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pasukiyo · 9 months

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SWINGS AND MISSES

mlb player!steve harrington x f!reader word count: 6288 words warnings: angst and smut notes: i don't know if i made it super clear in the story but steve plays for the phillies in this au summary: with steve's record-breaking walk-off home run, it should've been an extraordinary night. but steve's wife can't help her longing for hawkins, and when she hears from one of his teammates a rumor that steve may have received an offer from a team even farther away from home, she finally meets her breaking point.

AUGUST, 1994;

“I’ve never seen a home run in real life before! It was incredible!”

Steve’s lips curled into a smile as he held the baseball close to his stomach with his left hand, a marker in his right, printing his signature on the ball. “Well, I’m glad I was able to make a good first impression, bud,” he chuckled, leaning further into the wall separating the stands from the field to hand the ball back over before taking another from the other young boy beside him.

“Yeah. The announcer even said it broke a record! That was such a cool way to end the game,” the boy said as Steve handed him his newly autographed ball, capping the marker and stuffing it in the back pocket of his baseball pants. “I’ve never seen a homer hit that far! And it was a walk-off!”

“Yeah, I think it even went out of the park!” The other younger boy exclaimed and Steve laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wanna hit like you one day!”

“Yeah, how do we learn to hit like you?”

Steve laughed again at the rapid fire questions, uncrossing his arms to lift his baseball cap off his head and run his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. “It’s all about the effort you put into the game. It’s all pointless if you don’t take the time to practice, right?” he replied, glancing away when out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a figure making its way down the stairs, heading in their direction.

A very familiar figure.

“Yeah! I practice all the time!” One of the younger boys responded, a wide grin on his face. “Sometimes, my mom brings her video camera to record me at batting practice. I love going to the cages!”

Steve was trying his best to keep his attention focused on the two children in front of him, he really was, but how could he possibly focus on anything else when his wife was coming his way looking like that? His muscles ached with fatigue and his stomach growled, and all he really wanted was to get some food in his system, clean himself up, and maybe even make a little love to his wife before getting a good night’s sleep. The closer she got, the harder he found it to maintain his patience.

The young boys in front of him continued to babble on about the practice they do outside of games as Steve’s wife approached in one of his jerseys— which was a few sizes too big for her— tucked into denim shorts, a Phillies baseball cap fit snug to her head. Steve’s grin widened as she approached and he gave her upper arm a squeeze before turning back to the children.

“I really hate to have to go but I’m sure your parents would hate me if I kept you boys up too late anyways,” Steve chuckled, raising a hand to the crown of his head to give the boys a little salute as he helped his wife climb over the wall and step onto the field. “Keep practicing!” He called over his shoulder as he threw his arm around his wife’s shoulders, giving her arm a squeeze. “And respect your parents!”

Her face pulled into a smile and her chest heaved with a laugh as she glanced up at him, scrunching her face when he met her gaze. “Look at you being so good with kids,” she giggled, lacing her fingers together with the ones dangling from her shoulders. “Almost like we’re back in Hawkins.”

Steve rolled his eyes at this comment, pulling her in closer so that he could press a kiss against her temple as he led them towards the dugout where only a few of his fellow teammates remained. “At least these kids don’t drive me up the fuckin’ wall,” he snorted. “You know Henderson called the other day just to make fun of the way I run bases?”

She tried to suppress her laugh as he pulled away from her to gather his equipment and he turned to cock an eyebrow at her as he snatched his helmet, tossing his batting gloves and fielding glove inside it when she let a giggle slip through the cracks of her lips. “What?” He watched as she crossed an arm over her chest and propped her opposite elbow against it, hiding her smile behind her knuckles. She shook her head, “nothing, nothing.”

Steve pressed his lips together in a pout and stood back up, a hand on his hip. “You think the way I run bases is funny too, don’t you?” He used his helmet to gesture over to where she stood, scoffing in disbelief when she broke into laughter, trying her best to hide it behind her hand. “I can’t believe you.”

One of his teammates strolled up, reaching past Steve to grab his bat, using his other hand to clasp his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better buddy, we all think you run bases funny,” he spoke with a grin and she erupted in laughter again as Steve used his glove to smack him against his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck off Kev,” he grumbled as he plopped down on the bench, prying his cleats off his feet. She giggled as she shuffled between his legs, cupping his face and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s okay, babe. On the bright side, your ass still looks ridiculously good in those pants,” she tittered and he rolled his eyes, playfully pushing her face away as he slipped on his slides.

“Whatever. You can talk to me once you’ve stopped taking Henderson’s side,” Steve rolled his eyes as he gathered the rest of his things and she followed him down the steps leading into the locker room, her hands in her back pockets. She gazed down at her feet, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating what she said next.

“You know… kinda miss that kid,” she said softly and Steve furrowed a brow, peeking at her from over his shoulder. “Are we talking about the same Henderson right now?” He asked and she chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s just… you know, it’s been awhile since we’ve seen him. And everybody. And… Hawkins…”

“We went back for Christmas, remember?” She pressed her lips together and felt her face fell, wrapping her arms around herself, shrugging. “Yeah, I know but I mean… it was just an overnight trip and that was months ago…” She trailed off, stopping in her tracks when Steve’s name permeated the corridor and she turned to face the source of the voice.

“Coach,” Steve acknowledged the Head Coach of the Phillies, taking the older man’s hand when he outstretched it for him to shake. “The man of the hour!” Coach exclaimed before glancing behind Steve where she stood, nodding his head in acknowledgment. “Always good to see you, Mrs. Harrington,” he greeted and she nodded back, a shy smile on her face as she weakly waved. “You wouldn’t mind if I stole your husband for a quick minute, would you?”

Steve blinked back at her, a slight furrow still in his brow but she waved him off anyway. “As long as you promise to bring him back,” her laugh came out as more of a breath, but the coach chuckled anyway, leading Steve away towards his office. She stood alone in the empty hallway leading to the Phillies locker room, arms wrapped around herself, her heart pounding and mind racing.

She wasn’t sure what she was hoping would come out of confessing to Steve how homesick she felt. It wasn’t his fault they hardly ever had the time to visit— Major League Baseball was his career, traveling and moving one place to another was just part of it.

But still, she couldn’t resist the yearn she felt for something more… stable. For a place she could call home, for a place she could stay. Hawkins was home to her— it always, always was. Even after all the strange things she and Steve had experienced in the small town in Indiana, she still felt connected to the place, still had threads tying her down in its roots. It was where she grew up, where she had friends, where she had family.

But she wasn’t sure how Steve would feel about that.

“Harrington leave you all alone?”

She turned to the source of the voice and there stood Matt, one of Steve’s teammates, big and burly as ever with his arms crossed and his baseball bag hanging from one of his shoulders. She forced a smile, “Coach needed to see him in his office. Maybe he’s in trouble.”

Matt rolled his eyes at this, “yeah right, like Star Boy is gonna get in trouble,” he scoffed. “You know, rumor has it Boston’s interested in him.”

She blinked. “Boston?” Steve had never mentioned this to her before, of course she knew his contract with the Phillies was about to expire, but surely he would’ve told her if he’d gotten any other calls? Was he keeping this from her?

Matt lifted his baseball cap to scratch at his scalp, his brow furrowed, lips turned in confusion. “You didn’t know?” He asked, and she shook her head. “No… No, I didn’t.”

As if her mind wasn’t already racing before, it was practically a typhoon now. Surely this was all a misunderstanding? Perhaps he was in the Head Coach’s office right now working out a new deal to renew his contract, maybe there was nothing to worry about after all. Because Steve would’ve told her about something like this, right?

“Anyway, surely you have nothing to worry about,” Matt tittered as he sauntered past. “No matter where he ends up, he’ll be making a shit ton of more money than I’ll ever make in a lifetime, so what the hell do I care where he goes?”

She blinked as Matt said his goodbyes and disappeared into the locker room, once again leaving her alone to her thoughts. It wasn’t long after that Steve finally reemerged from the Coach’s office, laughing at whatever had been said moments before. The sound of the door closing echoed through the hallway and Steve turned back to face her where she stood, gesturing with his head to the locker room.

“I’m gonna go get changed, be back in a minute,” he said, turning around before she had the chance to even open her mouth, disappearing inside the locker room. And the whole time she stood in that empty hallway alone, all she could think of was Boston and how much further away from home— Hawkins— it was.

She told him when he got drafted in the major leagues that she’d follow him anywhere he went— and she still stood by that. But was it so wrong for her to long for home, to miss her family, her friends? Was it so wrong to just wish for a week, even a weekend to go back and visit her loved ones?

And why was she so nervous to ask Steve about it?

Steve had never been too fond of Hawkins. Perhaps, years of dealing with alternate reality monsters and scary Russian men will do that for you. But she knew Steve loathed Hawkins for another reason— his parents. His parents that were never there, his parents that never cared to show up to a high school basketball game, baseball games, even his own graduation. His parents that never even bothered to be there, who always had something better to do than be at home with their son.

Hawkins was where he grew up, Hawkins was a constant reminder of how unwanted he used to be. So of course he’d gotten out of there the first chance he got, of course he’d brush her off every time she wanted to go back, of course their time to visit was reduced down to a simple overnight stay over Christmas.

Hawkins would never be home to Steve Harrington, and sometimes she feared he failed to acknowledge that it was quite the opposite for her.

“Ready to go?” His voice broke her thoughts and she blinked up at him, now wearing sweats and a plain white tee, his hair messy and unkempt atop his head. He spun the keys to his old BMW around his pinky finger, pinching his lip between his teeth as he approached, using his free arm to sling around her shoulders. “Everything okay?” He asked, giving her a fleeting squeeze and pressing a kiss to her hair.

She wanted nothing more than to question him, ask him what the quick little meeting with his coach was about, ask him what she was hearing about being traded to the Red Sox, whether or not he’d been hiding it from her, and if he was considering taking them up on whatever they offered him. But not here— it could wait for the car.

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded, letting him lead her towards the exit. The night air in Philadelphia had a bit of a chill and she shivered when Steve opened the door leading to the players’ parking lot, the old BMW he’s had since high school waiting for them beneath the lamppost light. She clutched the strap of her purse as they made their way towards the car, worrying her lip between her teeth.

Steve glanced up at her over the top of his car as she circled around to the passenger’s side, swinging open the door and slipping inside. He watched as she buckled in her seat belt while he turned the keys in the ignition, her fingers dropping in her lap as she stared out the window.

“You sure everything’s okay?” He asked again, reaching over to brush his fingers against her knuckles. She turned to face him, face void of expression as their eyes surged into one another. Something was wrong, Steve could feel it.

“What was all that about?” She questioned. “You know, with your coach and all that.” Steve pulled his fingers away and leaned back into his seat, searching the steering wheel as he tried to string together what to say next. She watched as he scratched at his chin, outstretching his palm, “he wanted to discuss my contract,” he replied. “Since it’s expiring soon.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together in an attempt to still her beating heart. Steve rolled his tongue against his cheek, unsure of what to say next, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate any further, she drew in a shaky breath, gazing out the windshield. “I heard from Matt that Boston is interested in you.”

Steve blinked, his lips pressed in a firm, thin line as he grew silent, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and turning the keys in the ignition with the other. The car roared to life and Steve said nothing as he turned to gaze out the back windshield to pull out of his parking space. Silence was thick in the air as he drove out of the parking lot, a lump forming in her throat and the tension was hot, a heavy weight on either of their chests.

“Why are you not talking to me?” She finally asked, glancing over to where he sat, jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping it. “Why didn’t you tell me about Boston?” She questioned, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. Steve ran a hand through his hair, “the call only came in a few days ago.”

Her stomach flipped at the admission and she turned, brow furrowed in disbelief. “You got the call a few days ago and didn’t think to tell me about it?” It was hard to hide her agitation now. “What happened to… to talking to each other, Steve? Don’t you think I would’ve liked to have known about something like this?”

Steve tapped the pad of his thumb against the top of the steering wheel, propping his other arm against the window, cupping his chin in his palm. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he replied. “I know how much you hate traveling and I didn’t know how to bring it up and—“

“Steve, I… don’t hate traveling,” she interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest, scoffing as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “I told you early on that I have no issue following you anywhere you go, and I still stand by that. What I have an issue with is you, number one: not telling me any of this crap and number two: brushing me off when I tell you that I want to go home. Why can’t we go somewhere for me for once? You have off days, but we spend them doing what you want, never what I want.” Her words were pouring out of her but at this point, she couldn’t make them stop.

Months upon months of her frustrations that had been pushed to the side to rest were now forcing their way to the frontlines, and she realized now that she wanted to be heard. She didn’t want to be pushed to the sidelines anymore, she didn’t want to keep everything to herself anymore, she just wanted to be seen. She wanted everything she’d spent energy burying to be recognized, she wanted Steve to acknowledge her.

“Can we… not do this tonight?” Steve said at last, wiping his brow in vexation and gripping the steering wheel with a two hand feel. “I’m tired, you’re tired, so can we please just chill out and talk about this in the morning?” She gnawed at the flesh of the inside of his cheek, “no, Steve,” she spoke firmly, her tone as stern as it could get to let him know that she wouldn’t be cowering away this time. “I’m not tired. Don’t tell me to chill out whenever you don’t feel like listening. I’m not going to let you push me to the side this time,” she said just as the car rolled to a halt in front of a stoplight.

“I’m not pushing you to the side!” His voice has raised this time, but still, she had no intention of backing down. “Honestly, you’re sounding so selfish right now,” he muttered, shaking his head and gazing out the window to his side, keen on looking anywhere but at her.

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “I’m being the selfish one?” She scoffed, pointing a finger to her chest. “You won’t even listen to me. You won’t even talk to me.” Steve didn’t reply as the light turned green, making it clear he didn’t want to argue any further, only adding more coal to her fire.

She dropped her head, feeling the bitter sting of tears in her eyes that she desperately tried to lock away, sinking her teeth further into the plush of her lip to help keep them from falling. Feeling unheard was probably the worst feeling she’d ever felt in the world, it felt as if she were drowning, meters below the ocean, her screams falling onto deaf ears. All she could see for miles was darkness and she was falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of black.

Steve was usually her lifeline but now, he was further and further away, and she was sinking deeper and deeper…

“So what is it then?” She said at last, turning her head to glimpse over to where he sat, her voice cutting through her throat like a knife. “We’re just gonna move to Boston— which is even further away from Hawkins, by the way— and everything will just be okay? We’re just gonna forget about our friends and family and throw away everything I want to do just so I can be King Steve’s good, obedient little wife?” She hissed, and Steve turned to face her now as he pulled into the parking lot of their luxury apartment building, eyebrows knit together in frustration.

“We spend all your off days doing whatever the hell you want, why can’t we take a weekend or something to go back home and see everyone?” She pressed further. “I miss them. I miss Nancy, Jonathan, Dustin, Max, El, Robin— Robin’s your fucking best friend and you’ve only seen her once in the past year. You can’t even stay on the phone with her for more than ten minutes now.”

“Because I’m fucking busy trying to give us a future!” Steve practically roared, his voice like a crack of thunder, even making her tremble where she sat. She recoiled and pressed her lips together, blinking. “I’ve been working almost every single fucking day to provide for us, to provide for you. You tell me you understand that this is my career, that traveling and press conferences and practices and brand deals and all that other shit is just a part of it. But then you sit here and bitch at me for it, complaining that I’m not listening, that I’m being selfish when all I fucking do everyday is work so you can be comfortable!”

Her vision glossed over with the haze of tears again and she blinked, sniffing. “You’re missing the point, Steve. I never asked for you to give up your career. I never asked for you to take time off for me. I asked you to hear me. I asked that we use the time that you’re off to go back home,” she replied softly, her tone void of the firmness she held before. Steve didn’t dare look at her, eyes narrowed as he stared straight ahead through the windshield, hands still tight around the steering wheel.

“Then what the hell’s stopping you from just leaving?” He asked, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, and she blinked, sure that tears were falling now. “So that’s your answer?” She grimaced at her own voice, watery and threatening to break. “You’re just going to push me away? Tell me to leave?”

Steve closed his eyes, his chest heaving with a sigh as he leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the headrest. A moment of silence dangled between the two, neither seeming to know how to break it. One hand dropped to his lap and the other rose to his forehead, the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. She sniffed and wiped the tears from her wet and sticky cheeks, pressing her lips together as she shook her head, gazing at the parking lot outside the window. The city was alive and noisy at this time of night, its light polluting the night sky and ceiling away the stars.

This wasn’t what she had grown up to know. Even still, the city was still foreign to her. She missed the quiet of a small town, missed looking up at the night sky and seeing the stars twinkling down at her. She just missed home.

But what was Hawkins without Steve in it too?

“I don’t…” Steve began, blinking up at the ceiling of his car. “…I don’t know what to do.”

She glanced over at him, her arms crossed over her stomach, her fingernails scratching lines into her skin. She looked at Steve now and saw someone she hadn’t seen in awhile, not since they lived in Hawkins.

Steve looked lost.

“I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore,” he breathed a laugh at himself, flattening his palm against his eyes and shaking his head again. “I just feel like I’m letting you down no matter what I do.”

She furrowed her brows together and turned in her seat until her back was against the door, her left leg bent and leaning against the back of her seat. “Steve, you’re not… you’re not letting me down,” she replied in a soft murmur. “But it hurts me when you don’t listen to me. I never try to push you too hard or stop you from doing what you love to do,” her lips curved into a small smile. “And it makes me so happy to watch you play baseball. Because you just look so… peaceful. You look happy. Even if you do look funny running the bases.”

Steve snorted at this, turning his head to the side to face her. “For awhile there, you weren’t happy,” she could feel her voice begin to crack, more tears glossing her vision, her voice thick with emotion. “I know you weren’t happy back in Hawkins,” she continued. “Just like you know I used to not be happy back then either.”

Steve sniffed, his eyes dropping to her fingers where they rested in her lap, and he watched as she leaned closer towards him, her fingers finding his. He shuddered when their skin met, already melting into her touch, squeezing her fingers tighter when they laced together with his. His molars sunk down into the flesh of the inside of his cheek, trying to maintain his own composure.

“But Hawkins is home to me,” she murmured. “Hawkins is where our story began. It’s where we both grew up, it’s where we found each other. And I’ll always be grateful to Hawkins for that.”

Steve let his fleeting gaze linger on their hands for a moment before her other hand pushed against his chin, leading his eyes back home, back to her. “Even with everything we went through there, we made so many memories,” she chuckled. “Like the first time you took me on a date and you pulled up to my house and my dad…”

Steve’s lips curved into a smile and parted in a laugh, “he grilled me.” She laughed along, nodding. “I still remember how nervous you were to even hold hands with me, like my dad was waiting around the corner or something.”

“He can be really intimidating.”

“No shit,” she chuckled, leaning the side of her head into the passenger seat’s headrest. “And I remember our first kiss…”

Steve let the pad of his thumb soothe over the smooth skin on the back of her hand as he recalled the memory, the image of her standing in front of him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes he fell in love with, wearing that ridiculously pretty baby blue dress he still secretly wished she would wear more often. He could remember how nervous he was, how he felt like his heart was going to either burst out of his chest or he was going to shit it out. He remembered wondering how a girl so perfect could ever want to be with him, how insecure he felt about himself, whether or not he was a shitty boyfriend.

All of it melted away when she fluttered her eyes closed and began to lean in and he, too, began to fall in closer…

“Yeah,” Steve sighed his reply, and she smiled warmly. “So you see now why I want to go back so bad?” She asked. “Hawkins was where our story started. Hawkins will always be home to me.”

Steve drew in a deep breath and nodded, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah,” he said. “But I still don’t know what to do about Boston.”

She glanced down to their joined hands, her free hand soothing up and down his arm. When she looked back up, Steve’s face was contorted in thought, eyebrows knit together, eyes unfocused and lips pressed together. She gave his hand a squeeze, “do you want to go to Boston?”

He blinked and peered over at her where she sat, waiting for a reply. Her face was void of all frustration from before, expression warm, inviting. How could he have ever taken her for granted?

Steve gave a short nod, “I think so.”

Her lips grew into a grin, “then we’re going to Boston.”

Steve’s face softened but a wrinkle in his brow still remained. “And you’re… okay with that?” He asked, and she nodded. “As long as we can do things I want too. I just want to dedicate some off time to going back home. I want to see everybody. I miss all our friends. I miss my dad.”

Steve nodded, giving her hand a squeeze, “okay.”

She nodded back and pushed herself from her sitting position, leaning over the console until their faces were close, their lips a whisper away from one another. “Okay,” she whispered against his lips and Steve gazed up at her, his deep, brown irises melting into hers. His gaze fleeted down to her lips as he reached a hand around to cup the back of her head, pulling her mouth down onto his.

His lips were soft and she melted into them as if they were a pillow. Steve kissed her with an urgent, tender need, like his tongue was telling her a million sorrys he couldn’t relay in words. She moaned into his mouth when he squeezed her hip with the hand not tangled in her hair and she climbed her way over the console and onto his lap, her hands on either of his cheeks, the firestorm on her skin erupting into a volcano, hot magma pouring over her and pooling onto him.

His kisses trailed down her chin to the underside of her jaw, her fingers inching their way to his hair, giving the roots a tug when he sucked a mark there. Her lips fell apart in a gasp at the feeling of his teeth ghosting over her flesh, teasing a bite on the sensitive part of her neck. “Steve,” she mewled as his hands felt up her waist, to her stomach, and around to the buttons of her jersey.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against her lips when his kisses found their way back to her mouth, his fingers working at the buttons of her jersey. “I’m an asshole,” he mumbled as he pushed her now fully opened shirt down her arms, his mouth hot when they found her one of her erect nipples and she threw her head back, squeezing the roots of his tendrils tighter.

“Mm mm,” she shook her head as he swirled his tongue around her peaked bud, staring up at her through a hooded gaze as he sucked. “You’re… not!” She arched her back and moaned when he released her breast with a pop, trailing kisses between the valley of her tits to ravage the other. “Not an… asshole.”

His smile was a crescent against her skin as he worked at the other and she pressed her lips together in a whimper, feeling heat pool between her legs, her core clenching when she ground her hips down into his erection. “Stevie,” she panted when he released her breast, kissing her collarbone until he could make out dark marks in her skin. “Hmm?” He hummed against her flesh, glancing up at her.

She ground her hips down into him once again, causing him to groan and buck his own up into her. She gasped at this, feeling tears sting her eyes before streaming down her cheeks. “I just… I just wanna feel you,” she managed to breathe out, her teeth pinching her bottom lip hard enough that she nearly drew blood. “Just want you inside me.”

Steve probably could’ve come from just her voice alone. His cock was aching and throbbing in his sweats and he tapped the underside of her thighs to tell her to sit up. She mewled as she rose off his lap, allowing them both to strip themselves from their pants and underwear.

Their eyes surged into one another as Steve’s middle and pointer finger traced a line down her center, his palm flush with her clit, her lids fluttering closed and a cry erupting from her throat and permeating the small space of his car. “You’re dripping for me, baby,” Steve purred, using his other hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, the pad of his thumb soothing over her closed eyelids. “You always get so wet for me,” he praised, drawing her face closer to his to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. “You’re always such a good girl for me. Always make me so proud.”

“Stevie,” she mewled, voice dripping with need from his words. His fingers still worked back and forth over her slit, the tips teasing her clit and every so often, her entrance. “Yeah baby?” He cooed, nuzzling the bridge of his nose against the underside of her jaw. She whimpered again, “just need you inside. Please.”

Neither of them could care any less that anyone could easily be watching them right now, all they cared about was each other. All Steve wanted to do right now was take care of his girl, to make sure she felt wanted, needed, heard.

So he wasted no time in grabbing a hold of the base of his cock, hissing between his teeth at the sight of her cunt just dripping, aching to be filled. He gazed back up at her and reached for her face, cupping her cheek with one hand and kneading the flesh of her hip with the other. “Look at me,” he whispered, waiting until her eyelids fluttered back open and he could stare into his gorgeous irises of hers. “You ready?” He asked with a little nod, and when she nodded back almost immediately, he guided her down into his lap with the hand on her hip, his lips falling agape, a deep, guttural groan bellowing from his throat.

She cried as he slowly pushed himself all the way in until she was fully seated in his lap, crystals of tears resting on her eyelashes. Even after all these years, she couldn’t believe how big he was, how every inch seemed to fill her up in the most perfect way, leaving no part of her untouched.

And Steve couldn’t believe how tight she still was. She always squeezed him in just the right way, her pussy always seeming eager to milk him, and he always seemed to be near spent even when they had just started.

“Ready to move?” He murmured close to her ear and she nodded, lifting her hips gently before setting her pace, either of his hands now on her waist, guiding her up and down his cock. The windows had since fogged up, the lights outside nothing more than white and orange dots, like watercolors. She managed to peel her eyes open enough to peer down at him, her lips finding his, their moans muffled against each other.

“I love you,” Steve purred against her mouth, his breath hot and making liquid of her insides. She felt her heart skip a beat when he said this, as if it were the first time she’d ever heard him say it. It was like this with everything with Steve. He made every touch, every kiss, every ‘I love you,’ every everything feel like the first time.

And that’s what she loved most about him.

“I…” she gasped at a particular deep thrust, rivers of tears streaming down her cheeks. “…oh God! I love you too!”

Her palms ventured down the chest of his t-shirt until they reached the hem, tugging at it to signal that she wanted it off. Steve wasted no time in reaching down to pull it up and over his head, her hips still rocking back and forth on his cock as he discarded it somewhere behind him, his hands cupping either of her elbows and drawing her mouth back onto his.

She was so dangerously close to the edge, Steve was so dangerously close to the edge. It was enough to make her cry out, to wrap her arms around Steve’s head and hug him close to her chest. “Gonna… fuck! Gonna come baby?” Steve groaned as he thrusted up into her, meeting her hips in rhythm with her rocking. She nodded, unable to speak as a spark trailed down her stomach until it erupted in flame at her center, white light flashing behind her eyelids as she exploded, a blissful heat ripping through her.

Steve’s hands cradled the small of her back as she struggled to catch her breath, letting him pound her through her orgasm until he too let himself go, spurts of his seed spilling somewhere deep inside her, painting her cervix like it was his canvas.

He held her tighter as she trembled, panting and chasing air back into her lungs, aftershocks rumbling through her as he slowed his hips before pulling out altogether, making sure his hands were there to catch her before she fell.

His palm cracked the back of her head to his chest, their pants slowly dwindling down to soft breaths, their skin melting into each other until they became one. His thumb soothed over her shoulder blade, his other arm wrapped around her waist, ensuring neither he nor she were going anywhere.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered close to her ear, his breath hot as it rolled over her skin. “And I’m sorry. I promise I’ll hear you out from now on. You shouldn’t feel like you’re being silenced around me.”

He could feel her smile against the curve of his shoulder, her lips pressing a soft kiss to his skin. His lips curled into their own smile. “Thank you,” she murmured against his flesh. “Can we just stay here like this for a minute?”

