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twice-inamillion · 4 months

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The Company

Asking for a favor

Smut and Story Building (Sex, Teasing, Anal sex, Deep Penetration, Creampie, use of anal plug)

Chapter 4

2630 Words

(Irene, like a good girl, is used by the Company CEO. He makes her wear a butt plug to get her accustomed to having something inside of her when she is to service her boss in anal sex. She uses this opportunity to get on the good side of her boss, even if it means being used like a sex toy.)

“Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Why is he making me wear this in public? I hate it him.” Irene walks through the main building, making her way to the CEO’s office. She greets the trainees who are coming from their biweekly evaluation meeting. “Good Morning, girls.”

The trainees wave back and bow at Irene as she holds some paperwork through the busy hallway. She presses the button on the elevator, scans her access card, and selects the top floor. She faces the glass and sees the view of the campus, busy with trainees going to their classes. She starts to walk to the end of the hall when she drops some of the folders, “Damn, why is this happening to me?” She squats carefully so as not to reveal her panties and the plug she was forced to wear as punishment by the CEO. She quickly picked up the files and quickly felt the back of her skirt to make sure that the plug in her behind wasn’t showing. After checking, she makes her way to your office and knocks on the door.

“Irene here. May I come in?” dreading to see your face this early morning.

“Yeah, come in.”

She opens the doors, walks in, and immediately closes the door behind her. She sees the smirk on your face, knowing that you’re laughing at her. “Good Morning, sir.”

“Good Morning, Irene. How are you doing today?”

“I’m okay. Thanks for asking.” With an annoyed face, she gives you the files you requested, “Here are the files you requested.” You take them, review the files, and set them on the table. You get back on your desktop but notice Irene standing before your desk. “Did you need something?”

“Sir, I want to ask you for something.”

“Speak.”

“Well… I reviewed the evaluations from the trainees who were tested two weeks ago, and four stood out to me. Would you mind looking at them?” handling your files.

“Ah, yes. You mentioned one of them before, right? A girl named Wendy.”

“Yes, sir. She’s from Canada. We sent someone to recruit her based on her viral YouTube video.”

“Okay, and what about the rest?”

“The rest went through the Korean auditions. Most of them are good singers and have been performing well in their evaluations.”

“I see that there is no that’s not of age yet.”

“Yeah, her name is Yeri. She recently joined that company a few weeks ago, but I think she has the basics down.”

“Okay, and why are you showing me this?”

“Well… I wanted to see if you would consider these girls for a girl group.”

“Irene, You know we already have a group in mind.”

“Sir, but I think these girls would do well.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

She walks over to your side of the desk, “Please, sir, let me be responsible for the group. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“So you want to be in the group too?”

“Yes, I would like to debut with them.”

You see the desperation on her face, making you want to tease her more. You remember the punishment you gave her and say, “Seems like you’re serious. You must really want this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Alright, show me how serious you are.”

“What do you mean?”

You place her hand on her behind, giving it a nice rub and smile. She reads your expression and knows what you are trying to do. She slowly spreads her legs and pulls her panties down to her knees, giving you access to her cheeks. With your right hand, you go up her skirt and grab onto one of her cheeks, feeling her pale and soft flesh, “A nice ass like always.” She tries to think of something else as you caress her ass cheeks by squeezing them, cupping, or slapping them until they’re slightly red.

Once you get your fill, you focus on what’s between Irene’s cheeks and slowly move your hand toward the bud sticking out of her. You grab the pink glass plug and gently give it a tug, causing Irene to twitch. You try to give it another pull, but her body tightens out of reflex.

“Come on, you know the drill, relax.”

Without a word she spreads her legs a bit more and bends towards the desk. You give the butt plug another pull, and this time, you’re able to move it. Grabbing onto the nub, you give it a twist, which makes Irene moan. Seeing her reaction, you decide to pull on it, “Remember to relax.” With a firm grip, you begin to pull on the nub, which causes her pucker hole to stretch slightly. Irene gets firm to the table and feels you pull the plug out of her butt. She moans with every centimeter you pull until her hole is stretched to the size of a glass ball.

“Ready for the last bit?”

“Shut up, just pull it.”

All you hear is the popping noise of air escaping her now gaping hole, trying to clench onto the foreign object it held earlier before. “Fuck, lot at that gaping hole,” as you stare at the inside of Irene’s exposed hole. You stand and watch as her pucker hole constricts, turning you on.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you undo your belt and drop your pants to the floor. You take out your cock and give it a full pump, getting it ready for some action.

You open the bottom drawer and pull out some lube and squirt some on Irene’s ass and on your cock. Slowly and gently, you rub the lube all over your cock and between Irene’s slit. The cold lube causes Irene to shiver in anticipation of what’s to come.

Now, the long-awaited meal that you have been craving is here. You press your cock against Irene’s ass and gently push it into her asshole. She groans as she feels the tip of your hardened cock spreads her puckerhole, “Uggh…fuck…” biting her lip. A cold sensation fills her spine as she takes in your massive cock.

“Fuck, you’re still tight.” You press in even more, feeling the flesh of her walls wrapping around your cock. You take a better hold of her waist and warn her, “I’m going to go all the way!”

Irene tries to prepare herself and adjusts her position on the table but loses her balance when she feels a stab in her womb, “Wait! You’re going to mess me up!”

Her knees become weak from just one stroke, and it’s not the last one. You pick up the pace and mercilessly fuck her ass. You enjoy hearing her groan in pain as she takes you massive length. “Stop! Stop! Give me some time to adjust myself. You’re going to ruin me!”

You move your hand and insert two fingers into her wet cunt and collect as much fluid as you can. With those two fingers, you shove them into Irene’s mouth and say, “Shut up and suck like a good girl!”

Without a fight, she welcomes your fingers and begins to suckle. “Yeah, that’s right. Sucking on your own nectar like a slut you are.” She tries to respond, but you slam your cock back inside, reaching the deepest parts of her ass, causing her to gag on your fingers.

After five minutes, Irene is a complete mess; she groans, “You’re turning me inside out. Please, pull out…”

“Alright, I’ll let you rest, but let me cum first.”

You pull out your cock just enough to leave the tip and slam it once more, releasing a large wave of cum, “Hmph… fuck!!” She loses her balance, falls on the desk, and goes silent. “Fuck, your ass is so just tighter, it’s milking my cock.”

You turn to Irene and see her passed out, so you pull out your cock and see Irene’s motionless body. You grab your phone from your desk and take a picture of Irene’s gaping ass, “That’s so hot.” You walk in closer and see a large puddle of cum just at the edge of her puckerhole, just waiting to ruin Irene’s thigh. You grab her ass cheeks and spread them, causing your cum to spill out and drip onto her underwear.

Not wanting to spill any cum on the floor you pull her panties back up and sit on your chair with Irene on your lap. You move her panties to the side and insert your semi-hard cock back inside, and continue to work on the computer.

After a couple of minutes, Irene wakes up and feels the hot sensation of something buried deep inside her and lifts her head up. She slowly regains her vision, and the first thing she sees is your chest. She tilts her head up, “Wh…what are you doing?”

“You fell asleep, well more like passed out. I didn’t know I was that good.”

“Stop. Let me get off.”

“No.”

“Come on, I need to get back to my duties.”

“These are part of your duties, remember.”

“Fine… just get it over with.”

“That’s no fun, but whatever. Let’s see your reaction after I’m done with you.”

Irene feels your semi-limp cock throbbing and getting harder as you bounce her small body on your length. With a firm grip on her ass tries to turn her head away, but you stop her, “Don’t look away. Look at me.” She moves her gaze at you, making direct eye contact. “That’s right, just like that. Now, I’m going to let go, and I want you to ride me.”

You could see that she was going to talk back, but instead, she holds the words in her mouth and does as she’s told. She continues the rhythm you previously had and, little by little, increases the pace. You place your hands on her back, and she places hers on your shoulders; you stare at her, teasing that she is doing all the work like the good little cum slut that she is.

“How does my cock feel up your ass? Good, huh?”

“It’s not bad.”

“Remember when the first time?”

“Don’t… don’t bring it up.”

“Why not? It was cute seeing you struggle.”

“I couldn’t walk straight for two days because of you.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your body is so small.”

“It’s not my body, it’s that your cock is too big.”

“But you like it” as you give her a smirk. She doesn’t respond, but the silence gives away her answer. Instead, she picks up the pace to get her duty over with. “Fuck, you’re getting tight again. You’re so good at tightening your walls. If only your future members knew how much of a slut you are.”

“I’m not doing it because I want to; I’m doing it because I have to.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, why don’t you let me fuck that tight pussy you have right there” as you rub your hands on her nicely trimmed cunt.

“No, you can’t.”

“Come on, it’s been over a year since we met, and you still haven’t…”

“Don’t. Remember, you can only fuck me anal if you don’t do it from the front. I’m saving myself for someone special.”

“Alight, I guess… You’re lucky I’m nice. If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t think twice about having all of you, if you know what I mean.”

“Haha don’t think you’re so nice. You still got your with me, even if it’s through my ass.”

“Let’s change the subject. How about you make me cum in two minutes. If you can do it in less than that, I’ll let you start your little group.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

Without a second thought, she increased the pace of her straddling. She moans as your cock reaches the deepest parts of her rectum. “Ahh… ahh.. it feels so good!” She lifts herself up and slams herself back down, causing her to tighten her walls. “Cum already, please…” as she looks up at you. “Almost.” She repeats it a couple more times, making you cum only five seconds before the two-minute mark. She groans as you fill her ass once more, causing her to lose strength in her body and collapse on your chest with a heavy breath.

It takes her a couple of minutes for her to regain a part of her strength, and when she does, she pulls herself out of your cock but don’t before you go for a passionate kiss to, which she does not reject. After you kiss, she musters enough energy to pull away, gets off your lap, waddles to the sofa across the room, throws herself onto it, and slowly closes her eyes.

You get off the chair and walk towards her and whisper, “Congratulations on your new group. Make sure not to disappoint me,” as you smack her ass. You walk towards the desk and grab some tissues to clean yourself off. You see the plug on top of her skirt and grab it before walking back to Irene. “Don’t forget this. I want you to walk around with my cum inside your ass for the whole day, okay” as you insert the plug back into her butt.

—————-

Irene spends the whole day with the plug as you order her to. The first thing she does when she returns to her apartment is go straight to the shower. She turns on the shower, lets it run for a few minutes, and places her head against the shower wall. After a long day, she tries to clear her mind and pulls out the plug. She watches as a large amount of cum pours out of her tight butthole and into the drain, “He pumped so much in me. It’s better for it to be my ass than the other whole and ending up pregnant. I’ll never let that man impregnate me. That would be the end of me…” as she takes a hot shower.

—————

A few days passed, and Irene was heading to the meeting room to meet with her future group mates when she saw a group of women entering through the main entrance. She sees IU and Taeyeon coming out of the elevator and walking toward the women. “Hey, IU. Who’s that?”

“Oh the group?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re Taeyeon’s groupmates. They came for a tour since Taeyeon wouldn’t stop complimenting the place. She will show them around the campus and maybe meet with the CEO if he’s available.”

“Oh, okay. Good luck then.”

IU catches up with Taeyeon and the rest of the group and passes by Irene. They introduce themselves one at a time, but only one catches her attention. “You must be Irene.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I’m Jessica, by the way. Taeyeon told me I should communicate with you and IU if I had any questions.”

“Yes, IU and I are the CEO’s assistants and are more than glad to answer any questions you have.”

“Okay, good. I’ll catch you later. Can’t miss the tour of the company,” as Jessica waves goodbye to Irene.

Irene waves back better, heading to the meeting room. She opens the doors and sees a group of four girls sitting next to each other, waiting patiently.

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gglitch1dd · 25 days

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Y/N experiencing difficult pregnancy with one of her boys.. Izuku is beyond worried and terrified. He has read the risks of pregnancy past the age of thirty and how it takes a toll on women's bodies. The boys find out about it and help her take over all the chores, doing their homework without disturbing mom, making after school snacks and bringing mom whatever she may need. Izuku even takes frequent leaves from his hero duties to care for his pregnant wife

So sorry about my English, it is only my third language

A hard time

Midoriya Izuku x Wifey Reader

Warning: Difficult pregnancy, mention of a previous miscarriage

"Mr Midoriya."

Izuku looked up at the doctor as you lay in the hospital bed, your five-month pregnancy bump just visible from underneath the blanket. This would be your fifth child together and everything was normal. Or Izuku thought everything was normal until Izuku had received a call from his five-year old, saying that "Mommy had fallen down"

When Izuku had raced home, you had fainted and he found signs of blood between your thighs. Izuku feared the worst, thinking you had suffered a miscarriage or your life was in danger. Which is why Izuku was here, still in his hero uniform, at your side.

Izuku stood in front of the doctor. "Yes?" He asked.

"She's alright, Mr Midoriya. She's going to be just fine. With a lot of rest, she'll be just fine." She told Izuku.

Izuku let out a relieved sigh. "The baby?"

"Alive." Izuku closed his eyes in pure relief, knowing that both you and the baby were fine. "This is your wife's fifth pregnancy, am I correct?" She asked as she looked over at your file.

Izuku nodded his head. "Sixth actually." He notified. "We suffered a miscarriage before we had our second son." He moved to look back at you, not wanting to dwell on that pain that was buried by the both of you long ago that was only ever revisited once a year.

The doctor nodded silently. "Well, Mr Midoriya, as much as pregnancies typically get easier the more children one has, sometimes we get cases were high-risk pregnancies do occur. It seems this is one of them." She told him. "Your wife seems to be suffering a from low blood pressure right now and the baby seems to have a rather soft heart beat. I can only give her a bit of supplements to counter the effects. She needs rest and I mean rest. I want her on strict bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy and rich in iron meals. We want to keep her over night for today but then tomorrow, if all is the same, she can go back home."

After that discussion, Izuku sat at your bedside waiting for you to wake up. He had talked to his mother who he had called in a flurry while speeding to the hospital, telling her that you were fine and it was just a scare. He got an update on the boys, getting a bucket load of questions from a twelve year old Toshinori who seemed just about ready to jump in a cab and get to your side himself.

Izuku was touched but he needed all his sprouts in one place. He was pretty sure that he wanted to stay here at your bedside, considering his mother was holding down the fort back home.

Izuku was taken out of his thoughts as you shifted in bed with a low hum. You slowly opened your eyes as you turned to look at him. Izuku sat up as he gave you a sad smile. You reached a hand over to him which he eagerly took. Your husband moved your hand to be against his face, holding you close. "You scared me." He whispered softly.

You gave him a soft smile. "I'm sorry, my love." You told him honestly. "I... I don't know what happened..."

"You fainted." Izuku told you truthfully. "The doctor said that she's worried about the pregnancy. She's classified you as high-risk."

You let out a gentle huff as you moved to look away from him for a moment. You let out a gentle scoff. "Well, we expected this sooner or later." You spoke softly. "I'm not as young as I once was, Izu."

He looked at you without a smile on his face, worry in his face and in his frown. He let out a deep sigh as he shook his head. "I should have listened to Tenya. What were we thinking, getting you pregnant again." He put a hand to his face, pushing a hand through his green hair.

"Izuku, please." Your eyes were closed almost in pain at what he was saying. Your voice was weak but you were firm. "Please don't say that. Don't regret any child we have ever conceived, even this one." You put your hand over your stomach gently. I love all of our little sprouts, even the ones that haven't left my womb yet."

"Y/N, you're at risk." He reminded you with an adament expression. "Strict bedrest until delivery and even then its probably going to be a c-section done this time."

Your eyebrows furrowed. You had given birth to every single of your sprouts naturally, the labour time being cut in half with each child. From fourteen hours, to seven, to three, to one hour. You had always wanted control over your body especially in something as vulnerable as labour.

You looked away from your husband for a moment. "Izuku..."

"Hm."

"I want you to promise me..." You turned to look at him dead in the eye. "If something ever were to go wrong, you would save the baby even if it compromises me."

Your husband was frozen as he stared at you unblinkingly. He slowly sat up straight as he looked at you, green eyes going dark at your request. His hold on your hand tightened. "Don't you ever ask that of me again." He whispered, his voice harsh.

"Izuku-"

"No." He denied it as he stood up. "You are my wife! My wife! I won't lose you over this baby."

"Izuku, I love every single one of our sprouts even the one that was lost." You expressed with tears in your eyes. "It is not this child's fault that I'm not healthy enough this time around to carry it."

"It is also not your fault too!" He rebutted with a painful expression. He shook his head. "You are the only thing that matters to me and the boys. I can't live without you, let alone raise the boys without you. If you die, I'm following you."

You sat up at such a statement. "Izuku! We have four boys!" You reminded him.

"So then live, goddamn it Y/N!" He shouted at you, tears in his eyes, his hands shaking. That's when you saw the pure terror in his eyes, the fear and the worry that he would lose you being stronger than anything else. He dropped his head as he tried his best not to break down. "I love our boys..." he whispered. "I love our family, I love you as my wife, as the mother of my children. I love you as you are and I sure as hell love it when youre pregnant, but sweetheart..." He looked at you genuinely on the brink of losing himself in fear. "I can not lose you over this baby. I can't."

You fought your own tears, touched at his statement. You closed your eyes but nodded your head. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

From the moment you got back home, Izuku gave you a warm bubble bath and you were put straight in bed. Your sprouts crowded you with so much love, showing you what you had missed while you were in hospital.

However, you noticed that Inko never left. Izuku asked his mother if she could move in for the remainder of your pregnancy, which she gladly did. She helped with the boys, making sure that homework was done and the chores you needed done were finished.

Izuku didn't leave it all to his mother though. He had taken a week off of work initially and you noticed that his work hours had significantly decreased. When he did paperwork, he worked from home. He did everything from home unless it was patrol or an emergancy. Otherwise he was right at your side, moving a desk into your bedroom to make sure he was at your disposal.

He was determined to make sure this pregnancy would be easy for you.

