"i can't believe you—how could you—" your words were sharp, cutting through the air like a blade, yet the tremor in your voice revealed the profound turmoil within. "you just don't get it! you never listen!"

he stood across the room, his expression an intricate blend of concern and patience. his posture was relaxed, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his jeans. an unsettling calmness radiated from him, a serenity that only seemed to stoke the flames of your agitation.

"i'm listening," he said softly, his voice steady. his gaze was unwavering, a silent testament to his sincerity. "i'm here. i just want to understand what's going on."

but his calmness only served to stoke the fires of your anger further. it felt as though you were screaming into an abyss, your emotions boiling over and spilling out uncontrollably. "you don't get it! you never do!" your hands were now shaking violently, one wiping at your tears with a sleeve while the other clenched into a trembling fist.

he took a slow, measured step towards you, his gaze unwavering. "i'm trying. please, just tell me what's wrong. yelling at me won't help, but i'm here to listen." his voice was calm, almost imploring, as if each word was carefully chosen to bridge the chasm between your turbulent emotions and his steadfast patience.

the sound of his voice, so gentle and even, felt like a betrayal. you wanted him to be angry, to match your intensity, but his calmness only poured gasoline on the fire of your rage. "you think you're so perfect! you never mess up, do you? you think everything is just fine and dandy while i'm falling apart!" your words were a torrent, each one dripping with the frustration that his serenity seemed to amplify.

"i don't think that at all," he said, his tone soothing and steady, like a gentle breeze attempting to calm a storm. "i know things are tough right now. i know you're hurting, and i want to be here for you. but i can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong." his words were a lifeline, extended into the tempest of your emotions, seeking to anchor you amidst the chaos.

you felt like the walls were closing in on you, the suffocating pressure of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you completely. the tears streamed down your face uncontrollably, and your body shook as if it might break apart at any moment. "you don't get it!" you shouted again, your voice breaking like fragile glass. "you don't understand what it's like!"

he reached out gently, his hand hovering just a few inches away from your arm, his voice soft but firm. "i may not fully understand what you're going through, but i want to. please, let me help. let me in." his words were like a key, seeking to unlock the fortress of your pain, each syllable imbued with a quiet determination to bridge the chasm of your suffering.

the sight of his outstretched hand, his earnest eyes, only made you feel more lost. but deep down, you knew he was right. he wasn’t giving up on you, even when you felt like everything was falling apart. his unwavering presence was a beacon in the storm, a reminder that amidst the chaos, there was still a thread of hope to cling to.

you took a shuddering breath, the anger slowly giving way to the raw, aching vulnerability beneath it. his calm presence was like an anchor in the storm of your emotions, even if it felt like it was pushing you further away in the moment.

his steady gaze and unwavering patience were both a balm and a torment, grounding you while simultaneously exposing the depth of your turmoil.

"i just think we need to talk about this calmly," he said, his eyes filled with concern. meanwhile, you were pacing the room, your emotions bubbling over, each step a manifestation of the storm within you. his words, though gentle, seemed to echo in the cavern of your distress, their calmness a stark contrast to the tempest raging in your heart.

"calmly? how can i be calm when everything is falling apart?" you exclaimed, your voice rising with each word, the intensity of your emotions amplifying the desperation in your tone. the words felt like they were tearing through the fragile fabric of your composure, each syllable a plea for understanding amidst the chaos.

tears streamed down your face as you continued, your voice cracking. "do you even understand what this means for us? for me?" you shouted, your hands shaking violently. "i can't just sit here and pretend everything's okay!" the raw emotion in your voice reverberated through the room, each word a dagger of anguish and frustration. the tremor in your hands mirrored the turmoil in your heart, as if your very being was unraveling under the weight of unspoken fears and shattered dreams.

matt took a deep breath, his tone gentle. "i understand you're upset, but shouting won't help us find a solution," he said, reaching out to you. "let's just sit down and figure this out together." his calm demeanor was like a soothing balm against the fiery tempest of your emotions, his words a plea for reason amidst the chaos.

his outstretched hand, a symbol of unity and understanding, sought to bridge the chasm of discord that had formed between you.

your body was trembling with anger and frustration. "figure it out? how? how do we fix this?" you cried, your voice filled with desperation. "i feel like i'm losing control, matt!" your words were laced with a raw, unfiltered anguish, each syllable a testament to the depth of your despair.

matt stepped closer, his hand resting on your shoulder. "i'm here, and we're in this together," he assured you softly. "we'll get through it, one step at a time." his touch was a gentle anchor amidst the storm, his words a steady beacon of hope.

you collapsed into his arms, still shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. matt held you tightly, whispering soothing words. "i'm not going anywhere. we'll face this together, no matter how hard it gets," he promised, his voice unwavering.