He hummed into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Mhm,” he hummed, resting his cheek against their head and letting his eyelids flutter closed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

a/n; i have literally been wanting to write an mlb player steve au for the longest time and i just never have gotten around to it 😭 i'm not sure if any of you know this, but i used to play softball, started playing when i was 8 years old all the way up until my senior year of high school, so softball/baseball has pretty much always been a big part of my life and LAWD can you just imagine steve as a major leaguer 😍 anyways, its been awhile since i've posted anything steve related and i'm so sorry for that! but i hope you all enjoy this one! it turned out to be a lot longer than i initially expected it to lol (ps, i definitely wouldn’t mind writing more for major leaguer steve in the future 👀)

TAGLIST

@thesilentshape @oliviajdjarin 🫶

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #baseball player steve harrington #mlb player!steve harrington #baseball player!steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things smut #stranger things

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

Note

Hi! I LOVE the way u write leo valdez and was wondering if u could do an x reader fic where she gets accepted to her dream college? Im manifesting lol 🤞🤞much love xx

OMG YES I'M MORE THAN HAPPY TOO!! ANYTHING FOR YOU ANON-

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ College Girls Do It Better, Duh!!

content: leo valdez x fem! reader warning: language, like the smallest amount of angst ig, stress and anxiety (the poster children of senior year) author's note: hi little miss anon!! congratulations on being my first ask by the way!! anyways, as someone who is currently fighting for my life to get through this last stretch of senior year, I feel year. I applied to my dream college since eighth grade early decision all the way back in november and got deferred. and i know this might be hard to hear and i know i didn't believe it at the time, but it was honestly one of the best things that ever happened to me. It allowed me to take a deep dive on who i am as a person and find actually interests outside of just that school. now, i've been accepted to another college in the same city (boston girl 4 eva) with a scholarship that covers more than half of my tuition and under a major I actually want to pursue (marine biology with a minor in journalism for anyone who was curious). ANYWAYS i've yapped on long enough and you're not even here for this little ted talk of mine. please carry on and i hope you enjoy this little bad boy i whipped up.

this was it: senior year. everything added up to this. finally! we’re in the homestretch, folks! gods, on top of stopping the world from ending every other summer, y/n had to keep good grades up too. she was more than ready to trade leo’s sweaters for a cap and gown, counting down the days to graduation. a break would have been greatly appreciated but the fates were never that kind. well, they were kind enough to give her leo, so they couldn’t be all that bad in her eyes. though, the pressure was starting to make y/n crack in ways she didn’t expect; the pressure that comes with college acceptances and, sadly, rejections. she felt like she was falling behind a bit, a lump growing in her throat and her chest tightening at every acceptance letter her friends got. of course, she was overjoyed for them and she’d buy them cupcakes and celebrate their accomplishments but she couldn’t help but wonder when it would be her turn. i mean, she slaved away over her college essay, she maintained the best grades she could, did all of the extracurriculars she could manage, on top of being a two-time saver of the world. something she, sadly, could not tell colleges. well, she told new rome university, but she figured they got a lot of letters like that. but, for now, y/n just waited…and waited…and then waited some more just for shits and giggles.

“today’s the day, right?” jason questioned as he walked with y/n towards their civics class. y/n swallowed thickly, nodding her head, although a bit reluctantly.

“y-yeah, early decision round two comes out today for new rome. now, no more talking about it or i’ll pass out," y/n told him and jason laughed, bumping his shoulder with her gently.

“come on, give yourself a fair shake. they’d be stupid not to-”

“don’t jinx it!! go find some wood to knock on, sparky,” the girl ordered in a panic and jason quickly rapped his knuckles against a door as they passed, the poor ceramics teacher peeking her head out to find no one waiting.

“okay, okay, no bad juju,” y/n muttered to herself following the boy's actions, taking a few calming breaths. jason gave her a sympathetic look as they took their seats, rubbing his hand gently over her tense shoulders. their eyes both went to the empty seat next to y/n before turning to each other with tiny smirks.

“i bet he’ll get here just as the bell rings,” mused y/n, trying to rid herself of her anxiety with humor. jason pretended to think it over, before holding his hand out.

“nah, he’s gotta be at least ten minutes late today,” countered jason and y/n shook his hand with a determined look. as the pair's eyes stayed locked on the clock, mere seconds before the bell would ring, leo came waltzing to the class, an iced coffee held in one hand and his keys swinging around in the other. mr. wright glaring at the boy, knowing he couldn’t give him the tardy he so desperately wanted to. leo made his way to his seat, kissing y/n’s cheek as he sat. y/n’s smile widened and her stress and anxiety began to melt away.

“for little miss smartie pants here,” he hummed, sliding the drink in front of her with a wink. y/n took a sip, shaking her head at him as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“lots of talk coming from someone who’s already been accepted with honors,” replied y/n, jokingly glaring at him though she couldn’t stop a proud smile from spreading over her lips. leo had a habit of underestimating himself and when he got accepted into new rome university on a scholarship to boot, he couldn’t really ignore it anymore. y/n was his number one supporter, buying him shirts and lanyards and pennant flags. leo rolled his eyes, slinging his arm over the back of her seat.

“they’d be stupid not to accept-”

“knock on wood right now!! what is with you guys trying to curse me?!” y/n bit out, shoving the boy in the direction of the wooden desk. leo knocked his knuckles against it whilst sharing a look with jason, who just shrugged.

“i’m just saying-”

“mr. valdez! if you’re just going to show up to disrupt my class, do not continue to show up!” mr. wright called, narrowing his eyes at the trio.

“sorry, mr. wright, but i do kinda need this class to graduate. if i didn’t, i guarantee you i would not be here right now,” joked leo, earning laughs from the rest of the class. mr. wright’s eye twitched as he stared at the boy before grumbling under his breath and returning to his lecture. leo held his head high after that, knowing he’d won for today.

the rest of the day seemingly flew past, y/n anxiously and constantly checking her email. after lunch, she sort of relaxed, somehow managing to convince herself that the email wasn’t going to come today and she’d just worry about it some other day. but, as she sat in her seventh period class, her phone buzzed on her desk. she didn’t think anything of it, determined to finish another math problem before she allowed herself a phone break. then her phone buzzed a few more times, her attention being dragged away from her math homework at the borderline constant buzzing. she huffed, picking up her phone before her eyes went wide and her breath tumbled out of her lips.

there on her phone she had an email from new rome university which read, ‘today’s the day! log into your student portal as your status has been updated.’ under that, and the root of the near constant buzzing, were texts from all her friends. leo was typing in all-caps, something about running to her class at the moment. her group chat with frank, hazel, and piper, the three other people who applied in the same decision group as her, had multiple texts about wanting to throw up and being too nervous to open it. annabeth had sent a text too, something about y/n being one of the smartest and sweetest people she knew and no college acceptance or rejection could change that.

ignoring all of them and feeling like she was in a haze, y/n unlocked her phone and got to work logging into her student portal and watching the spinning circle as she waited for it to load. bam! welcome screen, nothing new so far. y/n continued to breath, though she knew it was unsteady as she placed a hand against her chest, hoping to regulate her rapid heartbeat, which she could feel in her toes and hear in her ears. then she noticed a little hyperlink, informing her that her status had been updated. her finger hovered over it as hazel updated that she’d been accepted, promptly being followed by frank and piper. y/n squeezed her eyes shut, swiping away their messages and slamming her finger down onto the link. more waiting and then it finally loaded. she scrolled slowly, wanting to ease herself into rejection…

dear y/n l/n,

on behalf of new rome university, we are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted. congratulations! furthermore, we’d like offer you a scholarship for academic integrity, blah blah blah

wait- did that say accepted?! y/n’s eyes did a double take, which was growing increasingly more difficult as tears were starting to pool. her hands shook and she promptly stood up from her chair, muttering about needing the bathroom to the teacher before basically bolting out of the class. she moved quickly down the hall, her eyes darting around wildly until she heard the stomping of feet and the squeak of rubber on linoleum. leo rounded a corner at the other end of the hall, his eyes instantly focusing on the girl, on his girl. without a second thought, the two of them sprinted to each other, basically slamming against the other as they met in the middle. leo’s arms wrapped around her frantically, unsure of the verdict but wanting her in his arms either way. y/n curled into him easily, crying against his shirt, tears of joy but he didn’t know that.

“so?” leo whispered after a moment, cupping her tear-stained cheeks and looking down at her with what could only be described as unfiltered love. y/n looked at him before cracking a small smile through her tears.

“i got in. i- i got in, oh my gods, i got in!” she stated, growing more excited everytime she said it.

“duh! my clever girl! ooh, my clever college girl!” leo cheered, smirking down at her. y/n laughed, shoving him off as she reached up and wiped away some of her tears.

“whatever, you absolute hammer head.”

“there’s no getting rid of me now, baby. you’re stuck with me. wooo, we’re going to college together!” added leo, smiling down at her in genuine excitement. y/n looked up at him and leo could have sworn his bmp spiked, even after all these years.

“wouldn’t have it any other way,” she mused, reaching up and cupping his face before pulling him down so she could press her lips against his. easily, his hands found her waist and pulled her closer, as her arms draped over his shoulders.

the bell rang, school being out for the day, and as students flooded the halls, leo let go of his girlfriend and cupped his hands around his lips, screaming: “MY HOT ASS GIRLFRIEND JUST GOT ACCEPTED INTO A PRESTIGIOUS ASS SCHOOL! THAT’S MY GIRL RIGHT THERE!”

author's note cont. : I know what your all thinking, how could she possibly have more to say?!?! HA you underestimate my ability to yap. anyways, on a more serious note, I'm wishing you, anon and anyone else who needs to hear it, the best of best luck with colleges and whatnot. They'd be stupid to reject you and i'll proudly shove you all in my suitcase and take you to college with me. jk...unless. No, fr tho, don't let a rejection define you! Fate is fickle and will find a way to treat you to the life you deserve, don't forget it!! Anyways, now that I spent my whole night slaving away over this, I am off to bed, hope you guys enjoy and have great days!!

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #jason grace #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #pjo

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meiliarotten · 3 months

Text

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 12: Hands Under the Table (Public)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Sniper x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Sniper have some fun in a conveniently isolated area of a bar

Tags: Public, dirty talk, fingering, denial, dom/sub, bars, beer (no intoxication), volume control

Word Count: 2.2k

The Masterlist

You gripped a bottle of beer in your hand, letting the condensation soak your palm. Cracking open the cap, you grimaced as it bubbled and dripped down the side before taking a tentative sip. Yup, just as disgusting as the last time you had tried beer. Why you felt the need to force yourself to adapt to this taste, you would never know.

Truthfully, it was probably for the same reason you agreed to come along to this bar in the first place- comradery. You wished your team could get a bit more imaginative with their post-victory celebrations. At the very least, they could buy some drinks and keep them back at the base, where you could at least have the convenience of retiring to your room when things became overwhelming.

Scanning the bar, your eyes fell on Sniper, who had been keeping a booth to himself for most of the night. A bowl of chips in the center of the table remained untouched, and his hat was pulled low over his eyes, as if he simply wanted to fall asleep and be woken up when this was over. Sensing a possible kindred spirit, you approached him.

“I’m surprised you agreed to come,” you said, looking down at Sniper, now seeing that he was also nursing a beer. You wondered if he actually liked the stuff or if he was just faking it like you. Maybe everyone was faking it. Maybe beer was just a grand conspiracy.

Sniper scoffed. “Well, I was practically dragged out of my van to join in.” He nodded towards Scout, who was currently trying to chat up various girls on the small dance floor. It figured that the runner would be the one to pry Sniper out of his self imposed isolation. He was one of the only mercs stubborn and persistent enough to do so. You watched him strut over to the blaring jukebox, leaning against it as if it made him seem cool. You wondered how long it would take for him to put

at least five repetitions of the same Tom Jones song into that thing.

You really didn’t want to be negative. It was a nice bar, nicer than the kind you would usually go to. There was even a small stage for live music, although it was currently empty. After such a long streak of wins, the team had decided to splurge a bit. Yet, you ultimately couldn’t seem to get into the spirit of things.

“I take it you’re having about as much fun as I am?” you asked, your voice oozing sarcasm.

Honestly, you did not enjoy going out. Bars of any kind tended to be loud, crowded, and chaotic. You would much rather celebrate with a night in and some greasy take out. Spy wouldn’t be having that though, with his greater than thou attitude towards American food. Although, based on the way he was sequestered in his own personal corner as well, it seemed this wasn’t very much to his taste either.

“At least most of us seem to be enjoying themselves,” you sighed. Although, as you and Sniper looked out over the crowd, it became clear that some individuals may have been enjoying themselves a bit too much.

Demoman probably wouldn’t be much of an issue. You were almost certain that he was immune to hangovers at this point. The others were another story though. You had a feeling that the few sober ones among you would have to guide them back to the base by the end of the night, and help nurse them back to health in the morning. Why the Medigun wasn’t effective on hangovers, you would never know.

You tried to match Sniper’s laid back demeanor, casually sipping your own beer. However, you couldn’t hide the cringe on your face as you swallowed it down.

“Darling,” Sniper chuckled, watching you try and fail to ignore the taste of cheap booze. “If you don’t like it, why are you drinking it?”

You shrugged, giving a defeated sigh. “I guess I thought if I got drunk enough, this night would seem more entertaining.” You swirled the contents of the beer bottle, only a third empty. “But with how long it’s been taking me to force down sips of this cheap shit, I’m probably not even buzzed.”

Sniper chuckled. You set the bottle down beside him, admitting defeat. He took a swig from it only to find that the drink had long since gone flat. “I might have a way to make the evening more enjoyable, if you’d like,” he suggested, returning to nursing his own beer.

“I’m not dancing,” you quickly said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sniper said, glancing towards the dance floor where Scout was once again trying to seduce girls with his rendition of some kind of indescribable dance- like a cross between the Charleston and a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time. You were almost envious of his alcohol fueled confidence. “Just have a seat next to me, doll.”

He patted the booth beside him. You were confused, but also intrigued, sitting down and sidling up next to him with a playful smirk. He quickly reciprocated with an arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you close. You were a bit embarrassed by the school girl-like giggle that escaped you as you rested your head on his shoulder.

Sniper’s lips grazed your ear, making you shiver, only for his next words to make you freeze up. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Wh-” You couldn’t even get a full word out before Sniper’s free hand reached over, unbuttoning your fly and slipping his hand into your pants. You bit your lip to keep yourself from gasping. “Oh my God, Sniper!” you whispered harshly. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked as he began to move his fingers, still over your underwear. Even so, it still sent jolts of pleasure through you that made your thighs quiver slightly. “We’ve discussed this, doll. Remember how hot it made you, the thought of me working you over with my fingers in the corner of a crowded room?”

Recalling the conversation made you blush. “Yeah, I remember,” you whispered, thinking back to the night you and Sniper had swapped fantasies over pillow talk. “I just didn’t expect it to be happening now.”

“Well, I believe a key part of that little fantasy was the element of surprise,” Sniper said. “You didn’t want to know when I might spring it on you.” He paused suddenly, his smirk wavering. “Of course, if you aren’t up for this now, we can stop-”

“No, no! I am!” You cringed, lowering your voice and glancing around to make sure no one had noticed your outburst. It appeared that the din of the crowd had effectively drowned you out. “That is, I am very much up for this.”

Sniper nodded, turning his gaze away from you. He sipped his beer, holding the bottle with his free hand while the one down your pants began to rub ever so slowly. Your face flushed scarlet and you bit your lower lip to keep any noises from escaping. Your adrenaline was running high, heightening every sensation. Even being touched through your underwear like this felt incredible.

“Please,” you stammered. “Keep going.”

“Of course, darling.”

Your underwear was pulled to the side, and you shuddered as you felt Sniper's fingers drag along your cunt, coating the digits with your arousal. It didn’t take much effort for him to work a couple fingers into you within a few minutes. You hooked a leg over his thigh, trying to spread your legs in a way that wasn’t too conspicuous. He allowed it, rubbing his free hand over your thigh for a moment. His palm was cold from the chill of the beer, causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin.

The hum of the crowd seemed to fade into the background as Sniper began to pump his fingers faster. He kept switching it up, swapping between thrusting into you and circling your clit, keeping you on your toes, yet always bringing you closer and closer to the edge until the sensation of building, tightening pleasure was at the forefront of your mind, eclipsing everything else.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You didn’t even trust yourself to look out into the crowded bar, fearing that something in your expression would give you away. Still, you had to try to say something, to warn Sniper that you were close.

“Mundy,” you whimpered. “I’m going to-”

“Not yet.”

Your body immediately stiffened. “No, no, no! Don’t be mean, Mundy! I can’t- oh fuck!” Your plea for mercy dissolved on your lips. You kept a white knuckled grip on the table in front of you, scowling down at it like it had personally offended you. It was all you could do to keep your eyes from rolling back.

“Darling, keep it together,” Sniper whispered, although through clenched teeth, it sounded more akin to a growl. “Or else I’ll have to punish you later.”

You frowned, barely keeping the moan out of your voice as you responded with a tense and curt “Fine.”

“And I'll Ignore your attitude, just this once.”

Damn it, he always needed to have the last word. You clamped a hand over your mouth, gluing your eyes to the table. Sniper’s fingers curled inside you, stroking gently and rhythmically. It was all you could do to keep yourself from arching back against the booth.

Sniper downed the rest of his beer. Glancing down, he saw the way your thighs were trembling, even though you were seated. It was quite an alluring sight, and Sniper couldn’t help but get enraptured in it, imagining being inside you, pinning you down somewhere private, and making all those pretty sounds spill freely from your lips. He shook his head, putting those thoughts out of his mind for now, lest he be forced to hold his own hat suspiciously in front of his crotch for the rest of the night.

“You’re pulsing around my fingers. You’re so close you can taste it, aren’t you?” He whispered. You nodded, barely looking up at him, a whimper just barely escaping past your hand. “You’re about to come in front of all these people who don’t have a clue what’s going on right under their noses.” Sniper pressed his fingers firmly against your sweet spot, making you jolt.

“Mundy,” you groaned his name softly, leaning against him. To anyone who glanced over, it would look like you had just overindulged on alcohol. Your flushed face only served to sell the facade even more. It was the perfect cover, really. Still, you would rather not get caught, even though the risk thrilled you in its own unique way. “Mundy, please!”

“It’s alright, doll. You can come, as long as you think you can stay quiet.”

His permission was like a trigger being pulled. Trying not to writhe as your orgasm ripped through you was a struggle, but you managed, hunching over the table and resting your forehead on the cool hard wood. Keeping quiet was a bit more difficult, but luckily the music was loud and the bar denizens were even louder, so the few moans that escaped you went unnoticed.

You stayed with your head on the table for a while, panting, letting out a soft groan when Sniper withdrew his fingers. He was stone faced, simply looking out over the bar as if nothing had transpired. It was only when you sat up that he glanced over at you, giving you a smirk that made your heart flutter. Between the ambient light of the bar and the post orgasmic haze, he looked handsome as hell. You wanted to lean up and kiss him before you could say something embarrassingly sappy.

Sniper broke the silence before you could. “I have a feeling the rest of the team isn’t going to be in any shape to walk back to base tonight.” He nodded towards the dancefloor, where you were certain at least half of your fellow mercenaries were currently making asses of themselves. However, you couldn’t be bothered to look. You didn’t want to tear your gaze away from Sniper. “How about we head back and grab my van so that they can have a ride? Hell, there might even be just enough time to give you a little reward for being such a good girl.”

An enthusiastic grin spread across your face. “I would like that,” you said, standing up quickly. A bit too quickly, apparently, as you staggered within your first step. Thankfully Sniper was at your side in an instant, linking your arms together to keep you steady. He had half a mind to scoop you up and simply carry you out of the bar.

As he guided you towards the exit on shaky legs, he caught the eyes of another patron. They were supporting the weight of their own very intoxicated partner, who was singing- or rather, shouting- the lyrics to whatever song played from the jukebox unintelligibly as they stumbled along. They gave the two of you a sympathetic look, and Sniper suppressed the smirk that threatened to creep onto his face. If only they knew.

#tf2 x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #merc x reader #minors dni #smut #tf2 smut #team fortress 2 #cross posted on ao3 #tf2 #sniper x reader #sniper tf2 #sniper team fortress 2 #team fortress sniper #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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luvrsux · 8 months

Text

“Taking His Anger Out”

word count: 4k

summary: you and ace have had a sweet relationship for years but as soon you’re both adults you’ve been arguing. ace only knows how to apologize in one way

cw: nsfw!! major swearing, arguing, mentions use of alcohol and drugs, fingering, creampie, degrading, minor cock warming

You and the infamous Portgas D. Ace were in a long term, romantic relationship for as long as you could remember. You recall him having a long arm around you when you threw your High School graduation cap in the year of completion. Even before then, the connection shared between you was unbreakable. Everyone figured you two would’ve been a couple sooner or later.

Now, you were a college student halfway in your studies. Life couldn’t have been better for you once you stood on your own two feet—especially in your own apartment you’ve been renting. Ace, though, attended a different school than you due to two different ambitions. Ace was a regular jock in highschool, so it was a no brainer that it overflowed into his college days. Parties, drinking and frequently being intoxicated was fueling Ace all throughout college. Although, from the two separate careers and buildings, you’d still welcome him in your home and vice versa a few times a week. Every night ended in the same fate. You two would share drinks, even roll a few joints to puff and pass time. Eventually, he’d rock your body until your eyes panned nothing but fuzz and the feeling of pure euphoria. The morning after was consistent. Ace would hold you close all night long, and resented the fact you had to get up bright and early for classes that day.

“No… stay with me”

Ace would murmur the words into your ear, it being the immediate cause of your defeat to procrastinate in bed a little longer. Other than drugs and sex, Ace loved napping or sleeping with you more than anything—especially after rocking your brains out silly.

Not everything stays perfect, though. Over the last few days, it was filled with nothing but sinister remarks and heated arguments. It was the end of the semester and stress was the only emotion you could feel and Ace was becoming a nuisance to you from his immature and irresponsible behavior. Granted, you were quite the party goer yourself, but Ace didn’t know when to stop. You hadn’t remembered the last time you two shared a wholesome, loving moment from the vast amounts of arguments. Now, laying on your cold and isolated bed, you rebooted the most recent argument in your head that was debatably the worst one yet.

“(F/N), what’s your problem?” Ace had a bare arm on your kitchen counter with an irritated expression. Your entire attire explained your current state; stressed and exhausted.

“My problem is you decided to burst into my house unannounced, high off your goddamn ass when I’m trying to study” You pinched your temple with a hand on your hip. You heard the jock scoff.

“So now all of sudden I can’t come over? We’ve been doing this for years now, do you not know that?” As you said, Ace wasn’t sober upon arrival. Due to this current argument, though, you managed to completely sober him up.

“That’s not the fucking point! I have literally been texting and calling you all night so you can come over, but when I give up and start focusing on myself you want to be an irresponsible moron!” You snapped back. Ace formed a sarcastic smile and poked his tongue from the inside of his cheek.

“I was at a party, I fucking told you! I can’t just have my eyes glued on my phone because of you, (F/N)! Plus, you act like you aren’t getting high off your own ass, don’t bring that shit!” Ace replied. His demeanor was going to make you explode.

“But you couldn’t check once? Seriously? I was worried, for fucks sake!”

“It’s not my fault you decided to rot in this fucking place all by yourself all the time! You could’ve came with” Ace gestured his arms to point to your home. “Hell, I should’ve dragged your ass if it meant I didn’t have to hear your mouth!”

“Wow,” You crossed your arms. “You are well aware I have finals coming up” You felt your chest tighten. “Actually, you don’t! Considering the fact you spend 90% of your college days partying and blacking out drunk!”

“Oh, sorry that I actually know how to have fun! Sorry I don’t want to be seen as boring” He hissed, referring to you.

“Fuck you, Ace! You’re so self absorbed you forgot who you even were, asshole!” Your voice cracked, signaling your emotions were about to take a toll on your own mental state.

“Fuck me?! I’m trying to understand where the hell this came from when I was trying to see my fucking girlfriend!” Ace pointed a hand at you, meanwhile you were trying to hold back any tears that dared to escape.

“Because I physically can’t fucking stand you, Ace! I can’t!” You saw Ace completely freeze. He felt his heart sting at your troubled words. Before he could consider that you were emotionally exhausted from school and it being the reason you spoke nonsense, he let his pride shield that completely.

“I’ve been trying to handle you and my own assignments at the same time but this is fucking insane! You are so inconsiderate, it’s baffling to me! Not everything revolves around you!” You spoke without thinking. In reality, you didn’t mean a single word that left your mouth but you didn’t know that.

“Consider the feeling mutual, (F/N)” Is all Ace said. You paused, heavily breathing.

“What?”

“I can’t fucking stand you anymore, (F/N)”

After his sinister statement, he grabbed his keys that laid on the marbled counter and approached the front door. Your guilt came flooding in like a tsunami.

“Wait- Baby, c’mon I didn’t mean it-“

“So why the hell did you say it? Hm?” You saw that he had tears in his eyes himself. He truly loved you, and every second with you. Through the good and the most ugly, the firm, fiery grip he had on your heart never loosened.

“Ace, I’m just-… I’m just stressed and you- C’mon babe you know I love you-“

“Cut that bullshit, (F/N)! You’ve made it very clear where your feelings are” His voice cracked, similarly to yours from a few moments ago.

“Just—… Leave me alone”

With that, all you were met with was the clicking sound the front door made when Ace made himself out.

You remember staring at the door in complete guilt and defeat. Surely you thought you single handedly ruined your entire relationship with one fight. The entire incident happened three whole nights ago, but it felt like it was just yesterday. There was no sign that Ace ended things between you, considering he’d keep his shared photos between you two all over social media—which you greatly appreciated. Your eyes were dry of tears after the quarrel, and all you could think about was your cowboy of a boyfriend.

Ace felt shattered by your words, but also his own actions. He only blamed you for the entire duration back to his own place. As soon as he secluded himself in the comfort of his shared apartment, he realized he should’ve been more considerate of your schedule. Ace also realized that he’s been rather a reckless student and a reckless boyfriend. In all honesty, you were the first serious relationship he had. Anything else prior were one night stands or quick week-long flings. The spell you put on him the day he set eyes on you is something he’d never forget, not even after his last breath of air escapes his lungs.

Ace tried substances to make him blur out the ordeal but nothing. He was saddened to see you hadn’t messaged him once, despite him asking him for space. He missed you, more than anything. His roommates, Sabo and Marco, pitifully watched him wallow. Ace thanked them, though, for at least trying to help him feel better with certain things.

You took it upon yourself to finally break the ice. You knew Ace wasn’t going to do it because he either was drowning in his own pride or was terrified you’d resent him for his actions. All you did was slip shorts under your oversized graphic tee and a pair of rundown sneakers.

“(F/N)?” You saw Sabo answer the door. Considering you’ve only spoken to your boyfriends brother a select few amount of times, and also the current situation he most likely knew about, you felt extremely awkward.

“Is Ace home?” Is all you asked. Sabo turned his head to peer to a Marco that looked just as clueless. Marco shot him a dumbfounded shrug for Sabo to turn back to you with a sigh.