-Glitch1d

#dilf midoriya #dilf izuku midoriya #dilf izuku x reader #midoriya izuku angst #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku x reader #izuku x reader angst

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purple-babygirl · 2 months

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don't call me daddy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 4,826

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: Bucky is mean, a couple of insults, mistreatment of age regressed reader, crying, mentions of hot liquid getting on skin, crying, mentions of the r-word, Bucky's PTSD & nightmares

A/N: so this is an idea I've had for forever and I finally mustered up enough courage to share it with you guys. Please enjoy and let me know what you think and if you have anything you'd like to suggest for the upcoming parts. I love you 💜

“This sounds stupid,” Bucky grumbled when Sam suggested the program.

“It's not stupid, Buck and it works!”

“If it worked for you doesn't mean it's gonna work for me, Sam. You have patience and it's in your nature to want to take care of people.”

“Says the one who looked out for Steve all his life!”

“Steve was one person and he was actually dumb, he wasn’t acting like he can't fucking feed himself!”

“They're not acting. They're age regressed.” Sam tried to remain calm.

“What does that even mean!”

“It means-”

“You know what? I don't care because I'm not doing it.” Bucky smiled before leaving Sam's house and going back to hide in his own.

But Sam was persistent. He was determined to get Bucky help that would actually help. So he suggested the program to Bucky's therapist and before Bucky could punch him, she was having him sign the contract.

“Sam, I don't wanna meet anyone. It's not gonna work anyway so let's just pick any of them.”

“They're not service dogs, Bucky!”

“Really? Because that's exactly what it sounds like they are to me.”

Sam glared at him, elbowing his side as a short lady with a kind smile approached them.

Bucky didn't pay her much attention. He didn't want to be here and he didn't care what she was reciting.

Only thing that caught his attention was when she asked him what age he would prefer so she could introduce him to a group of littles.

He was dreading this. It was stupid.

“…what are you looking for?” Bucky caught the end of her talk with Sam.

“I don't know, someone who can talk like they're not retarded,” he answered the lady rudely and she smiled in understanding when Sam apologized.

“They're not retarded. All of them are perfectly healthy and okay. They're age regressed,” she told Bucky and he rolled his eyes so hard he felt they might never return from the back of his head.

He hated those two words. Age regressed, what the fuck did that even mean?

“Maybe we can meet some of the littles who are not so young, like 6 year olds?” Sam suggested and she nodded, leading them to a building with long corridors and lots of doors.

Bucky could see adult women and men playing with dolls, sleeping with pacifiers and some of them even had other people feeding them.

What the hell was this place? Did they expect him to do that? With a person perfectly capable of handling his or her own self but chooses not to?! Was this the 21st century? Because he didn’t like it very much.

The lady led them inside her office and got a group of files out of some organized drawer. She'd barely laid them out on the table before Bucky was slamming his finger on one.

“We'll take this one,” he said, staring at the lady in disinterest.

“But you haven't even seen them,” Sam said between his teeth, kicking his leg under the table. He wished Bucky cared enough to do this right.

“I've seen enough. I pick this file and I wanna leave,” Bucky seethed back.

“This is Doll. She's one of the softest littles I've ever met and I think you've made a great choice, Mr. Barnes.”

“You call her Doll?”

“Yes, real names aren't revealed for the privacy of our littles unless they decide otherwise and she chose the name herself when she joined us.” The lady smiled kindly, making Bucky even madder.

“Whatever, let's get this over with. Tell her to come so we could leave.”

“Mr. Barnes, I have to admit your attitude towards this is very concerning and I fear I cannot risk the peace of our littles who confide in us to find them safe partners! Like I said she's one of the gentlest and I need to know you're going to treat her right before I even let you meet her!” The woman voiced her concerns and Bucky sighed.

He couldn't blow this now. He's come far enough with this whole process and if he went back to his therapist like that she was definitely going to get out her dreadful notebook.

He had to take this girl home tonight or else they would make him go through this same process over and over again.

“I'm sorry, I'm just a little confused, I guess.” Bucky scratched his beard.

“That's okay.” She smiled again, “most of our visitors are, but you can always ask.”

“Well- what is wrong with them?!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands in the air. Sam kicked him again and glared.

“What? She said I could ask!”

“It's okay,” she told Sam with a chuckle.

“Nothing is wrong with them. Them regressing in age is their way to cope and relieve anxiety or deal with other mental illnesses such as traumatic experiences, or even just stress. It's a freer, calmer state of mind for them to return to when it's no longer easy for them to be big.”

Her calm, kind manner while explaining this made Bucky even angrier inside. This wasn’t normal and they should all stop acting like it was.

“So they're supposed to be helping me with my issues but they're dealing with their own issues?”

Like he originally thought, this was stupid.

“Yes, it's a mutual helping program.” The lady confirmed.

“Oh. And what's this Doll's issue?”

“Doll reverts to age regression as a coping mechanism for her depression and PTSD. She's been doing great lately actually!”

“Is she suddenly gonna go grownup or-?” Bucky continued, involuntarily asking every question on his mind.

“No, like I said, Doll reverts to little space for the comfort and safety of it and while she can coax herself out of her headspace, she rarely ever chooses to.”

“But she can?”

“Yes. But I need to tell you, Mr. Barnes, that this is not why you're here.” She reminded, wanting to ensure the safety of self expression for the little one.

“I know.”

“I also need you to promise me to be a good caregiver for her. She's a sweet girl and I can guarantee she will be good for you.”

“I promise.” Bucky knew he was lying but he couldn’t care less about his honesty at the moment.

“And it’s never acceptable to make fun of her or try to force her into a more grownup headspace. That only makes it worse and her mind regresses further.”

“So what she becomes younger?!” he was trying so hard not to get frustrated, why make him!

“That's correct.” She nodded.

“How young?” Sam asked.

“The youngest she's ever been is 4.”

“Oh.” Great. Just great.

“She can still talk just fine,” she reassured them, knowing Bucky didn't want anyone who couldn't talk or seemed 'retarded'.

“Okay, good.” Bucky nodded, wanting to get out of the place as soon as possible.

“Would you like to meet Doll now or do you wanna take a look at the rest of the files?”

“I'll meet her.” Bucky stood up, hand already at the doorknob.

The meeting thing went relatively well and Bucky was surprised the girl wasn't intimidated by his frown or intense stare. She was mesmerized by the metal arm even.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he still thought this whole thing was dumb but he needed to convince his therapist and everyone that he was okay again so they'd leave him alone.

She didn’t ask him any questions or have any conditions. She just stared at him with wide, sparkly eyes.

A minute later he heard the girl whisper her agreement to the short lady.

Apparently, she was big enough to make the decision to leave with a strange man she didn't know but not enough to properly dress herself or sleep without a damn toy.

Bucky was relieved anyway; glad she was idiotic enough to choose him so he wouldn't have to meet with any other 'littles'. And she wasn't ugly to look at either.

The old lady had a word with her privately before she was packing a bag and they were on their way to Bucky’s place.

“Where do I stay, daddy?”

Bucky hasn’t said a word to her since they’d left the institution. He made her carry her bag from the car to the elevator and from the elevator inside the apartment. He wasn’t going to be nobody’s maid.

She was physically capable and that didn’t need a professional to see it.

“I don’t know, figure it out.” Bucky shrugged, kicking his shoes off by the door and stepping inside.

She followed his lead and neatly placed her shoes at the corner by the door as well.

“Where do you want me to stay, daddy?” she asked politely, wanting to make him comfortable, seeing he was the owner of the house.

He was making her a little nervous.

This wasn’t his energy back at the institution and she tried her best not to get scared.

“I don't want you. I never did,” Bucky told her the minute she sat on his couch, throwing his keys on the wooden coffee table, “We're just gonna pretend your presence here is changing something and then I'm gonna return you.”

I don't want you.

She's definitely heard that before.

Return her. Like she was some sort of item. She wasn't what he wanted and it cracked her trained-to-love heart.

“Yes, daddy,” she replied brokenly, tears threatening to spill over the rims of her eyes.

Nothing was worse than feeling unwanted.

“Don't call me that.” Bucky snapped.

“B-But you're my daddy.” She was seriously confused now. Why would he pick her if he didn’t want this?

“I'm not your anything and stop acting so small, you look grown up enough to me.”

Why did he take her home if he didn’t like her and didn’t want to be her Daddy?

“I'm not acting.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt more insecure than ever.

“Yeah, yeah, you're age regressed. Whatever, just don't call me that. I'm no one's daddy.” Bucky took his shirt off throwing it on the couch beside her, making her flinch.

“But what should I call you if not-”

“Call me Mr. Barnes, if you're so keen on being polite.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She sniffled.

“And stop crying.” He huffed.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly wiped at her face, holding the rest of her tears inside and forcing the lump in her throat further down.

Bucky muttered something under his breath before snatching his shirt and leaving to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as she flinched again.

He didn't say she was a good girl for calling him what he wanted, or for stopping her crying when she was told to. He didn't like her and he wanted to return her.

What was she supposed to do until he sent her back? He didn't want her help even if they said he needed it.

Was it going to be like this for the next 3 months? How was she going to do all of the grown up stuff if Daddy Mr. Barnes didn't help her? How was she going to live? And why did she still care to try her best to be good for the harsh, blue-eyed man?

She didn’t know what to do so she sloppily changed her clothes by herself, putting her socks in the hamper to be washed like a good girl.

She washed her hands and feet by herself, unknowingly making Bucky think he was right all along about letting her do things on her own as she should.

That was until he put a hot cup of instant noodles before her for dinner though. He refused to help her eat and she accidentally spilled hot soup over her hand and the wooden table. It was chaos.

Bucky cursed out loud and she started crying in pain.

He had enough pity on her to drag her to the bathroom and put her hand under the cold water. If his hold on her arm hurt, she didn’t say anything.

“Keep it there, don’t you dare move.”

“Mr. Barnes, don’t leave,” she sniffled, eyes red and in pain.

“I’m not leaving you in the Sahara desert.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “I gotta go clean the mess you made.” He left her in the bathroom and she kept her hand under the water, not daring to move like she was told.

“How hard is it to eat fucking noodles! It’s not quantum physics!”

Bucky muttered angrily as he wiped the soup off the table with a cloth.

“Fuck that age regression shit I am done!” he took their noodle cups to the kitchen and dumped both in the bin.

“What are you still doing in there! It’s not like you got burnt by lava!” Bucky shouted to her, walking to the bathroom.

“I- I- Mr. Barnes, you told me not to move.” She began crying again at his angry demeanor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky groaned, “do you ever stop crying?!”

“I’m s-sorry.” She hiccupped. She didn’t know what to say or how to please him she just wanted him to stop glaring at her. She was scared.

“Get out of there and dry your hands,” Bucky told her, sitting on the couch with a sigh.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” Came her chocked whisper.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked when she came out of the bathroom, tears drying on her cheeks.

The question surprised her. Maybe he did care after all.

“Burns a little,” she told him, pointing to the back of her hand where the skin got burnt.

“I might have a cream here somewhere,” he said, trying his best to keep an unconcerned expression on.

She took a look around when Bucky stood up to look in the kitchen. It was a cozy place and she wasn’t too needy but she couldn’t help but wonder about where she was going to sleep.

There didn’t seem to be enough furniture in here.

“Try not to touch it and you should be fine in the morning,” Bucky instructed after applying the burns cream to the sensitive area of skin.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered before absentmindedly pecking Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s eyes widened at her guts. He certainly didn’t see that coming. It was her first night here how was she so bold!

His breath stuttered out of his lungs but he quickly recomposed himself.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he gave her a dark stare.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“N-No.” She quickly shook her head.

“Did I give you permission to do that?”

“No.” She shook her head again, sort of knowing where this was going. She was going to get punished.

“Then why’d you do it?” Bucky sneered through his teeth.

“To th-thank Mr. Barnes.” He made her so nervous she could barely hear herself answer him.

Bucky hated her. She had no sense of boundaries. He hated the way she cried all the time. He hated the way she referred to him in third person.

He hated her.

“You already said that, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Don’t do it again.” Was all Bucky said and she was relieved.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky scoffed and stood up to put the cream back where he found it.

Turned out, Bucky had no bed. He slept on the floor and he didn’t need one.

“But where do I sleep, Mr. Barnes?” She asked in a small voice.

“Anywhere that is not next to me,” Bucky replied, not even sparing her a glance.

“Can I sleep here?” she asked, patting the couch.

“Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She gave a shy smile.

“I didn’t make the damn couch. Just go to sleep.”

“Bad word again,” she whispered.

“What was that?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” She slammed a hand on her mouth.

“Repeat what you just said if you know what’s good for you.” Bucky glared.

“I- Mr. Barnes said a bad word,” she whispered shakily.

“Yeah, well, it’s my house! I’ll talk however I want!” Bucky raised his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She nodded, not even thinking about arguing that he shouldn’t curse in front of a little.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly plopped on the couch, covering herself with a blanket, and burying her face in a cushion.

Bucky almost chuckled; almost thought it was cute but he shook the smile off his face quickly and sighed, taking his shirt off and getting himself on the hard floor, easily falling asleep.

He always falls asleep so fast because nightmares usually wake him up few hours after; he be waiting for bed time all day.

She peeked from under the blanket when she heard Bucky snore, carefully tiptoeing to her bag to get her stuffie. She took one look at shirtless Bucky, her cheeks heating up, before sliding back under the covers on the couch.

Her Daddy that didn’t like to be called Daddy was beautiful.

It has started again. He’s chasing a person, he corners them to where they could not run anymore, his left hand wraps around their throat, they struggle and beg and then snap. He kills them.

Bucky startled awake, having a hard time taking his breath only to find her on the floor next to him.

Her eyes were full of worry and maybe even sympathy as she clutched a stuffed animal. Bucky didn’t like it.

“It’s okay, Daddy- Mr. Barnes. ‘T was just a bad dream.” She whispered, dropping her stuffie to wrap her short arms around Bucky.

He wouldn’t admit it but it felt nice to be held. Something inside him wanted to succumb to the gentleness of her gesture. But Bucky shut that down at once.

“Get off,” Bucky huffed tiredly as the girl clung to him and rubbed his sweaty back.

“But-”

“Get. Off.” He repeated, grinding his teeth and she reluctantly slipped off his lap and went back to her spot on the floor.

She stared at him as he panted and frowned for a second before leaving the room.

Bucky scoffed, rubbing a hand down his hot face. She probably went to cry in the bathroom again; such a crybaby.

Except she didn’t.

She returned with a relatively cool glass of water, only half full. She didn't want to be bad and spill.

“I got you water, Mr. Barnes.” She carefully got on her knees and offered him the cup.

“Stop saying my name so much.” Bucky snatched the cup out of her hand, gulping down the water without showing an ounce of gratitude.

She pouted, crawling to her bag to get him tissues because she didn’t see any around.

“So you do know how to act around liquids after all.” Bucky taunted, still not over the fact that she spilled soup over his table before taking the tissues from her to wipe his forehead.

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby, Mr. Barnes? It helps me after bad dreams.” She suggested, desperately hoping he would let her help.

“Not all of us act like kids to flee our nightmares.”

“Mr. Barnes.” Her eyes filled with tears and it was the last thing Bucky wanted to deal with, “I’m not acting.”

She was hurt but he didn’t care. He said what he said.

“Get back on the couch, I wanna go to sleep.” Bucky dismissed, pushing the empty glass against the wall.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered dejectedly, taking her friend and crawling back to the couch.

The same thing happened every night for another four nights. At this point she was really worried about the man she started singing lullabies anyway, not waiting for his permission.

“Hey, you!”

“Doll,” she corrected.

“Whatever! Shut up already. I told you I don’t need your stupid singing.” Bucky growled into his pillow.

He was lying. He hated admitting it but he was. Her voice was actually angelic. He never went back to sleep again after a nightmare but that changed when she ignored his wishes and started singing. Bucky could drift off again to her soft voice.

He could get more hours of nightmareless sleep because of her lullabies. But he was too stubborn to admit anything that came from her was working for him.

It must be a coincidence. He probably fell asleep again because he was exhausted from being mad at her all day.

“I know Mr. Barnes doesn’t need it. It’s for me.” She lied as well. She knew lying wasn’t good girl like but she was helping Mr. Barnes; it was for good reason.

“Mr. Barnes,” her small voice called to him but Bucky was ignoring her.

He was pretending he couldn’t hear her and continued staring at the TV because she talked too much for his liking.

“Mr. Barnes.” She ever so lightly touched Bucky’s arm.

“What!” he spit suddenly, making her jump.

“We- We need to go shopping. Mrs. Morrison will visit tomorrow.”

She knew the process and for some reason didn’t want to be taken away from Bucky.

If Mrs. Morrison came and saw the way the apartment was or the way Bucky treated Doll, she was definitely going to make her leave with her.

“What?!”

“It’s day five.” She reminded, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah, so?” Bucky’s body fully turned to face her.

“It’s visit day. We have to go shopping.”

“How do I know you’re not lying just to get me to buy you things?”

“I don’t lie, Mr. Barnes.” She assured him, looking hurt at even the suggestion.

“It’s in the papers,” she told him, referring to the contract he’s signed as well as the guide he was provided with her file before leaving the institution.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but stood up to look at the papers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer in the kitchen a few days ago.

“Shit,” he muttered when he saw she wasn’t lying. He heard her whisper bad word but chose to ignore it.

There were scheduled visits listed with different time intervals between each visit for the next three months.

Bucky groaned, throwing the paper sheet back in the drawer and slamming it shut.

“Put your clothes on, we’re going fucking shopping.”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t even-” she ran to the bathroom to change before Bucky could get angrier.

What has Sam gotten him into?

“Why’s your hair so messy!” Bucky asked, shoving her out of his way to grab a jar of peanut butter and put in the cart.

“I don’t know how to do it on my own an’ Mr. Barnes kept telling me to hurry up.”

Her voice was so small and if Bucky wasn’t so infuriated by the situation he would’ve felt bad for how he spoke to her.

“You’d think you’d actually look decent enough after taking forever to get ready.” Bucky huffed.

She remained silent, looking down and closing in on herself.

“Do you eat this?” Bucky asked, waving a box of corn flakes in front of her.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nodded, throwing the box in the cart.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying my name so much?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barn-” Bucky’s cold stare stopped the word on her tongue.

“Call me Bucky.”

He didn’t want her to call him Bucky. But if that Mrs. Morrison was visiting tomorrow she couldn’t know he made her speak to him formally.