"you're not alone in this." his embrace was a sanctuary of warmth and security, his whispered reassurances weaving a tapestry of solace around your fragile heart. each word he spoke was a lifeline, pulling you from the abyss of despair and anchoring you in the steadfast certainty of his unwavering support.

as you continued to cry, your sobs turning into hiccups, matt gently guided you to the couch. "sit down for a moment," he said softly, helping you to sit. "let's take a deep breath together." his movements were deliberate and tender.

you tried to catch your breath, your chest heaving with the effort. "i just don't know what to do," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "everything feels so hopeless." the weight of your despair pressed down on you, each word a fragile plea for guidance. your whispered confession hung in the air, a testament to the depth of your struggle, as if the very act of speaking had drained the last vestiges of your strength.

matt knelt in front of you, his hands gently holding yours. "sometimes, the darkest moments are just before the dawn," he said, his voice filled with quiet strength. "we have to believe that things will get better." his presence was a steadfast pillar, grounding you in a moment of turmoil.

you looked into his eyes, searching for some semblance of hope. "but what if they don't?" you asked, your voice trembling. "what if everything just keeps getting worse?" the question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your fears. your eyes, mirrors of your soul, sought refuge in his unwavering gaze, yearning for a promise that seemed just out of reach.

matt squeezed your hands gently. "then we'll face it together, one step at a time," he said firmly. "we'll find a way through this, no matter what." his grip was both a comfort and a promise, a silent vow that you would not walk this path alone.

your tears began to slow, the storm of emotions gradually subsiding. "i don't know how you stay so strong," you said, your voice filled with awe. "i feel like i'm falling apart."

matt smiled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. "we all have moments of weakness," he said gently. "but together, we're stronger. we can lean on each other and find the strength to keep going."

taglist — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @frozenpeanutbutterr @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturnioloss @realuvrrr @sturnobsessedwh0re @cerismo @zainabthescientist @sarosfilms

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spockvarietyhour · 10 months

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Tremors 3: Return to Perfection (2001)

#actual dialogue #Tremors 3 #tremors 3 back to perfection #Burt Gummer #Michael Gross #Jodi Chang #Susan Chuang #Danny watches Tremors 3

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 6 months

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You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter ten of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: References to sex, Kind of depressing, Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, this one is really sad y'all, like REALLY sad, I'm serious this one is really sad.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

**********************************************

1980

“Ben, stop.” You shout.

“Move damn it!” Ben’s eyes blaze a dark green sending a tremor down your spine, but you don’t budge.

“No.”

“Get the fuck out of my way.” He snarls louder.

You stand defiantly in front of him, where he towers over you, eyes narrowed, and shoulders tensed. His broad shoulders block the fluorescent lights that hang overhead and illuminate the gym, dramatizing his imposing figure.

“I’m not going to. So you’re either going to have to move me yourself or you can go cool off.” Your retort your voice icy.

The heat from Ben’s anger vibrated through the air between you, but you weren’t going to move. Not when he was being ridiculous.

Noir was angry, angry that Ben took a movie role that he wanted. In hindsight you also thought it was ridiculous that Ben needed to star in all the movies. He was already America’s First Superhero and the Golden Boy and America’s Sweetheart, but it wasn't enough for him for some reason. You often thought his obsession with fame had something to do with his dad. Ben had a lot of problems when it came to his father, all of which made Ben compensate other ways, such as, feeling the need to be in charge, feeling the need to be loved and accepted by others he didn’t know, being unable to express his emotions, and the current problem which was feeling the need to claim the dominant role as most popular superhero.

Aka when he turned into Captain Toxic Masculinity.