“He is, but he’s kind of locked in his room” Sabo informed. The intel made your heart crack, knowing you were the cause of it. Sabo moved aside to let you in without another word.

“His room is down the hall” Sabo pointed as if you were completely foreign to his residence. You didn’t bat an eye to the blonde and strut down to Ace’s cove.

Your knuckle gently knocked on the door. Nothing. You drummed your knuckle on the wooden door again to finally get a response.

“Sabo, Marco… I really don’t care” He muffled through the door. You bit your lip from the sheer amount of nerves coursing your veins. You didn’t hesitate to turn the knob to burst into his room.

“Thats no way to treat your roommates”

You tried to lighten the room, which was barely illuminated. The street lights were the only light source inside. The pungent scent of earthy marijuanna and alcohol punched your nose like a boxer.

“(F/N)…?” Ace said weakly. His voice made you close the door behind for simple privacy. You heard Ace’s body shuffle to stand up and flick on his bedside lamp.

The light shined on Ace’s dead face. His eyes were swollen and framed by dark circles. It seemed as if he’d been in a miserable state for eons. His expression was newborn to you and nothing you were used to. The only thing that stayed were his, what only you described, cute freckles.

“Baby…” You whispered. The sight completely broke your heart more than it already was. You immediately ran to cup his face and sit beside him. You felt his body shake.

“Why are you here? You didn’t text me once” Ace moved your hands away, not knowing if he should be happy or angry at the mere sight of you.

“You said you wanted to be alone…” You replied. Ace averted eye contact and his eyes admitted defeat.

“I was also scared you were angry at me, which you should be” You continued. The jock slowly nodded his head up and down.

“Well, you’re right” He murmured. You felt a lump in your throat.

“Look, we both did unforgivable things, Ace. Let’s be honest…” You knew if you disagreed with him it’ll only create a back and fourth bicker.

“Especially you” He replied, standing his ground. You felt slightly offended by his words.

“Okay well, you were the one being inconsiderate” You reminded. Ace rolled his eyes.

“Don’t fucking start, babe…” He groaned.

“I’m starting now?” What you thought to be a comforting, civil conversation turned into yet another bicker.

“Oh, Jesus christ” He hissed.

You felt a strong hand grip your delicate throat. His sudden movement shocked the core out of you. You yelped and tried to stress your breathing that was slowly being restricted by your angry boyfriends hand.

“You don’t understand how badly I wanted to fucking see you. You take up most, if not all, of my brain but you just can’t seem to stop being an annoying little brat, can you?” Ace crept his face towards your own. The doe eyes you gave him did something lethal to him.

“A-Ace…” You tried to speak, only to receive a stronger grip. You couldn’t lie, you were enjoying your new necklace.

“Shut your pretty mouth, (F/N). You don’t know how badly I missed you, but you refuse to understand” He threw you on your back and hovered over you. His grip lightly loosened but never detached from your neck.

You felt his necklace press against your chest as he lowered his head to the crook of you neck. You felt his hot breathing on the lobe of your ear.

“I guess I’ll just have to show you what the fuck you’ve been doing to me, slut”

His devilish voice zapped your very core. Ace finally parted his hand from your neck and lifted your rugged tee to expose your chest.

“Seriously? No bra? It’s like you wanted me to fuck you after our little reunion” He cupped one of your breasts into his hand, letting the sensitive bud poke in between his fingers. He groped and fondled them with force, pulling on your buds to get a yelp out of you.

“Ace…~” You whimper. He was completely giving you whiplash from his sudden shift but you couldn’t complain. Sure, you’d have amazing sex with Ace frequently but this was a rare sight.

“I missed that pathetic voice, baby” He said with a hoarse tone. He didn’t stop pleasuring your chest and bowed down to crash his lips against your own with passion.

You synced your lips with his familiarly. It became muscle memory at this point. You two would exhale in the middle of the kiss and he’d grunt from his own excitement. Ace parted his lips from yours to leave a trail of sweet, dark lovemarks and bites. He wanted to mark what was rightfully his, and you adored it.

You latched a hand on his head to grip his dark locks. You heard a shaken groan leave his lips while he was in the middle of going to town on your neck and collarbone. You knew he absolutely thrived for your grip on his shaggy hair.

“I’m gonna make you feel like your legs are gonna fall off, baby~” He breathed out. You felt his rough hands grip the sides of your thighs.

“Yes, sir” That name made Ace go crazy. He jerked his body off your upper half and focus on what was important. He yanked off your loose shorts and press his two digits against your entrance. Your slit throbbed at his mere touch. Ace would feel the wetness seeping through your lace.

“Good, the bratty slut is already ready for me” He chuckled. This index and middle trailed up and down your slit teasingly. Ace was ready to tear you apart like he hadn’t stretched you out in ages, but teasing you was a more pleasurable sight.

“Please, Ace…” You murmur submissively. The eyes that were once admiring your laced entrance glistened up at your, what can only be described as pathetic to Ace, face.

“Please what, doll?” He cooed. Ace slowly peeled the cloth that covered your wetness to the side for him to gently caress it. The mere feeling on his fingertips was enough for him to bite his lower lip. You couldn’t stop your submissive whimpers and moans.

“C’mon, (F/N). Use your words” He rubbed your throbbing bud with a single finger in a circle. The sensitive feeling coursed through your body like never before. Ace longed for an answer to come out your lips.

“Please… Please f-fuck me~” You stammered. Those words were enough for Ace to shove his two digits inside your warm entrance. The velvet walls wrapped around his fingers tightly.

You released a small yelp as you felt him plunge his fingers without a single warning. He didn’t hesitate to quicken his pace, leaving you no room to think or react.

You felt your hands grip the sheets with pleasure. Ace made sure to curve his fingers to perfectly kiss your g-spot with every thrust. At this point, his two roommates were on the verge of hearing your lustful noises from outside.

The walls around Ace’s finger began to tighten around him. He felt you spasm your legs and buck your hips into his fingers, growing more and more desperate to reach your climax—but Ace didn’t agree. As your head was thrown back and your eyes rolled, he plucked his now sticky, dewed fingers out of your cave.

“I wanna feel you cum on something else, baby. Be a good girl and wait a little longer”

You whines in response. Your pussy was throbbing, screaming for more of Ace’s touch or something even more. You rubbed your legs together in protest as your impatience grew while watching Ace undo his pants.

“I said…” He breathed. Before you knew it, you were thrown on your stomach with your rear propped up in front of him. You moaned at Ace’s aggressive touch, and it only risen once you felt his hand forcefully plunge your head into the cushioned bed.

“Be fucking patient, you whore”

He growled. His other hand guided his hardened member along your soaked slit, teasing you a little bit more. You felt completely pathetic under Ace’s control. Sure, he was needy and rough, but this dominance was only occasional. Only when you were really getting on his nerves; like today.

You continued to whine at the feeling of Ace trace his member along your lips and clit. You were getting beyond antsy to feel him spread your walls further out with the girth of his cock.

“Stop teasing, baby” You murmur, only for it to be muffled from the mattress. “I.. I need you~”

Ace’s hand trailed from your messy hair to the back of your neck, giving it a tender squeeze. He merely slid the tip in, making your body’s neediness spike.

“Of course you do, you slut. You can’t even wait a few seconds, sweetheart”

He pulled his tip out to form a small string of juices connecting you two. As soon as it snapped, Ace plunged his member with every last inch inside of you. He smashed against your cervix like a collision on the freeway. Nothing prevented you from screaming at the top of your lungs from the immense pleasure from one thrust. You heard Ace hiss and groan when he felt himself enter you.

He moved the hand that was once at your neck to your drooling mouth. Your light moans and whimpers now muffled once again.

“Be fucking quiet, yeah? Sabo and- ngnnh~ Marco are still awake” Ace ordered. All you could muster up was a submissive nod.

Ace pulled your body slightly upward to get a better grip of your mouth and clamped his hands on the fats of your thighs, making perfect handles for the cowboy.

Ace plowed your body like it was the last day on Earth. His palm grew wet from your saliva but he didn’t mind one bit. Ace grunted loudly and your muffled moans didn’t make a difference. You two were still loud, loud enough for the two poor roommates to hear absolutely everything.

“Fuuuuuck” Ace extended his words while he went ballistic on your pussy. Your eyes rolled back as you let your angry boyfriend scramble your mind until it went blank. All that was filled in the room was the musk scent of the two bodies colliding, the sloppy, slushing sounds of skin smacking and lustful, loud noises escaping the both of you.

Ace learned to not care about your volume and turn his palm into two fingers in your mouth. He loved the way your noises projected once he removed the very thing that muffled your noise.

“Yeah, keep screaming like that from my dick- unghh~” Ace spoke breathlessly in your ear. He bit your ear lobe, causing another source of sensation from your body.

“Oh-! Oh, fuck~” You managed to speak out. Your previous climax crept back up again. Ace noticed your walls spasm and tighten around his speeding member.

“Gonna cum? You gonna cum all over my cock, huh?” You could hear the devilish grin plastered widely on his face by his words. You nod frantically.

“Yes, sir~! I’m gonna cum- mmph~!!” Your moans got reckless and completely messy once you reached your climax. Ace didn’t slow down a single minute. He speedily penetrated you through each moment, making your orgasm completely flatline your brain. You don’t remember moaning so loud in your life, you were sure you’d lose your voice.

“Ace, Ace~! I’m f-fucking cumming~!” You cried. At this point, the entire apartment complex could hear you.

Ace chuckled at your reaction, never daring to stop for a single second. He enjoyed watching your juices spurt out on his pelvis, dripping down both of his and your legs. You felt the high libido driven boy force you back down on the bed, practically suffocating you with the pillows scattered among it.

“My fu- ugh~… My fucking turn” He groaned. Ace gripped both of his rough hands on your hips and slammed your whole body against his pelvis. Each thrust rewarded him in a lustful scream from you.

“Aaaaaace~” You longingly moaned, your voice wobbling as your body was forcefully being rammed into. He let out a loud grunt at your voice.

“You want it?” He breathed. You nodded in the sheets.

“Y-Yes, please!”

“How bad?”

The mountain of pleasure clouded your will to speak, making it harder to form out words.

“I said how bad, slut!” Ace harshly slapped your ass, leaving a bright red mark to stay. You shrieked.

“So fucking baaaad~!” You extended your words again, similarly like before when you called his name. Your answer pleased your boyfriend and you could feel his grip get tighter.

“I’m gonna cum, baby” He groaned. At this point, your body was shaking like a leaf in the blistering winter. The pleasure was overstimulating you beyond belief. Ace had officially broke your entire mind.

“F-Fuck, Im cumming!” You felt his member twitch inside of you. You formed a devilish grin as you felt his thick, warm seed erupt inside of your core. Ace didn’t stop. He kept thrusting for a little longer until he dumped his last few drops of his cum. He let out one last groan.

“Fuck me, (F/N)…” He left his raw cock bake inside of you for a few moments as he caressed your back gently. You were heavily breathing out a lung, completely worn out from Ace’s monstrous endurance.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…” He cooed. You felt a more pleased smile crack in your lips. Ace finally, and slowly, pull out his sticky, drenched member to watch all of his seed pour outside of you. You whimpered feeling it ooze out of your body.

Ace mesmerized the sight as if it were a renaissance painting. He noticed that your knees were on the verge of giving out and quickly cleaned yourself up with whatever nearby shirt he had laying around.

Your vision was trying to collect itself after getting your consciousness fucked out of you. You felt brute hands lift you up comfortably on the bed followed by the same arms to pull you into warm embrace. The same embrace you’ve longed for as long as you can remember.

“I still love you, more than ever, my sweet (F/N)” You heard Ace’s soothing tone clear as day while he caressed your exhausted face.

“I’m sorry…” You buried your face into the crook of his neck, tenderly pressing your body against his.

“I’m sorry too, my love… I’ll be more considerate of you” He rubbed your back as he hugged you into his chest. His grip was so heavy that you’d think you’d disappear if he let go.

“You mean so much to me…” Ace yawned. “I love you” He repeated.

“I love you, too…”

You both drifted to your long awaited slumber at the embrace of each other. He had a hand on the back of your head and an arm wrapped around your fetal positioned body.

It was safe to say this was the last argument you two had for a long while.

all licensing and ownership belong to eiichiro oda

#op x reader #fanfic #one piece #x reader #portgas d ace #ace x fem reader #ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace smut #portgas ace x reader #one piece x reader

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siriusleee · 10 months

Text

a better year

a/n: i linked this one to ao3 a week or so ago, but i figured i'd do it now i'm procrastinating the next chapter to adamantine chains lmao this is my take on the bookstore au tags: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, cursing, signs of ptsd, , original female character, retirement from the military, bookstore au 6.7k words summary: He takes her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light. "Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night. She kisses him over the mask. She doesn't mention it the next day.

The official order rolled in on plain white paper, an unceremonious carrier of his future. He was the first to go: a sign that the team was being unraveled slowly. After all, they're not young men anymore.

"You'll receive your pension; it's enough that you shouldn't have to work again. And we've made sure that you have an official background. It's not much, but it's what we can do."

Laswell doesn't move her eyes from his, her fingers clutching a pen so hard her knuckles are white.

"It's for the best Simon," she says, setting the pen down carefully on her desk, "and if it makes you feel better: everyone will be released soon. I'm sorry."

He's not dumb; he knows these things only last so long. Forced retirement is something to be celebrated - celebrated that he lived long enough to have one, celebrated that his body isn't rotting in some foreign country, a home for worms. Celebrated that the 141 made it out mostly intact. Mostly together.

Johnny claps him on the back and promises that when Laswell brings him that paper when Johnny gets his own forced retirement, he'll come to find Simon.

Simon doesn't stay in England - he doesn't like the way the gray settles around him. He leaves the apartment Laswell set up for him untouched, a note for Johnny for where to find him.

He finds a small house to rent somewhere in the American Southwest, spitting distance of Alejandro's territory. It crosses his mind more than once to make the trip across the border, to see how Alejandro's doing; to see if Rudy is still scared of fantasmas .

But he isn't a fantasma anymore; he's just Simon Riley.

And it's just Simon Riley who paces the aisles of her bookstore, trying to find something to take his mind off of the fact that he is utterly and completely bored.

"This is the third time you've been here this month. I'm not putting you into debt am I?"

Her accent is different from everyone else's in town - still decidedly American, just not from here American. Simon ignores her, his eyes focused on the row of books in front of him. She sighs heavily, but drops it, leaving him behind to stock the end cap. Last week's murder mysteries replaced by this week's contemporary romances.

"I need to lock up you know - I can't stay here all night." She speaks as if it's not odd that Simon only comes in on Thursday nights - the only night of the week she stays open late to rearrange the end cap displays, to vacuum the floors to perfection.

"You haven't even cleaned the windows yet," Simon replies, pulling a fantasy book from the shelf: something about a world full of malicious fairies and a secret world beneath New York. It's something new.

"For your information, I did that before you got here," she says, pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "And I have a life. I can't sit here all night and wait for you to pick a random book off the shelf."

"I never said you didn't."

Simon places the book as she dips behind the counter, a lukewarm cup of coffee left beside the cash register. She drinks from it, wincing at the taste as she rings the book up.

"That'll be seventeen forty-five."

Simon gives her a twenty and she breaks the change, counting out how many pennies he's supposed to have on her fingers.

"You going to be back next week?"

"Why?"

"I want to close early next Thursday; I need to know if my best customer is going to be here or not."

Simon doesn't speak as he takes the plastic bag from her hands. She waits for him, eyes never leaving his as she sips her coffee, waiting on him to answer.

"I can come by Friday instead."

"I'm closed Fridays."

"What about Wednesday?"

"I can stay late Wednesday."

He leaves her with just a crinkle of the plastic bag and the chime above the door.

***

He spends too much time at the gym ignoring Johnny's text messages. Johnny tells him Price was next - swearing that he was going to retire to the countryside where he can smoke his cigars in peace. Maybe find himself a nice girl to cook him dinner every now and then.

His fingers hover over the buttons, almost messaging Price to tell him congratulations. But Simon's not sure it really is.

He's alone at night; no one's in the gym at two in the morning. No one's there to watch the way he slams the weights down when he's done or hear the way he gasps for breath after lifting too heavy - the tear in his chest that never quite healed right burning him from the inside.

The walk home is quick; the stars shine brighter than anything he'd ever seen in England. The closest he ever got to seeing them like this was in the Middle East, but he hardly noticed the stars then. He wasn't expecting to be left looking up.

He sits in the shower at home. He can't stand the way the water hits his skin, but can't stand the idea of sitting in the water either. So he stays huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the water barely touching him.

Simon Riley thinks about death.

He thinks about what would happen if he died right now.

He thinks about what it's like to die twice.

***

The door is locked when he comes by Wednesday; he feels foolish standing there with his hand still pulling on the door, knowing it won't open beneath his touch. Foolish to think that she would-

Foolish when his heart ticks a beat as she comes around the corner. Foolish when he steps inside just a second after she unlocks the door.

"Sorry, my last employee must have locked the door on their way out. So did you like last week's book?"

"It was alright."

The silence is almost awkward as she locks the door behind him.

"Let me know when you're ready. I just made coffee in that pot behind the counter; you can have some if you want. I shouldn't drink it all myself."

She leaves him behind to disappear into the store room. He paces the aisles aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out at him. It's quiet tonight; the music that's usually playing softly over the speakers is absent. Simon can hear her through the storeroom wall moving boxes around, the sound of a box cutter piercing the quiet every so often.

She reappears, a box in her arms that she drops heavily onto the counter. Simon watches her over the bookshelf of non-fiction works as she pulls each book out, scans it into the computer, and stacks them on the counter

When the box is empty, she breaks it down and leaves it on the counter. She looks up, almost catching Simon staring at her. He ducks away, taking a book on the Korean War with him. At the counter, she can barely see him over the stack of books in front of her.

"Last week was fantasy and this week is the Korean War? You certainly have varied tastes."

Simon hands over the fifteen twenty-two he owes her, her hands linger in the distance between them.

"Do you have a job?"

"What?"

Simon's taken aback at her candor. I used to have a job he thinks, as he pockets his change.

"No, I don't."

"Do you want one? I need a weekend worker. It's just me on Saturdays and Sundays now my other guy quit to go to college. I can't pay you a ton, but I kind of get the feeling you don't need it."

He falters for a moment; that's all it takes. If he's being honest with himself, he misses taking orders, missing feeling useful to someone.

"I can do that."

"Can you start this Saturday?"

"I can do that."

She's locked the door behind him before he realizes they don't even know each other's names.

***

Her name's Billy.

"What's your name; I probably should have asked that before I hired you."

Simon doesn't answer, placing the box down slowly before he answers. It's odd, telling someone his name. His real name.

"It's Simon. Simon Riley."

She looks him over, elbows resting on the counter.

"What?"' He asks, uncomfortable under her x-ray analysis of him.

"Just didn't peg you for a Simon. You know with your general countenance; the mask and all that."

She doesn't ask why he has the mask on. Simon gets the feeling that she never will.

She works him like a dog; he's moving some of the shelves around when he thinks that this is probably the reason her last employee quit. It's like being ordered around by Price again, but this time his enemy is the dust. He doesn't stop moving until well after noon; sweat gathering in the small of his back. In her office, Billy is on the phone, yelling indistinctly at the person on the other line.

He doesn't have to watch her to know she's angry when she slams the phone down. He expects her to storm out of her office, to slam the door shut behind her. But she doesn't. When she comes out she's calm.

On Sunday she shows him how the books are organized, and she has him switch around the genres.

"Romance sells best during the spring, and mystery best in the fall and winter. So we need to pull the mystery books up to this front aisle and move the romance towards the back. These shelves roll so they're easier to move."

She's meticulous; Simon moves the same shelf four times before it's lined up exactly where she wants it. His constellation prize: cash wages handed to him at the end of the day.

"No paycheck?"

Her nails tap against the counter, the white paint chipped.

"I haven't processed your paperwork yet. I can take the money back if you want."

Simon pockets it.

They lock up together. It's warm outside, but she still tugs a hoodie over herself whenever she finishes, tucking her keys into the pocket.

It's a complete coincidence that they set off in the same direction.

Simon wants a cigarette; his fingers itch for the pack in his pocket. But she'd said earlier in the day that the smell was disgusting and she couldn't breathe whenever someone with cigarette smoke on them passed her by.

They split up two blocks away from the bookstore. She motions up to the upstairs apartment of a shitty duplex. It's not the kind of place he expected her to be in.

"This is me. I'll see you next Saturday right?"

"I'll be there."

"Good night Simon."

She doesn't wait for him to say anything; not that he would have known what to say. She's up the stairs and inside (she didn't unlock the door; he has to restrain himself from going upstairs to tell her to lock it next time) before he can think of anything to say.

He smokes a cigarette at the bottom of her stairs; watches the outline of her against the curtains in her window. A fat black cat peers down at him, peers down at the cherry of Simon's cigarette in the darkness. The street lamp is burnt out, the shadows dark. He stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and throws the cigarette butt out in the street.

He's almost certain she'd chide him for that - the same way she did a kid who had the audacity to throw a cigarette down in front of her shop.

His apartment is extra cold when he gets home.

***

"Maybe Price has it right: a life in the countryside. A pretty girl to cook you a few meals. Maybe a dog to curl up at your feet," Johnny drones on the other end of the line. Simon doesn't answer, his focus on cutting the potatoes in front of him into meticulous cubes. Johnny doesn't need him to speak.

"What about you L.T.? What have you been up to?"

"I'm not a lieutenant anymore Johnny."

"You'll always be L.T. to me. And don't ignore the question."

Simon drops the potatoes into a pot, waiting on the answer to unstick from the back of his throat.

"Not much. I go to the gym a lot."

He doesn't tell Johnny how he has to break his gun down and put it back together three times each night before he can sleep.

"That it?"

"I'm working at a bookstore."

"A bookstore! A few months out and you're domesticated."

"Watch it, Johnny."

A pause.

"I have to go L.T.. Gaz is yelling at me."

Their goodbye is the silence that follows.

***

Billy's arguing with a customer when he arrives Saturday morning.

"Listen, dude, I don't care what price you want to pay. This is my business and I set the prices. If you don't like it, you're not being forced to come here."

The customer drops it when Simon steps behind the counter.

"I hate that guy," Billy tells him as she hands him a box cutter. "He comes in every week and tries to get me to lower my prices. It's a bookstore; I'm not getting rich off of this. I can't afford that. Anyway-"

She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders. Simon catches a hint of a tattoo behind her right ear and a glint of cold chain disappearing beneath her shirt.

"Finals are coming up for the local community college so I had two different study groups book the tables in here today. They're usually pretty good, we just have to make sure to keep the coffee pot refilled for them because they'll drink it dry. It's $5 if they want coffee - per person don't let them try to swindle us - but they can refill it as much as they want."

Her fingers tap against the counter. Her nails are blue this week.

"If they ask about selling us their textbooks, tell them to come back next week. I have a shipment of children's books coming in - you can sign for it if I'm busy. Do I need to show you how to use the cash register or can you figure it out?"

"I can figure it out."

"Ok. The code is 4532. For now, do you mind breaking down the boxes in the back room and taking them to the dumpster? It's hard for me to reach to open up the dumpster lid."

She doesn't wait for him to answer before she disappears into the back room.

This Saturday is busy.

Simon's about to snap at a kid who won't shut up about how the comic section is too small when Billy appears beside him.

"I'll take over here Simon. There's lunch in the back room."

He's thankful for her in that moment.

He's more thankful when the storeroom shuts behind him and locks. The table has a small bag with his name written on it. A sandwich from the deli across the street and a bottle of water inside.

There are no tomatoes on the sandwich.

Just like he always orders it.

***

He smokes a cigarette again outside her apartment. But this time he tucks the butt back into the pack. He'll throw it away at home.

***

"I want to put a coffee shop in here," Billy tells him when the store is slow. She traces the right side of the store with her fingers.

"And I want to open the shop up earlier and stay open later."

"Why don't you?" Simon asks without looking up from his task of the day: putting 'half-priced' stickers on books that aren't selling well.

"I'm not making enough money. I have just enough to pay you and my weekday employee and the overhead cost of this place, plus pay myself. There's not any extra coming in. The bank-," she pauses, red nails scraping at a piece of tape on the counter, "the bank is willing to give me a loan on the coffee shop stuff - the machines and all that - but I don't have the money for the renovations. My contractor told me he'd have to build the cabinets, open up the drywall and put an extension on our water pipe. A water filter needs to be installed. It's just - it's just a lot."

She slides the stack of books he's already put stickers on off of the counter and into her arms.

"Maybe next year."

***

The next time Johnny calls, Simon can hear the strain in his voice.

"It's my turn L.T.. Laswell said I failed the psychological and I can't stay."

"You going to keep good on your promise to come to be my annoying neighbor Johnny."

"Not yet. I want to go home to my mom for a little bit. Maybe next year L.T.."

"Next year's going to be a big year I guess," Simon says more to himself.

"What's that L.T.?"

"Nothing Johnny. We should be happy we made it out."

Simon knows Johnny's not happy: not happy he never received the rank he wanted, not happy he has to go back home and take care of his mom again.

"You're right L.T.. I'll call you again when I'm home. How's the bookstore thing?"

"It's going alright. Bye, Johnny."

"Bye."

In the silence after the call, Simon thinks he should get a cat. Something to make the apartment less quiet; something to give him purpose when he's there.

Something that won't crawl all over him at the end of the day.

***

He needs something to do with his hands.

That's what he tells Billy when she arrives at the store on Saturday morning and Simon's ripping up a portion of the carpet, a stack of flooring waiting to be installed.

"So you have to do it when I'll have customers here?"

"Tell them it's a new addition; they'll be alright."

"I'm not paying you extra for this."

"I didn't ask you to."

Billy looks at him, one foot tapping a sharp staccato muffled by the carpet.

"Fine."

She pauses for a moment, Simon's knife running down the carpet to separate it from the floor beneath. She picks up one of the pieces of flooring, turning it over in her hand.

"What is this?"

"It's vinyl. It's waterproof in case you spill something."

Billy drops the plank back onto the stack and leaves to unlock the front door.

Simon revels in the way his shoulders burn at the work, the way the rough concrete scratches his knuckles once everything is pulled off the floor and he has to start laying down the underflooring. He revels in the way his back cramps as he's bent over.

In the way he feels useful.

It takes him all day to get half the flooring down.

Billy doesn't speak to him about it, doesn't ask where he got the money from, or why he's suddenly doing free renovations on the place.

Simon knows she appreciates it by the way she drops down his lunch - no tomatoes, just a water to drink- beside him without expecting a thank you. By the way, she chides the little kids who come over to ask him a million and one questions, he doesn't know how to answer and brushes them away from him.

She catches him smoking in the back alley on his break. She's polite enough to turn back when she realizes he has his mask down and keeps her back turned to him.

"That shit's going to kill you."

"It can only hope."

Simon can tell she's giving him a withering look at him from her position half inside the doorway.

"If you come in smelling like that cancerous poison I'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day."

He must smell because she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when they depart at her apartment.