“Bucky?”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Bucky.” She smiled shyly, feeling one step closer to the man.

Bucky didn’t know his life would turn upside down so fast.

He never cared about grocery shopping because he didn’t need that much stuff and he mostly ate at restaurants or diners or bought take out. He mainly just had beer filling his fridge.

But with her tied to him now he was buying all kinds of food: fresh vegetables and fruits, juice boxes, snack bars and way too many Oreos. Not to mention the toiletries he had to pay for because aside from her tooth and hair brushes, she came with nothing.

“Bucky, can we please get this?” she asked, pointing to a stuffed white wolf.

“No, you already have one at home. I see it every night.”

“Please, Bucky, please. Pretty please,” she begged, giving puppy eyes and pressing her palms together even.

“Okay, fine, shut up. God!” Bucky grumpily put the toy in the cart and got them to the nearest cashier before she could pick anything else.

She was so happy and was going to cherish her new stuffie more than ever.

Bucky was pacing back and forth in the living room. He needed to find a way to convince her not to tell Mrs. Morrison or whatever her name was how he treated her.

He didn’t want her to know she had any type of power over him because of the situation.

Bucky definitely wasn’t going to say please, but he also knew he couldn’t scare her into saying what he wanted.

“Bucky, please go to bed. Wolfie can’t sleep.” She whined, hugging her newest stuffie to her heart.

Bucky gave her yet another hard glare. She made him so angry that sometimes he forgot how to function. She was so spoiled and oblivious.

“I won’t say anything to Mrs. Morrison,” she whispered.

“You think I care what you have to say?! They could take you right now for all I care!” Bucky replied angrily.

“I know…” she mumbled, “I don’t want them to.”

Her words left Bucky without a reply. He was confused. She didn’t want to leave? Why not? Bucky hasn’t said one kind word to her since she’s been entrusted to him.

Was she some type of masochist?

“I wanna stay with Bucky. Sing him lullabies and eat noodles with him,” she said, her voice soft and heavy with sleep, before her eyes shut as she drifted off.

Her words put Bucky at ease for now and he got on the floor to finally try to get some sleep. He tried to ignore the way they affected him though.

“Bucky,” she called gently.

“Hmm.”

“I need to shower,” came her timid whisper.

“Do you see me using the bathroom?! Help yourself.” Bucky huffed, stirring the sugar in his mug.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?!” he snapped, throwing the spoon in the sink.

“I need Bucky’s help.” Her face was on fire with embarrassment of having to say this out loud.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky rolled his eyes, pushing his mug aside before grabbing her arm and pushing her to the bathroom.

She whimpered as they stood before the glass door of the shower.

“This, because you’re not stupid you’re just age regressed, opens the hot water.” Bucky pointed to the tap handle on the right. “This opens the cold water. And this-”

“Bucky, that’s not what I need help with.” She shook her head, biting down on her lip.

“What do you want from me then?!” Bucky had no patience and her bashfulness wasn’t helping.

She raised her arms up before whispering, “I need Bucky to gimme a shower.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t start now! You don’t know how to shower?!”

She shook her head, pouting as her eyes got teary again, “not when little.”

“This is bullshit. I didn’t even wanna do this. Damn you, Sam Wilson!” Bucky said, walking out of the bathroom angrily as she trailed behind him like the lost puppy she was.

“Bad word.”

“Stop!” Bucky boomed and she put her hands behind her back timidly.

“Please, Bucky,” she begged, getting hold of his hand.

“No! On my dead body!”

“Stand straight or I swear I’m gonna leave you here and go!”

“Yes, Bucky,” she giggled, the water trickling down her spine tickling her.

“Now what?” he huffed, trying not to stare at her naked chest.

“Now, this.” She held up the bottle of conditioner for him and Bucky sighed before taking it and squeezing some on his hand.

He was about to smooth it down her scalp when she moved away.

“No, no! This goes on the ends or else it gives you dandruff,” She said and Bucky would’ve facepalmed so hard if it wasn’t for the slippery matter covering his palms.

This was going to be long.

She was fast asleep on Bucky’s couch after her shower, so peaceful and without a care in the world.

Bucky envied her as he got in place on the floor. He really wished he had enough flexibility in him to accept help and care from someone.

But no, he didn't need her. He didn't need any of this. He just had to go through tomorrow and the rest will figure itself out.

Yeah, yeah just tomorrow for now, Bucky thought as he drifted off.

part II

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552 notes · View notes

rboooks · 10 months

Note

If you take requests can you do a dc x dp with dead tired ship?

I love requests~! I really hope I got dead tired, ship, right. I need to find out the ship names. It's Tim/Danny, right? If not, let me know, and I'll fix you another one.

Tim really wasn't looking forward to meeting the new heir to Vladco. Usually, his parents didn't want anything to do with new money, as they thought that new money was too close to no money, but Vlad Masters was different.

The difference? He bought out almost all of Drake Industries' shares, and now Tim honestly thinks he owns more of the family company than his parents. Jack and Janet hoped to make good connections with the man and slowly but surely trick him into selling the shares back to the Drakes.

Tim thought if he was smart enough to get the people that bought shares of his family company generations ago, not just once but at least eight times, then Vlad Masters wouldn't be as easy to trick as they thought.

Then again, his parents aren't the best businessmen around. If they were, they wouldn't be flying through the family wealth, leading them to bankruptcy.

Tim would know.

One day, he looked at their books when he was bored a few months after discovering Batman's identity. He tried to tell his mom about it, but she told him that he didn't understand the business well enough to tell.

So he signed himself into college-level business courses online to learn it. She didn't appreciate his initiative.

"Remember, Tim, Daniel Masters is who you must befriend," Janet says for the third time as they climb out of their car. " Friendships are the ladders to climbing up in the world."

"Yes, Mom." He tries to smile at her, but all Tim wants to do is go back to the roofs of Gotham and watch the Bats.

Jason is supposed to start his solo patrols tonight, which is a big deal, and he's missing it. His parents weren't supposed to be back for another month. However, their latest job was canceled due to locals complaining.

His dad grumbled about people getting in the way of history, but Tim thinks it has more to do with his parents wanting to dig up an old cemetery......apparently the locals like their grandparent's resting place to be left alone.

Tim also thinks it's not lovely to dig there just because the locals are poor, so he may have hacked into the country's files and flooded the internet with the disrespectful attempt that his parents were trying to make. It received the right amount of backlash to stop the whole operation.

He then sent the community an anonymous donation so they could fix it up, get the gravestones washed, and the stories of the buried people turned into a book. It's the least he could do.

Tim's parents didn't realize the loss of funds only because he carefully hid his tracks with shell companies.

They are greeted at the door by Vlad Masters. He gives his father a handshake, compliments his mother's dress, and even offers Tim a gentle hello. Masters is known for being a bit of a humble hermit, soft-spoken but with sharp, intelligent eyes.

Everything he expects new money to be, down to his mannerism and even the way he stands. Tim would have been able to clock him miles away without even knowing his name.

"This is my son, Daniel," Masters says, patting the head of a frowning boy Tim's age. He stands just a bit away from Masters as if he does not want to be near him. Tim notes the way he shies away from Master's hand.

Interesting.

"It's Danny." The boy hisses. Mom's face tightens at his manners. She never liked children being heard instead of seen. Danny takes a small breath before smiling at the Drakes with a friendlier composure.

The hostility was only toward his father?

"Please call me Danny. It's my real name, not a nickname," He says, offering his hand for a shake. Tim fights a wince. As the son of a wealthy family and not the head, Danny is not supposed to initiate a greeting with Tim's dad.

He just told the Drakes he needs to be aware of high society rules, making him easy pickings. His parents jump onto that weakness like a lion on a trap gazelle.

"Daniel. It's lovely to meet you. " Mom's articulation is just a shade away from being mocking. Danny's smile falls off his face closing down into a near-emotionless mask. "How old are you, deary?"

"I'm old enough to still hear correctly, unlike you. That's not my name. It's Danny." He says much to mom's surprise. Tim guesses she's not used to people challenging her so directly. He learned that, too, while he was running Gotham.

The elites always made passive-aggressive backhanded comments to insult each other. The poor told you to fuck off to your face.

"You do not speak that way to my wife, Daniel-" His Dad starts, but Danny holds up his hand.

"You either call me Danny or don't talk to me." He says. "I don't need to waste my breath repeating myself."

Wow. Tim thinks, watching the red growing on Dad's face. He's cool.

"Are you going to let him talk to me like that?" Dad demands, turning to an amuse-looking Masters. The other man raises a brow, his gentle smile still on his face, but somehow it looks more....dismissive now. As if he was looking at a child demanding the impossible.

"Why ever do you mean?" Masters asks, "Your tone implies you were insulted, but that would mean you are upset with a child asking to be spoken to with respect. Surely, a man of your standing knows children deserve respect?"

"They need to respect their elders." Mom cuts in her voice like ice.

"He is my son, so I am his elder. Not you." Master counters, "But not to worry, I will remedy this issue. Danny will no longer be speaking to you disrespectfully, as I will not allow him to be near you."

His parents had a few seconds of looking smug until Masters waved his hand back towards the driveway. "Have a lovely night, Mr. and Mrs. Drake."

"Excuse me?" Mom cries, and Tim can't believe his eyes. The rest of the wealthy guests have caught on to the issue and have gathered near the windows and doorway to watch.

"That's Fruitloop for You can leave now." Danny chirps starting to look more like his father by the amusement on his face. "Except for him. He's cool."

He points to Tim, who flushes at the attention. He had been staring at Danny, taking in every detail of his expression and body language, fascinated by the fact he did not once seem intimidated. He didn't even look bored.

He seemed comfortable in his slightly slouched posture and confident in his skin and abilities. But his earlier behavior implied that just as he is confident in himself, he also doesn't think very highly of himself.

Tim's never seen anyone like that. It's strange. New. Exciting.

Heck, it was exhilarating.

Tim wanted to break Danny Masters' head open and figure everything about him out. It felt like a new case just begging him to uncover.

"I am?" He asks in a slight daze, and the other boy offers him a dazzling smile.

"Yeah, you respect the dead. The spirits adore you."

What?

"Oh, this is the young boy who protected that cemetery in Guatemala?" Masters asks with genuine warmth this time. "A fine job, Timithoy."

"It's Tim." He hears himself say, and Masters nods.

"A fine job Tim."

Danny offers him a wink, and Tim thinks his stomach just fell out of his body. What is this-?

"Timothy, we are leaving!" His mother screeches, tugging on his arm and yanking him away. The rest of the guests laugh as the Drakes are driven away. Tim knows he will never be allowed near Danny after this, so he turns his head around to give the boy one last look.

He meets the glowing green eyes of the Masters, who wave their fingers at him.

Tim starts following Danny around after that.

(Danny and Vlad know he's there and think it's cute. That's how ghost courts, so they don't see it as a problem. What is problem is getting along long enough for them to figure out a way back to their home dimension. Danny allowed Vlad to overshadow people just so they could have the means to eat, but he's getting really sick of Gotham. At least the soft clicking sound of a camera lures him to sleep at night.

Tim approaches Robin before his hero can go to Ethiopia. He doesn't understand what he is experiencing as his first crush and concludes that the Masters are aliens planning on luring small children by making them fall under a spell through their glowing eyes. Jason takes this very seriously and agrees to wait on his mission overseas. He realizes early on what's actually happening but, by that point, thinks Tim is hilarious and just edges him on.

He, too, thinks the Masters are aliens, but he's not about to tell Bruce.)

#dc x dp crossover #The Masters are aliens Au #Requested Prompt #Danny Fenton/Tim Drake #Bad parents Jack and Janet Drake #Tim is 13 here #Danny is 14 #Vlad just thinks this all hilarious #Dimension travel #They call DC dead “spirits” and not ghost cause they lack more ecotplsm

1K notes · View notes

mistydeyes · 6 months

Note

Hi,if you’re not busy can you write a fic of Cod characters with a cia agent gf ?

yes ofc! yk i love a good little government agent gf moment :)

a double life

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summary: From hidden occupations to a particular set of skill sets, the 141 learns to adapt to having a girlfriend who has all the right qualifications (and who could completely kick their ass).

pairing: Task Force 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of weapons/violence

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price

"Sorry I can't be there to meet you, Price," Laswell spoke over the web camera feed, "got tied up in South America." Price nodded as he held the bridge of his nose, Laswell had promised her best field agent to act as a point person for their mission in New Zealand. However, just the thought of some middle-aged retired veteran or worse yet, hot-shot rookie, made his headache pound even further. "She's a good one, Price," Laswell reassured, "skilled in practically every major language and the best marks in her physical fitness examination." "Yes Kate, I read her file, but it seems like you failed to include a photo-" He was interrupted by a sturdy knock at the door. "Looks like she's here."

As you cracked the door open, you practically dropped the files that sat in your arms. "What are you doing here?" Price asked jovially and you could feel the breath release from your sternum, "didn't expect an on-base visit like this." As the pieces began to fit together, you realized he didn't know what you were actually there for. "John, Kate sent me here," you whispered as you shut the door gently, "heard you're going to New Zealand." As the realization hit him like an oncoming train, you braced for impact. "You-you work for the CIA?" he asked almost foolishly and you nodded in response. "I did say I worked in Virginia," you corrected, "and you had to know my surprise visit yesterday wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment thing." Price could feel his headache reach a fever pitch as he reviewed your file again. "Then what's with the name?" he asked, "you lie about that too." You let out a laugh as you explained, "People have nicknames and mother's maiden names, John." As you sat back in your chair and crossed your legs, Price wondered what he had done for the universe to gift him you.

soap

Despite your initial reservations, Johnny was quite good at keeping your occupation vague and nonchalant in conversation. You were honest about your work in central intelligence and he took that secret to the grave. Your long-distance relationship was written off as you working in some company in DC and no one batted an eye at your occasional inference at military strategy or surveillance techniques. When you returned home, you would always be sure to show him extra appreciation for his covertness. "Tryna make me patriotic?" he would joke before you would kiss him and stifle his laughs.

However, he loved testing your skill set and seeing if you were as trained of an operative as your file read. "Let's see what they teach you over there, Bonnie," he joked as he lined up his sights at the air gun range. You refrained from kicking him as you stood back to watch him. You almost let out a laugh when you saw his small pellet ricochet just slightly off target. "Hmm and that's why Ghost is your long-range weapons specialist," you teased as he got up and switched positions. You breathed in as you looked down your sights and positioned your rifle towards the farthest target on the range. "You Americans, always so fucking cocky," he muttered under his breath before you quickly shut him up with a quick shot directly into the center of the target. The metal hen spun around widely at your expert marksmanship and you exhaled your held breath. You stood up and tried to size up your tall boyfriend. "Best 2/3?" you offered and you smiled as he kissed your forehead before ushering you out of the way to try again. "Fucking CIA training," he whispered as he got into position again. "You say something, you glorified sergeant?"

gaz

It was 4 am when you arose from the bed and leaned into Kyle, taking in his warmth and seeking refuge from the cold London air. You could always rely on your boyfriend to be your human-sized space heater. As you laid your head across his chest, you could feel him stir lightly. "Time to go already, love?" he asked with his eyes still closed and you muttered in confirmation. You always knew what challenges came with living so far away from the States but you had someone who made it all worth it. He kissed your forehead lightly as you rolled off the bed. You tried to quietly make your way to the bathroom to let him get some more hours of precious sleep but upon your return, it was clear Kyle was more awake than before.

"You sure you don't need me to drive you to the airport?" he offered yet again as you dressed quickly in dress slacks and a blouse. "MI6 is sending a car," you explained as you collected your overnight bag, "just try to get some sleep, my love. I'll text you when I land in Langley." Despite your soft kiss on the cheek, Kyle still pouted as you pulled away. "Don't understand why you can't be a liaison officer for us," he mumbled but you ruffled his hair slightly. "When the position becomes available, I'll be the first application on there," you smiled, doing a final check of your things, "just tell Price to write me a hell of a recommendation letter." With that, you shared another long kiss as you slightly cringed at his morning breath. "I'll be sure to say hi to the cybercrime analysis team for you, hopefully, they'll actually take my advice this time," you laughed before exiting out of your apartment and embracing the cold English air you had grown to love.

ghost

When the question arose of your occupation, you would always smile and defer to being just an "American government worker." However, you always knew Simon had more than just an inkling as to your occupation. When you spoke about military strategy, and combat techniques, or even had various conversations in different languages over the phone, it was clear to him that you were more than just a civilian. The shock didn't even resonate with him when you uttered the words, "Paramilitary Operations Officer," it all seemed to fall into place. He wouldn't bat an eye when it came to long stretches of days that you were in minimal contact with him. "I'll be back," you would reassure as you pulled on a dark hoodie and headed out the door with a bag. Simon would always be there to clean your wounds and ice your bruises.

It was a shock when Simon hadn't heard from you in a month. You had left in the middle of the day in a black Mercedes that disappeared off the English skyline. It was the unfortunate timing that he had been on leave when you left and there had been no word from Price regarding a new mission. Every morning, he would turn over in your king-sized bed expecting to see you smiling back at him. However, the days dragged on without any information meeting his ears. You could practically still picture his terrified face when you turned the key into the door and slammed your bag down. Simon paused upon seeing your blackened eye and wrapped knuckles. The eye bags on your delicate face further added worry to the situation. "Don't ask," you whispered as you fell into his chest, "intel was shit." That was all Simon needed to lift you gently and place you back on the couch. As he held you in his arms with an ice pack to your eye, you slightly pulled away from his touch. "I promised I would come back, didn't I?"

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lesbianloml · 6 months

Text

my babysitter au

the first kiss

types of piece(s): imagine, oneshot, drabble, series

type(s) of writing: smut, angst, fluff, dark (the story will contain all of the above)

pairing(s): milf!dom!dark!wanda maximoff x innocent!sub!immune!witch!fem!reader

warning(s): legal age gap (wanda is 33, reader is 21), obsessive wanda, sorta pervy wanda, maybe?, nothing mostly fluff and plot shit

summary: wanda met you for the first time three days ago. when she runs into you again at the bake sale at the elementary school, she is thrilled. but wanda is overjoyed when the two of you make a deal that will let her see you everyday.

a/n: I know I've been gone FOREVER but I'm back with part 2 of this series. I hope you guys like it, and if you have any ideas or requests, let me know!

you groan as you lean over and press snooze on your alarm. 5am is way too early to wake up, but you need to finish baking and packaging all the treats for the bake sale this afternoon. you sigh, before climbing out of bed and beginning your morning routine. you shower, put on a cute brown mini dress before heading to the café. you sigh as you look around the empty shop, before pulling on an apron and starting your work.