Honestly, you were exhausted. All of this was exhausting. Ben was exhausting. As someone who’d loved him this long you couldn’t help but see the shift from the boy you used to know into something unrecognizable. Occasionally you could see Ben, the old Ben, your Ben, who laughed with you, but those moments were few and certainly didn’t happen in public.

You shoulders tense with the force of your own anger and frustration, standing tall between Ben and Noir who lays on the ground behind you. Noir hadn't made an effort to get up, still stunned from the blows he took from Ben. The first few punches you hadn’t stopped, but it was when Ben felt the need to continue despite Noir’s pleas to stop that you had to step in.

You didn’t know where that came from, Ben’s need to beat people who were conceding. When he was younger you'd seen Ben get in a fight before, but those few times he hadn't continued to beat the other person when they gave up. The smell of whiskey and reefer floats off his clothes and you wonder how much he’s had to drink. Ben had two moods when he was drunk angry or clingy, and right now the anger was winning. You could hear the mad pump of his blood through his body and you wonder what else he might have taken today.

Because whiskey and reefer isn't enough? If he wasn't so damn indestructible he'd probably be dead from overdose.

Ben’s lip is curled back in a sneer, eyes flashing from where Noir lays on the ground then back to you. You know that he's ten seconds away from ripping Noir in half, and that's why you don't move. Noir didn't deserve that.

The way Ben's eyes burn through the space between you is hauntingly familiar as the memory of the night you hid Ben from his father settled over your mind. You fight the shudder at the comparison.

Ben wasn’t anything like his father. The thought is immediate, but then the memory of the past forty years begins to settle over your mind. Or maybe he was.

“Fucking pussy. Having a woman stand up for you.” Ben snaps at Noir.

Ben leans around you to spit at him, then raises his gaze back to you one more time before he stomps off, slamming the door of the gym so hard that it breaks the glass.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Everyone on Payback was watching you like you were crazy and you partly were. Getting in between Ben and someone else was beyond stupid. It wasn’t the first time, but you knew that you were the only person that could do it. If Countess or Gunpowder had stepped in Ben would not have relented. It had to be you. It always had to be you.

And you hated the weight of that burden on your shoulders.

You turn towards Noir, holding out a hand to help him up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighs taking it . “You didn’t have to do that.”

“He’s just being… well. Him.” You mutter.

You hated that this was the new harsh reality, the new Ben that was born when he took the serum and became America’s First Superhero.

“It was incredibly stupid.” Countess sniffs from where she stands with the TNT Twins. Gunpowder is leaning back against the outer ring with Mindstorm who stares unblinkingly at you.

“Well, guess I took a page out of your book then.” You say, narrowing your eyes at her.

You couldn’t stand her. Ever since she joined Payback all she’d done was try to catch Ben’s eye and get between the two of you, but he never gave her the time of day. She had quickly won the favor of everyone else on Payback, which only made you even more angry because it always seemed like you were the odd one out wherever you went.

Countess only sneers back in response, flipping her red hair over her shoulders. Despite Ben's exit the tension in the room is almost choking. Your so-called team was watching you with unreadable expressions and you suddenly got the impression that you were trespassing or interrupting. It had happened before, when you came to a training session early and you walked in on the rest of the team, sans Ben, talking in hushed tones and they immediately broke apart when you appeared.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that despite the fact you stood between Ben and Noir, the rest of the team still didn’t like having you there. Probably because they associated you with Ben. It made you uneasy.

Because despite Stan’s efforts to keep you all together Ben's continuous outbursts drove you all further and further apart. And you worried what would happen the day when the shoe finally dropped.

*************************************

One look at the clock on your wall showed that it was almost one in the morning, but you weren't tired. All you could think about is what almost happened to Noir. It wasn't that you particularly liked anyone on Payback other than Ben, honestly the whole superhero thing was getting tedious and you had considered more than once getting out.

But you couldn't. Sometimes you felt responsible for Ben, like you were the only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow. Of course every single damn day that road was getting narrower and narrower and now it was more like a balance beam than a two way street.

Ben's new outlook on life that revolved around drugs, women, more drugs, and more women didn't make it easier.

You frown at your sketchpad remembering when Ben founded Herogasm. You'd gone the first time, regretted walking through the door, stayed ten minutes, and then left.