Simon hides the cigarettes in a drawer when he gets home.

***

It's Price that reaches out to him first, a quick phone call, a holdover from their days in the field.

"Are you holding up?"

Not "how are you holding up?", but "are you holding up?" The difference between three letters is so vast Simon doesn't know how to cross it.

"I'm doing fine."

"Johnny told me you've got a job?"

"Just something to keep me occupied."

"Is that all you've got?"

"What more do I need?"

The receiver is filled with the sound of Price inhaling a cigar; Simon can almost smell him through the receiver.

"You're not Ghost anymore Simon. It takes more than that to survive this."

Survive this . As if this is the most dangerous mission Simon's ever been on as if being forcibly retired has some sort of great mortality rate.

"Understood."

He listens to Price's dial tone for five minutes before he hangs up.

Maybe it does.

***

He paces the town at night. Once the gym doesn't become enough to wear him out, doesn't help his brain relax, he walks the streets.

He thinks more than once that someone is going to call the cops on him and report him for being suspicious.

But Simon Riley isn't Ghost anymore. Simon Riley is someone not worth noticing.

It's almost surprising how well the little town sleeps with the remnants of Ghost stalking through it; how now one seems to have any idea of what he was once - and still is - capable of.

He steals a lot of time sitting on people's steps, on the stoops of little houses, picking the petals off of the flowers in big pots, and lining up the shoes and toys that were left disarrayed in the chaos of the daytime. He wonders if someone is going to catch him on their security camera and name him the town freak, but no one does.

He keeps up at it enough that he can feel the shift in the air, feel winter creeping in. He notices it in the way more and more boots are left outside, by the plants with plastic coverings over them, protecting them.

He finds himself, more often than not, taking the long way around to stop at the bottom stairs of Billy's apartment. Most nights the lights are off, and the window open. He wants to tell her to stop doing that, to lock the window, but he doesn't know how to say it without giving away his nights. So instead he keeps watch, hands buried in his pockets as he counts the moths in the streetlights.

Sometimes though the lights are on and he can hear the sound of her house through the open window. Sometimes the cat peers down at him as if prepared to leap through the window screen at him - sometimes she grabs the cat, never looking down at Simon; more often than not the cat curls up in the windowsill without budging.

A few times he could hear her talking to someone, the conversation muffled from above. He wondered about who she could be talking to so late at night. Why she was up in the middle of the night to talk to someone?

He makes his way home as the town starts to wake up.

***

He moves once - to a tiny house in the middle of town, just enough to have a yard big enough to cross in two strides.

He tells Johnny it's because he was tired of the noises of the neighbors.

He tells Johnny it's because he's taken up woodworking and needs a spot for the tools.

"What are you building you old bastard?"

"Some cabinets."

"For what?"

"Mind your own business, Johnny."

It takes weeks to get them perfect. Eventually, though, they're good enough to put in the back of a rented truck.

He does it on a Friday when no one is around. He tells himself that it's easier that way, no one walking underfoot.

That night he lets himself admit - just for a moment as he sits on the shower floor - that he didn't want to see her face if she's disappointed by it.

***

She refuses to open the door for him the next day, opting to yell at him through the glass instead.

"You cannot keep making renovations to my store without asking me!"

"It's no big deal; open the door."

"No big deal: you put a floor down, you handbuild cabinets, and you broke into my store to install them!"

"You gave me a key."

"Not for that!"

It's a stalemate: Simon poised with his hand on the door handle, her hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket.

"I still have to do the plumbing."

She massages her eyes before leaning forward to turn the lock. Simon steps inside with the biting wind.

"You're fucking irritating, Simon Riley."

I know .

She makes him put up the Christmas tree - a fucking monstrosity that takes up the entire front window. It takes him all day to get the decorations to her standard; her yelling through the store at him to move something incrementally to the left or right.

Billy leans on the counter, shuffling through official-looking papers and refusing to look at Simon when he's finished.

"Thanks to you," she says, never looking up at him, "I have to start getting the paperwork processed to be able to serve food and drinks here."

"Is it difficult?"

"It's not easy."

Their conversation pauses just long enough for her to check out a customer. She turns back to Simon as soon as the door shuts.

"Why are you doing all this Simon?"

He doesn't answer, and he realizes as he stands there, hands folded behind his back and spine rigid that he needs to tell her something, but all he notices is the black ink mark on her cheek. She doesn't pressure him to answer, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him.

Simon breaks first, eyes cast down to the floor.

"Ok," Billy whispers under her breath, "you don't have to answer, but just let me know when you're going to do something else. Can you text me next time before you start?"

"I don't have your number."

She doesn't ask for his phone, instead, she tears a corner of a piece of paper off and scribbles her number on it. Her hands don't shake when she holds the paper out to Simon, but his shake when he takes it. Simon can tell Billy notices. He stuffs the paper into his pocket, pushing it past his keys and his phone.

"Hey, Simon," Billy chews on her lip.

"What?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

***

Johnny's chatting his ear off, Simon's barely paying attention to him as he stares at the shirts thrown out on his bed.

"- L.T.? Simon?"

"What? Johnny, what?"

"Are you even listening?"

"No, Johnny. I'm not."

The static of Johnny's disapproval.

"What could be distracting you from my wonderful conversation?"

"I'm busy Johnny."

"With what?"

"Nothing Johnny. I just have somewhere to be later - I'm trying to get ready for dinner."

"Dinner? Like with someone else?"

Simon hangs up on him.

***

Simon wants to pretend that he doesn't have the path to her house memorized; doesn't have each step calculated to know when exactly to stand on the bottom step at 6:59 so that he can knock on her door right at 7. But he does, so he hovers on the bottom step for an extra minute.

She doesn't answer when he knocks; she yells through the door for him to come in. In his pocket his phone buzzes every few seconds, Johnny sends another message insisting that Simon tell him who he's eating dinner with. Simon thinks for a moment about blocking his number for the night.

Billy smiles at him from behind the counter, elbow-deep in bread dough. All at once, Simon feels overdressed taking in the large shirt covered in flour Billy's wearing.

"Hey. Sorry, dinner's going to be like 30 minutes later than I said. I couldn't get this shit to rise properly for like an hour."

"It's alright."

Billy must sense his apprehension because she jerks her head at a chair pulled up to the counter.

"Come sit down."

Simon appreciates the order. Billy rolls the dough out on the counter, measuring the thickness with her knuckle with a precision Simon would expect out of her. He has to keep himself from staring at her; instead, he analyzes the rest of the apartment.

He can see everything but the bedroom from his one spot; that door is firmly shut. It's clean but the type of clean houses have whenever someone new is coming over and everything is thrown into a closet. After a few minutes, Simon thinks he needs to speak.

"What are you making?"

"Rolls. I made - uh - what is the fancy word for it - beef bourgine?"

"Beef bourguignon?"

Billy smiles down at the dough as she cuts squares out.

"I'm glad one of us can say it - I can cook, I just can't speak French."

"Do you always cook like this?"

"Only on special occasions."

Special occasions .

It's awkward at first for Simon to sit there while she moves about the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and cleaning the counter; Billy doesn't speak much and Simon knows she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence either.

His phone buzzes again - under the counter he checks it.

Johnny:

don't leave me hanging lt tell me whos it is

"Your girlfriend?" Billy teases without turning to look at Simon from the other side of the kitchen.

"Not exactly," Simon says, muting the phone and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Do you have one?" Her voice is prying, but she doesn't look at Simon as she pulls bowls down from the cabinet.

"A girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

It bubbles inside him - just once - the urge to tell her about himself . He swallows it down.

"No."

"Not even back home?"

"Back home?"

She grins at him slyly, setting two glasses of water down in front of the two of them.

"Why do you think I have to keep paying you in cash? Your um….paperwork didn't exactly list you as being an employable American. And you have - you know - an accent."

Simon doesn't realize he's leaning toward her until his elbows hit the counter.

"No, not back home."

She seems satisfied by that answer - or she doesn't have time to ask anything else. Behind her the oven timer beeps and she turns to pull the rolls out. They're barely out of the oven whenever she ladles the stew into the bowls and pulls two rolls off one for each of them.

Pushing the bowl towards Simon she opens her mouth - Simon thinks she's going to ask something else but she just shakes her head.

"I'm going to eat over there, so you can eat too," she says passing him a fork.

"No cameras?"

"None you can see."

She retreats to the other side of the room and drops down on the couch so that she's facing away from him. Muffled behind a door to the right, Simon can hear her cat meow once.

They eat in silence; Simon knows she's only eating slowly to give him time to finish without her accidentally turning to see his face. He doesn't need it: he realizes he hasn't had a meal that hasn't consisted of a sandwich or some form of potatoes in weeks; he eats fast, slowing down just as he finishes to keep from embarrassing himself.

He sets the bowl down with enough dramatics that she can tell he's done without having to turn around. It's quiet again when she comes into the kitchen and takes his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. The sound of the water makes his skin crawl; it clashes with the domestic feeling of being taken care of.

She laughs quietly to herself as she dries her hands on her shirt, lifting it up just enough to expose the little shorts she has on underneath.

"Something funny?"

"Not really funny," she says, hands stilling in her shirt, "I don't know - it just - I - well it's about this time of dinner that guys usually try to take me to the bedroom. I was just thinking about how different this night would be with anyone else."

With anyone else .

That bothers him some.

"I don't suppose that's what you came here for," she grins at him as she speaks, resting her elbows on the counter. "Besides we don't even know each other."

"We work with each other every weekend," Simon retorts, not sure why he feels the need to prove her wrong.

"And we barely speak the entire time."

She points at him, her bright yellow nails glinting in the light.

"I've never seen you in anything other than long sleeves, even on the hottest day. You could have like fucking tentacles under there and I wouldn't know. And you don't even know anything about me."

For once, Simon doesn't think - he does.

He pushes his sleeves up slowly, each one nearly to his elbow. Billy leans forward, just enough to see the tattoo ink and scars that mar his forearms. Her fingers twitch against the countertop like she wants to reach out and touch him, but they stay still.

"Do you - do you only have tattoos on your arms?"

Simon reaches up to hook one finger in his collar and pulls it down just a half inch - just enough to show her the ink there.

"Your turn," Simon says, dropping his hand down. Under the counter, it lies fisted on his thigh.

"My turn?" Billy asks eyebrow cocked at him.

"Do you have any tattoos?"

She licks her lips once; Simon can see her thinking. After a pause she reaches down to grab the edge of her shirt - Simon's heart clenches. She lifts the hem up, just enough to show him the edge of a tattoo on her side, disappearing beneath her shorts and rising above where she lifted. She laughs a little as she drops the shirt.

"Is that all we need to know about each other?"

"It's a start."

***

He finally tells her he was in the military four Sundays after the first one. She'd told him at work she was too tired to cook and apologized, promising to make it up to him. So when he showed up at her door with a pizza and a promise that he was just dropping it off on his way home, he was surprised when she asked him to come in.

Each week they coaxed something new out of each other: a snippet about their families, about their travels. He loves Kentucky; she's from the East Coast. Her father died young. He's from England.

She's curled up in the recliner the cat on her stomach - they're watching something on television but they're both not really paying attention to it. So he blurts it out - a new confession in this weekly therapy.

"I was in the military."

"I guessed. The British Armed Forces?"

"The SAS."

She frowns and Simon stiffens.

"Is that like a unit or something?"

"Yeah."

This time she grins.

"Is that why you always lock my door behind you when you come in?"

"No. I do it because you never know who could come in when you're alone."

"You mean when you're not here."

Yes.

"No."

She rolls over, clutching the cat to her chest so as to not dump him on the floor until her feet hang over the arm and she can eyeball Simon across the room.

"I can shoot straight."

"Can you?"

***

She can. She takes him through the desert on Friday afternoon, bundled up against the cold. Out where they can target practice without anyone bothering them.

She hits every target.

***

"Christmas is this weekend."

"Yeah."

"So you know we're closed right? I'm not paying you time and a half."

A pause longer than he's used to.

"Are you doing anything for Christmas?"

"No."

"Do you want to come over?"

***

She makes Chinese on Christmas. A tradition she says because when she was younger the only places open were Chinese restaurants and her dad couldn't cook. They didn't have real dinners until she learned to cook herself, but it was always Chinese on Christmas.

The cat has a bell around its neck for the holiday and it latches onto Simon for the night. She wrinkles her nose at the cat and calls him a traitor. The cat doesn't seem to care.

"I didn't get you a present," she says, putting her bowl on the coffee table. From his spot in the kitchen, Simon speaks.

"I didn't get you one either."

"Well, you're slowly building me an entire coffee shop."

"That's not present."

"Well, it's not exactly in your job description either."

He leaves his half-eaten bowl on the counter to drop down on the couch. She's sideways in the armchair, shirt riding up and a bruise on her shin. She's back to white nails.

"I can make out with you for Christmas; other guys have liked that present."

Simon's heart nearly stops.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just kidding Si."

Just kidding .

***

She begs and pleads with him to please go out to the bar with her for the new year. He doesn't have to drink, she says, she can drink enough for the both of them.

She does. She doesn't even make it until eleven.

He carries her home on his back. Her door is unlocked and wants to think about how dangerous that is, but all he can think about is her warm breath on his neck.

He drops her unceremoniously onto the couch - he thinks about carrying her to the bedroom, but that's one place the door has always been shut to.

He does take her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.

"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.

She kisses him over the mask.

She doesn't mention it the next day.

***

By summer, Simon has the entire cafe portion of the store finished. He's embarrassed when she hangs a sign over the area: 'Simon's Spot'.

"What?" She asks, peering down at him from the top of the ladder. "You built it."

***

He breaks during the summer. Billy calls him on a Tuesday, asking if he knows anything about air conditioning systems.

"You built the cafe, so I know you're handy."

He doesn't. But he can figure it out.

After hours the bookstore is sweltering. Billy has the blinds pulled down in a futile attempt to keep out some of the heat and the setting sun. Her shirt, already cropped short, clings to her with sweat when she unlocks the front door for Simon.

It takes him two hours but he figures it out. When it kicks on she looks up at him, one arm resting on his shoulder, and tells him he's her hero.

He makes it all the way to her apartment - the promise of something for dinner and a cold drink as for payment the ruse - before he does it.

It's dark inside, dark enough that when he locks the door behind him, he slips his mask off. She turns to ask him something - he doesn't hear it; he's too busy kissing her, pushing her back against the kitchen cabinet.

It's messy - the kissing - he can't remember the last time he kissed somebody like this - all teeth and tongue and need.

When they stumble into her room, he doesn't take his shirt off, and she doesn't ask why.

***

"Come visit me L.T.. Scotlands beautiful this time of year."

"I'll have to book two tickets Johnny; that's not cheap."

"Alright, you cheap bastard you can afford it."

#my fics #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod

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creative-crybaby · 2 years

Text

A Show of Gratitude

PAIRING: timeskip!Miya Osamu x fem!reader

GENRE: wee bit of angst/comfort | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: nipple play, light manhandling, masturbation (m and f), fingering, oral (f receiving), cum eating, praise kink, size kink (kind of)

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

SUMMARY: As a thank you for shining a spotlight on Onigiri Miya, Osamu invites you over for dinner (and dessert). All characters are 18+

Osamu raises a brow at you, though more out of amusement than cynicism. It suits him even, the somewhat teasing lift complimenting the blank expression he usually carries. His lips form a subtle pout—it’s cute, you think. It sends heat to your face, and you clear your throat before smoothing down your skirt. Who knew someone with a large build and resting neutral face could juxtapose all of that with a miniature shift in expression—

It’s been quiet for too long, you realize.

“I’ve only tried a handful of things on your menu,” you begin with a stammer, “but I still plan on trying some of the other stuff to add some suggestions for the readers. Plus, if you don’t mind, I could interview you. I’m sure you’re busy with getting everything in line, so whenever works for you works for me. You’ve only recently opened up your shop, so I’m sure me writing a piece on it could gain some attention, and—”

“Sure,” Osamu says, adjusting his cap. Your mouth snaps shut, the warmth returning, setting fire to your face as you wish nothing more than for the ceiling to crash down on you. “I already figured it’d help the shop, but I’m not too sure when I’ll be available for an interview.” He pulls his phone out from his back pocket and holds it toward you. “If yer fine with giving me yer number, I can message ya when I’m free.”

Your focus seems to care more about his Kansai dialect than his words, and you blink that pulling magnet away.

“Right, yes,” you reply as you hastily take his phone and add your number to his contacts. Your hands find each other as soon as you return the device to the handsome shop owner, twiddling thumbs dancing an anxiety-induced tango.

“Great,” Osamu nods curtly. It doesn’t help when he glances down at his screen, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. His hooded eyes meeting yours seem to glue your feet to the ground as your knees threaten to buckle. “Ya should hear from me soon. Thanks, (L/N).”

With a mix between a nod and a bow, you leave in a hurry, teeth digging into your bottom lip to block the embarrassed squeal trying to come out.

Most would know to introduce themselves first, regardless of their profession (or lack thereof). You know this. You have done so before. But not every potential interviewee you’ve met has broad shoulders to dig your nails into or large biceps that you wouldn’t mind holding you in a chokehold or pecs that could replace both of your pillows or a slutty little waist—

Professional, you call yourself. Bullshit.

But it’s a little too late to go back and delete your contact information from his phone. Your blog, a little something you do on the side, consists of new spots in your area you’d recommend your viewers to check out. Onigiri Miya opened not that long ago, and after finishing your umeboshi (and then ordering the tenmusu, katsuobushi, tarako—you get it), your stomach achingly sent your brain the message that the shop needed more recognition.

You only caught sight of him after you asked one of the very few employees to fetch you the owner. Tired of making you more food than your wallet would appreciate, they offered a nod before heading to the back and returning with a towering figure dressed in all black, the uniform tee doing its best to remain in one piece as it hugs his body.

You didn’t notice the rice grains stuck to your cheek until he casually pointed it out. The exchange between you two after that involved more ogling than conversing on your end. And you didn’t give him your name until he gave you his phone.

Dumbass.

All of this replays in your head as you attempt to come up with questions for him. And if you manage to shake the embarrassment away, you wonder if you’ll be able to avoid making a fool out of yourself when you interview him.

Your eyes trail down to your phone on your desk. You could apologize for your behaviour, telling the ravenette something about having a lot on your plate that wasn’t his food. Maybe you should make up some excuse to back out before leaving the country with a completely new identity.

These anxieties disappear like a popped bubble when the soft vibrating of your phone interrupts your spiralling thoughts. Fumbling to grab the device, you turn it on to see you’ve gotten a text from an unknown number.

Unknown until the message lets you know it’s the handsome shop owner from earlier that day (not verbatim, of course). With your heart in your stomach and throat at once, your thumbs do a jig above the keypad as you try to come up with an answer. You didn’t have to, at least not yet, as the ellipses appear on his end, and he gives you a time and day to interview him.

After agreeing with him (and using too many exclamation points), you exchange your goodbyes.

Those interview questions can wait: you need to scream into the void. A pillow will do, you suppose.

“For the love of God, do not make a fool out of yourself.”

You stand before Onigiri Miya’s entrance, muttering and clutching your notepad for dear life. Convincing yourself that being several minutes early was necessary resulted in you showing up about half an hour before the planned meetup. Waiting outside with your eyes glued to what’s visible of its interior makes you feel like a stalker. Truth be told, you want to see him again, catch his accent again, taste his food again, have his eyes bore into your nervous frame again—

“Yer early.”

A shriek almost escapes your throat at the voice, and your head snaps to follow the familiar sound. Osamu pokes his top half from around the shop's corner, lips pursed and brows slightly raised in curiosity.

“Ah, Miya!” You stammer, straightening your posture and adjusting your notepad. “Hi! I–uh, I know I’m sort of early. I guess I thought I’d take more time getting ready this morning than I actually did.”

The smile you offer him is supposed to be an easy-going one. Though, it’s difficult being convincing when your bottom lip occasionally wobbles and the corners of your mouth twitch at every pause. Some excuse, really: he probably doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you.

Regardless, he nods. “Sorry for scarin’ ya. I was just takin’ care of some stuff out back. Feel free to come in. Might as well start early, if yer fine with it.”

You mumble a soft verbal agreement, too afraid your voice will betray you should you say anything more. Osamu approaches the entrance to his shop, waiting for you to enter first. With a deep breath, you do so, the owner following you soon after.

It seems that the gods were on your side, even if momentarily. The interview went as well as any other one, with the exception of your not-so-subtle ogling. He’d tell you about his love for food and how he realized his passion for it over volleyball, as well as his relationship with his twin. Every bit of information you’d get, you’d fit perfectly into a mental draft, ready to type it all once you got home. Even so, your genuine curiosity didn’t shy away as he shared his story, admiring his dedication and pleased to hear about the support he received.

When everything is finished, you exchange your thanks and let him know when the piece should be ready.

“Feel free to message me if you have any questions,” you tell him as you both make your way to the exit.

Osamu nods, offering you a half-smile that’s still enough to fluster you. “Will do. Thanks again, this could really help ma shop.”

You returning his expression with an even wider grin is only natural with the flattery he throws your way. While one of your hands subconsciously picks at the strap of your bag, the other waves him off. “Well, let me publish the piece before you go saying all of that.”

“Nah,” he hums, adjusting his cap. “I read some of yer work to see what I was gettin’ m’self into. Yer gonna do this place proud, no doubt.”

Your shoes become your source of interest. You can’t let the ravenette see how his words affect you: not unless you want the poor man to call the ambulance. Two sentences had your heart trying desperately to claw its way out of your chest, pounding in your ears and face melting from the heat.

Still, when you straighten your back and look at him, you give him a smile and a nod. “That means a lot, thank you.”

Oh, look at that: you’re getting better at this.

Osamu copies your actions. “Yer blog just got a new fan. Keep up the good work.”

Nevermind. You need to leave. Like, now.

The next time you show up to Onigiri Miya is about a week after you publish your piece on it.

After doing everything in your power to not embarrass yourself, you found the writing process to be the easiest part of the entire process. Not only because you had more than enough information at your disposal, but you also got to isolate yourself in your apartment, free from distractions and attractive shop owners. Being honest about the well-prepared food and best recommendation depending on one’s tastes came easy when you tried a good portion of the menu; of course, you would do the place justice. (And, of course, you made sure you weren’t kissing too much ass in your piece during your editing process.)

Despite the shop being far busier than when you first arrived, your eye catches its owner before anything else. Behind the counter, Osamu sports Onigiri Miya’s uniform as he prepares an order, large hands moulding rice into a triangular shape with precision that shows his experience. It’s a silly detail to catch, but after the interview (and the countless ones before that), you know better than to dismiss their work as “just food.”

Your feet carry you to where the ravenette works his magic, and you’re about halfway there when he notices you.

“Ah, (L/N),” he greets, offering a half-smile as you settle onto a stool.

“You seem busy,” you quip lightly, trying to return his energy. At the very least, you deserve points for eye contact and not letting your voice waver.

Osamu’s smile morphs into a smirk as he momentarily looks away to wrap the nori around the neatly-shaped rice ball. “All thanks t’ya.”

His words have you taking in your surroundings, barely having done so when you entered the shop. It’s more or less packed, for sure, the stool you’re sitting on being one of, if not the only vacant spot for you to take. A variety of customers flood the interior, with some more peeking in from the outside: a group of high school girls seated in the corner, giggling about god knows what, a mother and her son sitting only a few seats away from your spot, a few men in suits sitting by the windows seemingly gaining energy from their food. Not a lot of people you would assume to read your blog, though you wouldn’t exactly say you had a target audience in mind based on age or gender. Regardless, the compliment feels far-fetched, somewhat undeserving.

You turn back to face him. “You’re too nice.”

“I dis’gree,” he counters nonchalantly. “I read yer work. You did this place proud.”

Heat returns to your face; if you didn’t know better, you’d assume you were getting sick.

“My blog is just a little something I do on the side for fun,” you explain. “It’s not famous or anything. Besides, you’re the one making the food here. Give yourself some credit.”

Osamu finishes the last rice ball before placing it on a rectangular plate, and an employee–a new one, you presume–takes it to bring it to a young couple sitting near the entrance.

“I do make some pretty good food,” he muses, removing his cap to wipe his forehead with his forearm.

“That’s what I’m saying,” you chuckle. “If I’m not careful, my diet might solely consist of your onigiri.”

The ravenette huffs a laugh, wiping his hands with the white cloth on his shoulder before resting his arms on the counter and leaning closer to you. “I’m not just talking about rice balls.”

An innocent correction, really. But with the small distance between you two and how his voice dropped an octave, your palms growing clammy as you gulp deeply is beyond your control.

Your fingers instinctively return to fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you attempt to find your composure. “I don’t doubt it.”

The former wing spiker pulls away with a satisfied smirk. “Great. I’ll cook for ya.”

You blink in confusion, brows slightly furrowed. “Huh?”

“Consider it a thanks for writin’ about ma shop,” Osamu explains as he gets back to working on another order. “Lemme make ya a nice meal. Not sure when it won’t be busy in the upcomin’ week, but I’ll let ya know and plan ahead.”

You don’t fully process his offer until he draws his attention to a customer. The scream that threatens to explode from your throat gets swallowed in time before you make a fool of yourself. He’s just returning the favour… to your favour… which isn’t how it works, but you’re certain he’s just being friendly. He loves food, and from what he’s seen from your blog, he knows you’re in the same boat as him. And with the soft yet genuine smile he gives to each customer he greets as they enter or as he prepares their orders, it’s tough to convince yourself his offer is anything more than one out of kindness. A tad disappointing, but it should ease your nerves for when the time comes.

“All right,” you grin shyly. “I’ll take you up for it.”

Osamu pauses from wrapping the rice around the pickled plums to face you. He beams, quickly finishing his current rice ball to place away before returning to you.

“Perfect,” he almost chirps before checking on the rice cooker next to him. “How ‘bout I make ya somethin now? Ya liked the tenmusu best, yeah?” Surprised he remembered your favourite, probably from your blog, you nod bashfully. “Great, it’s on the house.”

He winks at you before drawing his focus to your order. If you weren’t sitting down, your knees would’ve failed you.

Oh, you think, subconsciously smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’re doing this.

Indeed, you are. And you showed up at a reasonable time (by that, you actually got there early and decided to drive around the neighbourhood for a bit until it was appropriate to park and enter the apartment complex).

It took a few days before Osamu finally texted you, letting you know when he’d be able to close up shop early to have you over. Since then, you’d keep your phone on you or nearby more often than usual, every single notification catching your attention. You almost don’t care how quickly you responded, letting him know the time and day would work for you without even checking your own schedule to confirm. (You did so afterwards: you’re good, honey.)

Getting ready seemed to surpass all that on an anxiety-inducing level, you’re pretty sure. Dinner at his place sounds like a date, yes. But he never said it was a date. You can only interpret so many social cues, and trying to recall his body language and tone as you raid your closet for something appropriate to wear does no good to your sanity. You settled for a floral summer dress in the end; not the best for the nearing autumn weather, though it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix. Words of encouragement don’t do much convincing on your end as you do your makeup and assure your reflection that it’s not too much, but it gives you something to focus on.