*hours later*

you startle awake at the sound of your phone ringing. you gasp as you check the time. its 3:30pm, the bake sale starts in 30 minutes, and you haven't even begun to load everything up and set up your table. you check the caller id. dottie. you sigh heavily before answering the call. "hello?" you ask, your voice sugary sweet. "y/n y/l/n! where in the world are you? you were supposed to be here an hour ago to help set up! you're 21 years old, you should be more responsible than this!" as dottie rambles on and on, you sigh. "dottie? give me 5 minutes, I'm on my way." you hang up, ignoring her protests as you quickly load your car with the wrapped treats from the bakery, all made by you.

you speed down the road, and quickly turn into the almost full school parking lot. you scramble out of your car and as you close your door, you turn to be face to face with wanda. "wanda! you scared me!" wanda smiles at your expression. "sorry, detka. you're here for the bake sale right?" wanda asks, looking at you with a look you're unable to read. "yup thats what im here for." wanda turns quickly as two boys come speeding around the parking lot. "billy, tommy! come here. I have someone i want you to meet." you gasp as the boys come speeding past you, a silver blue blur before coming to a halt in front of you.

"y/n, this is billy and tommy. billy and tommy, this is y/n." you smile, looking at them both kindly. "which one of you is super speedy?" you ask. "I am!" tommy pronounces proudly. "would you two like to help me set up my booth?" "we would love to, y/n!" billy says. strangely formal for a 10 year old, but you don't question it. for the next 15 minutes, you spend with the boys, laughing and giggling at tommy's antics as they help you set up your booth. it gets done much quicker with the maximoff's help then it's would've if you had done it alone.

you smile at the sight of your booth, ready just in time as all the parents and children begin filing in. "as a thank you for your help, you three get first pick of the treats." you say, gesturing to the variety of sweet treats you have set out on your table. tommy immediately goes for a huge triple chocolate cookie. you laugh, sharing a shy glance with wanda. billy walks slowly over to the table, and carefully surveys his options before choosing a cupcake with sprinkles. wanda walks over to the table after the boys scatter to go say hi to their friends. wanda grabs a cinnamon pastry and pops it in her mouth. her eyes brighten as she chews slowly. "did you make all of this on your own, y/n?" you smile sheepishly. "yes, i did. do you like it?" you ask, subtly asking for her approval. as wanda finishes chewing, she lets out a soft moan of satisfaction. a faint blush coats your cheeks at the noise, your eyes drifting to places they shouldn't.

"y/n? did you hear me?" wanda asks sweetly. people are beginning to drift over to your booth, the wonderful delectable smells drawing them. "sorry wanda. what was that?" you turn your attention to her for a moment before beginning to serve the customers in front of you. "i would just like to speak to you after the bake sale, ok darling?" dottie approaches the table, eyes on wanda to drag her off somewhere. "of course wanda! ill meet you in a little while" you say, flashing her a sweet smile. you continue serving the lengthy growing line in front of you, your attention drifting back to where it needs to be.

wanda's jaw drops as she sees you in your car speeding around the corner. wanda walks swiftly over to your car, standing behind your car door. "wanda! you scared me!" wanda smiles at your face expression. just you saying her name in your pretty little voice, it slipping out your plump lips. it makes her want to bend you over right here and make you scream it. "sorry, detka. you're here for the bake sale aren't you?" she mentally curses herself. what a stupid question, of course that's what you're here for. she feels like an idiot, but you don't even seem to notice. "yup, that's what i'm here for!" wanda hears tommy and billy giggling, and she wants you to meet her sons more than anything in that moment. if her plan works, soon you and her sons were going to be well acquainted.

"billy, tommy! come here, i have someone i want you to meet." wanda smiles when you gasp as the boys come speeding past you in a silver blue blur. "y/n, this is billy and tommy. billy and tommy, this is y/n." wanda watches as you smile widely, then give them a teasing look. "which one of you is super speedy?" you ask. "i am!" tommy pronounces proudly. "would you two like to help me set up my booth?" "we would love to, y/n!" billy says. wanda chuckles softly at billy. so formal, so sweet. for the next 15 minutes, wanda and her boys spend time with you, laughing and giggling together at tommy's antics as they help you set up your booth. wanda is thrilled at how well you, billy, and tommy are getting along. you guys almost seem best friends already.

wanda watches you smile at the booth setup, happy that you like it. "as a thank you for your help, you three get first pick of the treats." wanda's smile widens as tommy immediately goes for the huge triple chocolate cookie. he's so predictable. you laugh, and wanda shares a glance with you. you're so shy, so beautiful it makes her want to scream. billy walks slowly over to the table, and carefully surveys his options before choosing a cupcake with sprinkles. utterly predictable. wanda walks over to the table after the boys scatter to go say hi to their friends. wanda grabs a cinnamon pastry and pops it in her mouth. her eyes brighten as she chews slowly. it is incredible. she's almost shocked. "did you make all of this on your own, y/n?" wanda asks, her voice filled with wonder. you smile sheepishly. "yes, i did. do you like it?" you ask, subtly asking for her approval.

how cute. wanda knew you would be the perfect wife for her. as wanda finishes chewing, she lets out a soft moan of satisfaction. she knows what she's doing as a faint blush coats your cheeks at the noise. she watches your eyes drift to the places she wants them to be glued to the most. "can i talk to you after the bake sale?" wanda asks, but notices your attention trailing. "y/n? did you hear me?" wanda asks sweetly. people are beginning to drift over to your booth, the wonderful delectable smells drawing them. "sorry wanda. what was that?" your attention is on her for a moment before you begin to serve the customers in front of you. you're so sweet. wanda thinks so many dirty thoughts about you, that she wants to say to you now. she restrains herself, not wanting to scare you away. "i would just like to speak to you after the bake sale, ok darling?" wanda almost lets out a groan of dread when dottie approaches the table, her predatory gaze fixed. "of course wanda! ill meet you in a little while!" as dottie drags wanda away, wanda's gaze is fixed on you the entire time, hearts in her eyes.

after the bake sale, you and wanda meet up in the parking lot. the boys are konked out in the back of wanda's suv, their sugar high short lived. "what did you want to talk about wanda?" you ask, shivering as the fall chill falls over you. wanda immediately removes her jacket, offering it to you. "here detka. wouldn't want you to be chilly." wanda waits for you to slip it on before speaking again. "i wanted to offer you a job. i've found a job downtown, and I was just wondering if you'd like to start babysitting billy and tommy during the week or whenever I need it. my job requires a lot of travel. and of course, I would pay you double what you make right now at the café.." wanda rambles, but her breath catches as you lay a sweet hand on her arm. "oh wanda, I would love to! I already feel so close with billy and tommy, like I've known them for years. maybe we could meet up sometime over coffee and talk some more? i'm sure you're eager to head home." you say, nodding to the boys sleeping in the back of wanda's car.

wanda nods. "of course. that would be perfect, sweetheart. here, ill put my number in your phone. ill text you, okay?" you smile, handing wanda your phone. wanda enters her number, and hands your phone back to you. you stand there for a moment, your thoughts conflicting. you make up your mind, and quickly lay a light kiss on wanda's cheek before walking to your car. you will never know how that single kiss rocked wanda's world, and how it would soon lead to yours being turned upside down.

remember, asks and requests are open! i love to hear from you guys! <3

#dark wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #dark wanda smut #dom!wanda #top!wanda #mommy wanda smut #wanda smut #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #scarlet witch smut #scarlet witch #wanda maximommy #wandavision #wanda x reader #wandanat #wanda marvel #wanda maximov

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oval3000 · 5 months

Text

Chapter 5

Yandere Teacher Nanami x Student Reader

Warning: Abuse, (force) smut. Abduction, violence, rough play, toxic behavior, age gap, everything from all above. Mainly from his point of view...somewhat... modern au- ish idk. College teacher x student.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

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

"Mr. Nanami?" A man in a suit knocked on his classroom door. Nanami was grading some paperwork before his next class. He turned to the side and saw the man alongside some police officers." I hope we're not interrupting you? I'm detective Aki, this is officer Yamada and officer Fujikawa. We want to ask questions about one of your students, (Y/N)."

"Sir." Nanami stood as the man and two police officers entered, closing the door. Nanami knew this day would come. How could he not know? "Of course. Miss (Y/n) hasn't attended my classes for the past month.

"That's why we're here. Her friend had filed a missing person's report on her and we just want to know if you may know anything regarding her disappearance." The detective said.

"The last time I saw her, was when she was sitting on one of the campus benches. I asked her if everything was alright and she told me she was waiting for her ride." He explained. " She seemed a little down and mentioned something about an ex-boyfriend. I've dealt with many of my students who were dealing with hard breakups so I didn't think too much of it."

"Ex-boyfriend?" The detective said.

"Yes. I don't know his name it was never said, but she did mention an ex-boyfriend and by the look of it, it's not something she seemed happy about." Nanami looked at the detective as he jotted down what he was saying.

"Was she acting strange while attending your classes before her disappearance? Did she seem a little down?" Aki asked.

"No. She was a normal student. In fact, she was my best student. Although she had trouble with one assignment, she would stay after her classes for help. Other than that, she was fine. However, I am a teacher with many students, so I might've not pay too much attention to her because of the others, who might be in the same position as her. College is college. Nothing changes." Nanami fixed his glasses and sighed. "Her family must be worried sick if she hasn't shown up." Nanami asked, almost looking a bit sad.

Aki raised his eyebrow. "Have you noticed her disappearance?"

"I did at first. She never missed a class ever. Then again. I have many students who don't bother showing up for months."

"Why is that?" He asked.

"They want to give up. Math is too hard. Struggling with mental illness. I've been working here for ten years, I've seen at all." Nanami sighed, looking down at his papers. "Sadly, no matter what I do, I can't always fix their problems when it's out of my reach. I should've asked Miss. (Y/N), about what was bothering her that day. That was my mistake."

Aki looked at Nanami, who still kept a normal composer. "So her disappearance wasn't too strange for you?"

"Like I said, at first it did. Then again, it's not the first time a student stopped showing up here. I guess I was wrong about that." Nanami raised his eyebrows. "Has anyone seen her since then?" He asked so concerned.

"No, we're working on a timeline on who might've. So far, you're the last person who has seen her. However, no one mentioned an ex-boyfriend before." Aki tapped his little notepad with his pen.

"Oh. it makes sense now." Nanami scratched his head.

"What makes sense?" Aki questioned.

"When she mentioned the ex-boyfriend, it went like this." He hummed, " 'My ex-boyfriend is a jerk who only thinks about himself. We were hardly boyfriend and girlfriend since we dated for three months.' It was confusing to me. I don't know what these young adults think now about relationships; now there is a thing called situationship' or whatever it's called. Every day, I hear students talk about their 'situationship'—are they boyfriend and girlfriend? I don't know what kids are up to these days." He explained. "I was puzzled because, aren't boyfriend and girlfriend, boyfriend and girlfriend? Now, I realize, it must've been one of those situations where you're just with a guy, just cause, with no title. Now it makes sense why it's called situationship'. Either way, it can still break someone's heart. Maybe that's why no one mentioned him; it didn't seem like what they saw was a relationship. Nonetheless, for Miss (Y/n), it must've been more than that, but it was overlooked."

"Did she mention anything about this ex-boyfriend or lover she had?" The detective asked, jotting down as much information as he got.

"No. She was on her phone during the little conversation we had so it was cut short. I swear those kids are always on their phones like they're addicted to them." Nanami picked up his papers and hit them on the desk countertop to straighten them in place. He checked his watch and saw the time. "My next class is about to start. Is there anything I can help with?"

The detective closed his notepad, "No that'll be all for today. Thank you, Mr. Nanami." He shook his hand and headed his way out alongside the two officers.

"Oh! Please tell (Y/N)'s family my condolences. She's one of my students here. Hope she's found soon." Nanami said.

The detective gave him a sympathetic smile, "Sadly, her parents died recently, in a car accident. I'll tell her friend though, she's worried sick about her."

Nanami went back to teaching his class. He went on to be a normal regular teacher. He saw the detective and two officers roaming around, talking to other students and teachers. He kept his usual face and went on with his day. He would hear his colleagues about you, how they're saddened that you just vanished.

Some came up and spoke to Nanami since you were in his class, and he gave them the same type of response he gave to Detective Aki. When he got into his car, he drove off.

He went on to run some errands really quickly and got some snacks and a beverage. He went and decided to stop by a public library and started to use the public computers and continued to do some paperwork and make new homework and test assignments.

He looked at the time got up from his chair, logged off, and walked away from the library building. He got back in his car and drove off to a food place.

He ordered a meal for himself and ate in his car while grading more of his paperwork. When the sun was completely gone, he went to a copy, and fax machine place that was open 24 hours and started to make multiple copies before heading his way home near midnight.

He did this routine for 3 weeks. 3 whole weeks. 3 torture weeks for him.

The day he saw a man getting arrested on the college campus with Detective Aki and the two officers, his 3 whole weeks ended.

He got out of work, he went on to the library, and used the computer for some time. He went to an electronic store and bought himself a new computer. He got into his car and drove home.

He opened the door that was inside the garage and placed the store bag on the kitchen counter.

He walked upstairs and opened the bedroom door. "Sorry, I'm late. Work has been chaotic." He stared at you with your eyes glossy and the rag on your mouth. Your hands were still tied up to the headboard. He went towards and touched the rag and pulled it out. " Sorry about this, sweetheart. It was just a precaution. On the good news, they arrested that ex-boyfriend of yours. It wasn't good for him when they saw all the texts he had 'sent' you. Too bad they found your phone on his property."

"P-please...don't hurt me...Please don't hurt me." You cried to him.

He grabbed your cheeks with his hand, "Who's your best friend?" When you didn't answer him, he grabbed onto you harder, "Answer me!"

"E-Emi." You told him.

"Well, that Emi bitch made those 3 weeks a living fucking hell for me and I'm not too happy about that, sweetheart." He sighed and let you go. "At first I thought your family was gonna be in my way, but it turns out is Emi. Tell me, what should I do?"

You shook your head.

"You're right. It'll be too suspicious." He got on the bed and laid next to you. "I'm just happy to be with you." He slid his hand down to your body and stopped once it reached your stomach. "It must've been lonely here for you. Tell me something else, do you want some company while I'm gone?"

You felt your body shiver with his touch and talk. "N-no."

"No? You're fine here without me? Because if you ever feel alone, I can change that." He rubbed your stomach.

"I'm fine. I-I'm okay." You pulled your knees up to your chest feeling chills going through your body.

"I love you, I hope you know that." He said, smiling at you. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your body. "I'm doing this all for you."

He kissed your cheek, "This is all for love."

SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Sorry for the long wait! R.I.P to Nanami 😩)

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hihomeghere · 6 months

Text

Unspoken thing | Five Hargreeves / Reader

Word count : 1.7k Summary : Part 2 of One Bed, after that fateful night in the hotel room. Five has been avoiding you and now you're called into the Handler's office to take responsibility for the delay in exterminating the target. After a minor injury caused by the Handler, Five patches you up. You can no longer take the tension of the unspoken thing between the two of you. ( I do not own The Umbrella Academy or any of it's characters) Warnings / Tags : Allusions to smut, cursing, mentions of blood and surgery equipment, tension, use of y/n, Aged up!Five. Not requested. Part one here

“Impressive work, Y/n.” The handler said with a sickly sweet tone. She flipped through your completed files. You watched as she licked her finger before turning a page. You swallowed, fighting the urge to cower before her. “I see here that you suffered from a headache during your mission, is that correct?” She asked, cocking her head in false concern. It wasn’t just a headache.

“Yes.” You answered, not daring to say anything more. Anything you said could and most likely would be held against you. She read the paper, her eyes flying from left to right.

“Hmm, yes it seems that this delayed your extermination of the target?” She phrased the statement as more of a question. Treating you as a child instead of an employee. She clicked her tongue leaning forward, clasping her hands. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“No.” You tried to keep your voice steady, with no discernible tone. She raised her eyebrows, her fake smile falling.

What delayed the job was unforeseen circumstances, Five was looking for you instead of the target. You had split up, and he couldn’t find his way back to you. Which had then led to a very interesting night in a hotel room.

You should have known that you would get called in for this instead of Five. Even though it had been both of your responsibilities to eliminate the target. But Five was one of the handlers favorites.

“Hm.” She hummed, clicking her tongue, “You know Y/n if you let any of our trained scientists here poke around in that little brain of yours. We could figure out why you’re getting those headaches.” She pointed to your head with a well manicured red nail. You froze, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. You were transported back to that lab. The sounds of drilling, cold sterile instruments, the excruciating pain. Your screams echoing off the walls. The scientists with bloody gloves and masks.

“No. No one is going to ‘poke’ around anywhere.” You said quickly, shaking your head, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. The handler smiled, pleased by your reaction. You sighed looking down at your lap. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8.

“Well, the offer remains if you change your mind.” She said standing up, you stood up as well. Glad this interrogation was over. “Although if you wish to stay Number Five’s partner, you’ll need to start pushing through your headaches to complete the mission.” She said false encouragement in her voice. Her hand gripped your shoulder as she led you out of her office, her sharp nails digging into your skin. You winced, pulling away from her. She cocked her head as though she was surprised by your reaction.

“You won’t have to worry about finding him a new partner.” You said through gritted teeth, “We’ll manage just fine.” You turned on your heel, striding towards the stairs. Once you were sure you were out of her view you let out a shaky breath. In for 4, hold for 7- Tears started to prick your eyes. You took in a shuddery breath, your hand coming to your heart. You rushed down the stairs, a stabilizing hand on the railing. Your other hand moved from your heart to cover your shoulder. You started breathing rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears. You turned down an empty hallway, leaning up against the wall. A cool hand wrapped around your wrist, Five blinked you both into his office. You would never get used to that, like someone was injecting ice into your veins.