Sex without feelings never appealed to you, but that wasn't why you left, it was watching Ben with other women that hurt you. You could barely get through it when he mentioned something in passing, but watching him there with them made you uncontrollably angry and not to mention frustrated. You didn't understand him, couldn't understand why Ben was different around you. Didn't know why whenever you were alone he would give you hope, just to take it all away again.

How could so much change? How could everything go to shit so quickly?

You think of all the years that followed the night that Ben asked you to come with him, how you thought that Ben was telling you that he loved you in his own way. But he didn’t. You were realizing that now, as painful as it was to admit to yourself, Ben only saw you as a friend, would only ever see you as a friend.

When you decided to come with him you thought that the change would be your friendship into something else, but it never came, the only thing that changed was Ben.

A loud banging at your door makes your entire apartment shudder and pulls you out of your memories of the past.

There's only one person who can do that.

Your home was a small two-bedroom apartment in New York City, but you loved it. It was quaint and comfortable and each time you came home you felt relaxed because you were able to shut out the life you lived everyday. The small kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in, but it made it more intimate and cozy. The living room had a soft leather couch, but no tv despite Ben’s complaints that you should get one. He hated that you couldn’t watch his films when he came over. You liked listening to music more anyway. Your collection of vinyl lined the living room wall in clean bookcases next to a small record player. The spare bedroom served as your studio, not that you were trying to sell your art, but because you needed a place to exist where you weren't a supe and where you weren't in love with Ben. There were stacks of sketchbooks in the studio closet from when you were a child, but you couldn't bear to get rid of them. Sometimes you imagined living here with Ben, cooking in the small kitchen while he read the newspaper, lounging on the couch and listening to music together, and falling asleep on his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around you.

You sigh, pushing away the warmth of the thought, and wave your hand to telekinetically unlock the front door behind you. The familiar purple glow from your abilities fills the apartment. Ben had a key, but you figured he just wanted to make an entrance.

Always the drama queen.

“Got anything to drink?” He asks as he enters the living room.

You glance over the back of the couch to look at him. He's more casually dressed now, wearing a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt the same color of his suit.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d stop by, see if you’re still pissed.”

“As I recall it was you that was pissed.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Only because you were getting in my way Sweetheart” The way he says your nickname is harsh and mocking, so different than the way the old Ben used to say it. When it sounded genuine, caring, almost special.

“Because you were about to rip Noir apart!” You gesture with the pencil in your hand, snapping your sketchpad shut.

“That pussy deserved it. Thinking he was better than me. I’m fucking Soldier Boy and he’s nothing more than a-“ Ben scoffs rolling his eyes.

“Ben I can’t do this if you’re gonna be like this right now.” You interrupt pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingertips, still annoyed from earlier. You hated that he did that, when he made you feel like his babysitter, when he made you feel like you had to make apologies for him.

“Like what?”

“High, drunk, acting crazy-“

“I’m not acting fucking crazy!” He snaps.

“Ben-“ You begin with a sigh.

“Fine.” He spits. “We don’t have to fucking talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you.” You wave a hand haphazardly towards the kitchen. “There should be some whiskey in there somewhere. Though I don’t think you need anything else to drink.” Your nose wrinkles as you inhale, the smell of stale alcohol wafting back, followed by the unmistakable scent of perfume and sweat.

The super senses really sucked sometimes. Smelling the women that Ben had sex with was an unfortunate skill you had acquired.

“Fuck off.” He rolls his eyes, but waits for a minute eyeing you. “You’re not going to get it for me?”

You ignore his sharp tone and turn back to your sketchpad. “Nope. I don’t want to enable you.”

Ben stomps into your kitchen. It's immediately followed by the loud banging of him searching the cabinets for booze.

He should know where it is, spends enough time here.

“If you break anything, you’re going to fix it.” You shout opening your sketchbook back to the page you were on. You were drawing the Philadelphia of your youth, the familiar streets, the cars, and the women dressed in beautiful outfits.

“My hands are better suited for other things Sweetheart.” You hear him mutter under his breath and you try not to snap your pencil in half. His taunt made you think about Herogasm and the scent of perfume on his skin, and that was the last thing you wanted to think about.

Ben comes back and slumps onto the couch beside you, a large whiskey gripped in his hand. He sighs loudly to get your attention when you don't look up from your drawing.