Those same words of encouragement, while they do make you knock on his apartment door, don’t fill the action with the enthusiasm you desperately need. Though, before you can redo it for something louder, the door opens, and there stands Osamu at his entrance.

“Hey,” he greets, a subtle upbeat in his tone. You’re not used to seeing him out of his uniform: the simple baby-blue button-down with rolled-up sleeves and black slacks combo on him does a number on you. Not a complete 180; he still appears in his element regarding comfort and accessibility for cooking. It doesn’t hurt that it hugs his torso and arms deliciously. And without his cap, you get a clearer view of his face. A full head of dark hair swept to his left, and his eyes, while a greyish colour, still carry an enticing glimmer you struggle to look away from. “Yer just in time. Food’s gonna be ready in a few minutes.”

Osamu moves aside to let you in. His home seems cozy, you think upon entering. Maybe less clean and more empty; a couple of couches and a coffee table with nothing but a tissue box on it, plus a dining table with four chairs. The kitchen seems to have most of the attention, not that it surprises you. It all makes sense for someone living by himself. He probably lives at his shop, you figure. This place is just a backup.

You thank him when he offers to take your jacket after you remove your heels.

“Ya look lovely, by the way.” His tone remains its usual steady tone, and you almost think he’s telling you what’s on TV. He’s glancing over his shoulder and placing your jacket in his closet as he tells you this, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and adding sincerity to his otherwise flat manner.

“Oh,” your eyes struggle to meet his in fear of showing how much his words affected you. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.”

You don’t get to scold yourself for sounding ridiculous because Osamu tells you to follow him to sit at the table. A deep breath: calm down, enjoy yourself, don’t stare at his ass–not even a glance, damn it!–and follow him.

The table seems mostly ready, with dishes splayed across it carrying a variety of fresh food. A traditional Japanese dinner: nothing fancy, though with the intimacy of having dinner with a handsome acquaintance (client? Either way, handsome), you’re not complaining.

“Hope this is all right with ya,” Osamu says from the kitchen. “Wanted to surprise ya with something ya’d like, but from yer writings, ya don’t seem like much of a picky eater.”

You shake your head, only to stop when you remember his back is to you. “It looks great, really. If it’s you making it, I’ll gladly eat all of it.”

He turns around with the last couple of dishes in his hands, a smile plastered on his face.

“Means a lot t’hear that,” he hums, placing the teriyaki salmon with the rest of the bowls. Once he’s settled in his spot, you both give your thanks for the meal and dig in. You don’t hesitate to grab whatever your chopsticks soar towards, from the goma-ae to a generous chunk of salmon. Only when your mouth is full do you remember you aren’t alone, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet a grey pair. Osamu’s in no better condition than you, his bowl of rice half done with a couple of drops of soy sauce stuck near the corner of his lips. Even with his natural resting face, the stark contrast between his cheeks full of food with the hint of amusement in his gaze is nothing short of adorable. “Keep eatin’ like that an’ yer gonna choke.”

You swallow in one large gulp, much to your esophagus’ dismay. “Not my fault you make good food.”

Osamu chuckles. “Gonna add my home cooking to yer blog?”

You immediately shake your head. “I’m keeping this for myself, thank you.”

“Oh, so you want me to make you food more often?”

Your eyes gradually widen at his words, your hand mindlessly twiddling with your chopsticks. Your gaze switches from the dishes on the table to your date, who doesn’t keep his eyes off you as he continues eating his food. Even with his cheeks stuffed with food, he sports a smirk, one you don’t miss.

You clear your throat before offering a nervous laugh. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

He swallows down his bite. “So, no dessert afterwards, then?”

“I never said that,” you pout. “You’re enjoying teasing me a little too much, Miya.”

“Osamu.”

You stop yourself from bringing your glass to your lips, giving him a puzzled expression. “Hm?”

“I invited ya to ma home for dinner,” he states in between a large bite of the salmon. “No need ta be so formal with me.”

Several moments of silence are followed by you sounding out each syllable of his name to yourself. You suppose he makes a good point, though the intimacy that replaces the formality makes you fidget in your seat. If Osamu notices, he doesn’t comment.

You meet his gaze. “You do the same for me, then.”

He smiles. “Deal.”

A natural conversation flows from thereon, from you explaining how your blog came to be to him sharing embarrassing stories about his twin. Even with each tale carrying a complaint about his brother’s behaviour, you don’t miss the fondness in the ravenette’s tone as he recalls the memories. He’s seemingly the calmer one of the two, yet he doesn’t fail to make you giggle at the expense of his counterpart. (“Don’t worry, ya can laugh,” he tells you when he catches you biting your lip.) The laughter soon evolves to commentary and jokes and entertaining stories of your own, and you don’t even realize how much more relaxed you are until you’ve both finished everything from your bowls.

You exhale in satisfaction, placing a hand on your belly. “If I were rich, I’d hire you as my personal chef.”

Osamu smiles, picking up some of the bowls and motioning for you to sit back down when you move to follow his actions. “I’d gladly take the job.”

You feel guilty as you watch him move back and forth to clean up, but with every shake of his head, you find yourself obeying and keeping yourself glued to your chair.

“Because I’m your favourite customer, right?” you quip as a distraction.

“That,” he takes both your cups, “and ‘cause ya’d be rich.”

Your date peeks over his shoulder to find you fidgeting with your fingers under the table. He hears you nervously chuckle when he returns to focus on cleaning the dishes.

“So, does your brother know you use him to impress your dates?” The inquiry was more of a joke than anything else, but Osamu catches a detail you don’t seem to realize you added.

“We’re on a date now, are we?” he muses.

Silence; it puts a smirk on his face. Seeing your reaction is more than tempting, but so is dragging out the tension. The former wing spiker doesn’t remember the last time he enjoyed teasing someone like this (aside from his brother, but that’s more taunting than anything else).

He only glances over his shoulder once more when he hears you pull your chair back. You stand next to the table, seemingly wondering if you should approach him or not. Osamu has to hold back his grin.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you state, glad your voice doesn’t wobble.

“Ya didn’t answer mine,” he counters not a moment later, though the humour in his tone is evident enough. Your date turns off the faucet before removing the rubber gloves from his hands, plopping them onto the kitchen counter before striding towards you. He catches you clench your jaw, but you don’t budge. “Got a pretty sharp tongue on ya for someone so nervous not that long ago.”

You subconsciously straighten your posture as you inhale sharply. “Not gonna finish cleaning up? You were pretty insistent on taking care of things by yourself.”

He stops a foot away from you. “Nothing I can’t deal with later.”

His dark eyes bore into yours, though you’d hardly call it a staring contest. Not when your gaze would occasionally flicker down to his lips. Of course, nothing he misses.

Another step forward. He places his index finger under your chin.

Another step forward. He tilts your head up ever so slightly.

Another step forward. He leans in, stopping mere inches away from your face.

No more steps for him to take. You barely catch the sound of the faucet dripping the occasional water droplet over your heart echoing in your ears. Can he hear it, too?

None of that matters as he takes your statuesque frame as a sign to pull away. You panic; grabbing onto his shirt, you yank him towards you to meet your mouth with his.

The subtle taste of dinner lingers on his tongue, not that you can complain. Your hands find their place on his cheeks while his own wander down to your waist. A lazy hum of satisfaction buzzes out from his throat, leaving a light tingle on your lips and causing your heart to pound in your ears.

You pull away for air and from the shock of what just happened, your wide eyes meeting a droopy, lust-filled grey pair.

“Look at ya,” Osamu pants, one of his hands sliding down to your thigh. “Yer real cute, ya know that? Couldn’t stop thinking about kissin’ ya for days now.”

Your lids fall to match his expression while your thumb mindlessly caresses his face. Your mind speaks before you can stop it. “Just kissing?”

That familiar glimmer returns in his gaze, and he gently squeezes your thigh. There’s a pull coming from his hold; nothing forceful, just light enough to give you a chance to withdraw. With little-to-no room left between you, you can only press your chest against his.

“I’ve got a few other things in mind,” he hums as if pondering. “Wanna give 'em a try?”

You nod absentmindedly, your hands sliding down to wrap around his neck and play with his hair. “Please.”

His lips curl into a satisfied smirk before they reattach themselves to yours. He’s got you mewling in a matter of seconds, your fingers swirling around his locks and occasionally tugging them. Osamu groans, lightly grinding against you and making you gasp.

The hand on your thigh disappears to slide your dress straps off your shoulders, and the ravenette pulls away to tug the top of your number down to expose your breasts. His mouth attaches itself to one of your nipples while his fingers tweak at the other bud, further drenching your underwear while your grip on his hair tightens. Your body feels hot, your hips rubbing against his bulge in desperation. You draw a blank, wanting to enjoy every second, but being all over the place. And you’ve only started.

It’s when he eventually pulls away to remove your dress do you realize this is actually happening. The fabric drops to your feet, leaving you in ruined panties, and the cool air does little to fight the heat you feel all over. Large hands, roughened from years of volleyball, carefully hold you up to place you on the table, taking their time moving away from your exposed body. Those same eyes that seemingly hang in a drooping shape with indifference now do so in a hunger that has you subconsciously clenching your thighs.

“Fuck,” Osamu rasps deeply, eyes never leaving your frame as he hurriedly unbuttons his shirt and throws it aside. You’re blessed with the sight of ripples and valleys of soft skin over hard muscles with small clans of stretch marks highlighting his upper arms and what little you can see of his hips. His belt disbands with a clink, and he’s panting when he removes his slacks. “D’ya have any idea whatcha’ do ta me?”

The Kansai in him seems to shine through when he gets needy; that thought flies through your head, barely giving you time to process it. You don’t care to, not when your date approaches you once more to hook his fingers past the waistband of your underwear. His gaze peers up at you, starving, but patient enough to check on you. Your response is the rising of your hips, allowing him to slide the flimsy material down your trembling legs.

Why are they doing that? Nothing you haven’t done before. Not something you do often, either. The last time you had sex was in… college? Last year of college. Yeah, with some guy in one of your classes. His pace wasn’t all that different from this one right now. You refrain from showing your displeasure when you recall how he thought penetration alone was enough to get the job done. (It was, just not for you.)

Why these memories are choosing to return, you don’t know. Maybe you feel out of practice, or because it’ll all be over before you know it, and the handsome shop owner who made the best onigiri you’ve ever tasted will probably just be that and nothing more after this. That latter possibility makes your stomach plummet, and you bite your lip. It’s just dinner. Dinner with a crush. Most of what you know about him came from an interview.

You catch yourself looking at him when you realize he has yet to make a move.

At first, you feared it was due to disgust. It isn’t until you find him zeroing in on your dripping cunt like a man starved does your body relax a bit. His calloused hands grab hold of your thighs, lightly squeezing their fat as he drops to his knees.

“Gonna take care of ya,” Osamu mutters, seemingly more to himself than you, before swiping his tongue across his bottom lip and leaning in. “Gonna take real good care of ya.”

Settling your thighs onto his broad shoulder, the ravenette then licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt, tasting your essence and flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit. You exhale shakily, which is enough encouragement for your date to proceed with his ministrations.

“‘Samu,” you whisper, your fingers returning to his charcoal locks as his tongue’s movements against your clit increase in speed. You’re rewarded with a groan as you buck your hips into his face, and his hold on your upper thighs grows stronger to keep you grounded. With the added stability, you bring one of your hands to tweak at your nipple, adding to the pleasure and making you mewl.

Your eyes are fluttering closed until you feel Osamu’s tongue move to thrust into your cunt. You squirm in your spot with a gasp, eyes snapping open before your head drops to face the culprit. Pools of lust for irises greet you in a hazy connection, having been zeroed in on your expressions since their owner got his first taste of your essence. You’re already hot all over, head to toe, but the gaze you can’t look away from sets your face on fire—though that’s nothing new, now is it?

“Better than any meal I’ve ever had,” he mumbles against you before wrapping his lips around your puffy clit and suckling hard. Your head draws back as you wail, your hips failing to escape his grip no matter how much they writhe. That familiar build-up in your lower stomach makes itself known, causing you to whisper pleas and your date’s name repeatedly. He’s pressing his face further into your cunt, his mouth working overtime on your clit as your orgasm only hangs on by a thread.

And then, it’s gone.

Your eyes–which were apparently closed–blink open as your brows knit together. Peering down, you see Osamu slip out from your hold on his hair, that same unbothered expression back on his handsome face (save for your slick coating his lips and chin, of course).

“‘Samu!” you whine in frustration as you watch the ravenette stand up and brush the invisible dust off his knees. You don’t let his (very) noticeable bulge distract you from your stolen reward. “I was so close! What’re—”

He removes his boxers in one motion, letting them drop to the floor and wipe your brain clean of whatever you were about to ask him. Osamu observes you freeze from the sight of his girth, his face in its usual neutral stature while his gaze grows even heavier with lust and his chest and ego swelling with pride.

“Wanna make ya cum on ma cock,” he answers a little too casually, regardless of whether or not it actually answers your unspoken question. With his hand wrapped around his shaft, he swipes some of his precum, using it as lube as his focus lays on your naked form. “That all right with ya, princess?”

You nod mindlessly, your eyes never leaving his thick cock. Watching him touch himself, because of you no less, makes your hand wander south, gathering your essence and his spit before sliding a finger into your weeping hole. You shakily exhale as you catch his dick twitch, and it’s not long until you add another digit to massage your insides.

It’s also not long until a much larger hand grabs your wrist to make you pull your fingers out. Being so focused on his lower half, you didn’t realize Osamu approached you once you started pleasuring yourself. He brings your hand, wet with your slick cascading down your palm, to his mouth, languidly licking up the mess while his eyes burn a hole into your very being.

“As much as I enjoy the show,” he drawls, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, “I made ma intentions pretty clear. Unless ya suddenly changed yer mind, yer cumming on ma cock, doll.”

With that, he gently pushes your shoulder, making you lie on the table. Not exactly comfortable, but you consider it worth it as you watch Osamu position himself between your legs with his cock aimed at your entrance.

Time flies when you’re having fun, and while you were worried about this night ending far too soon, you can’t say the feelings are still there as the painful stretch consumes your body. You appreciate him taking his time for you, though it only makes the process all the more apparent: every ridge and vein making itself known as they leave their mark inside you. It isn’t until his hips meet yours do you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

He says your name, and you peer up at him while slowly propping yourself on your forearms. With gentle hands resting on the apex of your thighs, your date leans down you plant a kiss on your lips. You return the affection, feeling yourself relax a bit and noticing the subtle taste of you on his tongue.

You find your head following his when he pulls away, earning you a chuckle before bringing one of his hands to your crotch. Collecting your slick, he then rubs slow, tight circles on your clit. Your hips buck, and you sigh, whimpering his name in gratitude.

“You can move,” you utter. “Doesn’t hurt as much now.”

With a curt nod, Osamu grabs hold of your legs to wrap them around the small of his back. He thrusts gently, allowing you to accommodate and testing the waters to see what you like. You hum contently, though your eyes don’t seem to know where to look. Part of you wants to admire his face, but you worry about the intimacy behind the action. Marvelling at his physique, as fun as that would be, would probably make you drool; sex or no sex, you’d like to avoid that. Or, stare at where you two connect, but you’re certain you’d cum on the spot. You can’t do that. Was this always so difficult?

“Hey.” The ravenette glides his hands up and down your torso before finding their place on your breasts. “Easy. Want yer eyes on me, ‘kay? Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your gaze shyly makes its way up to meet Osamu’s, his eyes soft while he smiles down at you. With a deep breath, you let him know he can pick up his pace. That smile of his widens as he complies, morphing your insides into the shape of his cock as he reaches deeper. The air is knocked out of your lungs, your voice choking up as you cry his name like a mantra.

“‘Samu!” you wail, tightening your hold on his lower back. “Feels good! Feels so f-ucking good! Don’t stop!”

That glimmer flashes in his eyes as you beg for him, and Osamu swoops down to crash his lips onto yours. This kiss was more tongue than anything else, and you moan wantonly as you messily taste him.

You’re hot. Everything is like touching a sizzling stove. The makeout session, the cock splitting you in half, the squelching from between your legs. There’s fog between your ears, far from clearing and presenting any sort of rationality as your date finds your sweet spot.

“There!” you pull away from him to shriek. “Keep fucking me like that! More, more!”

He can’t deny you when you plea like that, and he holds you in that position to ram into you the way you need him to. Your throat hurts from whatever noises claw out of it, though it doesn’t stop you from slurring “moremoremoremoremore” as your orgasm bubbles in your lower stomach. Or maybe all that begging is playing on a loop in your head? You don’t hear yourself; all you know of is the ecstasy between your thighs and Osamu stalking through the windows of your soul. Open for him in more ways than one.

“‘M close,” he grunts, his movements becoming sloppy. “Ya cummin’, princess? Can ya do that for me? Make a mess on ma cock like a good girl?”

You nod before processing, but you consider it the right choice when he breathes out a laugh and changes his position to lean on his forearms. There are barely a few inches between you two, and he’s quick to fix that problem by kissing you once again.

You’re squealing against his mouth when your orgasm finally hits you, your body stiff as you clamp down on his shaft. You feel heavy, rigid as your senses kick into overdrive, and you’re floating, vision grows spotty. Your head is thrown back out of necessity, your lungs in desperate need of oxygen, and Osamu’s presence alone is dizzying.

He’s still messily pounding into you once you’ve calmed down, and your legs shake against him from overstimulation.

“Too much,” you whine, “too much! ‘Samu—”

“I know, doll,” he grunts. “I’ll be done soon. Promise, I’ll—”

He cuts himself off with a curse before hastily pulling out, wrapping a large hand around his cock and pumping until he cums on your stomach with a drawn-out groan. Through hazy vision and a complimenting puddle for a brain, you watch in awe as his jaw goes slack and eyes flutter shut with furrowed brows; he almost looks soft.

Now, you’re both spent, breathing matching in rhythm as you recall your surroundings. The first thing you notice is the pain in your lower back: sex on a wooden table will do that to you, you suppose. Worth it.

Then, you’re being picked up, your body limp like a ragdoll as you yelp from the sudden movement. “‘Samu!”

The ravenette hums. “I’ve gotcha.”

Your arms, weak from carrying your weight, reach to wrap around his neck. All he does is sit on his chair with you on his lap, and he exhales.

“Is this what you meant by ‘dessert’?” you quip tiredly, leaning against him.

“Nah,” Osamu buzzes, rubbing your back soothingly. “I got somethin’ ready for after dinner, but this works, too.” You snicker weakly at his humorous tone at the end until it fades into a heavy silence. Not awkward, no, but relaxing doesn’t seem to quite fit the description, either. “It’s a date.”

You sit up too quickly, and you wince from soreness. Not that you could help yourself, what with his sudden comment. “Huh?”

“Tonight,” he clarifies, “I planned on it bein’ a date, since I think yer cute and ya helped me with ma shop—and don’t try ta argue otherwise. But with ya being so shy, I figured I’d let you decide, or maybe play into it if I thought ya were interested.” He pauses as if he were wondering what to say next. “All good if you weren’t lookin’ for that.”

You’ve never seen him blush before, and yet you find yourself regaining some energy when you catch the pink tint on his cheeks.

You giggle. “I think it’s a little late for that now.”

Osamu pulls you back into his embrace, burying his face into your neck. He tries to ignore the mess on your stomach pressed against his, though he couldn’t stop from wincing. “Guess so.”

More silence, though on the scale of comfort, it leans closer to a sense of ease.

“So,” you hum, “do you sleep with all your loyal customers or just the ones that’ll promote your business?”

Your date snorts, making the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“Nobody else… yet.” He then pauses, pursing his lips as if to ponder. “Though ya just gave me a pretty good idea. Might help the business.”

You lightly slap his arm, earning a laugh from both of you. You try to sit up again, this time more slowly, and stretch.

“We should probably clean up,” you remark, turning to look back at where you laid back and got your guts rearranged; it makes you shiver.

“I can deal with that later,” Osamu shrugs, shifting in his seat and looking down at the creamy white now on both of your torsos. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first.”

Your heart flutters as his tone softens, and when you look back at him, his eyes carry adoration.

“And then dessert?” You ask sheepishly.

He smiles warmly. “And then dessert.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #hq #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu!!#smut #haikyuu x reader #inarizaki #miya osamu #osamu smut #osamu x reader #miya twins #onigiri miya #haikyuu smut

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daleyeahson · 1 year

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Girl on Film | Perv!Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader: Part 3

Summary: After days of not seeing or hearing anything from Eddie, you finally snap. When you confront him about your feelings, it’s not exactly what he had hoped to hear.

Warnings: angst, cursing, I’m just gonna go ahead and say 18+ minors dni mainly bc of what has happened before and that stuff gets briefly mentioned in here so… yeah lol

Word count: 2.9k

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A/n: I’m sorry this took a little longer than expected to get released! I’ve been a little busy and tbh at first I didn’t know where I wanted this story to go so that also slowed the whole process lol thank you guys for your continued love and support! You have no idea how much it truly means to me.. Enjoy! x

It’s Monday morning and Eddie slowly stirs awake. Stretching as much as he could, he turns his head over to look at the alarm clock. 6:45am. He then turns his head to the opposite side only to be met with the sight of your naked body. Your back facing him and the sheets covering just the lower half of you. Panic sets in before he has a chance to really take in the view. He starts to freak out as his questions from last night enter his mind once again.

He tries to convince himself that he’s just overreacting and that you must’ve genuinely felt the same way he did, right? If you didn’t, why would you do all of that with him? Why would you play along with the whole camcorder situation? He began to think that maybe it was just a spur of the moment thing for you. That maybe you just wanted to have fun with this and not get romantically involved. He also thought of how maybe you’d wake up and regret this whole weekend and then things would be forever changed between the two of you.

With every question of “what if?” or “why?” that crossed his mind, he knew one thing for sure. He did not want to stick around and find out. He couldn’t handle the possibility of rejection or the idea of losing you as his best friend. He needed to think things over before diving into that conversation with you. So, without a moments notice, Eddie does what he does best. He runs.

Or at least he tries too. He gently gets out of the bed, trying his best not to wake you and rushes to go take a quick shower. While he’s in the bathroom, you wake up to the sound of the water running. Still a little bit groggy, you slip on another oversized t-shirt since the one you had on yesterday was now torn in two thanks to a certain someone. You decided against wearing pants, not having the energy this morning to deal with putting them on. Plus, at this point, Eddie has seen you in a lot less, so you figured he wouldn’t have a problem with it.

You make your way to the kitchen in desperate need of something to drink. You pour yourself a glass of water and casually sip on it while having your back leaned against the counter. You hear the shower turn off and soon afterwards, the bathroom door opens. In such a hurry to leave, Eddie doesn’t even notice that you’re standing in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ Eddie, sleep well?”

“Jesus Christ!” He jumps at the sound of your voice. “I didn’t know you were awake,” he gives a nervous chuckle, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I haven’t been up for long.. What’s got you up and ready to go out the door so early?”

“Uh…” Eddie pauses for a second, trying to find what to say. He doesn’t want to bring up the real reason he’s leaving, so he says the next thing that comes to mind. “School! Gotta head off the school, ya know, don’t wanna be late.”

You look at him and say with a raised eyebrow, “Since when did you, Eddie Munson, care about going to school, let alone getting there on time?”

He smiles softly at your comment, knowing that you had a good point.

“I figured dealing with the third go around of this shit, I might actually want to try for once before I end up graduating with Henderson’s class.”

You laugh. You know you’d never let that happen, but it was funny to picture him and Dustin posing for a photo together with their cap and gowns on holding their diplomas.

“Well before you go, do you want some breakfast? I can fix you something real quick. I know the stuff they serve in the cafeteria isn’t the best.”

Growing more anxious the longer he stands there, Eddie shakes his head, “N-no thanks. As much as I would love to, I don’t have the time. Still have to run home and change out of this,” he gestures to his sweats, “and you know how long it takes to get my whole get up on. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I get there before the first bell rings.”

You try not to show a look of disappointment on your face. You wished he would stay a little longer, but you understood his reasons. If you were in his shoes, you’d want to do everything possible to make sure you didn’t have to repeat your senior year again too.

“Oh, well, I’ve got to start getting ready for work in a few anyway, so no biggie. Give me a call though afterwards, yeah? I’ll be back home this evening, probably around six.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just gives you a slight nod and walks out the door. Driving off in his van, he makes his way back home. Once there, he heads to his room and spots the camcorder still sitting in the same spot he left it. He really did plan on going to school, but after seeing that and being reminded once again how all of this got started, he decided to stay home. There was no way he could focus on any of his classes after that.

You started getting ready for work not long after Eddie left. Taking a quick shower yourself and changing into your uniform. You pulled your hair back to keep it out of your face and applied a light, natural makeup look. You weren’t one to really wear makeup to begin with, but being a waitress, it seemed to help get you better tips so you didn’t mind having to wear it while you were at work.

You worked at a small diner right on the edge of town, only a 15 minute drive from your place. It wasn’t the best job, but it paid the bills. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy it, you loved your coworkers and got along well with the regulars you had, but being on your feet for hours on end for most days of the week was exhausting.

Your work day was the same as always. A group of older gentlemen would always come in early for some breakfast which usually consisted of biscuits and gravy all while talking for hours, getting refill after refill of coffee. You gained a few more customers when lunch rush hit, but things never picked up until it came closer to dinner time. You’d always get busy around then, mainly having truckers stop by for a good hot meal after being on the road all day. You didn’t mind though, you loved hearing the stories they’d tell about the places they’ve been and things they’ve seen. It always helped make the work day go by a little faster.

When your shift came to an end, you made your way back home. Feet aching from the day, all you wanted was to get out of these clothes and go to bed. You didn’t even think about the fact that Eddie said he would call. All that was on your mind now was getting some much needed rest.

When Tuesday had came and gone and still no word from him, you started to wonder why Eddie hasn’t been back over or called. You didn’t really pay much mind to it, thinking he must’ve been exhausted like you were last night after playing his gig at the Hideout with the Corroded Coffin boys.

Wednesday was a different story though. That evening, you made your way over to Family Video to pick out movies for the sleepover this weekend. It was supposed to be at Eddie’s place this time, but after not hearing from him for days, you weren’t sure if he even wanted to have it. You walk in and was greeted by Robin who stood at the front counter.

“Hey, y/n! Picking out more movies for you and Eddie this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you say in an unsure tone, “I guess I am.”

“You guess? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sigh and start to explain everything to her. Just the part of not hearing from Eddie in a while, she didn’t need to know the rest and you still hadn’t even talked about it with Eddie himself. It would feel wrong to discuss those things with another person before him, even if Robin was one of your closest friends.

“It’s just, I don’t know. I’m not sure if he wants to have the sleepover this weekend. After he left my place Monday morning for school, I haven’t heard from him since. I figured maybe he was tired from his gig last night, but I still haven’t heard anything from him today either. It’s just weird not seeing or hearing from him, ya know? He’s never done this before.”

“Wait, you said he left Monday morning for school?” She asks and you give her a nod. “Eddie wasn’t at school Monday. Like at all.”