He led you to one of his office chairs, the same one you had sat in when you first met him. He squatted in front of you, inspecting you for any injuries. His cold fingertips landed on your shoulder, he stopped, his eyes meeting yours.

“Who did this to you?” He asked his jaw clenching, you lowered your gaze. He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was deadly, calculated, ready to strike whoever did this to you.

“The handler.” You whispered, biting your lip. Five clicked his tongue, a scowl on his face.

“Of course, I assume this after the mission debrief?” He stood up walking around to the other side of his desk, rifling through his drawers.

“Yes, Five it’s fine-” You said, picking at the skin on your hands.

“Fine? That bitch dug her claws into you.” He scoffed, shaking his head behind his desk. He stalked around his desk to kneel in front of you again. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his forearms bare except for the umbrella tattoo. Part of you wanted to trace the veins on his arms, to touch him in any way. You thought that being with him physically would have scratched the itch, instead it only fed the fire inside you. You missed his touch, most of all you missed him. You could count on your hands the number of words he had said to you since that night. He opened up his first aid kit, pulling out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He carefully poured a small bit onto a cotton ball gently dabbing it against the bleeding crescent marks in your shoulder. You flinched but prided yourself on keeping quiet as he pressed the cotton ball onto the wound. You felt the prick of new tears in your eyes, you raised your gaze to the ceiling. Your vision clouding with unshed tears, you sniffled as quietly as you could. Although every sound seemed amplified in the tiny office.

You watched Five work, this wasn’t some gaping wound he had to patch up by himself. It was a scratch, but you could tell he had a system, doing this many times before. His jaw was set with an unreadable expression. He moved like a machine, programmed only to do this task. He opened up a bandaid, covering the wound on your shoulder.

“Done.” He said, rising to his feet.

“Thank you.” You said slowly getting to your feet. He walked back to his desk, opening the drawer and setting the first aid kit back in its normal spot. Now to leave, he had only done his duty as your partner. Nothing more. He had made it clear he didn’t love you, and made it clear that you were only partners. You were ready to go home, curl up in your bed with a good book. You walked to the door, your hand settling on the door knob.

“Leaving so soon?” He questioned, you looked back at him. He was pulling out a bottle of scotch, two glasses balanced in his hands.

“What?” You asked, your brows pinching together.

“Can I not ask my partner to share a nightcap?” He asked, recoiling, a teasing smile tugging on his lips. Your heart thumped in your ears, you longed to be close to him again. Longed to be back in his corner where you belonged.

But he wasn’t yours.

“No.” You bit your cheek, avoiding his gaze as you looked away from him. Unspoken things always seemed so romantic, full of tension, the will-they-won't-they of it all. It didn’t feel romantic right now, full of tension yes. This tension that made you want to tear your skin off, instead of your clothes.

“No?” He raised his brows, setting down the glasses on this desk before loosening his tie.

“Is that what I am to you? Just your partner?” The words slipped out before you could think to bite your tongue. You clench your fists, grounding yourself with the dull pain in your palms. He scoffed, pouring the golden liquid into his glass.

“You should know what you mean to me.” He turned his eyebrows pinched together, “I’m not some womanizer.” He knocked back the glass, hissing as the alcohol ran down his throat. Your face burned, shame creeping up your neck.

“Well I don’t know, so what am I to you?” You asked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, he hung his head bracing himself on his desk.

“Fine.” He said standing to his full height, “You want to know what you are to me?” his lip twitched as he waited for your response. You nodded, crossing your arms. “You’re my everything.” It was like someone had dumped a bucket of water over you. He walked around the desk, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights. He stalked towards you, “I can’t think when you’re around- you-” he huffed clenching and unclenching his fists. “You drive me crazy.” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours.

“I-” You began when the door opened, pushing you forward into Five’s arms.

“Oh! So sorry Y/n!” Herb squeaked, pulling the case file close to his chest. You looked up, directly into Five’s face. His jaw was clenched, his stern gaze turned on Herb now.

“No worries.” You breathed, holding onto Five’s arms for balance as you got back on your feet. Once you were able to support yourself again, Five reached out and snatched the file from Herb’s hands. He began to thumb through it, “You’ll be leaving immediately.” Herb clasped his hands together, “Handler’s orders.” You internally groaned, what a fucking cock block.

“Thank you Herb.” You said walking up beside Five, “We’ll take it from here.” You said with a reassuring smile. He nodded before closing the door behind him. Once Herb had walked down the hallway you put your hand on Five’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes full of emotion. “Let’s get the job done, and once we are back we can pick up where we left off.” You smiled softly, moving to stand in front of him. You reached up and straightened his tie, he relaxed under your touch.

“Alright, tesoro.” He smiled, the corner of his lip pulling up. You pulled him forward by his tie, softly kissing his cheek. You’d have to thank the Handler for her hand in all of this, maybe an edible arrangement? You chuckled to yourself as you walked toward the briefcase department, Five’s hand resting on your lower back.

#the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #alison hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreaves x reader #number five #the handler #hihomeghere

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rainobrienn · 1 year

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How do you feel? - Sam Winchester ;)

Pairings; Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: smutty smut smut, Public sex?, not proof read, p in v, oral (f receives), pet name? (Princess), hand kink?

Word count; 3k

Season 2 x Episode 6 setting

Summary ; you have been in love with Sam for awhile now, you try to avoid him but that just makes it harder.

"Your not working it, that's final!" Ellen shouted at her daughter, you standing next to Dean & Sam awkwardly waiting for them to noticed you guys had walked in.

Some random tourists walking in, "Howdy, are you guys open?" The dad asks, "No!" "Yes!" Jo and her mother both say in sink. They also stand there awkwardly for a moment before leaving.

"Now just put that away!" Ellen says, "no I want to know what they think about it," Jo says holding a folder, before Ellen's mother could do anything the phone started ringing, and Ellen scoffed going to the phone.

"Three weeks ago a young girls disappears from a Philadelphia apartment," Jo walks up to Dean shoving the folder at him.

"Take it, it won't bite," she says, "No but your mom might," Dean says not looking down to the folder, but she stays holding out the folder to him giving him a needy look for him to take it from her.

He rolls his eyes and takes the thing, opening it and up and looking through the pages.

"And this girl wasn't the first. Over the past eighty years six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or-,"

"Who put this together, Ash?" You ask stepping forward to look at it, "I did," she says, Dean hums in an impressed tone, looking through the sources of information.

"I gotta admit, We hit the road for a lot less," Sam says also looking at it, You nod agreeing with him.

"Good. You like the case so much, you take it," Ellen says stepping forward, "Mom!" Jo says in an annoyed tone. "Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough. And I won't lose you too. I just won't," she says in a stern yet, concerned tone.

You left with the two boys, heading to the location of the apartment. You have been hunting with Sam and Dean ever since they ran into you when they went back to Lawrence, finding out that the demon they were hunting took your mother after your brother was born. And of course you wanted in on it.

You were always close with Sam & Dean, Although Sam is your age group, Dean and you connected more as friends, and he became one of your closest. Until he suddenly ghosted you, not wanting anyone but his dad in his life I guess. And, well the reason you and Sam split apart was because you kind to ghosted him, after finding out your feelings for him you were scared, way to scared to admit them to him for no reason, so you stopped talking to him completely, but now, that's in the past, not the feelings part, the ghosting part.

As you all walked into the apartment Sam said "I feel kind of bad, snaking Jo's case,"

"Yeah, maybe she put together a good file. But could you see her out here working one of these things? I don't think so," he says holding the EMF reading around the apartment.

"Yeah, It would be way to dangerous for her to work a case just yet," You also holding the EMF reader around the room.

"Anything?" You then ask the two boys, both of them shaking there heads and responding with a No. before Sam runs his over the light switch and it purrs.

You and Dean both turn your heads to look at him, walking over to see what was there. "What is that?" Sam asks, "What?" You and Dean question at the same time asking Sam what he's seeing, watching as he pokes at a black goo that was on the light switch.

"Holy crap!" Sam says, Dean moves you over to touch it himself, "That's ectoplasm. Well, Sam, I think I know what we're dealing with here. It's the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man," you laugh a little at his humour, why did his stupid humour always get you?

Sam rolls his eyes, leaning back up straight, "Dean, I've only seen this stuff, like, twice. I mean, to make this stuff you have to be one majorly pissed off spirit," he says in a serious tone, almost worried.

"All right, let's find this badass before he snags any more girls," Dean say, you all exit the apartment, walking down the halls.

As you were about to turn a corner you hear voices, all three of you back up against a wall, knowing you could be seen but thinking you couldn't be.

You watch Deans expressions frown as he hears familiarity in the voice that was around the corner; and so did you. Jo?

"It's so convenient," she smiles next to what looked like a landlord, "Yeah, it's a great building, fixed it up real nice. All the apartments come furnished, too," he says advertising his building.

"It is so spacious. You know, my friend told me I absolutely have to come check it out, and I have to admit, she was right. You did a really good job with this place," she acts like the happiest person in the world.

Dean steps out from behind the small wall we were behind, "What the hell are you doing here?" He asks stepping close to the girl, but instead of a shocked reaction she smiled wider, "There you are, honey," she smiled, wrapping her arm around his waist. You and Sam exchanging weird looks.

"This is my boyfriend Dean, and his Brother Sam, and Sam's girlfriend Y/n," she smiled, you immediately feel a heat come to your cheeks, and your heart skip a beat at the words.

The landlord looks at the both of you, slightly furrowing his eyebrows. Before Sam grabbed you by the waist pulling you in closer to make you guys seem like a couple, playing it off as cool as you could you just smiled leaning into him, his scent intoxicated you, and you knew your face was bright red.

"Good to meetcha. Quite a gal you've got here," he then says to Dean, a smile on his face shaking Deans hand.

But all you could think about was Sam's hand on your waist, and how you wanted both of his hands all over you. Doing things you never thought you would do.

You watched as Dean talked to the landlord, but you really couldn't pay attention. Sam's hand kept moving up and down your waist, like he was trying to tease you or something.

You felt so vulnerable, and your emotions were so overpowering you right now. You tried to calm your breath down, you slowly brought yourself back to reality just in time, watching as Jo handing the Landlord a stack of cash saying that you guys would take it.

You felt Sam's hand leave your waist, and you already missed it. But you brushed your hand through your hair to try and get some sense into you before following the others into the apartment you were just in.

You sat on the chair as quiet as you could be, honestly to scared to talk. Your feelings for Sam have been dormant lately, mainly because you haven't touched him, or been to close with him for a month now, but that was so close, too close for your liking.

You stood up as they talked, heading to your bag to chug the bottle of water you had in there. Trying to distract yourself from the thoughts of Sam, and the things you wanted him to do to you, the places you want his hands to touch.

"This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago," you heard Jo speak. You leaned on the wall looking over to all of them, not even glancing at Sam.

"Yeah? What was here before 1924," Dean asks, pacing from side to side of the room. "Nothing. Empty field," Jo says shaking her head.

"So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell," Sam says.

"I already checked. In the past eighty two years, zero violent deaths. Unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor," she says fiddling with a knife.

"will you sit down?" No turns to Dean, he gives her a dirty look before sitting down. "So, have you checked police reports, county death records?" He asks.

"Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources. I know what I'm doing," she says, offended of how stupid he thinks she is.

"I think the jury's still out on that one. Could you put the knife down?" Dean asks, she rolls her eyes but does as asked. You could feel some sort of tension between the two of them, you couldn't tell if it was sexual or not, but there was something.

"Okay! So, uh, it's something else, then. Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it," you then say stepping in, "Well, we've got to scan the whole building. Everywhere we can get to, right," Jo then says.

"Right. So. You and me, we'll take the top two floors. Summer and Sam on the two bottom," Dean states, for fuck sake, you think to yourself, "We'd move faster if we split up," she states, "this isn't negotiable."

You walk with Sam down to the first floor, EMF in hand scanning down the walls. Keeping your distance from the tall brunette boy, who you were constantly thinking about in these moments.

"What do you think it is?" He asks, waving his EMF around. "Honestly, have no idea," you shake your head, "Yeah, me neither," he says with a sigh.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks a few seconds later, you turn to him with furrowed eyebrows, a confused expression on your face. "it's just, your never usually this quiet," he says, "oh," you say, that's all you said.

"Oh? Is there something wrong," he then asks stopping, you turn back to look at him. why does everything he do have to look so perfect you thought, "No," you say, god you were not being a good actress right now.

"You know I don't believe that for a second right," he says, you don't say anything to that, you just turn around and continue to scan, god get yourself together, he had his hand your waist for a minute and now all of sudden your back to your 15 year old self, obsessed and in love with the guy.

"You getting anything?" You then ask after a few seconds of silence, "Nope," he said with a sigh, "Should we go find Dean?" You asks, "Not before you tell me what's up," he said, you just look at him blankly with that comment.

"Seriously y/n," he says in such a soft, and sweet voice. You felt your heart begin to race as fast as it possibly could as he stepped closer, he was looking at you like you were going to break or something, and you couldn't handle it.

You weren't thinking, actually all you were doing was thinking, about Sam and his lips, his hands. You didn't even realise until it was to late that you were kissing him, you quickly pulled away shocked at yourself, anxiety washing over you immediately.

"Fuck," was what you said standing there like a complete idiot, "Wha-" he seemed so shocked, and speechless. You were waiting for a sympathetic rejection, but instead you got "why'd you do that?" And not in a grossed out tone, seemed like he was genuinely asking.

"I- I uhm," you said just staring at him, not knowing what to say. "Y/n?" He questioned, he seemed concerned, your feelings for him got stronger by the second, and suddenly you really couldn't hold them in any longer.

"God Sam, I've loved you since we were fifteen," you sighed, like the biggest boulder just rolled off your shoulder.

"And I can't get you out of my mind, especially when your so close, or when you touch me, god Sam, it's so annoying and," you sigh, "embarrassing," you then say realising what you had just admitted, knowing things would never ever go back to how they were.

"Embarrassing? How is it embarrassing?” He asks stepping towards you, you look up to him. He looked happy, “I- because you don’t feel the same,” you state.

“How do you know how I feel when you’ve never even asked?” He asks you, you think about it for a second and he was right.

“How do you feel then?” You asked, a little bit nervous to ask but proceeding with it anyway. He stepped closer so he was looking right down on you, “I’ll show you,” he says, his hand cupping your cheek, god his hands were so big, his lips fell onto yours, and you immediately kissed back with out a second thought.

You felt yourself being pushed up against the wall, one of Sam’s hand running under your thigh and lifting it up. Your cores rubbing against each other, made your head spin.

“Sam,” you pant out, as your eye caught the sight of a small room, he looked behind to see it as well, before turning and smiling at you, picking you up and carrying you into the room, it was a small storage closet, but neither of you cared one bit.

Sam slammed you up against the door to close it, kissing your lips with everything he had. His hands roamed around your body, touching you in all the places you need at the time, like he could read your mind.

You felt his fingers dig under your shirt, slowly lifting it up and over your head, then reaching around your back to unclasp your bra, which he did do after a few times, but the heat of the moment was just so aggressive.

His hands and lips were all you could think about, your own hands were running through his hair, as you legs were wrapped around his waist, his weight leaning on you enough to keep you up against the door.

“Sammy,” you called out in a hushed tone, “hmm?” He hummed as his lips kissed across your neck, leaving spots and marks wherever he could.

“I need you,” you managed to get out in a stutter, “hmm,” he hummed, “where?” He then added to that, “You know damn well where Sammy,” you then snapped, “hmm I’m gonna need words princess,” he said, princess? Oh god, you might as well just die.

“Down there Sammy, please, do anything,” you begged him, he smiled moving slightly back so your legs would fall from his waist, planting yourself back on the ground.

You watched as he fell to his knees, his hands running over your jeans, unbuttoning them, unzipping them, and then pushing them down your legs, your panties following along with them.

He didn’t waste another second before his lips connected with your core, you flung your head back, hitting it against the door, “oh fuck,” you said gripping his hair as he made out with your core, licking and sucking in all the right places.

His hands moved over your hips, your waist. “Fuck oh god,” you whined, feeling so much pleasure wash over you.

One of his hands slowly came down to touch your clit, circling it a few times before he ran it through your slit, sending a shiver through your entire body, your moans filled the small space up completely.

Seconds later his finger entered you, pushing in and out at a slowly pace. Before adding a second and speeding up, his mouth connected with your clit once again and you couldn’t have felt more pleasure in that moment.

“Yes, Yes,” you said as he hit your g-spot, “there?” He asked, hitting it again you moaned out a “fuck,”.

He sped up his face and you felt your climax build, and build. “I’m gonna cum,” you stated in a breath, and with that Sam pulled out his finger, and stood up.

You whimpered at his actions, “come here,” he said lifting you up, you didn’t even realise he had removed his pants, until his tip ran over your clit.

“Can I?” He asked teasing your entrance, “please Sammy,” you whined, and then felt him enter you.

You thought he had gotten all the way in at one point, but then he just had more to add. He was way bigger than you expected, and way thicker, for a moment you didn’t think you could handle it.

“You okay,” he asked, you sucked in a breath and nodded. You connected your lips back with his to distract yourself for a moment, “Ready?” He asked, waiting for a yes.

“Mhm,” you hummed a yes, feeling him start to move now. God, the mix of pain and pleasure filled you, mainly pleasure. And then it soon turned into only pleasure.

As his pace quickened your moans got louder, “Fuck Sam!” You screamed, and then felt his hand slap over your mouth, “shhh,” he said kissing up your neck.

“Sam,” you hummed out underneath his hand, as you did he removed his hand from your mouth, and faced you. “I’m gonna-,” you panted, and he nodded “me too,” he said getting ready to pull out.

“Don’t pull out,” you stuttered out as you felt him slam into you, “No?” He asked, “No, cum in me Sam, please,” you whined, and he really couldn’t refuse you, his hands gripped your waist even tighter.

Slamming into you even harder, and with one last thrust you felt yourself collapse. “Oh god,” you breathed out as you came on him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Your so beautiful y/n,” you heard him say, you smiled at his words, slowly placing yourself back on the ground, it took you a second to snap back to reality.