"Alright, what is it?” You ask continuing to draw.

"Nothing.” He grumbles drinking from his glass.

“Ben, I’ve known you for over fifty years I can tell when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Well I doubt it’s over what you said or did to Noir today. So what is it? What are you not upset about?”

"I just thought it would be different." Ben swirls the glass in his hands.

"What?"

"Being on Payback."

"What do you mean?" You continue to sketch the shape of a woman walking down the streets.

"When I first started doing all this fucking superhero shit it was different. Felt like I was promoting something, now it kinda feels like I’m just here. And no one respects me.”

“They’re not going to respect you if you keep threatening them and beating up whoever pisses you off.” You mutter.

“They might.” He snaps.

They won't.

"Well the way things are going with Russia I’m sure there will be another war." You sigh, thinking about the recent newspaper headlines. Everything was devoted to the Cold War, everyone was afraid of what Russia was doing or what they were planning. Stan Edgar and Legend were talking about some Anti-Communist campaign videos and posters that they wanted you to pose for, but you weren't sure you wanted to.

"You think so?" He sounds optimistic.

"I’m not gonna hope for one, but probably. I get it though. You’re doing all those movies and premieres and photo shoots, it doesn't feel real."

It was exactly how you felt. You felt that all this supe shit was coming to a head and what did you have to show for it? A few pictures of you holding up a car or a painted caricature of you on the side of a jet or a short film with stupid prerecorded lines that made no sense and even more ridiculous outfits that Legend tried to get you to wear. When you got the serum with Ben you thought you’d be contributing something to society, but no. It was just like when you were a child, dressed up like a China doll, made to be looked at but never used.

"I like those movies."

"I’ve noticed." You breathe remembering earlier when Ben almost killed Noir over the movie role.

Noir technically started that, but Ben just took it way too far.

"What about you?"

The question catches you off guard. “What about me?”

"You haven’t done any movies lately. Legend said that you turned down a few films." Ben takes a swig from the glass in his hand.

"Aren’t you afraid that I’ll steal some of your thunder Soldier Boy?” Your taunt. “Because I already saw what you tried to do to Noir today. And I’d rather you not beat me to a pulp-“

“You’re not like Noir. You’re different.”

“Mhmm. Sure.” You sigh rolling your eyes at him.

Ben sits there for a minute. You can feel his gaze on you. “I’d never hurt you y/n.”

The softer cadence of his voice makes you pause your pencil against the page. You knew it was true. Even when Ben was pissed off it was the line he never crossed. Ben never touched you when he was angry, but it never made it any easier to deal with him.

“Hey.” Ben whispers to get your attention, but you continue to look down at your paper. “Look at me.” His thumb comes under you chin to lift your eyes to his.

“You know that right?” Ben’s gaze is soft, you hadn’t expected it to be given the way he entered you apartment and his sullen mood. “You know that I’d never hurt you?”

The look in his eyes makes your throat tight, makes you see the Ben you used to know, who promised to look out for you and who promised to be strong for the both of you. And it hurts more than you thought it would, because you weren't sure that boy was still there.

“Yeah. I know.” You nod, but you don’t smile. You knew it was what he wanted to hear. “You’ve been talking to Legend about me?” You say to make the warm feeling of his touch fade.

He shrugs satisfied with your response, the softness fading from his eyes as he drops his hand. “I was worried.”

You fold your legs up under you. “I don’t know, I didn't love any of the scripts. And I’ve been thinking about getting out. I’ve been doing this so long-"

It was the first time you'd said it aloud to Ben. You'd mentioned it once to Legend and then made sure he never said anything about it. You weren't sure how Ben would react to you leaving.

"What?" Ben's eyes widen in surprise.

"Come on Ben, you’re telling me that you don’t want to have a normal life? Meet someone, have some kids, settle down? We’ve been doing this shit for years. Doesn’t get any easier."

"Sometimes.” He smirks at you. “So who’s the guy?”

“What?” You raise your eyebrows in confusion.

“The guy you’re going to settle down with.”

“What makes you assume that I’ve met him?”

“I mean, I’ve never seen you with anyone. And I’ve never walked in on you fucking anyone. Plus, you never come to Herogasm-“ Ben pauses. “It’s not Noir is it? Is that why you were protecting him today?”