“What?” You looked at her with confusion written all over your face.

Not at school? What does she mean not at school? Why would he say that’s why he had to leave your place so early and then not go? Maybe he was late getting there and she just didn’t see him.

Robin went on to explain, “Yeah. He borrowed my biology notes and was supposed to give them back to me at lunch, but he wasn’t there. I asked the guys at the Hellfire table if they’d seen him but they said he never showed up that morning.”

What the hell? Why didn’t he go? More importantly, why did he lie to you about going in the first place? Your blood started to boil at the thought of him lying to you. You had been friends forever, why would he feel the need to lie? You explained to Robin that you had to go, not getting the movies you had planned on picking up. You needed to get home to think about some things. What the fuck was Eddie’s problem?

Thursday evening rolled around and still no word. You finally decided to give him a call instead of waiting for him. You knew he should be home from school right now, if he even went this time, and he didn’t have band practice or anything like that. You reach for the phone and dial his number. After a few rings, a mans voice spoke on the line.

“Hello?” Wayne. You didn’t think he’d be home right now. He must’ve been getting ready to leave for work when you called.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne, is Eddie around?” You ask.

Wayne looks over at Eddie standing in the living room, signaling for him to say that he wasn’t there and couldn’t talk.

Wayne sighs before answering, “No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. He’s not here at the moment. I could take a message for him if you’d like though.”

There it was, another lie. Now he’s even getting other people to do it for him? Unbelievable.

“Just tell him to give me a call when he gets a chance, okay?” You tried to not sound frustrated, but Wayne could tell you were upset.

“Will do.” He hangs up the phone and looks up at Eddie once again.

“Boy, I don’t know what the hell is going on between you two, but whatever it is, not talking to her about it isn’t going to solve the problem.”

Eddie looks down at his feet, embarrassed that Wayne is lecturing him over something that he should’ve already taken care of.

“I know, Wayne, it’s just..” he tries to think of the best way to explain this to his uncle without having to go further into detail about it all, “things are just a bit..complicated right now, okay? I promise I’ll talk to her soon. I just need some time to think about things.”

Wayne takes the hint that Eddie doesn’t want to get into the subject of what’s going on and gives him a sympathetic look. Not really knowing what it was that was making things complicated between you both, but knew whatever it may be was causing his boy to be in misery.

Grabbing his jacket and getting ready to head out the door, he turns and with a sigh he says to Eddie, “Well, whatever it is, you guys have been friends all your lives. You’ll be able to get through it, okay? Don’t sweat it, kid.”

And with that he heads out the door, leaving Eddie to stew in his own thoughts about everything.

You on the other hand, were pissed. Outraged. Angry.

How could he lie to you like that? Why would he even do such a thing? And then ignore your call when you finally reach out to him?

No, you weren’t gonna have it. Eddie was going to talk to you face to face about this whether he liked it or not. It was something that needed to be done, and you knew exactly when to do it.

It was finally Friday, you had just finished your shift at work and was heading home to change and shower. Eddie was making his way over to the high school to start setting up for his Hellfire campaign. You knew if he wasn’t going to come to you and talk about things, you’d have to go to him. And that’s exactly what you planned on doing. You knew he wouldn’t miss a Hellfire meeting no matter what, so he would definitely be there. He wouldn’t be able to hide from you no longer.

You arrived at the high school and made your way to the room where the boys would be at. As you got closer to the door, you could hear them screaming at one another. Most likely over something that just happened during the campaign. You then heard a familiar sound. One that usually filled you with joy, but this time it just made you fill up with more rage than you already had.

Eddie’s laugh.

It pissed you off to no end hearing it. Hearing him having a good time, as if nothing was wrong. As if he hasn’t been avoiding you like the plague all week.

Without any hesitation, you burst through the door. The room falls silent as everyone looks over to see who interrupted them in the middle of their campaign. When Eddie’s eyes finally met yours, he could see how upset you were.

“Oh shit.”, He whispers to himself.

You march your way over where he was, sat on his throne, and you point your finger at his face.

“Where the hell have you been? Hm?”

Before Eddie has a chance to say anything, you continue on with your rant.

“All week! You haven’t called or stopped by to see me all fucking week! You never do that. Ever. We have been best friends forever and now suddenly, without warning you decide to just disappear? What the hell is your problem? Why have you been ignoring me?”

Eddie sat there, speechless and paralyzed from shock. He wasn’t expecting you to just show up randomly. He thought he would have more time to think over things before talking to you. He also didn’t expect to be having this conversation in front of the entire Hellfire Club, either.

“Say something!” You yell at him. Still, Eddie can’t find the words. Mouth moving as if he wants to say something but nothing comes out. You were mad before, but now standing here having him just stare at you not saying a word, it sends you over the edge.

“Fuck you, Eddie.” You spewed hatred towards him. “I can not believe after everything you did to me this weekend, you have the fucking audacity to not only ignore me and my calls, but blatantly lie to my face and have Wayne lie for you too. I already know you didn’t go to school Monday, Robin confirmed it for me. I seriously can’t believe you right now!”

You were fuming and after a few seconds of Eddie still not saying a word, you look at him and reach your hand out.

“Give me my key.”

“W-what?” Eddie finally is able to breathe out a word, and of course, it’s not what you wanted to hear.

“You heard me…Give. me. my. key.”

When he doesn’t move to give it, you yell again, still beyond frustrated with him.

“NOW!”

With trembling hands, Eddie reaches for it. He slowly takes the spare key to your apartment off the key ring and places it in your hand. You walk back over to the door, turning to him one last time before you leave.

“Don’t bother calling or coming over anymore. Not until you actually grow the fuck up for once. Until then, I’m done. I don’t need to put up with you and all of your bullshit, especially not after what happened.”

You slam the door shut, leaving the boys there in silence. Walking back out of the school, you feel hot tears running down your face. In this moment, you could care less. You just wanted to go home and forget about everything that has happened this past week.

Eddie is left sitting there, staring at the door trying to hold back the tears in his eyes that are fighting to spill over the edge. Gareth is the first one to break the silence.

“Dude, I don’t know what you did” he says looking away from the door and back over to Eddie, “but whatever it was, you really fucked up.”

Still not saying a word, Eddie thought to himself.

He really did fuck up this time.

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writeforfandoms · 9 months

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Waking Lions 9

Find the series masterlist

You make sure Kate knows that you are Displeased with the current situation. The 141 gets front row seats.

Warnings: Swearing, Ace is a little shit, mention of blood, mention of injury, mention of stitches. Bits of Ace's backstory.

Word count: 1.2k

Wordlessly, Captain set down a laptop, fiddling with it. Masked man settled into a lean against the wall, while Garrick nodded to you and chose a seat with an empty chair between you.

You were really going to dislike this, you could tell.

“Kate,” Captain greeted, taking a step back from the laptop.

“John.” Kate sounded the same as ever. You hunched your shoulders a little, feeling the reprimand coming on. “Ace.”

“Katie Kate,” you grumbled. “And here I thought you couldn’t ground me from another continent.”

“You’ve never tested that theory.” The humor was clear there to you, and you huffed. “Figured it’s time you knew everyone, since they’ll be your backup.”

“Backup?” You sat up straight, ignoring the pull in your side. “I don’t do backup, Kate. Or teams. You knew this at one point in time.”

“You also didn’t go poking around Russian business,” Kate shot back, voice a little harder. “You kept your head down, for the most part.”

You blinked once. Ah. The assassin must have gotten a picture of you, although you doubted that would go far. You were very careful about pictures, after all. “So I’ll find a nice little villa to camp out in for a month until they forget about me.”

“I can’t give you a month. Not yet.” Kate didn’t even sound apologetic. “Not with the intel you brought back on the Russians and AQ.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” you grumbled, tapping your foot a few times. “What do you need?”

“Nothing yet,” Kate promised. “But I do need to know that you’re in.”

You sighed, lifting one hand to rub your forehead. “Katie Kate–”

“Ace.” She softened her tone, just a little. “We need the intel and you need the help, for now.”

You tapped one finger against your lips, gaze dropping to the floor. Doing this would set a dangerous precedent - what would stop Captain or Kate from doing this again? Then again, circumstances were unique. You didn’t often get shot, even less frequently got involved in this kind of danger. You and Kate had worked well for years now, you doubted she’d risk that to try something like this again. She understood she would risk losing you altogether.

So you decided to risk it.

“This is revenge for crashing that date, isn’t it?” you asked, smirking, leaning back in your seat to your somewhat comfortable slouch.

Kate sighed. “Ace.”

“Never should have introduced you to your wife,” you continued, gaze darting around the room. Garrick’s mouth dropped open, and Soap’s eyes were huge. “You were less meddlesome when you were buried in your work.”

“You’ve made your point.” But Kate didn’t sound upset. Win.

“Fine, fine. I’ll play nice. For now.” You shifted, hiding your pain as your side reminded you that yes you had been shot and you did have stitches in.

“For once.” Kate huffed. “John.”

Captain didn’t quite roll his eyes, but he was amused. “I’ll keep you updated,” he agreed before ending the call.

“Didn’t know anyone could pull that kind of shite on Laswell,” Soap said, openly curious as he eyed you.

You shrugged. “I have special privileges.” But you were maybe feeling a little bit smug. Just a bit.

Until you felt something wet drip slowly down your side. Aw, fuck.

“You never finished my tour,” you said to Soap, blatantly ignoring Captain and Masked Wonder now.

“Uh.” Soap blinked, looking a little bewildered.

“Medical.” You stood, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I’ll take you,” Garrick volunteered, popping up out of his seat.

“We’re not done here,” Captain rumbled, arms crossed over his chest, eyes on you.

“Yes we are,” you shot back. “This is me playing nice by staying out of your hair.” You started for the door.

And halted when Masked Wonder stepped in front of it, casually intimidating. He was even taller than Captain, using his height to his advantage to glower down at you.

“Are you volunteering too? Very sweet of you, but I’ve already got an escort.” You smiled sweetly up at him, resisting the urge to tuck your hands in your pockets, or ball them into fists.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware, that’s why I’m trying to get to medical.” You kept calm, ignoring Captain’s muted swear.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Captain strode over, waving Masked Menace out of the way and taking your elbow in his hand.

“Because it’s not a big deal?” You frowned at him, pulling your arm free of his grip. “Look, Captain, this isn’t going to work if you start fussing over every little drop of blood. I do as a matter of fact know my own limits.”

“Do you?” He gave you a rather impressive side-eye, looking unconvinced. “It doesn’t seem like you do, showing up here not having slept and having gotten shot.”

“Grazed,” you said, frowning at him. “And that was an aberration, not the rule.”

“Even so.” He deposited you yet again on a cot in medical, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shoo.”

He raised one eyebrow slowly.

“You heard me. I’m not your employee and I don’t want you here. Shoo.”

For a moment, you were sure he was going to ignore your wishes. Then he nodded once, jaw tight, and left.

The nurse gave you a look, and you held your hands up. “Don’t even start,” you grumbled.

While the nurse tutted and replaced the stitch you had popped, you went back to planning how to get out of Dodge. Before you went mad and/or murdered someone.

(Before Captain had a chance to hurt you.)

The nurse told you to wait after bandaging you up, probably to find one of your minders again. You just… conveniently ignored that suggestion and sauntered out the other door.

Let this be a test, then. See how long you could wander.

Admittedly, sunshine felt nice. It had been… a while since you’d allowed yourself a chance to relax. And you weren’t truly relaxed, not here. You wouldn’t be until you were somewhere far away and alone. But… Well, nobody was going to shoot you here, and there was a bench in the sunshine, and you were kind of tired still…

You jolted awake to someone sitting down next to you. Garrick mercifully gave you a few moments to recombobulate yourself and remember what was going on.

“You alright?” He kept his voice quiet, looking up at the sky.

You blinked at him. “Of course.” The answer was easy. It didn’t even occur to you to give him anything more than that.

His lips tightened, just for a moment, before he nodded. “Think Soap’s pulling out a board game, if you want in.” He grinned at you, warm and inviting. But he was smart, this one. He didn’t push, he offered.

His Captain could learn a thing or two from him.

“Sure,” you agreed with a shrug, pushing yourself to your feet. “Why not.”

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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watchmegetobsessed · 1 year

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JUST HOW FAST THE NIGHT CHANGES (part 5)

A/N: ahh we have reached the end!! thank you for coming with me on this journey, i hope you liked these high school sweethearts!

PAIRING: Harry x High-School-Best-Friend!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

“Are you okay? Are you hungry?”

“Harry, you’ve asked this like a million times in the past hour, I’m fine.”

You can’t hold back a chuckle as you pay with your water bottle’s cap. You feel quite out of place in the luxurious lounge you didn’t even know existed at the airport. You have only left Europe just once before and you did not fly with a private jet back then like you’re now. It’s a whole different world, Harry’s world that you now seem to be part of, though it’s gonna take a while to get used to it.

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, this is all Harry’s, the attention, the money, the luxury, it’s all him, not you.

“I just want you to have a good time,” Harry mumbles beside you.

“I’m having a good time,” you assure him.

Things have been so different since the night he spent at your place. Waking up next to him was a whole new experience you knew you could get used to very quickly. Your feet were tangled together and he was lying so close to you, you could see every little freckle and blemish on his beautiful face.

You spent a peaceful morning together, just making breakfast, drinking coffee and talking before he had to leave. Since then, you’ve been texting nonstop and even met a couple of times. Harry seems to be seeking every and any opportunity to see you and it’s hard, if not impossible to say no to him when he begs you to grab coffee with him when you’re on a break from work.

You’re falling for him. Seriously and undoubtedly. And it’s not a silly teenage crush anymore, the feelings you’re harboring for him are heavy and kind of scary. You still haven’t figured out how to deal with your own fears, the hurt from the past and the desire to be with Harry.

For now, you’re trying your best to ignore these doubts and enjoy your impromptu trip to Palm Springs.

This is your first real glimpse into Harry’s life. The jet, the hotel, the restaurants, it’s been all just like in the movies. You knew this was his reality, but living it through with him is a whole different story.

You’ve been attached by the hip since the start of the trip, he’s been bringing you everywhere he could, though you still had some work to take care of, he tried his best to limit his meeting and work calls to those periods.

Tonight is his first show out of the two birthday shows he is giving. It’s not officially his birthday yet, but you still want him to have a great day. So for a change, you take matters into your own hands. You started off with bringing breakfast to his bed, you woke up super early to catch him before his morning workout session, brought his pastries, fruits and coffee that you ate on his bed together before parting ways, only to reunite before lunch.

You stay at the hotel restaurant, but you have the servers bring him out a cupcake with a candle on top to make it special.

“Y/N, my birthday is not until tomorrow,” he mumbles, but can’t tone down his goofy smile as he watches the light of the candle dance in front of him.

“You deserve a two day long birthday,” you chuckle. “Make a wish and blow out the candle,” you clap your hands in excitement.

He stares at you for a few moments before closing his eyes, thinking hard of his wish before blowing out the light quickly.

“Share it with me,” he says, pulling the candle out of the top and reaching for the butter knife he starts cutting it in half.

“Ah, no, I better not,” you shake your head, your chest tightening.

“Why?”

“I’m just… trying to… get in shape,” you say, feeling awkward that you have to say it out loud. It always makes you think of the comments Drew used to make on your appearance once you started putting on weight.

“In shape?” Harry asks, but still places half of the cupcake in front of you. “You’re in perfect shape, Y/N,” he says without even realizing how important the words are.

You stare at him for a while, watching him lick some of the frosting off, oblivious how he just made your heart race in your chest. It’s been forever since a man made you feel good in your own skin. Drew made no effort to help you when your body started changing and when you gained all the weight you’re carrying now as well, he just worsened it with his spiteful comments about your looks.

Now here’s Harry, who seems to be more than fine with your current looks and he just said your shape is perfect. And you finally believe it.

He looks up and finds you staring. “What? Did I say something wrong?” he asks, but you shake your head and before you could change your mind you lean closer and press a kiss to his cheek.

“No. You said the best thing. Now, let’s eat this cupcake,” you chuckle.

In the afternoon, Harry spends some time in his room, relaxing before the show and you use this opportunity to do some work until it’s time to leave to the venue. You’ve been jumping from excitement inside, because this will be the first time you see him perform live. Of course you’ve searched up videos of him throughout the years, watched some of his performances, but you know those will never be the same as being there in person.

It’s also your first experience being backstage at an event and it’s making you feel quite important, you have to admit. Harry hasn’t said anything, but you just know he noticed the child-like excitement in your eyes.

You watch the soundcheck, walking around the arena he will fill up very soon with his screaming fans, but for now it’s just you. You sneak some videos of him, wanting to have physical memories of this moment and you’re so absorbed in the experience that you completely miss it when he snaps a picture of you as well from the stage, being his only audience.

Once everything is set and done you mostly just chill backstage when they start to let the fans in, Harry does some of his usual rituals and you meet tons of new people, because he keeps introducing you to everyone. You don’t have the heart to tell him you stopped remembering all the names like thirty minutes ago, he seems so enthusiastic to show you around and tell people you’ve known each other since forever.

You’re hanging out in his dressing room, watching him get his hair done though it will be ruined minutes into the show and he also gets his nails done, which you have to admit is an amazing thing to see. A man, so comfortable in his masculinity that he just sits and watches someone paint his nails different colors. It’s something you never thought you’d find hot, but it definitely is.

When he’s not paying attention to you, you reach into your bag and look for the little gift box that’s hiding his birthday gift and you’re just about to give it to him once he’s done with his nails, but then some people from his crew come in and you’re quick to drop the box back into your bag. Maybe you’ll have a better moment after the show.

“So, where do you want to stand?” he asks, curling an arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk out of his dressing room when there’s not much left until start.

“Can I go out?”

“To the pit? Yeah, sure,” he nods. “You want the fan experience?” he smirks down at you.

“That’s the real thing, right?”

“You should have made a sign then.”

“Who said I didn’t?” you tease him, making him laugh. “Well, I didn’t, but I might steal someone’s sign.”

“I’ll be looking out for it then.”

He soon has to leave your side to get under the stage. You watch him climb into his little box and you think it’s the funniest thing you’ve seen, you even snap a picture of him before it’s closed and he gets rolled out under the stage.

Until the start you stay with Jeff and when it’s time he walks you out to a secluded area in the pit, right on time to witness the opening of the show.

You knew he is truly in his element on stage, but seeing it with your own eyes is a whole different experience. It’s like a different version of him, yet you know it’s the same Harry. Everything he tends to hold back in his everydays he lets loose the moment he sets his feet on the stage. He’s breathtaking, the singing, the moves, the interactions, it all feels like magic and your heart is full every time you see him laugh up there.

“Okay, give me a minute, I’m looking for someone down there,” he speaks into the microphone as he is walking to the wing of the stage that’s closer to you and you already know you’re about to be in the center of the attention.

“Oh shit,” you shake your head and Jeff laughs beside you.

“Are you surprised?” he asks.

“Not really,” you sigh, just when Harry’s gaze lands on you.

“There you are!” he points at you, the fans start screaming as he stops at the edge of the stage. “Y/N, you promised me a sign, but I don’t see anything,” he scolds you, making you laugh as you bury your face in your hands. “Y/N is an old friend of mine, everyone, and tonight is the first time she is seeing me performing!”

The cheering washes over the arena as you feel the heat crawling up your neck and cheeks.

“How do you like the show so far, Y/N? Enjoying yourself?”

“It’s good!” you hold your thumbs up, which earns you a round of applause and a cocky grin from Harry.

“Okay, cool, but I’m still waiting for a sign from you.”

“Maybe tomorrow!” you laugh and Harry joins in as he walks away, carrying the show on.

By the end of the concert you’re jumping around and singing like the fans around you, having the time of your life. You catch Harry’s eyes on you several times and he can’t hold his own smile back every time he sees you.

Jeff walks you backstage when the show is over, everyone is buzzing and you’re bummed it’s over but you’re glad you can watch it all over again tomorrow. When you reach his dressing room you hesitate, not sure whether he needs some time alone after such a long show or not, but at last you decide to knock on his door. It flies open moments later and he’s there, still wearing his concert outfit, a cheesy grin plastered across his face.

“So, how did you like it?” he asks as he pulls you into the room, shutting the door closed.

“It was fantastic,” you smile at him, heart full of pride. “I never knew someone could be this good of a performer.”

“Aw, you’re gonna make me blush,” he grins, but you know how much he is enjoying the compliments.

Looking around you make sure you’re alone and you decide it’s the moment you’ve been waiting for.

“I have something for you.”

Harry watches you with curiosity as you dig into your bag and grab the little box again. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you really don’t want him to think your gift is stupid or childish. It’s nothing fancy, he has probably gotten gifts that cost a fortune, but this one is not one of those. You can only hope he’ll find it just as special as you do.

“I know your birthday is only tomorrow, but I want to be early and give this to you. Happy Birthday.”

You hand him the box that he takes as if it was the most delicate thing he’s ever touched.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Y/N,” he smiles baskfully as he unties the thin ribbon on top of the box.

“It’s nothing big or extreme, just… a little something.” You’re rubbing your hands together nervously as you watch him take the lid off and finally lay his eyes on the gift.

You made him another bracelet, to replace the one that was ruined all this time ago. It looks a tad bit cooler than the original one that you made out of the most random beads. This time you looked for special, one of a kind beads to make the bracelet and you think it suits his style and personality perfectly.

“I just thought that you could have a new one, it’s a little more sophisticated than the previous one. Y-You don’t have to wear it, of course, I just–”

“I love it, Y/N, and I will be wearing it all the time,” he cuts you off, putting it on instantly before taking a closer look at it.

“You like it?” you ask quietly.

“No, I said I love it and I really do,” he corrects you. “Thank you so much.”

Before you could even get a word out he wraps you up in his tight embrace, his scent fills up your nose as your face is pressed against the base of his neck.

He has always been great at giving hugs, he uses almost his whole body and wraps you up in a way that makes you want to stay in his arms forever and it hasn’t changed a bit. You gladly circle your arms around his waist and hold onto him, melting against his warmth, giving yourself over to the feeling of being swallowed by Harry’s love and appreciation.

At one point one of his hands comes up to the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair as he is still hugging you with just as much strength as a minute ago and it seems like he is not planning to let you go anytime soon.

“Y/N, you are…” he speaks up softly, but his words turn into an exhale you feel against your shoulder and a shudder runs down your spine. You wait and wait and then he finally speaks up again. “You are everything to me.”

Your heart grows three times bigger at his words, makes you feel like it’s about to burst out of your chest and right into Harry’s hands. As much as you want to keep hugging him, preferably forever, you know you need to see his face now. Mustering up all your will you pull back just enough to look into those breathtaking green irises and you see so much and even beyond that in them. You see your and his past self, your future, a life you could have if he never left and the one you’re possibly on the verge of.

And you love all of them. You love everything about him, every thought, every memory, every possibility you’re gonna face together.

“Harry…” you breathe out when his face is so close, your noses are almost brushing together.

“Yeah?” he whispers, just when his eyes slip down to your lips.

“What are we doing?”

“Whatever you want to do, Y/N.”

You almost whine at his answer, practically ready to beg him to never leave your side, but you manage to keep some of your dignity.

Taking a deep breath you close your eyes and try to think straight, because you know this is a moment there’s no going back from, but you need to make sure you’re fully ready for all of it. Harry doesn’t rush you, instead, he rests his forehead against yours and cups your cheek in one hand while the other one remains on your waist.

The teenage girl in you is screaming right now, demanding to give your all to him, but the Y/N that went through the past through years is scared, because it’s pretty much a free fall into something that could potentially break your heart and that would be deadly this time.

“If I do this, I’ll give my all to you, Harry,” you say as a warning, but you’re also silently begging for him to be the change you need in your life probably more than anything.

“Y/N, I would take whatever you have for me, even if it’s the smallest crumble. And if I get to have all of you… God, that would be absolute heaven,” he chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your playfully.

“So it’s not just a momentary thing, right?” you ask, holding onto the last bits of your self control before you let yourself fall completely.

“Momentary? I’ve… I’ve loved you since I was twelve, probably. My feelings for you are the least momentary thing in my life,” he breathes out the words as if he was in immense pain and you can feel the last string snapping before you push forward and your lips meet his.

Or maybe he is the first one to move, it’s hard to tell once your lips melt together and you kiss like there’s no tomorrow. You’ve never experienced a passion like this, the need to get closer and closer even when you’ve basically become one takes over your body, your mind is blank, Harry occupies all your thoughts, the way he is touching, you, his scent, the little noises he makes when you gently bite onto his bottom lip… You never thought kissing could bring this much excitement and passion.

It’s messy but simply perfect, Harry is pushing forward making you inch backwards and you bump into a chair somewhere in the way, which makes both of you laugh before you return to the demanding kisses. You memorize the way his hair feels between your fingers as you comb through them, how his fingers dig into your waist as he keeps you tight against him, the way his thigh ends up between your legs at one moment and your body moves against your will, grinding against him.

Maybe you would have gone even further, but there’s a loud crash somewhere outside the room that breaks your little bubble and makes you realize you’re still in his dressing room and someone could walk in any moment.

Not too willingly, but you come to a stop slowly, your forehead resting against his as you try to calm your breathing. Harry goes in for a few more soft pecks on your lips and nose before he finally forces him to pull back.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower and then we can leave,” he murmurs, playfully nuzzling his nose against yours.

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

Harry nods and his arms fall from around you, already making you miss his touch as he disappears in the bathroom.

You send out a few emails in the meantime and when Harry emits from the steamy bathroom in a pair of sweatpants and a simple white shirt, you’re ready to leave. He gathers his stuff quickly, throwing his Pleasing tote bag over one shoulder and he reaches for your hand, taking it gently before pulling you towards the door.

You walk out of the building hand in hand and suddenly you feel like a teenager again who is holding hands with a boy for the first time. But for god’s sake, you’ve been married before! What is happening to you?!

Harry is driving on the way back to the hotel and when he places a hand on your thigh over the console you almost start giggling, but you manage to keep a somewhat straight face. When you arrive he takes your hand again and as you step into the elevator, just the two of you luckily, he wastes no time to pull you into his arms and kiss you again, finally.

“Spend the night with me,” he mumbles against your lips and you involuntarily stiffen for a moment. You’ve been yearning for him forever but you don’t want to jump into things too fast, you need some time to think and process.

Harry notices the change in you instantly.

“We don’t have to do anything, I just want to fall asleep and wake up next to you.”

“Okay,” you whisper when the elevator comes to a stop and the door slides open. “I need to grab a few things though.”

“Sure. Just come over whenever you’re done,” he nods, presses a kiss to your forehead and you part ways, going into your separate rooms for now.

You run around the room in a frenzy, you shower and do a quick shaving session even though you truly don’t plan to have sex just yet, but still, you want to be smooth. Then get dressed in a pair of cotton shorts and your sleeping shirt before heading over to Harry’s room. You barely just knock on the door and it flies open instantly, Harry pulls you inside and kisses you like he hasn’t seen you in ages when in reality it’s been only twenty minutes.