You put your clothes back on, and so did Sam. But you didn’t leave just yet, “Sam,” you said as you placed your shirt back over you, he looked to you, “This wasn’t a hook up, was it?” You questioned, “No, this isn’t over,” he said walking up to you, kissing you passionately.

#fanfic #fem!reader #y/n #supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #supernatural smut #smut #sam winchester smut #x reader

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saintmuses · 2 months

Text

❝𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙞𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧❞

Pairing:

Dark!Mike Kiernan x Neighbor!Reader

Summary:

Mike liked his neighbor a little too much that he was willing to do anything to have her even if it meant destroying her if she didn’t listen.

Warning(s): SMUT. Dub-con. Implied age gap (everybody’s grown). Infidelity. Soft!dark!Mike. Possessive!Mike. Manipulation. Hints of stalking. Blackmail. Technology is involved. Like this is filthy as hell. P in V. Fingering. Oral (f-receiving). Flashbacks in italics as well as phone calls. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 3.3k

Craning his neck, Mike inhaled slowly before exhaling as he tilted his head to the original position to look out the glass panes of his window to her bedroom window across the yard.

She couldn’t see him, but he could see her. She was opting for comfort by wearing a plain t-shirt and black shorts. He could tell she was not wearing a bra underneath which sent a slight shiver down his back ah the idea of getting his hands on her breasts.

He had learned everything about her as much as he could after he noticed her the first time a year ago.

The easiest way to have some sense of connection to her was being such a friendly neighbor with phone numbers exchanged.

“Are you lonely? Is that why you call me?”

He hesitated, “yes.” He murmured, a little white lie slipped from his tongue, using one of his fingers to trace the cord that connected to the receiver from the machine. “After Kasia broke up with me, it’s very quiet around here.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. We wanted different things,” he said truthfully. He had meant what he said, but he did not want them with his former girlfriend. He wanted them with his neighbor. “Apparently she fell in love with her roommate.”

“Ouch.” He could hear her wincing, and he smiled slightly at her next words. “Fine, I’ll be your shoulder for you to cry on.” She said exasperated, but with a smile in her voice.

First photo set of her in red lacy nightgown ended up in his camera roll on his slim device the first time he spotted her standing by the window unintentionally.

Also mentally filing away the fact she had a boyfriend who didn’t appreciate her. Beers and sports parties was his go-to dates with Y/N. He knew he could treat her far better than her boyfriend ever would.

“Just because I said I’ll be willing to lean an ear for you, it means you call me every night?” She huffed into the receiver, and he grinned because he could tell it was without a bite.

“You’re being mean,” he smirked, watching the clear liquid swirling in the glass as he shifted it.

“I’m not being mean.”

“Oh, but you are.” He said albeit breathlessly.

More photos saved into his camera roll as she wore soft burgundy lacy bra and panties that night.

“I saw you a few weeks ago with your face beaten up…are you okay?”

“Eh, just a misunderstanding. I had to clear it with the schoolboard. Skunk was being bullied by her two neighbors, and I stopped them.” He shrugged although she could not see him. “Guess the girl didn’t like the consequences, conspired with her sister, and accused me of being inappropriate towards her, and their father wasn’t happy with it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The ringing ended with a click as it was picked up. Her breathing could be heard through the receiver as he waited for her to greet him.

“Hello?”

“Come up to the back patio,” he murmured, an urgency in his tone as he spoke into the receiver.

“Mister Kiern-“

“I know for a fact you are alone with a big bowl of what did you say is your favorite snack?” He inquired as he observed her through his window blinds.

She sighed, letting out a soft laugh that sent his heart into a state of pitter patter. “Puppy Chow,” she said petulantly.

He hummed in acknowledgment; he knew that of course. “And you’re drinking something with Moscato in the biggest wine glass you could find which I do have. So come up to the patio.” He said beguilingly, attempting to convince her.

“I have a boyfriend.”

A grimace flitted across his face. “I know but fuck him.” He said bluntly, irritation coated his tongue as he spoke into the receiver. “It doesn’t hurt to hang with friends. We are friends, aren’t we?”

A long pause then a sigh. “Fine, I’ll be there.” She relented.

He couldn't stop the toothy grin from spreading across his face. “Alright.”

Mike had been filling their wine glasses with her favorite wine twice now since she had been here for forty-five minutes.

He enjoyed being in her presence; however, she had to stop calling him by his last name as if it was going set any boundaries between them.

“Stop calling me mister Kiernan,” he murmured, sucking in his bottom lip, and swiping his tongue across it.

She looked at him in surprise. “What else am I supposed to call you?” She was confused, and he chuckled slightly.

“My name.” He stated the obvious.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He stared at her. “Say my name.” He leaned in, using his nose to graze the curve of her cheekbone. “Say my name,” he repeated softly.

Her lips parted; his eyes flickered down to them while he was internally smirking. She was almost susceptible to his wiles. Although he was silently begging for her to say his given name.

“Mike.” It was a whisper. A word that bridged the distance between them in a way despite not moving at all.

He tilted his head slightly, observing her facial features. “You’re stunning,” he breathed, staring at her.

She shifted slightly in her seat, clearly, she was uncomfortable with the compliment he gave her. “You’re just lonely and I’m the only one who’s willing to deal with you.”

Mike chuckled, seeing how she was attempting to deflect him. “I’ve been wanting to say that since I met you,” he admitted.

She hesitated, eyeing him before reaching for her bag. “This is inappropriate. I…I have to go,” she said quickly, stuttering as she stood up from patio sofa.

His hand snapped around her wrist in a vice grip as she attempted to walk past his legs that were in her way, he tilted his head to the side as he peered up at her. A hint of amusement in the lilt of his smile as if he found her attempting to leave funny.

“I have photos of you in your underwear,” the words were spoken in a calm tone, building the tension towards the threat. “If you leave now, I will gladly send them to your boyfriend.” He said casually, his thumb rubbed absentmindedly across her wrist.

She looked at him with wide eyes. “When did you…?” She trailed off, and he knew she was afraid of the answer.

“Every time you changed by the window. You forgot you had an audience across from you, didn’t you?” His tone went from calm to almost condescending with a hint of rhetorician since they both knew the answer. She had truly no idea she had a peeping tom club of one member.

“You wouldn’t.”

His lips curled to the side in a form of a nasty smirk. “Oh, but I would.” He then chuckled, without a sense of humor in his tone.

“We didn’t do anything, it’s just me changing my clothes by the window.” Her voice was weak, trodden like.

“Well, your boyfriend wouldn’t know that, would he?” He questioned flippantly, almost mockingly as his eyebrows raised. “All I have to do is send him those risqué photos without any context and he would just take it how it is.”

Her bottom lip trembled as she swallowed, “why are you doing this?” He knew she felt betrayed by him…more of his intentions since they were not true honest to begin with, and she was just figuring that out.

“I’m just tired of not having what I want…” his eyes trailed from her eyes down to her wrist that he held with a precision of a tight grip, “and what I want is you. Now sit next to me, sweetheart.” His tone booked no space for arguments.

His grip on her wrist eased up when she sat down next to him. He heard a slight echo noise when she dropped her bag next to her leg.

He inhaled slowly and deeply as his eyes roved over her body, relieved after all this time he finally got what he wanted.

Mike placed his hand on her knee, right next to her hands, gliding his thumb over her skin.

“I just want you.” He said softly, nudging her hand with his before he grabbed it.

Her breathing turned erratic, as a hot shiver of delight went through him as his hand eased her onto his covered pulsating cock and he began a fluid stroke in her palm, “you feel that?” He rasped into her ear, “that’s what you do to me. You’ve been doing this to me for a year.”

He could tell she was mentally calculating the math of when he had felt this way. “Ever since I moved here?”

“Even then.”

He wound his hands into her hair, cradling her head almost reverently, while he hungrily, desperately, violently, met her lips with a savage force.

He knew the circumstances were not idealistic, he knew she did not want him, at least not like this, but he was desperate for her.

His heart raced as she seemed to accept his request. He smiled softly into her lips and moved so that he was sitting on the edge of the furniture, his body pressed against the curve of her thigh as he pulled his glasses off his face and set them on the table beside them.

He leaned away slightly with an intent of reaching out with his hand and gently raising her shirt until the sliver of her breast began to reveal to his hungry eyes.

He then leaned down and started kissing her skin under her breast, lightly licking the flesh as he did so. His lips were teasing, making sure that she enjoyed every moment before slowly building up the intensity.

He was going to make sure she would like it even if she did not want to.

His tongue moved from the skin to the edge of her breast, his tongue slowly kissing along the edge as he pushed the hem of her shirt to reveal more of her breast.

His lips curled slightly when he heard her whimpering, especially when he nipped the curve of her breast before trailing his tongue from the spot to her nipple.

His lips continued to nibble on her breast while his tongue swirled around her nipple; gently teasing it. His hands moved up to her shirt, quickly removing it completely so that she was shirtless in front of him.

He leaned back, his gaze locked on her body before his fingers slowly traced down the curve of her body, moving from her chest to her hips before placing his hands on them.

He took a second to appreciate her body before his fingers slid into the waistline of her shorts, slowly easing them down her thighs. After he dropped the article of clothing next to the patio furniture, he settled his hands on her ankles.

“Spread your legs for me.” He said breathlessly, almost inaudibly as her legs parted, exposing her thighs to his ravenous gaze.

His hands trailed from her ankles to her thighs, gripping them before he reached for her fabric covered cunt, tracing his index and middle fingers down her slit before pressing into her folds.

She was soaking wet, and he could feel it through the fabric.

He smirked at her soft little pants as she let him touch her clit through her underwear. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of her hips shifting, her thighs widening slightly as he traced her sensitive spot.

He continued sliding his fingers of his other hand along the soft skin of her thighs, his thumb gently teasing the edge of her underwear.

He then leaned back to stand up, removing his shirt in process until he was bare chest. Then he removed his pants, only in his boxer briefs.

Mike grinned as she watched him remove his shirt and his pants, exposing the shape of his slim muscles and pale chest. Her gaze was roaming over his body before he sat back down in the same spot, leaning forward again.

Mike’s fingers moved to the edges of her underwear, beginning the process of removing them.

She closed her thighs so he could get the underwear down easily before parting them even wider to expose her vulnerable spot to him.

He smirked at her easy cooperation as she parted her thighs. He had expected her to be a little hesitant and resistant, but she wasn’t making this a challenge.

His fingers moved her folds apart to reveal her swollen clit after he removed her underwear.

As she was now exposed to his hungry gaze, Mike leaned down to kiss her spot, lips caressed her folds gently before parting it to let his tongue trail up her cunt, lapping at her wetness. He swallowed it before kissing her spot again, then leaned back to look up at her face, his lips curved into a soft grin as he observed her reaction.

Her lips parted as her eyelids were closed tightly. Her face was flushed from arousal.

“Such a sensitive girl,” he cooed softly, rumbling softly in his chest.

Opening her eyes, she flushed profusely. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just…I’ve never been touched.” She mumbled.

Mike chuckled, however a thrill shot down his spine at the thought of being the first one to take her, despite having a boyfriend and knowing she used her sex toys to play with herself.

His chuckle faded, only humming to indicate his understanding before he leaned down to kiss her sensitive spot again.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he said softly, his lips still on her cunt. “I was just…observing how sensitive you are.”

He kissed her clit again, this time, using his tongue to explore the texture on her sensitive spot, gently kissing and lapping at her cunt some more until her hips began to shift slowly as she parted her thighs even wider.

He then leaned back slightly to grab his phone that was lying on coffee table, and he looked up to see her gaze on him. She was confused, looking at him with a question in her eyes, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“I just need to capture these moments,” he responded softly, a smirk on his lips as she parted her thighs even more, exposing her sensitive cunt to the dimming light of the sky. “I want to remember every moment of you.”

She breathed, looking away shyly before closing her eyes .

He felt her skin as he parted her folds slightly, feeling her hole gaping slightly as he did so then he bit down his bottom lip as he pressed the icon that indicated a photo being taken.

He parted her folds even more, this time, moving his finger gently into her hole. He felt it tightened slightly around his finger as he took another picture.

“I need these images of you,” he murmured as he took another picture. More pictures began to pile into his camera roll, more digital prints to jerk himself off to later whenever she was not available.

Mike’s breath grew deeper from the sight of her lips parted and her eyes clamped shut from the soft noises she was letting out as he pushed down on the side of the opening to make it gape wider.

He felt her walls attempting to tighten around his finger as she whimpered, and he took another picture, this time, making sure that the camera captured the up-close position of her cunt.

He smiled softly, eyeing her as she opened her eyes, and he placed his phone aside to her thigh. He took a long look at her, observing her reaction as he withdrew his finger from her cunt.

He then reached for his underwear, pushing them down his hips then his pale thighs. Pushing them off to the side after it reached around his ankles, then he propped himself onto his knees on the cushion between her thighs.

Mike inhaled sharply when he noticed her curious eyes on his cock, he slowly began to hover her, wanting to keep her gaze on it while his eyes were locked on her cunt, his body and demeanor suggesting that he was ready to take her body and make her his for his own enjoyment.

He dragged her thighs until the back of her thighs meets the sides of his legs. Making him almost pressing against her. while he was stroking himself lightly, he only placed the thick tip of his cock against her little hole with no intention of taking her just yet.

His body language was one pure dominance and lust. He had a grip on her thighs, keeping her legs from moving too much so that he could fully enjoy her body however he pleased.

Mike moved her legs as he adjusted the position of his body over her body. He had his device ready once again, the thick tip of his cock placed against her little hole.

He smirked to himself as he aimed the camera at her cunt, getting the picture he desired.

He then switched over to video format, pressing to record as he used his other hand to use his thumb to stretch the hole lightly, teasing his thick tip with it as it gaped slightly. His throat rumbled with a slight groan as her hole was beginning to stretch by his thumb and the feeling of it felt good against his cock.

He made her legs part even more as he held her thighs, keeping her in place to ensure that he wouldn’t miss a thing, that the recording wouldn’t miss the sight of it.

He pushed into her opening just very slightly, letting her feel the tip of the thick head of his cock before pulling away slightly and repeating the process.

He was enjoying the expression on her face, seeing how she squeezed her eyes shut and let out soft little whimpers.

His fingers were firm on her folds, keeping them apart as he continued teasing her hole, pushing his cock in into her cunt slightly and then pulling out as he filmed it.

His eyes then widened as he saw her hands pulling her folds apart to make her little hole gape wide, exposing her sensitive area beautifully to the camera. He groaned a bit at her action and used his thumb to slowly trace her hole as she kept her thighs parted while letting him film it.

Mike pushed his thick tip into her opening with more force this time, the tip slowly slid into her hole. His breathing became deeper, almost ragged as he slowly entered her cunt deeper than before.

He stopped filming it, throwing the phone to the side and gave her a harsh thrust as he slammed the rest of his cock into her, making her cry out.

He let out a grunt as he felt the heat enveloped his girth, “fuck.” He breathed as he gripped her hips tightly. His fingers flexing into her skin as he reared back and thrusted back into her with such force.

She whined loudly, arching her back before he began to drag her along with him as he eased himself onto the cushion, his back pressed against the patio furniture.

She muttered brokenly as she sunk down on his length. “I- “ she was out of breath already, her eyes half lidded as her hands held onto his shoulders.

“Fuck.” His hands grabbed her hips to control her motions, using his hands to guide her up and down. “Taking me so good,” he grunted in her ear before leaning away slightly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her bouncing on top of his thighs.

#mike kiernan #broken (2012)#cillian murphy x reader #mike kiernan x reader #Mike Kiernan x you #Mike Kiernan x y/n

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griffin-girl-r · 5 months

Text

You're not mine (Part 2)

Created: 10.10.2023

Finished: 15.11.2023

Edited: 15.11.2023

Age: 15

Word count: 2,793

Warnings: Abandonment, Pain

Request: Yes (Wattpad user)

Pairing: WinterWidow

Soldat = Soldier

Part 1 , Part 3

—

"Very good, soldier." A voice interrupted the brief silence that had fallen over the room "You have finally completed your training and you're now ready for a very special mission."

The man stepped forward, allowing himself to get a better view of the subject in front of him in the dimness of the room.

You lift your head, every breath coming out in labored breaths, as you took in the sight of the agent in front of you.

Today's training session has been more intense than any other one, demanding you to overuse your powers.

"And what that might be?" You breathed out, straightening your back

The agent smirked "Oh, I can guarantee that you'll love this mission." He sang

"Then I am ready for any mission the organization has for me." You replied, intrigued by all the mystery of this upcoming mission

"That's what we love to hear." The man declared "Then it's time for you to know the target of your mission."

The agent lifted his hand and held a file up, extending it for you to grab.

"You have all the details here." He declared

You curiously opened the file and peeked at the first page inside of it.

You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat unexpectedly but you tried to maintain your composure as the reality of your actions and the identity of your supposed target settled in.

"I can't." You mumbled, your voice betraying your inner turmoil, as you quickly passed the file back to your boss "This wasn't the deal."

The agent chuckled.

"This was very much the deal, young soldier." He coldly replied "As I can remember, this was the plan you asked our help for."

A shiver ran down your spine and the rhythm of your heartbeat quickened its pace.

"No." You hesitantly shook your head "I said I needed help to take my revenge on her." You explained "Not on all of them. Not on him."

"But why stop there?" The agent raised his eyebrow "Why would you want to take your revenge on just one person when you can take it on all of them?"

"Even if it was true, the others are still my family." You reasoned

"Your family?!" The agent shouted, immediately silencing you "Must I remind you that this so-called family of yours abandoned you, that they threw you away as if you were mere trash?"

"It doesn't matter, Sir." You held your ground "I am not going to kill the Avengers."

You blinked.

The agent grabbed you by your vest with such force that, for a second, you weren't able to process what was happening.

"Listen here, Y/N." The agent mockingly whispered your name "This is HYDRA, not that joke of an agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. you grew up in. Your mission is to kill all of the Avengers, starting with those traitors who are now called Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes. Am I clear?"

"Sir..." You tried to conceal the fear you were feeling, failing miserably "Sir, this went too far. I'm sorry but I can't." You shook your head

A shout was heard and your body collided with the cold floor as the HYDRA agent pushed you with all his force.