“No.” You scoff, shading the side of a building to avoid his gaze, because how do you tell him that you met the only person you’d ever wanted when you were 8 years old?

“Good.” Ben drinks from his glass. “I do think about it sometimes.” He says it quietly.

“Huh?”

“The house, having a few rugrats.” He shrugs. “Might be nice.”

“Yeah.” Your throat is tight imagining Ben with someone else like Countess, sitting at his wedding, watching him say those vows to someone else. You didn't think you'd be able to just sit there if it came to that.

“How about you and I get married?” He says it nonchalantly.

You roll your eyes. You knew he didn’t mean it. He was just saying it to joke with you like always. Ben never saw you that way, you were realizing that more and more each day, even though it hurt to think it.

“We’d kill each other before we say I do.” You quip staring down at the page.

“Maybe. But really, we’ve known each other long enough-“

“That’s not a reason to get married. Plus, we both know that you’re not a one woman kind of guy and if you're actually being serious about this it would mean that you would have to change-“

You think about it. If Ben actually did want to commit, could he do it? His wandering eyes and hands would drive you crazy if he finally did want to start a relationship. You definitely did not want an open relationship. You wanted Ben to be wholly yours as much as you would be his, because you knew that if you devoted yourself to Ben, he would probably cheat, but then be furious if you spent any amount of time with someone else. You remembered all the ways he acted around Howard. Ben was crazy around him, and you and Ben hadn’t been together.

Imagine what he would do to someone else if we were.

“I can be a one woman kind of guy-“ Ben scoffs. “I can do anything.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You mutter, but you know he can hear you.

Ben puts down his glass on your coffee table before his hand lays on top of yours against the sketchpad in you lap.

“Y/n.” He whispers. You can smell the whiskey on his breath, but you don’t look up at him, you can’t. Because you know as soon as you look into his eyes you’ll do whatever he wants.

But you didn’t want to be his consolation prize. You didn’t want Ben to marry you because he was bored, drunk, and he thought he might as well marry you. You wanted Ben to marry you because he was 100% head over heels for you as much as you were for him.

He tilts your chin upwards to look at him. Electricity thrums in your veins when you lock eyes, the look in his gaze is open, gentle, almost tender.

It reminds you of the boy you used to know. Lately you hadn’t seen him. If you were being honest, you hadn’t seen him much since the night he came to ask you to come with him, before the serum, when you thought he finally realized that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

The only time you’d see the real Ben was when it was just the two of you, not the angry, macho, vengeful fighter for justice that he put on whenever he was in front of the team or in front of the cameras. You didn’t understand that. He said that showing emotions made him less of a man, but he never seemed to have a problem being different when it was just the two of you.

You hated that. In those quiet moments you felt your heart clench tight in your chest because each time you thought that he would finally admit that he loved you, that after all these years you were the one.

But he never did.

“I could change.” Ben whispers. “I could be with one woman.”

“Ben.” You take in a deep breath to clear your head, fighting the ball of emotion that has begun to burn at the back of your throat. “You’re drunk.” You breathe.

He blinks a few times as if he can’t comprehend what you're saying.

“You always get like this when you’re drunk. You know?” You pull back from where his hand rests on your chin. “But you can stay if you want. There’s some pizza in the fridge and I’m gonna take a shower and go to bed.” You stand and step around him, the urge to cry building in your chest.

“Okay.” Ben whispers to the air, because you're already gone, fleeing down the hallway before he can see you cry.

When you step into the shower you allow yourself to break. The soft sobs drowned out by the sound of running water. You wished you could move past this, all of this and more importantly you wished that you hadn’t fallen in love with him.

Memories of the past lodge themselves in the back of your throat. You remember the day he begged you to come with him to get the Compound V injection, when you left your life behind and chose him. You thought that was his way of saying he loved you, that he couldn’t live without you. You were wrong. It hurt to admit that, but you were wrong. Ben didn’t try to build on the relationship you had, he kept it the same, the friendly banter, the hugs, hanging around with you whenever he couldn’t stand to be alone. He still slept over, but that’s all that happened. You thought that day meant something, that it was the beginning of something, some wonderful romanticized future filled with warmth and love.

You never thought it would be like this.