“You smell so good,” he hums, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he walks you over to the bed, unable to keep his hands off you.

“I just showered,” you chuckle at the tickling feeling of his breath on your skin.

He kisses you some more before pulling back and approaching the mini bar.

“Do you want something?”

“Just maybe some water, thank you.”

He hands you over the bottle and he chooses to drink some orange juice. You make yourself comfortable on his bed, set your phone on the nightstand and watch him move around the room, throwing some of his stuff into his suitcase before he joins you on the mattress.

Now that you’re settled it all dawns on you, the kiss, the things you both said and you realize you need to talk it out to make sure you’re heading in the same direction.

“So… That happened,” you say, nervously fumbling with the covers, but you realize how awkward it sounded the moment the words leave your mouth. Harry chuckles as he runs a hand through his hair.

“It definitely did. How do you feel about it?”

“I’m… nervous. But also… excited?”

“Is that a question?” he smirks cheekily.

“No. I am excited.”

“Good. Because I’m fucking ecstatic about it.”

“Really?” you smile sheepishly, resting your head in one hand as you lean onto your elbow on your side.

“Thought it was pretty obvious when I confessed to you earlier. I want whatever you have for me, Y/N. Truly.”

“So… we’re gonna do this? We’re… together?”

“Is that what you want?”

You take a moment to think about it, though your answer is already clear.

“Yes,” you nod. Harry scoots closer and kisses you softly.

“Then yes. We are.”

“How are we going to do it? I mean… I can’t always just travel with you, I need to return home at one point.”

“We’ll figure it out. Don’t stress about it.” He traces the side of your face before cupping your cheek gently. “I’ve wanted this for so long, I will do anything to make it work.”

“Isn’t it crazy that we both had feelings all these years ago and… it only happened now?”

“Wait, you had feelings too? When we were young?”

“Thought it was obvious,” you shrug with a shy smile.

“Not really,” he chuckles. “Damn, I could have just made a move on you back then and we would have been together since then?”

“Maybe the timing would have been wrong. I think things happened this way for a reason. We had to go over all of this to reach this point.”

“You mean we had to stop talking and meet all those wrong people? I feel like I could have been fine without that,” he sighs, his hand resting on your waist as you lie facing each other. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t have to answer, but… I noticed that your whole relationship with your ex was very… private. I didn’t even know you got married let alone had a divorce.”

“Were you spying on me?” you tease him and you notice the pink shade on his cheeks as he shrugs.

“Maybe.”

Deep down you kind of knew this would come up at one point, but you didn’t think it would happen so early. You had plenty of time to think about why you never felt the urge to show off your relationship with Drew and you always knew one thing for sure that contributed to the end of it as well along with the terrible happenings.

“You’re gonna think I’m insane,” you whisper, scrunching your nose as you pull your legs up.

“I’m sure I won’t. I could never judge you.”

Chewing on your bottom lip you muster up the courage to tell him the truth.

“I loved Drew but part of me always knew it wasn’t meant to be, I just ignored my instinct. There was this voice in the back of my head every time we reached a milestone and I tried not to listen to it, but it lingered there and it had an effect on my acts either way.”

“What was it saying?”

“That he was not you.”

Your confession seems to catch him by surprise, leaving him stunned and you wonder what’s going on in his head.

“I inevitably kept comparing him to you or… the idea I had of you. I always knew my feelings for Drew were nothing like the ones I felt for you, but I told myself it was silly, because at that point we weren’t even talking. But it didn’t feel right. That part of me always wanted to be with you and I kept my relationship to myself because it simply didn’t feel right in a sense. It should have been a red flag, I shouldn’t have stayed with him, but I didn’t think I would ever see you again and I was afraid of ending up alone so I just… put up with what I had.”

It’s probably the very first time you’ve ever said it out loud, it’s been a secret you kept buried deep down in your chest, but you feel like with Harry you can share anything.

“Do you… Do you think it’s crazy?” you ask, not entirely sure what he is thinking but the fact that he hasn’t moved away from you is definitely promising.

“Crazy? There’s nothing crazy about this, Y/N. If anything, it’s making me happy,” he smiles softly.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Because I can absolutely relate to these feelings and thoughts. I felt like I was searching for you all my life, the way you made me feel… nothing compared to that.”

You’re on the verge of crying, hearing that your feelings have always been mutual is like a piece you missed all your life, but now he’s made you complete.

With wobbling lips you scoot closer until you can wrap your arms around his neck and he doesn’t hesitate before locking you in his embrace.

“Don’t cry, this is a happy moment, isn’t it?” he asks with an airy laugh as he holds you tight.

“It’s a happy cry,” you admit as tears start rolling down your cheeks, melting into his shirt. “God, I missed you. I missed all of you, all the time! I hated it when everything changed overnight and you weren’t here, but I’m so happy you’re here.”

The words are flowing out of you uncontrollably, but you don’t mind it, this is the moment when you know you can let it all out.

“I’m here to stay. Forever. I’m never letting go of you,” he whispers and holds you in his arms until you both fall asleep.

And in the morning you finally face the start of the life you’re spending together.

WEDDING SEASON IN STYLE

Harry Styles is kicking off the summer wedding season in style with his lovely girlfriend by his side. The singer was spotted at a high school friend’s wedding this weekend in the English countryside, having a blast at the party after the ceremony. A series of photos have surfaced of the special occasion where we can see the As It Was singer supporting his friends at the ceremony wearing a creamy colored suit with a baby blue shirt underneath, his pearl necklace spicing the fit up that coordinated perfectly with his girlfriend’s dress of the same shade of blue.

The pair is known to make a habit out of color coordinating their outfits, they have proven to be the perfect match before on casual outings and their first official debut as a couple on the red carpet at the Grammy’s earlier this year. It is unknown how long they’ve been together, but devoted fans have pointed out they have known each other from before Styles’ X-Factor days. In the past few months they have been spotted together several times in different cities while Styles is on tour and the latest photos are proof of how happy they really are.

They were photographed slow dancing, goofing around with their other friends and mingling with guests, of course, holding hands the whole time. A source close to the pair has said earlier that the lovebirds are practically glued together, kind of in a honeymoon phase and the singer is trying his best to navigate his life on tour with his lover’s life back home in London. They are said to be devoted to the blossoming relationship and everything that has surfaced about them just proved how happy they are. Maybe soon enough it will be their own wedding they will be attending? The fans’ reactions have been mixed, but mostly positive, especially because it’s obvious the singer seems to be in his best shape and mood in the past months.

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE: Y/N Y/L/N holds up funny sign at boyfriend Harry Styles’ latest concert

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles oneshots #harry styles fluff #just how fast the night changes

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whitexwolfxx310 · 1 year

Text

New Years Eve 2/2

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: You spend New Years Eve with Bucky at a big event which your ex happens to also be attending.

Warnings: Y/N, 18+, Cursing, **Graphic sexual content**, Smut, Oral (M to F), sexual asphyxiation, slightly physical encounter with ex, jealousy, edging.

Word Count: 4895

Gif: Credit goes to buck-n-cap & lowkeysebastianstan

A/Ns: This is the second part to my New Years Eve post. Thank you all so much for reading! If you want to be added to the Taglist, just let me know!

Previous Part

Masterlist

Today has been kind of a big deal and it’s far from over. It’s a declaration of your relationship with Bucky going public, even in front of your own father who has made it very clear that he disapproves.

Standing in the lobby of the elaborate hotel, you catch of glimpse of your reflection in the glass door. You smooth the sides of your long, simple, burgundy dress. Turning from side to side slowly seeing how the gown accentuates your hourglass figure. A coolness on your bare lower back causes you to suck in a breath through your teeth.

"You look beautiful." Bucky reassures as his warm breath grazes against your ear. Your cheeks instantly blush from the embarrassment. "Also," He starts, "I got us a room." Pulling back slightly from him, smirking and raising an eyebrow at the forwardness, his nose scrunches with an amused laugh. "Not what I meant. But I like your thinking." He says, planting a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Hey, Buck!" Both of you become aware of Steve and Peggy. "Wow, you guys look great!" Steve says energetically. God, it's like night and day with Bucky and Steve. The men greet each other with a small hug and firm pat on the back. Stepping forward, you acknowledge Peggy with a small kiss on the cheek.

"You look...wow. Peggy, you look fantastic!" You say, astonished by her classic, yet sophisticated, look. The bright red lipstick matches her dress, which accents her pale skin and dark brown pin curled hair.

“Likewise.” Peggy smiles “Good to see you, Y/N.”

“And Steve… handsome as always.” You say as you reach up to give him a friendly hug. He smiles, taking Peggy’s hand.

“Let’s head in, don’t want to be late.” As the couple starts to walk off, Bucky smirks and rolls his eyes.

“With out without the suit, he’s always Captain America.” He laughs, placing his hand around your waist, bringing you in nice and close as you walk into the party room.

The night is still young and reserved. Everyone is being cordial and polite. Give it about an hour or so when they’re all a few drinks in and it will be a different story.

It’s not a traditional party with decorations, it’s very organized and structured with speeches and awards, etc. The only type of display to distinguish what type of event you’re attending is the memorial board on an easel with the stone faced, uniformed pictures of those who have died. While you’re trying to actively avoid looking at it, you keep side eyeing it looking for your brother Luke’s picture.

For once, you’re the one who has the tight jawline. A gentle rub on your upper arm reminds you to try and relax, that you aren’t alone. You glance up at Bucky, attempting to smile. “Thank you.” You say softly.

“I know this isn’t easy for you. I appreciate you being here with me. ‘Till the end of the line, sunshine.” He says, giving a small wink along with a smile. And just like that you feel as though you could just melt onto the floor. For more reasons than one…

As soon as you feel the uneasiness drift away, it comes crashing back full force as you spot your parents talking with someone. Already knowing where they were, Bucky plants a small kiss on the top of your head. “You can’t avoid them forever. C’mon.” He gently encourages but waits for you to make a move. Taking a determined, deep breath you make your way over to them. If it weren’t for Bucky by your side, you wouldn’t have the courage to confront them.

Your steps become smaller the closer that you get, but he’s with you every single step along the way. Clearing your throat to get their attention, you give them a polite smile. Moms eyes instantly light up at the sight of you, reaching down to match the big smile from the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, honey!” Taking a few quick steps forward she quickly embraces you. Awkwardly, you hug her back, not letting go of Bucky. Not even for a second. The notion grabs your fathers attention, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. He nods slightly in acknowledgement, but nothing more. A part of you feels instantly crushed, knowing that he is still holding onto the last conversation the two of you had. About your life. About your choices. About Bucky.

“Dad.” You give him a small hello in return. His lips are a tight, thin line as he glances Bucky over.

“Sir.” Bucky says, holding his right black gloves hand out for a hand shake. Dad indulges, but most likely for appearances sake. A flash of amusement crosses Dads face, instantaneously making you feel as though you’re going to be sick.

“James.” He greets, his attention drawn to behind the both of you. “We were actually just catching up with Christopher.”

Christopher. You have to remind yourself to breathe as you turn around. And there he is. Fuck. Tall, dirty blonde hair, tan, green eyes that stand out even more so with his olive green class A’s and the obligatory Army crew cut.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s been a long time.” Chris steps in to hug you and your body goes completely stiff, not moving an inch, holding your breath. Bucky is looking between you and Chris, instantly understanding that this isn’t necessarily a happy reunion. Bucky’s eyes narrow as Chris steps back into his place, also putting his hand out to shake his as well.

“Nice to meet you, Christopher.” Bucky practically spits out as he looks him dead in the eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes.” Chris returns the same slender gaze along with a smirk as he puts his hands into Bucky’s. After an extended moment, Chris goes to pull away his hand but is met with Bucky’s gloved left hand closing over both their fists. Right away Chris flinches, the vibranium hand enclosing their hands just a little too hard.

“Hey guys!” Steve gets everyone’s attention as he walks up. Bucky and Chris hands fall to their side, looking like two children that were caught fighting over a toy. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Steve smiles. Always the peacekeeper. He places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I was just about to head to the bar. Would you two like to join Peggy and I for a round?”

“Sounds great!” You chime in, locking arms with Bucky and follow Steve to the bar where Peggy is sitting with a round of drinks. Grabbing the one that looks the strongest, you slam it back instantly. Everyone is quiet, looking between themselves extremely confused. You then feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Steve asks, concerned.

“I’m fine! Totally and completely fine!” Your voice comes out way too high pitched and is utter bullshit. Bucky and Steve exchange a nervous look between each other as you finish another one of the drinks. You can feel the tension, so much so that you could cut through it with a knife.

“So… are you going to tell me what is going on?” Bucky asks, his tone flat. His concern comes out in the form of resorting back to shutting down. The fact he hasn’t been dragged out of here kicking and screaming is already progress. In the words of Bucky: ‘Fight first, questions later…. Maybe.’

“So um-“ you start, taking in a deep breath. “Chris is, I mean… was, my brothers best friend.” There seems to be a collective understanding nod within the group. “He made it back and Luke just… didn’t.”

Bucky’s face softens at the realization, now knowing that Chris is a constant reminder of your older brother who is gone.

“But…he’s also my ex.” You’re holding your breath as Bucky continues to look into your eyes, no reaction whatsoever. Peggy’s fire engine red lips purse out as she stands up from the bar.

“Looks like we’re in need of more drinks. Steve?” She beacons for him to come with her, leaving you two alone to talk.

“What?” Bucky asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. He still hasn’t blinked. Or moved. Or even fucking breathed.

“It just didn’t work out between us. We all knew each other since we were kids. Him and my brother grew up together, enlisted together, deployed together-“

“And had you in common as well.” He says, matter of factly as he still remains calm. Which actually is the scariest part. Is he… jealous?

“Bucky…” You start, placing your hand over his. “I don’t care about him. He is nothing to me. His presence just brings back painful memories.”

He just sits, staring into your eyes, looking for a glimmer of lies. But, it won’t be found. Because this is, in fact, the truth. This is it. This is the moment where Bucky’s growth is put to the test. His reaction is everything. His jaw shifts slightly as his tongue runs across his top teeth, his lips still firmly pressed closed. He’s trying. He’s trying his best to keep his cool. You’re still holding your breath as you wait. Wait for him to explode. Wait for him to say that you two are done. Wait for him to walk out of this building, go under the radar as the Winter Soldier and never be heard from again. You’re mind is already racing at the thought of possibly losing him over something so trivial- but he takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“It’s in the past.” He murmurs. And, as if a lightbulb turned on, it suddenly makes sense. Bucky has tried now for many years to let go of what was, it would be hypocritical to hold something against you. A sigh of relief escapes from your mouth.

“But-“ he starts, making you hold your breath again. “I’m not above kicking his ass.” He’s smirking, but the truth of the matter is… he would and not think twice.

“Bucky!” You lightly slap his hand in a playful gesture. Suddenly, Steve and Peggy are back with more than just a few appreciated drinks.

“How about we find our seats.” Steve suggests “Ladies first.” He steps to the side, allowing you to walk side by side with Peggy. You give him a thankful smile as you get up from your seat at the bar. Bucky and Steve hang back for just a moment, talking low to one another so that they can only hear the conversation. Steve grips and ruffles Bucky’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging nudge.

After getting to your assigned table, the award ceremonies and long speeches start to blend together. Thankfully, there’s a never ending circling of servers so the drinks never stay too empty for long. Your attention gets drawn to your left thigh, where there is a warm hand gently caressing. You look to the left where Bucky is sitting next to you, being met with a small smile trying to disguise his concern. In return you mimic his smile to hide your uneasiness.

A familiar voice starts to ring through the speakers strategically placed through out the room so everyone is able to hear the person speaking. Dad. Swallowing down what feels like a rock in your throat as you watch him start to address the crowd for the next award, you look between your father and Bucky. Suddenly feeling antsy and unable to sit any longer, your hands smooth down your dress on your thighs.

"I'll um- I'll be right back." You say as you quickly get up from the table.

"Y/N..." Bucky says sympathetically as he moves to get up as well.

"It's fine." He stops midway, frozen in a squat position, as he struggles internally to be there for you but also respect your boundaries.

"Really..." You lean down, planting a small kiss on his lips. "I'm just going to freshen up." He places his hand on yours, reluctant to let go as you go to move away.

Walking out of the ballroom and into the main corridor to catch your breath, you feel a slight pull on your hand from behind.

"I said I was fi-..." Turning around expecting Bucky to have followed you, but instead you're now standing face to face with your ex. "Chris?" You say in repulsion.

"I know, I know. I just wanted to see how you're doing with everything." His tone is soft, concerned even. You scoff as you try to pull your hand away.

"How I'm doing? W-What? Let go of me!" You insist, trying to pull back, but he doesn't let go.

"Listen, Y/N. I know we didn't end on the best of terms, and I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you after Luke died-"

"Don't you dare talk to me about my brother!" You spit out, still trying to get your wrist out from his grasp. "I said...Let g-"

"I just want you to understand…" Christopher's grip is now getting firmer around your wrist to hold you in place. "It was hard for me too and I just didn't know what to say-"

"What part of 'let fucking go' are you not understanding?!" You yell, struggling to get out of his grasp.

"I'm here now! We can honor his memory…together! It’s what he would have wan-" Chris stops mid-sentence, realizing that a third person has placed their hand over his. He looks away from you to be met eye to eye with Bucky, who's vibranium hand is now clasped over his. This is probably the only time you'll be thankful for how stealth-like he can be.

"You heard her.” Bucky says, with an eerily calm tone which is met with no response. “Let her…the fuck…go.” He enunciates.

Christopher’s eyes narrow, not blinking as he grinds his teeth, thinking about how he wants to handle the situation. Your eyes dart between the two men, your wrist still held in place. Chris’s brows furrow as the grip around your wrist tighter, causing you to suck in a sharp breath between your teeth.

“Okay then.” Bucky says, matter of factly. Within what seems to be a blink of an eye, you’re free and now standing behind Bucky who has placed himself between you and Chris.

“Look, Barnes. I don’t want any trouble…” Christopher says, his tone less confident than before.

“Trouble will follow any man that puts his unwanted hand on a woman. Now go. I’m sure you’re next in line for some bullshit speech or medal.” Bucky says, assertively.

The air is thick and tense as the stare down between Bucky and Chris continues, knowing that even the slightest twitch would send them into a brawl. The question is, would Christopher be stupid enough to go toe to toe with a super soldier? Chris’s eyes move passed Bucky to make eye contact with you, which instantly makes you look away from how uncomfortable it feels.

Suddenly, Chris turns on his heels and heads back into the main ballroom. He has always been more concerned with appearances and will not do anything to jeopardize his career. Bucky doesn’t move until he’s out of sight, turning around and looking you up and down concerned.

“Are you okay?” He asks, not getting closer but gently takes your wrist, inspecting it.

“I’ll be fine.” You mutter, unable to look at him, your stomach still tied up in an enormous knot from the encounter. Bucky continuously looks you up and down, letting out a long sigh.

“Let’s find somewhere quiet. Somewhere private?” He suggests, and you nod slightly in agreement.

Bucky’s hand gently wraps around your waist, pulling you softly into his side as he leads you down the hall. You can’t but help but notice out of the corner of your eye, Steve had been standing there the entire time. Ready to have Bucky’s back, just as he always has.

Your head is spinning. What would have happened if Bucky didn’t intervene? Why did Chris want to have this conversation now, of all places? Was my father somehow behind this because of his dislike for Bucky? Would he really go that far? This is so embarra-

“This is us.” Bucky’s soft voice interrupts the never ending questions running through your mind. He takes out a plastic card, swiping it into the door. A small light beeps and turns green, allowing access. Opening the door, Bucky allows you to go into the room first, following closely behind and locks the door. The hotel room. You didn’t realize where he was leading you due to the rapid thinking.

Taking a few steps into the room, you glance around. On the king sized bed is two carryall bags; one for you and one for Bucky. He must have packed for both of us ahead of time, prepared for what was supposed to be a romantic night, turned into this. Looking out the large window at the dark city scenery, you smooth your dress down along your thighs; a nervous habit you’ve developed over time. Turning around, you find Bucky still standing close to the door, arms crossed and looking you over. You let out a long sigh as you take a few steps forward, unsure of what to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His tone is soft and slightly confused. Talking isn’t something that he is necessarily used to. The only person he has ever been willing to put everything on the line for, is Steve. This is new territory. For him. For you. For us.

“Not really.” You reply, honestly. Taking a few small steps forward, Bucky mirrors the motion. You place the side of your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him as you do so. He returns the notion, placing his chin on top of your head as his arms wrap around you entirely. The warmth, comfort, and protection is more than welcomed. His arms are the safest place in the world.

Pulling your head back to look up into his eyes, you still need to stand on your tippy toes to plant your lips on his. His tall frame leans down to meet yours. The soft kiss starts as a way of saying thank you, showing gratitude for him being there for you. But it quickly turns into necessity, needing Bucky in every sense of the word. Your arms unwrap from around his torso, reaching gently to cup each side of his face as you pull him more to you. His hands on the small, bare part of your lower back, pressing you slightly more into his body.

“Get me out of this dress.” You demand between kisses. He pulls back a bit in surprise.

“Y/N… I don’t know if-“

“Shut up. And get me out of this dress, Bucky.” You say, sternly. Taking his right hand in yours, and placing it right at the zipper. Giving in, he pulls it down slowly. You shimmy slightly to shake the dress onto the floor, you’re now left in a black lace bra, and a matching black lace garter belt g-string clipped down to black thigh highs.

“You’re killing me here…” Bucky says, eyeing your body in the lingerie.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say, confidently. You’ve reached that level in your relationship that you can be crystal clear about what each of you want.

“I-“ He strains. Also hungry the same desire, but at the same time not wanting to feel as though he is taking advantage of your vulnerability. In return, you aggressively unbutton his fitted black suit jacket, bringing it down his shoulders and arms and it falls to the floor. You take his right hand and sensually remove the glove, also discarding it to the floor. When you take his left hand, he is more reluctant. Still self conscious of his vibranium arm when not using it for its original intention. Lightly sterner this time, you take his hand and also take off that glove. The coolness to the touch instantly gives your body goosebumps. You once again take his right hand, gently kissing the pad of each finger while looking up into his eyes. The flicker of more than usual craving ignited in his eyes.

You pull him closer by the buckle of his belt, eagerly undoing it along with his dress pants, leaving them to collapse to the floor. Bucky’s hands instantly find your waist, pulling you in to show his lust through kissing. Firmly, you unbutton his dress shirt, leaving him in only in a gray undershirt and matching boxer briefs. Your hand slips down between the heat of your bodies, cupping his growing bulge. He releases a deep breath, moan combination at your touch.

His reaction causes a surge of frenzied dopamine to be released. Your hand grips him just a little harder, moving it forward and back in rhythm with the aching throbbing deep in your core. Sensing the growing intensity, Bucky lifts you up into his arms, coaxing your legs to wrap around the trunk of his body. You oblige, your arms wrapping around his neck as well. Maintaining the fierce kiss, he pulls your body more into his own. Feeling your body’s press more into each other forces the urgency of him being inside you grow exponentially.

Taking a few steps towards the bed, Bucky lays you down, now hovering over you. His hips compress down into yours, causing your back to arch up into his chest and a small whimper to escape. Propped up on his left arm, his right hand grazes the curves of your body, leaving an anguished trail behind. Bucky's lips migrate from yours and down your neck. His deep breathing in your ear pulsates through your body, syncing with the gnawing, and growing, passion. He sits back on his knees, between your legs with an astonished look on his face.

"What?" You ask, laughing. He shakes his head, rubbing the palms of his hands on top of your knees, moving them up your thigh slightly on both sides, his fingers flicking against the straps against the thigh highs.

"You are just..." His eyes ricochet between different areas of your body. "So fucking beautiful." The statement makes you blush, gently biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

Bucky's tongue brushes across the front of his lips. He then takes hold of your hips, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. His hands only leave your body for a moment, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto the floor. Staring up into his eyes, you start to become more restless, grinding your hips down into the cotton comforter. He leans over your body, meshing his lips eagerly into yours. While face to face, Bucky pulls down his briefs half way, allowing them to remain on his thighs.

Standing up, his chest is already rising and falling rapidly. Using his pointer finger, he hooks it into the bottom of your panties, pulling them to the side. While keeping the fabric in place, he bends down, his metal arm gripping your thigh as he places his tongue flat against your opening. Just pressing the wet warmth against you send a lightening bolt through your body. He drags his tongue up...and then down. Once, twice, and then pulls away. The instant chill and lack of stimulation leave you disgruntled. But he quickly rips the fabric he had been holding to the side, exposing you to him fully.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, spitting onto his fingers before rubbing the head of himself. He presses against you, only a few millimeters in, and you both suck in a sharp breath, already being able to tell just how narrow you are.

"Oh god..." Bucky's head tilts back slightly in gratification. "You're so tight..." He acknowledges, slowly pressing into you, deeper and deeper.

When pleasure is this fierce, it can cause your body to spasm. Almost as if it's too much to handle and tries to escape. But he doesn't let you. Tenderly, he takes your legs and rests them against his shoulders, kissing the inside of your ankle as you writhe softly underneath him. It doesn't take long to conform around him. He draws himself almost all the way out and then presses back in. Your body squirms in response, moaning as your way of demanding more. Bucky's hips glide in and out, also putting an extra thrust against your g-spot once he's fully in.

"Mmm..." You moan into a deep breath as your eyes slightly roll back. Once you make eye contact with Bucky again, he's smiling. Knowing that he can satisfy you in every meaning of the word.

Letting go of your legs, he falls forward, bracing himself on the bed, hovering while still inside you. He presses his forehead into yours, looking into your eyes as his hips collide into your own.

"Say it." He requests, but your slightly confused. No need for you to say anything, because as if he can read your mind, he responds:

"Tell me I'm the only one..." He breathes. "Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours." You indulge, truthfully. "Always." It comes out as a whisper. Within that moment, you press your lips up into his. He hungerly kisses you in return.

Pulling back slightly, but not pulling out, he continues to hover. His cool, metal fingertips outlining your collarbone. Bucky raises his eyebrows, not needing to say what he's thinking out loud. Without hesitation, you nod in approval. He's slightly taken aback by your answer but eager to indulge.

"Let me know if it's too much." Bucky holds your gaze as the palm of his left hand flattens at the base of your neck.

"I trust you."

And with that he slides his hand slightly forward, placing your neck between his thumb and pointer finger. Gradually, the grip gets tighter. But Bucky continually searches your face, looking for any sort of discomfort. The additional pressure along with his quickening rhythm, put you into a state of euphoria. The most perfect, metallic ice necklace. Each stroke ripples through your body, intensifying with each passing second. You've been holding your climax off, edging yourself intentionally so that you can orgasm together. Although, it is apparent that it is becoming more and more difficult for you both.

"Do you want me to come?" He asks, loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of body slapping intertwined with moaning and heavy breathing.

"I'm ready." It comes out as a plead.

"How much?" He grins.

“As much as you can.” You whisper, giving him a small smirk in return.