"Y/N Yelena Romanova." The agent shouted "You have been ours long before Natalia Romanova decided to play pretend that she can be something she was never meant to be." He hissed "A mother."

You kept your mouth shut, too afraid of saying something that might anger the agent more as he continued speaking.

"She stole you from us, gave you another name, just for you to return on your own will to us and ask us for help to get your revenge on her." He reminded you "We took you in, trained you, gave you powers, all just so you could make her pay and now you dare to reject the opportunity to kill them?!"

"Sir, I just..." You tried to defend yourself

"Shut up!" He ordered "I am going to give you three hours to think about your answer just to show you that we can have some understanding towards our subjects and when I'll summon you back to me, I hope I won't regret giving you a chance."

You nodded "Yes, Sir!"

"Now disappear." He pointed with his head towards the door

You stood up from the ground and dusted your clothes before making your way to your assigned room.

~~~~~

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sniffled your fear away.

This was what you wanted after all.

This was what you needed.

You needed revenge and this was the only way you could achieve your goal.

Machines hummed and buzzed around you but you tried to not mind their noise as you were keeping your calm demeanor as a façade to protect yourself.

"Alright, subject." A man dressed in a white coat looked at you "Are you ready for this?"

You nodded, determination shining in your tired eyes "As ready as I can be. If this will help me prove to my mother that I can be useful too, then hurry up and do it."

"She's ready." Another man's voice was heard from somewhere inside the room but you couldn't tell exactly who spoke as the restrainents that kept you glued to the cold metallic table stoped you from looking

The man with the white coat pressed a few buttons and in a fraction of a second, pain flooded through your body as waves of electricity swirled around you, sending shocks flooding through your body.

Time seemed to stay still as you screamed out in agony out of pure reflex, your body spasming with each shockwave you received.

In that moment, buried memories resurfaced inside your mind.

You remembered the happier times and a pang of sadness weighed heavy on your heart.

But just as the good memories came to the front of your mind, so did the bad ones, reminding you of the true reason why you came to HYDRA for help.

The Avengers hate HYDRA and HYDRA hates the Avengers.

You hoped that by joining and serving the rival organization, you could make Natasha realize how wrong she was for treating you like she did.

You hoped to make them feel betrayed and rejected.

Just as you felt.

Darkness enveloped you, and your weakened body stopped spasming, but one thing remained clear as daylight to you.

You will take your revenge on your family for their betrayal by serving their greatest enemy, HYDRA.

~~~~~

You stared at the cement ceiling of your cell.

Your thirst for revenge was just as present as it was four months ago when you joined HYDRA.

The agent was right.

You wanted to kill the Avengers and make them pay for all of your suffering.

But still, one thing made you hesitate.

You sighed.

A memory of a smiling Tanya came to your mind and you remembered that she was as innocent as you were in this whole ordeal.

She deserved to grow up surrounded by the love of her parents as she has never done anything else other than loving you like her older sister who you actually were.

Then you thought of Bucky and the last memory you shared with him.

That fateful night, he had bought you a journal, hoping that it would help you manage your feelings better if you wrote them on the paper.

Comparing him to Natasha now, you realize that he was more of a parent to you than Natasha ever was.

How are you supposed to kill him?

Your door burst open and a security agent, who is in charge of maintaining order, walked inside your room.

"The boss calls you to him." He announced in a bored voice

You nodded "Tell him I am coming."

You stepped in the silence of the private office, allowing your senses to highen, as your eyes darted aimlessly around the room.

"I have been waiting for you." The voice of the man who had been in charge of your training was heard "Welcome!"

"I would thank you, Sir." You put your hands behind your back "But here doesn't exist such thing as being welcomed anywhere."

The man laughed.

"I see you learned the lesson." He smiled pleased "I hope you bring good news to me."

You kept quiet for a few moments, searching for a way to put your decision into words in such a way that HYDRA wouldn't decapitate you in a matter of seconds.

"So?" The man asked again, impatient

"Sir..." You began, taking your time to form every word that came out of your mouth "I am forever grateful for the chance you offered me and the resources you put at my disposal to achieve my ambitions."

The man slightly smiled, knowing that he had won.

"The Avengers have done me so many wrongdoings that I lost count of them." You continued "And after the time I have been granted to carefully choose the course I want for the next events to take, I came with the answer."

The man in front of you leaned backward in his chair, his body visibly relaxed as he waited for your final decision.

"I will..." You took a deep breath, steeling yourself "Not kill the Avengers, Sir. I am sorry, but I can't. They're my family no matter what."

The HYDRA agent shot up from his chair as his eyes went wide with shock.

"What did you say?!" He shouted, completely taken by surprise by your decision

"I said that I will not kill the Avengers." You repeated "I meant it when I said that everything has gone too far, Sir. Yes, I did want to take revenge on them, specifically my mother, but killing them was never my intention. All I wanted was to make them feel betrayed and hurt by becoming a HYDRA agent. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You foolish, lab rat!" The man sneered and pointed his finger at you "We created you! If you're here today it is all thanks to us! Our scientists were the ones who were in charge of creating you out of almost nothing! Now you dare defy us? You have the audacity to bite the hand that fed you?"

You looked around the room, trying to avoid the man's furious gaze.

"Please understand, Sir." You tried to reason "My heart and conscience don't let me murder the persons that saved me from hell and I realized that I made a mistake to return to the hell from where I've been rescued all these years ago."

The man calmly hummed "Hmm, so that's what you call it? A mistake?"

You braced yourself for what could happen next as you watched the man wave his hand at the shadows behind his back.

"I would call it a blessing." He said "You returned where you belong. To your true family and if your feelings stop you from taking action against your kidnappers, then we will help you gather the courage you need."

You shook your head, understanding what the agent's words meant.

"No..." You breathed out fearfully

But it was already too late.

Tanya sat on the carpet placed in the middle of the living room, playing with her toys, as she tried to distract herself from all the yelling that was happening in her surroundings.

"I am tired of your ignorance!" Bucky shouted at his wife, after he came back from another failed search mission where he tried to find you

"I haven't done anything wrong!" Natasha yelled back, her brain blocked in a phase of denial

"You did!" Bucky shouted "You did! You drove our child away! How could you do something like this, Natasha?!"

Natasha froze in place as her shoulders fell down.

She couldn't believe what she just heard Bucky say.

She refused to believe it.

"Natasha?" The woman asked hurt "Since when I am 'Natasha' for you?"

"Ever since Y/N went missing because of your recklessness and pride." Bucky shouted "My Natalia would have never done that to her own child. So, therefore, you are not my Natalia. You are not that girl I dreamed of having a family with."

"James, please." Natasha whispered, tears forming in her eyes "I am still the same Natalia you met so long ago."

Natasha reached to grab Bucky's hand but he pulled it away.

"Don't touch me." He said in a raised tone

Natasha sighed disappointed and nodded, pulling her hands back.

"You're mad." Natasha said "I get it."

"Mad is far from how I feel right now, Natasha." Bucky lowered his tone "I feel desperate because I am unable to find the child that has been entrusted in my protection and who knows where she is right now and what happened to her. She's just a child. You are the only one who failed to see this."

"James, just give me the chance to explain myself." Natasha pleaded "I beg you."

Bucky shook his head.

"I don't know what you have done to my Natalia but you are not the girl that made me remember how it feels to be human again." The man took a few steps backward before rushing out of the room, leaving his wife behind

Natasha fell on the couch, letting out a deep sigh, as she placed her head in her hands.

Tanya, that have been silently observing the argument between her parents, stood up, her toys forgotten on the soft carpet as she walked towards her mother.

"Mama?" Tanya cautiously called her mother

"What is it, baby?" Natasha sniffed, raising her head to look at her daughter

"Why hasn't Y/N come back yet?" Tanya innocently asked, still struggling to grasp the complexity of the situation "Is she still mad at us?"

Natasha thought about how to explain to a 5-year-old what was happening.

"I think she still is, Tatiana." Natasha lifted Tanya and sat her on her lap

"And Papa is sad because he couldn't find my sister, isn't he?" The little girl questioned sadly

Natasha guiltly nodded "Yes, sweetheart. That's why Mama and Papa are fighting."

Little Tanya looked down at her lap, her tiny eyebrows furrowing, as her mind tried to put her feelings into words.

Natasha gave Tanya time to speak at her own pace, not rushing her.

After a few minutes, Tanya looked up again at Natasha with eyes filled with tears.

"But Mama..." Tanya's high-pitched voice trembled "Why did you make Y/N go away? She is my sister. You never get mad at me cause I am your baby but Y/N is your baby too and you made her feel very sad. You always made her cry and I miss playing with her. She's the best big sister in the whole world."

A stray tear fell down Natasha's left cheek.

"Can you bring Y/N back home, Mama?" Tanya sniffed "Can you not get mad at her always? If Tanya is Mama's baby, then Y/N is Mama's baby too."

"I'm not sure, baby girl." Natasha let out a shaky breath, realizing her mistake "Mama messed up big time when she scolded Y/N/N."

"I know that Mama did bad." Tanya said "But Y/N is ours and she's my sister. She needs to live here with us."

"And she will, baby." Natasha said determined "I promise she will."

Tanya snuggled closer to Natasha's chest and sighed contently.

"I love you, Tanya." Natasha quietly declared

Tanya kissed Natasha's cheek before she quickly stood up and ran upstairs to her room.

Natasha stared at the open door that Tanya just walked out through, deeply lost in thoughts.

Her talk with Tanya had helped Natasha realize one important thing.

That Y/N was her baby no matter what and that she had made the biggest mistake in her life by doing what she did to Y/N.

And yet one question remains.

Where is Y/N?

"Soldat!" A voice said "Your orders are to kill the Avengers, our greatest enemies, and I want the heads of the traitors known as Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes."

The man looked at the masked soldier he had created with pride, knowing that now, they would be invincible.

"Do you understand the command?" He asked sternly

"I am ready to comply." An emotionless voice replied

You stood tall, the black suit and gray vest you were wearing appeared even darker in the shadows of the private office as the mask that covered more than half of your face, perfectly concealed your identity.

The man smirked and pointed with his head towards the door.

You turned around and started walking.

Your mission?

To kill the Avengers.

—

Permanent taglist: @lizlil , @natsxwife , @froufrousnowman , @dannipotatoo , @ravensinthedaylight , @justarandomreaderxoxo , @theunchosenonee , @lovelyy-moonlight , @circe143 , @observeowl , @darkstar225 , @mmmmokdok , @halstead-severide-fan , @daggersquadphantom , @cherlenovix , @youralphawolf72

Story taglist: @graciegoeskrazy , @superforgottensoul , @marvels--slut , @louxbloom , @aubs444 , @notmeellaannyy , @amxrist , @k4t13l0u1s3 , @easybakeoven7 , @jackiehollanderr , @kaylaromanoff17 , @alldaysdreamers , @leoniaaasworld , @finleyfray , @almosttoopizza ,

#mama nat #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha x daughter!reader #natasha's child #natasha's kid #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #natasha x teen reader #natasha x baby!reader #winterwidow #bucky barnes x daughter!reader #bucky barnes

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marksbear · 1 year

Note

its-a me, ⚰️!

rossi fostering a teenager (the reader)? like he went through something traumatic and rossi felt bad so he took the reader in, and the reader doesn't really like rossi? but he really likes stuffed animals so one day he shows up at the bureau and handing rossi a stuffed animal as a sign of affection and the team is confused with who this random kid is 💀

Ayeee I see the Mario reference. I hope you like it my friend ⚰,

Warnings! Y/n is a survivor of human trafficking, lack of trust, Slight angst but mostly fluff.

DAVE ROSSI X ADOPTED TEEN SON READER

"I'm looking to adopt Y/n M/n L/n (Age) old. In his file it says he got here because of a traumatic situation."

Rossi says looking at the director of the orphanage. "Yes it's true. The reason why it doesn't state the accident is because Y/n requested it to not be." The woman answers.

The woman opens one of the drawers in her desk looking through the many files before taking one and handing it to Dave. "It's Y/n's personal file." Dave takes the file and opens it carefully.

"He went through human sex trafficking to zero to the age of twelve. His mother sold him for drugs and money..." Dave reads out loud feeling his heart aches for the teenage male. "Poor boy." Dave announces closing the file and hands it back to the woman.

"How he escaped was legendary. He had cut off some heads of some stuffed animals and gotten small paper and wrote messages for help and placed them inside then he would put the head back to its place then give them to any adult he saw." The woman says looking through some things before picking up an old picture of a stuffed animal.

"I think you can really do something for this boy Mr Rossi. And I hope Y/n can see that."

The rest of the meeting follows signing legal papers and all that so Rossi can adopt Y/n. Once everything was good and checked Rossi could finally see his new son.

The pair had already met when Rossi was looking for a kid, but it was silent the whole time. Dave had sat down next to Y/n letting him get used to his presence. Y/n barely gave Dave a look, but what shocked some of the staff that Y/n didn't run away from Dave. He only stayed still as Dave watched him.

"Y/n? Is all your stuff packed, honey?" One of the staff asks standing in Y/n's room doorway. Dave stands behind her looking at Y/n.

Y/n sitting on the floor in the middle of the room back turned from the door trying to stuff his suitcases with the stuffed animals.

"Y/n. I don't think Mr Rossi would like all the stuffed animals at his house." The staff says earning Y/n saying something under his breath.

"It's okay. I don't mind at all Y/n. In fact let me help you out." Dave says quickly walking into the room crouching down next to Y/n picking up the toys that couldn't fit in his suitcase.

Y/n side eyes Dave before closing his suitcase before getting up off the floor picking up his other suitcases. Dave walks out of the room making sure Y/n is following him before leaving the orphanage and heading to his car. Dave helps Y/n with his bags putting them all in the back before going inside the car as Y/n goes into the passenger seat.

The drive home is silent only music is clearing up the silent car ride. "Dave..." Y/n says under bis breath. Dave almost didn't catch it until it registered in his brain. "Yeah kid?" "I don't wanna go back there. Never again Dave. It was like the same system I used to be in and I can't stand it." Y/n tells him holding the stuffed animal in his lap tightly.

"Don't worry Y/n. You aren't going to that place as long as I'm around. You have my word." Dave responds back with a smile on his face reaching his hand out to Y/n's head rubbing the back off it before putting it back on the wheel. For once Y/n trusted a smile he got from the different people in his life. But Y/n felt like he couldn't let his guard down just yet. He just couldn't.

Months go by of Rossi trying to prove himself to Y/n. Rossi helped and taught Y/n everything he knows. (even how to get the ladies.) But Y/n wouldn't let his guard down for a second. Dave understood why and never pressured Y/n once during their new father and son relationship.

Day by day Y/n begins to warm up with Dave. Even started calling him dad and added Rossi with his name replacing L/n. Dave knew that Y/n didn't like him, but hes glad that he trusts him even if it's a little. One of the things Y/n liked most was he never rushed him. Dave didn't force Y/n to tell him anything. Dave was gentle and patient with him and that caught Y/n off guard.

So one Y/n learned Dave was an FBI agent Y/n started to give stuffed animals to Dave as a good luck charm. Y/n would go to Dave's work bag and put a new stuffed animal each day and the day after he would take the old one and give the bag a new one.

But one day Y/n had forgotten to give him one and Y/n felt his heart sank. "What if he dies." "What if he doesn't come back home." "What if he got kidnapped." What if and more and more comes to Y/n mind as he walks around the hallways in school.

"That can't happen. Hes the only one I have left." Y/n thinks to himself looking at the exits out the school. "I have to give this to him. Just to make sure." Y/n thinks to himself one last time before looking around for any staff. Once it was clear Y/n rushes out the exit running out of school and its property.

Once Y/n was out of school grounds he took the stuffed lion out of his backpack and held it tightly making his way through the busy streets and neighborhood. After a while Y/n becomes hungry and goes to a coffee shop buying himself some food to go and buys his father a cup of coffee to go as well.

Walking more miles Y/n finally makes it to the station. Y/n stands on the sidewalk making sure it's the right one before heading straight in. Y/n ignores and speed walks past the guards and other cops trying to stop him.

"Young man stop right there!" One cop shouts jogging after Y/n.

Y/n holds onto the lion tighter rushing past the cops trying to stop him. And finally he sees his dad in some meeting room with some other strangers. "Dad..." Y/n says out loud before barging in.

"So the unsub is most likely a young boy-" Morgan gets cut off by the door slamming open then getting slammed shut.

The teams head all turn around looking at the stranger. The stranger walks to Rossi handing him a stuffed lion and a coffee before turning back around about to leave.

But sadly Y/n's exit is blocked by a series of agents and cops.

"Thank you Y/n. I would probably have gotten hurt in the future wasn't it for you. And thanks for the coffee." Dave thanks his son putting the lion on the table.

"Is there a problem?" Dave asks looking at the group of agents.

"Sir do you know this kid?"

"Yeah sure hope so hes my son." Dave answers with a smirk getting out of his seat pulling Y/n's arm back so hes closer to him.

"He isn't the best with words and affection, so he learned a way to show me his own type of affection by giving him the things he loves most. Stuffed animals." Dave says trying to clear up the confusion as why the hell is this kid here.

"And today he forgot to give me my lil good luck charm, so he ditched school to give me it. Hope that helps." Rossi adds looking at all the confused faces.

Rossi turns to his team and says "Guys meet Y/n. Y/n meet the team. I'll give you a run down of who they are once we get home. And since you came all the way here to help me out. Later we are go to the mall and buy some new stuff animals. Dave says taking off his suit jacket putting it on Y/n's shoulders before putting a strong hand on his back guiding him out the room and past the people.

The team watches as Dave takes Y/n to an empty desk and chair and pull a chair next to the desk starting a conversation with his son as Y/n take out the food he bought.

"So. Who the hell knew or even thought Rossi had a kid." Morgan says looking at all the profilers in the room.

"And to guess everyday he has to work with the FBI none of us had a clue that he had a kid." Hotch adds.

THE END!

#dave rossi #dave rossi x male reader #criminal minds x male reader #x male reader #male reader #x teen!reader #x teen male reader #x son!reader #platonic only #the bear club

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hussyknee · 1 year

Text

Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

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sweetsweetjellybean · 1 year

Text

Anything You Want | Steve Harrington

Mr. Harrington's Secretary AU | 18+ No Minors

Summary: Steve stops by when his father isn't in the office asking for your help with the copier.