You didn’t regret going with him often, but on nights like this when it was late and Ben was drunk and he acted differently you did. Because it made you think that there was a chance of a future with him, but then when he woke up the next day sober, it started all over again with him being short tempered and a dick to everyone who was around him.

It was exhausting. And you didn’t know how much more of it you could take.

The only thing you regretted about the serum was that it made you immortal, invulnerable, and that meant whoever you decided to make a life with would die. There was only a handful of others like you and you hadn’t liked any of them except Ben. You wondered if this was your penance for saying no to Howard, your mother's last laugh when she said that Ben would never choose you and now you had to go on like this forever.

You remember the fear that you would be trapped in a marriage with Howard, you never thought that you'd feel trapped with Ben.

But now…

When you walk back into your bedroom, Ben’s already in your bed, laying on his back, smoking a blunt and looking at the ceiling. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants, that you bought him forever ago so he didn't have to sleep in his jeans, and the same t-shirt as before.

“What did I say about smoking those in here?” You sigh, getting into bed beside him, but being careful as to not touch even though it’s all you want.

“It’s a free country doll.” Ben mutters, but he puts it out in the ashtray that you left for him on the bedside table. Because you knew that he would continue to do it even when you told him not to.

The amount of times he ended up here at night always surprised you. Ben might have been bed hopping, snorting, and drinking himself into a stupor but the amount of times you woke up with him in bed next to you was astounding. He’d let himself in with the key you made him for emergencies while you were asleep. It was almost like he didn’t sleep in his apartment anymore and you hated how much you depended on him being there in the morning when you woke up. But the truth was, Ben was all you had, and the thought of losing him scared you. Which meant you continued to put up with the man he became, trying to hold tight to the image of the boy he used to be.

You lay on your back beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The inch of space between your bodies is almost too obvious. “I’m going to go to Philadelphia for a few days.” You breathe.

“Why?”

“My brother isn’t doing too well. His son called.” You say, your throat thick. “He said he thinks that it’s time.”

Your parents had passed a few years ago and Ben had gone to the funerals with you. When Ben’s father had passed, he hadn’t gone to the funeral, he’d drowned himself in the 21st annual Herogasm. And after he showed up on your doorstep smelling like sweat, drugs, booze, and cheap perfume. You’d made him take a shower before getting into bed. The next morning you had woken up in his arms, but more surprising was the fact that he had woken up before you and hadn't pushed you away, in fact he had held you closer to him. You figured that he needed someone there with him. His father had done and said horrible things to Ben, and you kept him company if that’s what he wanted, but couldn’t admit it.

“I’m sorry.” His hand finds yours on the bed. The gesture surprises you.

“Yeah. But that’s the way it is now, I guess.” You whisper, squeezing it.

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t age. Everyone else does. Means that we’ll always just see everyone else go.”

“But not us.” Ben says it like he’s trying to cheer you up.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

Does that mean it’s always going to be like this? Me waiting for him to come here after a 24 hour non stop orgy or after he’s had one two many? Just because he can’t stand the thought of being alone?

You didn’t want that future. You knew that he wanted to be there with you, but it wasn’t enough and it wasn’t the same thing you wanted.

Maybe getting out of this would be good. Put some distance between me and him, let me try to find me again.

Ben is quiet for a minute, the only sound you hear is the thrum of the blood in his veins and his heart steadily pumping it.

“Do you want me to come?” He says it slowly, his thumb rubs against the back of your hand in a soothing motion.

The question breaks something inside of you, because you wanted nothing more than to have him there with you, but you didn’t want the version of Ben who was Soldier Boy, the loud, angry, short tempered version who was always high or drunk. The one that you felt that you needed to apologize for.

“Nah. It’ll be okay. I’ll get to see my great nephew. He’s supposed to be walking now.” You try to force cheeriness into your tone, but it doesn’t stick.

“Okay.”

You can’t help but wonder if Ben is hurt by your rejection. You did not often say no to him.

He doesn’t let go of your hand though, in fact he brings it up against his chest while he looks at the ceiling.

"Do you regret it?” Ben says in almost a whisper

"Hmm?”

“Coming with me.”

You pause for a second and think about lying, but finally settle on the truth. “Sometimes."

"Why?” Ben's voice rumbles against where your hand lays against his chest, and for a second you think he sounds almost pained.