TW: FemReader. BJ, Fingering, Tiddy Fucking, P In V Cream Pie. Dirty Talk.

WC: 3909

“Your father isn’t here, Steven.”

His name has you looking up from the thick file spread across your desk. Steve Harrington is standing across the room, his tall body leaning forward, one hand on the older woman’s desk, the other behind his back, holding a small paper bag.

“Well, aren’t you looking nice today, Lorna,” his words drip with sugar. The gray-haired office manager peers over her glasses at him, her ordinarily sour face softening faster than a ripe avocado.

He’s been finding excuses to visit you at work since the first time he found you standing alone at one of the events the company threw semi-regularly. A bunch of rich men congratulating each other on being masters of the universe, dragging along their trophy wives and other accouterments. In John Harrington’s case, that included his charming, handsome son, who would follow in his footsteps, and the hot young secretary that everyone assumed he was chasing around the desk. What the other men telling bad jokes and drinking top shelf scotch didn’t know is that the son wanted nothing to do with his father’s business and the secretary wasn’t putting out.

“Is that a new blouse?” He asks, brushing a little of that golden-brown hair off his forehead, giving her every ounce of his attention.

“It is. I got from the JC Penny last weekend,” she giggles like a woman half her age as he leans closer, giving her that winning Harrington smile.

“I thought so,” he winks, “My dad asked me to pick up a copy of the file he needs, and on my way here, I passed the bakery over on Main, so I stopped in and got your favorite.” He pulls the paper bag out from behind his back and sets it on the desk in front of Lorna.

Her eyes widen, and her mouth forms an O as she pinches the top of the bag and slides it closer, “Thank you, Steven. That was so thoughtful.”

“My pleasure,” he says, rapping his knuckles on her desk twice before straightening and turning towards you, “Do you have that file ready?”

“Which file was that?” you ask, trying to hide your amused smile.

“I think you know,” his tongue darts out, wetting his plush lips as he casually strolls over to your desk.

“Hmmm,” you tap your index finger against your mouth, “Yes, I think I know which one. I still need to make a copy.”

“I can do it,” Lorna calls from her desk, the paper bag crinkling as she pulls out a fluffy cupcake piled high with chocolate frosting.

“You just enjoy that. I’ll give her a hand,” Steve calls over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off you.

Shuffling some papers, you pull a green file folder from the bottom of the stack and hug it to your chest as you push away from your desk, “Thank you, Steven. That would be very helpful.”

His lips twist with a smirk as he follows you down the hall to the copy room, watching your hips sway in the tight skirt that hugs your ass just right.

The overhead fluorescents pop and hum when you flip the switch and step inside the small room with Steve coming in after you, reaching back to twist the lock on the door handle without even looking.

“Where’s my cupcake?” You ask, batting your lashes and tossing the file on top of one of the two copiers that fill the space.

“Your mouth is going to be too busy for cupcakes,” his hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you close as his lips seal over yours. He wastes no time. His tongue pushes inside, stealing your breath. His muscles tense under your fingers as you move your hands up and down his polo-covered chest and moan into the kiss.

“We have to be quiet, honey,” his kisses slow to soft pecks, “Can’t have Lorna figuring out your cumming on company time.”

“Oh, is that what’s happening?”

With his thumb and forefinger holding your chin, he ghosts his lips over yours, “Turn around and put your hands on the copier.”

Taking a moment to consider, you look up at him from under your lashes while letting your hand run down from the center of his chest to the hard bulge in his pants. The corner of your mouth rises when you feel him twitching in his jeans. With a shiver, you let him go and turn around. Exaggerating your movements, you place both hands on the glass plate arching your back and widening your stance as you lean forward. He drops down behind you, wrapping his hands around the front of your knees, drawing circles on the back with his thumbs.

“That tickles,” you giggle, squirming in his hold.

“Shhh,” he reminds you, lips placing an open-mouthed kiss on your calf. The slight roughness of his palms leaves your smooth skin tingling as his hands start their torturously slow slide up your legs, the tip of his nose dragging behind his thumb just before the wet press of his lips and tongue. He’s careful to leave no gaps, mouth a damp trail up the back of your thigh. The material of your skirt bunches against his wrists, rising with his hands. His thumbs tease the hem of your high-cut lace panties as your skirt is pushed higher until it’s rucked up around your hips. He nips the curve between your ass and thigh and soothes it with his tongue before brushing his nose over your center, breathing you in. Slick soaks your panties as you anticipate him pulling them to the side and licking into you, but those big hands stay gripping your hips, and his mouth moves along your pantyline, sucking at the flesh of your ass.

“Steve.”

“What is it, honey?” His question is followed by the pinch of his teeth.

“I need you,” you complain, reaching back, running your fingers through his hair, giving it a tug when he pays you no heed.

“So impatient,” he scolds, rising to his full height, holding you around the middle, sweetly kissing your temple, “Be good for just a little longer. I need a picture of my pretty girl for my wallet.”

“A picture? Wha-“

He spins you around quickly and cuts you off with his hungry lips, his hands slide down your waist until they wrap around the back of your thighs, and he lifts you onto the copier. A squeak of protest passes from your mouth to his when your hot skin comes in contact with the cool glass, and you rock from side to side, but he doesn’t relent. Holding you in place with a hand on your neck, his tongue tangles with yours, keeping you focused on his kiss as his other hand starts the copier whirring. A light flashes under you, moving from left to right, followed by the whoosh and click of papers printed with a black and white copy of the globes of your ass barely covered by your underwear.

“That’s what you wanted?” you giggle against his lips.

“Uh-huh,” he smiles, ending the kiss by resting his forehead against yours, “but that’s not the only thing I want.” His hand smooths up your thigh until he can rub over the damp patch on your panties. His smirk returns when your mouth drops open, and you inhale sharply.

“You’re so pretty like this.” He moves his hand away from where you want it and uses the backs of his fingers to brush your heated cheek.

“So soft,” his index finger trails from the collar of your silky shirt until he reaches the first button where it’s joined by the fingers from his other hand, “But not as soft as what’s underneath.” He leans forward, attaching his lips to your neck while he works them open. His mouth moves lower as he spreads open your shirt, kissing down the swell of your breast to the edge of the delicate lace. He pulls away to take in the sight of what he’s just uncovered.

“Beautiful,” the word floats breathy from his lips as he unhooks the metal clasp between your tits. Peeling back one side at a time, his eyes turn dreamy and heavy-lidded as he drinks you in. His hands move to cup your breasts, loving the way you fill them. The first touch of his lips against your pebbled nipple has the breath rushing from your lungs in a quiet whine. He sucks hard while swirling his tongue, a satisfied hum rumbling from his throat.

“Oh, fuuu,” you bite down on your lip to keep from cursing. He smiles against you, taking his time before moving to your other side, sucking until you’re tipping your head back and arching into him. The copier creaks as you squirm, trying to relieve the growing ache.

“Please,” clutching at shoulders, pulling his head up so you can look into his eyes, “Please, Steve.”

His breath comes quickly through parted lips that hover an inch from yours. The inky black of his pupils crowds out the hazel. He reaches out to trace your kiss-stung bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, but you hold his large hand between both of yours and suck his thumb into your mouth.

“How about a few more pictures? With my hands on you. Would you like that?”

Whining in desperate confirmation, your hands join his on the copier to lift your hips and slide down your panties. They only make it to mid-thigh when you’re grabbing his hand and pressing it to your needy cunt.

“Jesus,” his fingers part your wet lips to explore your slippery folds, “You’re dripping onto the glass.”

He curls back his other fingers, so just his index and middle circle your clit before sliding down to tease your entrance. Your grip on his wrist tightens as you whimper, rocking your hips, trying to get him inside you.

“All this from a few kisses?”

Two thick fingers push inside you, replacing the ache with a stretch. He keeps going, curving his fingers to reach the spot that only he’s been able to find, deep enough that his thumb can rub circles around your pulsing bundle of nerves. It takes every ounce of your will to not cry out at the onslaught of pleasure.

“There you go, honey. I’ll always give you what you want.”

Fisting the front of his shirt, you draw him closer, eyes fluttering closed as your lips connect and your tongue slides against his. Blue-green flashes permeate the darkness behind your lids as the machine captures images of his fingers disappearing inside you. More wetness trickles, aiding his movements when you realize all this is to satisfy his need to have you even when you’re apart.

“You make me feel so good,” you whisper, taking his bottom lip between yours.

“Yeah?” He asks, licking into your mouth, increasing the pace of his fingers, “Am I gonna make you cum?”

“Mmmhmm,” you moan around his lips and tongue as your inner muscles tighten, and you begin your climb. With your fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck, you relax into his kiss. There’s no need to chase it, you can trust him to get you there. He always does.

“That’s it,” he says, feeling you fluttering around him, “You get so tight,” his fingers don’t stop even when the lighting hits and your legs shake, “Give me just a little more.”

Clutching onto him, your fingers dig into his skin as your body jolts uncontrollably. He covers your mouth with his trying to muffle your cries, and keeps working you until you just can’t –it’s too much. His fingers slow to a gentle in and out, his thumb comes off your clit. He lets you come down, resting his forehead against yours, tiny kisses wherever his lips can reach without moving you.

“I’m going to lunch,” Lorna shouts, her voice slightly muffled behind the closed door.

“Okay,” you yell, grinning at Steve, shaking your head, “We’re almost done.”

“She’s coming,” he calls, as his thumb taps your clit, sending an aftershock rocketing through you.

“Alright. Back in an hour,” she hollers right before the outer office door squeaks and clicks shut.

The smug look on his face has you pushing at his shoulder, silently scolding him. He chuckles, his face taking on a well-practiced look of innocence even as he pulls his finger from inside you and licks them clean. He kisses you once to share the taste before helping you down from the copier.

“Can you hand me my underwear?”

“We’re not done,” his hands close over your fingers, stopping you from straightening your clothes, “I have an idea. Come with me.”

He twists the lock on the door handle, sticking his head out to confirm the office is empty, and grabs your hand pulling you out of the copier room, barely dressed.

“Steeeve,” you squeal as you move through the empty office, gripping the front of your shirt to keep it closed until you’re standing in front of Mr. Harrington’s locked office door.

“Where did you get that?” Your eyes widen when he pulls a key from his pocket and inserts it smoothly into the lock. The corner of his mouth raises in a sly smile as the door opens, and he ushers you inside, closing the door behind you.

The blinds are drawn with their slats partially open, creating vertical lines of light against the navy blue carpet and large cherry desk. Steve flips one of the switches next to the door, turning on the three two stained glass lamps that flank the large built-in bookcase behind the desk, lighting up the room with soft light.

“What’s this idea?” The slickness between your legs, reminding you still have another hour before anyone will return. Steve planned this well.

“Well,” he pulls out the high-backed leather chair from the desk, turning towards the side before sitting with his legs spread wide, hands moving to his belt, “What do you think? Wanna get on your knees for me, honey?”

“Hmmm,” you pretend to consider his offer as you round the desk trailing your fingertips on the shiny finish of the desk, moving until you’re standing between his parted legs, looking down at the outline of the hard cock straining against his jeans. Gripping the top of the chair, you lean it back, bending slightly, bringing you level with his face. His hands move to your open shirt, pushing it back away from your breasts so he can knead them. His mouth chases yours, but you deny him, nipping his top lip lightly before slowly dropping to your knees.

“Fuck,” his hips jump as you pop open the button on his jeans and slide down the zipper.

“Is this why I didn’t get a cupcake?” You pout, tugging at the waistband of his jeans and boxers, and he raises his hips so you can slip them down, his thick length bobbing out from his body finally freed. Pink with a long veiny shaft that’s just as pretty as the rest of him.

“Oh, I think what you’re getting is a much bigger treat.” His eyes close for a moment as your hand wraps around the base, and you kiss the smooth, shiny tip. It’s your turn to smirk when his lids open revealing eyes that are almost black. Opening your mouth, you stick out your tongue, letting it sweep around the head before licking up and down the length.

“Mmm,” the vibrations from your lips tease his sensitive spot, “I think you’re right.” You take another long lick before finally taking as much of him as you can into the wet heat of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks while your hand works the base.

A groan rumbles from behind his clenched teeth, “Look at you,” he smooths some hair back from your face as you bob up and down on his cock, “I bet every man in this office wants to see you like this, but you’re mine,” his hips rise, fucking into your mouth, “They can’t have you.”

Sticking your tongue out, you let him use your mouth until your jaw starts to ache. He doesn’t stop flexing when you switch to your hand, licking at his slit, running your tongue along the underside until reaching the base to gently suck one of his heavy balls.

“Christ,” his fingers tightly grip the leather arm of the chair as the precum starts leaking from his tip, and you move your mouth back up his shaft, collecting it before it drips. He sneaks a hand between you, rolling your nipple with the rough pads of his fingers, the zap of electricity that shoots to your core, highlighting how wet and needy you’ve become.

Pulling back, you rise higher on your knees, smiling as you run your hands up from your hips to the softness of your chest. Steve’s breath hitches, and his lips part as you lean forward, fitting his cock in the valley of your breasts, pushing them together, bouncing them up and down his shaft.

“Jesus-fuck-baby,” his words string together, his hips jumping in the chair involuntarily. A whimper comes from you at the sight of his rudy leaking tip sliding up your chest, your tongue snaking out to chase it.

“Fuck, that’s enough,” he pants, using his feet to push the chair back, the wheels squeaking. He stares at you breathing hard, and you know how wild you must look. Hair a mess. Lips red and swollen. Clothes open and askew.

“Bend over the desk. I want to feel you squeezing me when I cum.”

Desperation launches you both into a flurry. Steve stands quickly, shoving his pants further down his thighs, sending the desk chair careening backward into a bookcase. While you’re off the floor, positioning yourself over the polished wooden desk, tugging your skirt high around your waist, pushing back your hips, ready to take anything he’ll give you.

“Plea‐”

“I’m here,” he wraps a hand around your thigh, bringing one of your knees to the edge of the desk, opening your sticky wetness to the cool air, “I won’t make you wait.”

With a hand around his base, he glides through your folds, back and forth, making you throb until his tip catches at your entrance and pushes in slowly, letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him. Your muscles stretch and clench, trying to draw him in deeper.

“That’s it, good girl. Take it all,” he groans, moving until he’s bottomed out and his hips are pressed tight against you. Through the thick fog of lust and need, there’s a brief moment spent savoring the connection before he begins to move in long, hard strokes, pulling out almost all the way before driving in with the snap of his hips. The desk jerks across the carpet, and an organizer falls, spilling its contents, pens embossed with Harrington roll under the furniture. White dots burst in your vision with every thrust. You’re burning for him. He struck the match the evening you met, and you’ll never have enough.

“This is where I belong,” his hand slides around your hip, pressing down just above your pubic bone, feeling himself moving inside you, “Right here in your warm cunt. Want you to feel me for the rest of the day,” his fingers move lower until they’re drawing circles over your clit, “I need you to cum for me.”

His rhythm picks up, making the fire burn hotter. Your body tightens, obeying him without giving you a choice. Twisting to look over your shoulder, you grab at his shirt, bringing him closer until your gasping mouths meet.

“Anything,” it’s a whisper against his lips, a spark from the blaze.

“What, honey?” The question rises with the smoke.

“Anything you want.”

A line creases his brow, and there’s something behind his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. He spins you back around, wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling your back flush against his chest, your knee falling from the desk. He’s holding you together when you’re so close to falling apart. His mouth moves up your neck to your ear.

“Just want this,” he adds more pressure to the hand working between your thighs. Tiny circles that feel closer to a cyclone, “Just want you,” he moves in short bursts like he can’t bear to leave, right at the edge, swelling inside you, “Always want you.”

You let go into the white-hot flame, but you’re not alone. It consumes you both. Crying out, you quake around him, feeling his hot release, hearing his satisfied groans. Your bodies writhe until all that’s left is embers. The wall clocks measured ticks seem louder, the only sound in the now quiet room apart from both of your shuddering breaths.

He presses a kiss to the silk covering your shoulder and begins slipping away. Your muscles contract in protest, trying to keep him longer, but he’s right. Once he’s gone, you can still feel him. He moves around you, helping you clean up, straightening the disarray.

“Why are you still here, Steven?” Lorna frowns disapprovingly at the way Steve is perched on the corner of her desk, with one of her picture frames in his hand.

“Is this your daughter?”

She snatches the frame from his hand as you quietly make your way back from the restroom with all your buttons buttoned and hair smoothed back into place. Taking your seat you pick up the small stack of photocopies tapping them on the desk to straighten them.

“Doesn’t your father need that file?” She questions.

“That’s right he does,” he snaps his fingers like he just remembered,” I better get going. I just didn’t want to leave this pretty girl all alone,” he looks over his shoulder at you, giving you a wink. She sighs loudly and goes about settling at her desk.

The black and white images of his hands and your panties are hidden when you fold the papers into thirds before stuffing them in an envelope and holding it in the air, waiting for him to come and take it from you. Looking smug, he wanders over collecting his prize from your outstretched hand.

“Listen,” he says, leaning close, keeping his voice low, “Can I take you out tonight? Buy you dinner?”

“Hmm, that depends, Steven,” you busy yourself with the files on the desk, “Is there going to be dessert?”

“I’ll pick you up at six,” the confident Harrington smile stretches across his face. He doesn’t say anything else, just a wave to Lorna as he disappears through the door, envelope in hand. Your eyes follow him through the window glass, watching as he ducks into his BMW and drives off.

“Ahem,” Lorna clears her throat, breaking you from your stare, “I’d nip that in the bud if I were you. That boy’s got a crush, and it’s gonna lead to nothing but trouble.”

“Of course,” you say, turning towards the screen of your word processor, fingers clicking across the keyboard as you type up a letter. Satisfied with your answer she goes back to her work. Glancing up at the clock, you count the hours until six, the ache between your thighs reminds you that trouble is exactly what you want.

@loveshotzz @superblysubpar @boomhauer @myobmaya @litereader

Secertary AU Masterlist Here

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#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #mr. harrington's secertary au #anything you want #steve harrington

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