"We’ve changed so much than who we were back then. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.”

You didn’t want to say that it was him you didn’t recognize. Or that it always felt that you were running after the boy he used to be. The one that made you feel safe, comforted, made it feel like home.

"I don’t think change is a bad thing."

Of course you don't.

"It is if it’s in the wrong direction.” You whisper, but know he can hear you.

“So that’s why you want out? Because you don’t recognize yourself? Seems like a shitty reason."

“I just think it might be nice to try something new. I’ve been doing this for such a long time-“

“That’s why the films would be a good idea. If you want I can talk to the director about you being a co-star in the one we start filming next week. He won't say no to me-“ It was the closest you’d ever heard him come to pleading, besides the night he asked you to come with him to get the serum.

But why? Was it his way of keeping me with him? Was it because he didn’t want me to leave because he wanted me here? Or was it because he just wanted someone there to sit with when the silence was too much? The silence that seems to follow when he's not with me.

“Ben I’m okay. It’s okay I just want something different.”

“Like what?” You hand is still clutched in his where it rests over his chest and you can't help but wonder why. It was surprising. Sure Ben tolerated the occasional hug, but holding your hand for this long was unusual. You attributed it to the booze. When Ben got drunk he tended to be more clingy, he never admitted that, but you saw it.

“I don’t know. I just want a family again-“

“You have a family. You said you’re going to see your great nephew-" Ben says it like he doesn't want you to leave and it breaks something inside you.

How can he not admit that he cares about me? That he loves me? He has to after all these years doesn't he?

“I know. I mean I want a family. Someone to come home to every night, someone I love, someone who loves me-“ You fight to keep the frustrated tears from falling. The dream of him and you inhabiting your apartment together washes back over your mind in shades of gray. You wanted that so badly.

“Oh.”

“You don’t want that?” It’s taking everything for you not to tell Ben that you want it to be him, that you always wanted it to be him.

“Maybe.”

The silence grows between the two of you as you lay there and Ben still hasn't let go of your hand.

“Did you want to marry him?” He says after a few minutes.

“What?” You look at him confused. Ben isn't looking at the ceiling like you thought, he's looking at you. He almost looks, sorry. And you wonder again how much he's had to drink.

“That asshole." He clarifies.

"Howard?"

"Yeah."

“It’s been 40 years-“ You sigh as if it doesn’t matter. But it does. You chose Ben that night and you thought that him asking you to come with him meant that he was choosing you as well.

“Come on.” Ben squeezes the hand that rests against his chest.

“Why does it matter?"

“Because you’re saying you wanted a family. Someone to come home to and that pussy would have given it to you.”

You pause for a second trying to read his expression. “I like the idea of marriage. Of saying those vows to someone else.” You say slowly. “But I didn’t want to say them to Howard.” You don’t say that you wanted to say them to Ben, don’t say that the night he told you not to marry Howard you thought he was trying to tell you that he wanted to marry you instead.

“So you want to say them to someone?”

“Yeah. One day.” You frown, turning back to look at the ceiling. “You never want to say them to someone?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately. “Maybe.”

Probably Liberty.

You sigh to yourself thinking about one of your least favorite supes that you’d come across. She wasn’t terrible, just pushy and into supes being united together. You also didn’t like that she felt that supes deserved to be worshiped, that supes were gods, but you knew you weren't. The powers were not random, the gifts were not given by God, they were given by the devil and all those deals came with a price. Even if you tired to walk away, you wondered if Vought would let you go. You also hated how much time Ben spent with her.

The thought of her leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and despite how good it feels, you pull your hand free from Ben's grasp and turn your back to him, cuddling into your pillow. Your grip is so tight on fluffy material you wonder how it hasn't ripped, but you need to stop talking to him. Talking to him when he was like this made it harder and right now it was taking everything not to cry again.

And you were just so tired of everything. You wondered if one day it would be different.

“Goodnight Ben.” You whisper.

“Goodnight.”

And just as you drift into a dreamless sleep, you think you feel him put his arm around your waist and pull your back into his chest, but when you wake up the next day you forget and Ben is gone.

*************************************************

n/a: Yeah, this chapter is really sad. And I wish that I could say it gets better, but honestly, it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better. 😭😭😭

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