He let's go of your neck, bracing himself on the bed with both arms now. His dewy chest creating friction against yours as he quickens his pace just a little more. Your nails dig into his back, scratching down a little harder than you care to admit. But, something tells you that he really doesn't mind all that much. Bucky is moaning into your ear, the most gratifying sound, as you feel warmth start to fill inside of you. It instantly sends you over the edge, contracting around him in quick intervals of pure ecstasy. The world stops when the two of you are together. This just feels so right, so perfect. Regardless of what some people say, it's meant to be.

Laying together in bed, coming down from cloud nine, your leg is draped over his. Your fingers slowly trace the damp, defined lines of his muscles. His chin rests gently on the top of your head, breathing deeply as he resonates in the moment. In the distance, you can hear loud voices. You and Bucky look at each other, and then at the phone on the nightstand, laughing in understanding. Even across the hotel and away from the ballroom, you can hear the collective

Ten....Nine....Eight....Seven....Six....Five....Four....Three....Two....One. Happy New Year!

Using his pointer finger, Bucky lifts your chin up to give you a kiss.

"That is one hell of a way to bring in the new year." He laughs.

"Yeah..." You giggle a little. Looking at him, in this moment, this beautiful moment, it slips out. "Would it be super cliché if I said 'I love you'?"

His eyes widen. Oh no.

"I-" You sit up, scrambling for a bed sheet to cover yourself so that you aren't exposed physically. Just emotionally. "I'm sorry. It-It's too much." Shaking your head in embarrassment, clinging to the sheet that is masking your chest, unable to look anywhere aside from down at the bed.

"Hey..." Bucky says, tenderly as he sits up in the bed. His hand palms your face gently, coaxing you to look at him. "It may be the first time that you're saying 'I love you' to me, but just know that I will never grow tired of hearing it." He's smiling affectionately as his thumb grazes against the side of your mouth. "Would it be completely predictable to say 'I love you too'? Because I do, Y/N. You have made this old man the happiest he has ever been and ever expected to be. You are everything I could have dreamed of and more."

Squealing in excitement, you drop the sheet and quickly hop into his lap. Kissing him once again behind teary eyes.

Tag list: @peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead

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messysketchyobeyme · 11 months

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A Quiet Evening

Asmodeus & Lucifer

Summary:

How could anyone want to celebrate their birthday when you weren't there?

Word Count: 1,167

---

Asmodeus cracked open the door leading to Lucifer's office and poked his head through the doorframe. Lucifer's head bowed down over his paperwork. His pen slowly scribbled along the never-ending sheets of paper. His entire figure was shrouded in the faint, orange glow of the fireplace.

"Excuse me, Lucifer?" Asmodeus called out, pouting when he barely even glanced up in his direction, "May I come in? It's time to repaint your nails." He held up a vial of red nail polish and waggled it in the air.

Lucifer sighed. A long one. "If you must," he said.

Asmodeus clicked his tongue, and quietly entered Lucifer's office, closing the door behind him. He shuffled over to the chair in front of Lucifer's desk. Without further prompting, Lucifer held his left hand out. His eyes were still glued to the files in front of him, but Asmodeus paid that no mind as he unscrewed the cap on the nail polish.

Asmodeus held Lucifer's hand and scrutinized his nails. In all honesty, they looked fine. At most, they were slightly chipped at the edges but nothing particularly noticeable. Still, Asmodeus got to work, going over his nails with a fresh coat.

"So," Asmodeus said, "Any plans for your birthday?"

"Not anything in particular." Lucifer signed a random contract and placed it in a pile situated at the corner of his desk.

Asmodeus stopped in his tracks, looking up at Lucifer with a pointed frown. "What? It's your birthday, Lucifer! You can't just not do anything."

"I haven't celebrated my birthday in a millennia. Today is nothing different." Asmodeus could tell that Lucifer was trying to sound neutral, but there was a certain coldness that seeped into his tone.

"But, these past few years–"

"They were here these past few years, and now, they're not." Lucifer slammed a stack of pages on his desk. It made Asmodeus jump. Lucifer's lips thinned, his voice softening. "There's nothing worth celebrating."

Asmodeus closed his eyes for a second to gather his wits. It's only been a few months since you disappeared, but your absence was like a hole that tore through his and his brothers' hearts. The House of Lamentation has been so empty and dreary without you.

Although he knew you were safe with Solomon, it still hurt knowing that it may be a long, long time before he got to feel your embrace in his, hear your voice, or see your face, again. He would give anything just for the chance to hug you and apologize for…for…for not doing enough. For not checking up on you the night you disappeared. For not making sure you were okay. Asmodeus knew that nobody could have known this would have happened to you, but it still hurt.

Asmodeus took in a deep breath before resuming his work on Lucifer's nails. "I know how it feels for them to not be here on your birthday, but you can't just hide away in your office all day. It's not healthy."

"What did you do on your birthday, Asmo?"

For once in probably his entire lifetime, Asmodeus was rendered speechless. "I–" It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. "Well, I spent some time in my room."

"You hid away in your room," Lucifer corrected, "You didn't come out until we forced you. You didn't throw yourself a giant party like you usually did, nor did you go to any." Lucifer picked up his cup of coffee and took a long sip.

"Yeah, but I've had thousands of celebrations. I was all partied out last time, but you–" Asmodeus stumbled over his words, again, when he saw the way Lucifer was shooting daggers at him. "You never really celebrated your birthday until they came along. You deserve time to let your hair down."

When Asmodeus finished doing Lucifer's nails on his left hand, he gestured for Lucifer's other one. He gave it to Asmodeus and moved to pick up his pen with his now free hand. Asmodeus tutted. "It's still wet," he scolded.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, letting out another sigh. He resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get any more work done this evening. "How can I 'let my hair down' when I've been so worried about them?" Lucifer asked quietly. "No matter what I do, their face always pops into my mind, and I can't help but wonder…" He trailed off, not even daring to finish that thought.

"I understand how you feel," Asmodeus said, "I miss them, too. We all do, but do you really think that they'd want you spending your birthday like this?" He finished painting Lucifer's nails and screwed the cap back into place. "They were the one that made us start celebrating our birthdays together. We became closer as a family because of them, and I think they'd want us to continue that tradition."

Lucifer's fingers twitched. He probably wanted to massage his temples or pinch the bridge of his nose but was refraining to not mess up the polish. "I suppose you're right."

Asmodeus put his hand down next to Lucifer's. He chose to have his nails painted that same plain shade of red so often that Asmodeus had stopped asking him if he’d ever switch it up. However, Lucifer never refused to have his nails done whenever Asmodeus asked. None of his brothers did. (Except for Satan, at first, but he came around eventually.) It was…nice to have their bond as brothers broadcasted to the world like that. No matter what, they'd always be family, and that included you, too.

"You know, we've set up a small party for you in the kitchen like you did with me." Asmodeus continued to explain when Lucifer raised one eyebrow. "It's not like the ones I usually throw. There's a cake and a couple of presents, but only our brothers will be there. Nobody else." Asmodeus tapped the edge of his desk. "We would like it if you’d come."

For the first time since you'd been gone, Lucifer smiled. It was a tired one that was punctuated with prominent eye bags and a couple of new wrinkles, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Alright," Lucifer said with a chuckle, "I'll come."

Asmodeus shot up and clasped his hands together. "Yay! I'm so glad!" He started walking backward toward the door, almost tripping over his chair in the process. "Levi is still working on the decorations, so be ready in like…five minutes?" Asmodeus fluttered his fingers in the air. "I'll come get you when we're done. Toodles!"

With that, Asmodeus bounced out of Lucifer's office. He wasn't expecting his brother to agree, but he guessed it was your influence that melted his previously stone exterior. It might be a long time before Asmodeus and the rest of his brothers will get to see you again, but, until then, he and everyone else will just have to go through everything one step at a time.

#Obey Me #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #fanfic

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venus-haze · 1 year

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Creep (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: You’d grown up in Ambrose, but seeing the mill town’s glory days coming to an end, your family packs up and moves the summer before your senior year of high school. You never expected to return to Louisiana, let alone see Bo Sinclair again, but when your distant husband’s new job brings both, your life goes to hell faster than you can blink.

Note: Yet another Bo Sinclair fic because that man lives in my head rent free. Reader is a cis woman (and a horrible judge of character), but no other descriptors are used. Title comes from the TLC song. This one isn’t as implicitly dark as my other Bo fics, but it’s still there…lurking through the rose-colored lens of nostalgia. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Death, murder, violence. Marital infidelity, emotional manipulation. Implications of kidnapping and prolonged captivity. Sexually explicit content that involves coercion (dubcon re: degradation, choking, bondage, and unprotected sex). Do not interact if you are under 18.

The Traveling Wilburys song that was playing in Taylor’s Drug Store only served to remind you of how old the place was. You stopped in to pick up a prescription for your husband and do some light shopping. The interior hadn’t been updated since at least the ‘80s, save for the digital cash registers and security cameras, a monitor above the glass doors where you walked in reminding you that you were being watched. You shuffled along the scuffed linoleum tile, shopping basket on your arm as you looked at the shelf of painkillers.

Throwing a bottle into the basket, you continued along, trying to remember what you had put on your mental list and coming up blank. You went to the snack aisle, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to grab a bag of chips. While considering whether to go with barbecue or sour cream and onion, you noticed a man walk over just a few feet away from you, holding a basket filled with odds and ends. Normally, you minded your own business, but you turned your head to get a better look at him. He was tall, wearing a well-worn flannel shirt that made you wonder for a brief moment what it’d be like to have your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. Despite the trucker cap pulled snugly over his mess of brown hair, almost covering his eyes, his profile seemed hauntingly familiar until it dawned on you—Bo Sinclair.

You could remember Bo being a cocky troublemaker with no regard for his own personal safety, regularly getting into fights in and out of school. With a swoon-worthy smile and an attitude that made your mother emphasize to stay the hell away from him, you did have a bit of a crush on Bo, one that you kept locked in a box to wither and die when your family moved out of Ambrose. Years had passed, though. You’d changed so much since high school. Undoubtedly, he had to have changed too.

Fuck it. You’d been in town a little over a month and had yet to make any friends. It was nice to see a familiar face—a handsome one at that.

“Bo Sinclair?” you exclaimed, as if you hadn’t spent the past ten seconds staring at him out of the corner of your eye.

As expected, his eyes didn’t light up in recognition when he saw you. In fact, he seemed startled and suspicious. Brows furrowed, he stood stiff as he straightened his posture as you approached him in the snack aisle. His hostility made you second guess your decision to approach him, but you’d already made a spectacle of yourself. Nothing else to do but follow through and hope for the best.

“I’m not sure if you remember me. My family moved out of Ambrose at the end of our junior year, but—“

He relaxed a bit, giving you a grin that made you want to throw your wedding ring on the ground. “Now I know I must be dreamin’ if I see Y/N standin’ in front of me.”

You smiled. “Yeah, you look great—I mean, y’know, it’s great to see you.”

“It’s great to see you too, doll. Ain’t many familiar faces ‘round anymore.”

“Do you live in town, or—“

“Still in Ambrose, few of us left out there,” he said. “Most of the stores shut down, so I gotta drive out here for stuff.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around, then. I just moved here a few weeks ago, and I still don’t really know anyone.”

“You mean you and your husband just moved here,” he said, motioning to your wedding ring.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

You had just barely missed it, the gleam in his eye at your response. Somehow, you suppressed the chill that threatened to run down your spine. That much hadn’t changed about him, the darkness that reared its ugly head whenever you found yourself getting too comfortable around him.

Just as quickly, he claimed he had to get going but that you’d see him again. You gave him a half-hearted goodbye, taking his promise with a disappointing grain of salt.

Looking at the bags of chips yet again, you grabbed several, intending to spend the rest of the day marinating in your loneliness with snacks and movies until your husband arrived home from work. Maybe you could talk him into getting takeout rather than you having to cook.

The half-empty house was eerily quiet when you arrived back, ignoring the unopened cardboard boxes that had been taunting you for weeks. Unpacking on your own was a monumental undertaking, since your husband worked so much during the week and spent the weekends doing home repairs that you weren’t able to take care of on your own.

The red light on the answering machine was flashing, and as you set your shopping bags down, you would have bet a million bucks on who the message was from and what it said.

You folded your arms as you listened to the message, huffing discontentedly under your breath. “Hey honey, I’m working late tonight. We hit some snags with that big project for the quarter. Don’t wait up for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be home. Love you.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed aloud, pressing the button to delete the message.

Just because it didn’t surprise you, it didn’t mean your feelings weren’t hurt. You’d suspected for a long time that your husband had been cheating on you, though you could never prove as much. Still, it didn’t take a genius to put together the consistent late nights, how he’d finally arrive home with the scent of another woman’s perfume lingering on his clothes as if to taunt you. The part of you that was still a little bit in love with him had hoped that the move would bring the two of you closer together, and for the first week, it did. Then, he started at his shiny new job and found someone to scratch his itch just as quickly.

Being in a new town meant you didn’t have your normal circle of friends to gossip and air grievances with, and doing so on the phone wasn’t the same. You wondered if they’d forget about you eventually, tuck you away in a corner of their minds that they didn’t explore often. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t done the same, running into Bo Sinclair earlier that day was the first time you’d even thought about him since high school.

Your morbid curiosity getting the better of you, you wondered where your old high school yearbooks were. Looking at the intimidating stacks of cardboard boxes on the other side of the room, you wracked your brain for where you would have packed them.

The cardboard box labeled ‘photo albums’ proved your gut right, as you dug through it to find your high school yearbooks. The familiar blue and gold design that covered each of the books sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. Fuck, did anyone actually enjoy high school?

Even back then, Ambrose had been such a small town that to save money, the county had the middle school and high school in the same building. There were so few of you left that it hardly made a difference. Students often had to go to surrounding high schools to participate in extracurriculars and varsity sports. Families who saw college scholarships as their kids’ ticket to a better life would put thousands of miles on their cars to drive them to and from practice during the school year. Your graduating class–at least what was supposed to be your graduating class–couldn’t have been more than forty people.

Such a small town with an even smaller school meant everyone knew each other’s business. It was suffocating. Still, you opened the yearbook from your junior year of high school and flipped toward the back of the thin book, skimming past the R’s and to the S’s. You studied his photo, strange yet familiar. Handsome with his messy brown hair and cocky grin, you wiped at the paper, assuming there was some kind of smudge on his cheekbone until you realized, no, it was a bruise.

Beauregard Sinclair. You’d forgotten that was his first name, not that anyone ever called him that anyway. You certainly never did. Vandalism, fighting, and hot-wiring cars were his hobbies of choice back then. He did well in shop, you knew as much because your home ec teacher bitched about how the shop instructor pulled some strings to let him stay in the class, even after he swung a wrench in another guy’s face and knocked out three of his teeth during class. You’d see him at house parties, lurking in the shadows with a dangerous and almost feral gleam in his eyes, a beer in his hand as he waited for the right time to pounce on a tipsy target. More reason to stay away from him, your high school best friend who you hadn’t spoken to in years would whisper to you. He was young, then, troubled and immature. The man you spoke with in the convenience store was so different–confident and flirty, a strong, blue collar man you should have pursued instead of being blinded by the false promises of white collar domesticity. Damn.

You looked at the photo directly to the right of Bo’s. A boy with long hair who seemed to shrink into himself, as if to be in as little of the picture as possible. You squinted to make out his odd expression–the mask, how could you forget the mask.

Vincent Sinclair. You remembered Vincent, odd and quiet, though by the end of freshman year no one said anything about it. Bo had beat that out of more than enough people that the gossip was only whispers. The two of you had several classes together. Perhaps because you were one of few students who actually gave Vincent the time of day, your US History teacher had assigned you as partners for the final project, an essay on a past president with a visual element to accompany it. Luck was on your side when you reached into the bowl at the front of the classroom to draw the name of the president you and Vincent would cover—John F. Kennedy. While most of the other duos made poster boards or had someone dress up for the visual element of their project, Vincent had crafted an incredibly detailed wax diorama of the Kennedy assassination that almost got the two of you sent to the principal’s office because the blood splatter looked a little too realistic for your teacher's taste.

You set the yearbook down, wracking your brain for the name of the youngest Sinclair brother, a friendly boy who’d run around Ambrose barefoot and often covered in mud. He had just started middle school when your family moved, but you’d seen him briefly in the two times you had gone to the Sinclair house to work on the history project with Vincent. Linus? Leonard? Lester.

In all honesty, you didn’t remember Lester very well. All of the Sinclairs were odd, though. Their father was a doctor, but not the kind your parents ever wanted you to go to. Their mother’s wax sculptures lost their appeal after you turned about 10, the last year that you’d go to the wax museum as a school trip. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair had always been nice enough to you, but in the second grade, Bo had cut off one of Cindy Jacobs’ pigtails during craft time. He came into school the next day with a black eye, his already scarred wrists an angry red. You could never bring yourself to like the Sinclairs after that.

Slamming the yearbook shut, you closed your eyes, trying to keep memories of Ambrose at bay. Maybe it was for the best that your family moved. You took a deep breath before throwing the yearbook back into the box you found it in and retrieving a bag of chips.

Your husband had already put together the entertainment center, all of your VHS tapes and DVDs well-organized. They were one of the first things you unpacked. After briefly pondering your first movie choice of the evening, you grabbed The Postman Always Rings Twice and put it into the VHS player.

As you settled onto the couch with your bowl of chips, the black and white screen was your security blanket, lulling you to forgetting your woes and instead on Lana Turner and John Garfield making the screen their home for the following two hours. You’d fallen asleep on the couch just before the movie ended, and your husband didn’t bother waking you up when he arrived home at some point that night, because you woke up with a crick in your neck and a note on the fridge that he’d be working late again. You threw the dirty plate he’d left in the sink at the wall. It didn’t make you feel much better.

The rest of the week dragged on as you went about unpacking on your own, your husband working his usual late nights.

When you pulled into the parking lot of Taylor’s Drug Store the next Thursday afternoon, the same day and time you saw Bo the previous week, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit pathetic for deliberately planning your shopping trip around the possibility of running into him again.

Any negative feelings that festered within you on the short walk from your car into the drug store vanished as soon as you walked inside, seeing Bo standing in the shampoo aisle, brows furrowed as he stood in front of the dozens of bottles on the shelves. This time, however, he was dressed in a mechanic’s work shirt and jeans, his cap still pulled over his face, cigarette tucked behind his ear.

“Hi Bo,” you said as you approached him.

He grunted in response. “Huh? Oh, hey, Y/N.”

“3-in-1 not cutting it?”

“You always had a smart mouth?” he said, glaring at you. For a split second, you thought he was angry with you for your quip. “Vincent needs one with this Jujube shit in it. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m lookin’ at.”

“Jojoba oil? Here,” you said, grabbing a shampoo bottle and handing it to him. “He still got long hair?”

He nodded. “Yeah, he ain’t got it cut in a long time.”

“It suited him,” you said.

“I’ll let ‘im know you said so,” he grinned. “You always come in here on Thursday afternoons?”

“I do now.”

“Sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Do you wanna get coffee?” you asked, feeling foolishly bold.

He raised an eyebrow. “Your husband gonna be alright with that?”

“I don’t care,” you answered. So what if people thought it was a date, it’d be about time your husband got a taste of his own medicine.

“Well, we can at least pretend you care about your reputation and go somewhere a little bit outside of town.”

You smiled. “Sounds like you already got a place in mind.”

He wasted no time in throwing the rest of what he needed into his shopping basket while you picked up your husband’s prescription, not bothering to grab anything else that was on your list. It wasn’t like you had any other plans for the week.

You followed his truck to a small roadside diner, a greasy spoon type of place family would go to some weekends growing up as a treat. Even though you’d already eaten lunch before going shopping, the smell coming from the restaurant when you got out of your car was tempting enough for you to consider seeing what they had on the menu.

The restaurant’s decor was simple, old yet charming, and as indicated by the handful of cars in the gravel parking lot outside, there weren’t many people there. A friendly-looking older woman sat you and Bo in a booth, the kind with worn out upholstery that cracked in some places to reveal the cushion underneath. You couldn’t help but smile when you sat down.

“Hi there, what can I get started for y’all?” the waitress asked.

“Just coffee for me,” you said.

Bo nodded, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and sticking it in his mouth as he muttered, “Same for me. Thank ya, ma’am.”

“You got it,” she said.

He lit a cigarette, leaning back in the booth seat a bit. Of course he managed to find one of the few places that still allowed smoking indoors. Looking at his hands, you didn’t notice any kind of wedding band on any of his fingers. The waitress returned to the table less than a minute later with two mugs of hot coffee, pointing out the creamer and sugar at the end of the table.

“So, are you working as a mechanic now?” you asked, fixing the coffee to your preference.

He smiled. “What gave it away?”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “You were always great in shop class. Didn’t you help one of the teachers fix their car once?”

“Vice principal, and he got me out of a suspension for it.”

“Do you work around here?”

“Got my own place in Ambrose. You’d be surprised how many people end up with car trouble in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m really happy for you,” you said, trying to suffocate the ‘what if’ scenario that began making itself comfortable in your mind. Visions of helping him run a small family business, a kid or two with your smile and his eyes hanging around left you with a lump in your throat. “How are your parents?”

“Folks kicked the can a while ago. Nothin’ really you could do,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, mine too,” you said. “How about your brothers?”

“They’re good,” he answered. “Just doin’ their thing.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Any weddings, or—“

“Nope. But how long ago d’you tie the knot?”

“‘Bout four years.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

You paused, considering how to phrase your answer as you played with the ring on your finger that suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. Growing up, you and Bo weren’t what you considered friends, but his familiarity made you feel comfortable. Still, you felt odd airing your marital woes to a man you were supposed to just be catching up with over coffee.

It was one thing bitching about it with your friends, most of whom had their own relationship issues, offering you the validation you were seeking. Your strained marriage had come to define your life, as embarrassing as it was to acknowledge.

“Things were good for the first year or so, but after that, I could tell he was getting bored. No matter what I did, it felt like I was an obligation,” you said. “Then the late nights at work started, and by the time I realized what he was pulling, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why not get divorced?”

“I haven’t worked in years. I’d be on my ass, and he knows it. Sometimes, I think he took the job out here so he could fuck around behind my back and not have my family or friends breathing down his neck about it.”

“Maybe he does it ‘cause he knows you’ll be a pushover about it.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t a pushover.”

“He’s only been pullin’ this shit for so long because he knows you’ll just take it,” he said, the cigarette pointed at your face punctuating his harsh words. “Sometimes when people do ya wrong, they don’t get the message ‘till you show ‘em.”

Clenching your jaw, you looked out the window, avoiding the knowing expression on his face. He was right. Your marriage had been on the rocks for far longer than things had ever been good, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be the one to initiate the end. It was long overdue, and you knew with his history of infidelity that you could get a decent settlement from a divorce.

Perhaps you couldn’t admit to yourself that your marriage was nothing more than a dead horse you just kept beating. Throwing in the towel on your relationship felt like failure and inadequacy, which left a sour taste in your mouth. Things couldn’t continue as they were, though. You had to do something.

You frowned a bit, looking at the clock on the wall behind Bo. He startled you by snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table, the rattling bringing your attention back to him.

“Got somewhere you need to be?” he asked.

“Nope, he won’t be home for another three or four hours. I got nothin’ but time.”

“Me too.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy and averting your attention to the empty coffee mug in front of you, tapping your nails against the ceramic. He put his hand over yours, the clinking noise ceasing as you mustered up the courage to look at him again. As soon as your eyes met his, you were a goner the moment he whispered something about a nearby motel that charged for rooms by the hour, his lips curling into a dangerous grin when you merely nodded in response.

It felt like you blinked and he had paid the check, pulled you outside with him, and led you to his truck, your heart hammering like it did when you were sixteen. The motel was just as sleazy as you’d expected, but when the clerk handed the room key to Bo after he’d gotten it for two hours, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

As soon as the door opened, it just as quickly slammed shut, Bo grabbing your purse from you and throwing it aside as he trapped you between himself and the wall, feeling as though you were shrinking beneath his intense gaze. When you tried to avert your gaze, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, and you did. For the first time since you were in high school, you really looked at Bo Sinclair. He was just as handsome and terrifying as you remembered him being back then. You wanted him just as much as you did back then, too.

He growled his one and only warning, “I ain’t gonna be gentle with ya, darlin’.”

“I—alright,” you said.

Your hesitance didn’t deter him at all. The kiss that followed was devoid of any romance, but you supposed you’d settle for passion. You kissed him back, trying to keep up with how much of you he wanted. Your open mouth, free for him to claim with his tongue, suddenly felt foreign to you, as if it were no longer your own. Oddly enough, it reminded you of your first kiss.

Despite being a memory you hadn’t revisited in at least a decade, as you replayed it in your mind, you could remember it a bit more clearly. Bo’s truck idling in the driveway, the radio playing soft as the two of you talked. He’d driven you home at his mother’s request as you’d stayed at the Sinclair house late to work on your project with Vincent. You had kept glancing at the front door, waiting for it to swing open and one of your incensed parents to drag you out by your hair for being alone in a car with a boy for so long.

Then, taking you by surprise, he had kissed you, far rougher than you’d anticipated your first kiss being, especially when he tried pulling you onto his lap when you actually kissed him back. You remembered your heart hammering in your chest when he pawed at your thighs. Something else had happened which you couldn’t quite remember. You had felt shameful and uncomfortable when you walked into your parents’ house.

You gasped, brought back to reality when he stripped you of your shirt and bra, exposing your skin to the cool air in the motel room. He unbuckled his belt, and so quickly you could hardly process what he was doing, he grabbed your wrists, binding them tightly with the worn leather so that your skin chafed whenever you so much as tried to move your hands.

If anything, it seemed your shocked and worried expression only served as motivation for him to rid you of the rest of your clothes, pushing you onto the dingy bed as he took off his own clothes, his wild eyes glued to your nude and vulnerable figure.

He stroked his hard cock in his hand as he approached you. “You’re gonna take all of it, ain’t ya?”

“Bo, I don’t know—“

“Don’t act stupid, doll,” he grinned, licking his lips. “It ain’t a good look on you.”

He slid two fingers in your pussy, kissing you as he pumped them in and out of you, and you moaned against his lips. Sure, you’d used vibrators and dildos to make up for your husband’s lack of attention, but you were almost overwhelmed at getting the real thing from a man who actually wanted you, even if it was on such dubious terms.

When he pulled his hand away, your whine at the emptiness became a strangled moan when he slid his cock inside you. His thrusts were harsh and unforgiving, as if he were punishing you for something. Maybe you deserved it for being unfaithful to your husband. You’d initiated everything with Bo until the moment you stepped into the motel room.

You felt helpless beneath him, your bound wrists emphasizing what little control you now had over your body. The way his thrusts became more erratic, sweat beading on his forehead, you knew he was close. You could only imagine the state you were in.

“Gonna fill you up real good,” he groaned.

“Not inside, Bo. Don’t—“

He covered your mouth with his hand that he’d used to finger you. “What? Lil’ slut don’t want my cock all of a sudden? ‘S all you were thinkin’ about when we were sittin’ in that booth earlier.”

You shook your head frantically, unsure of whether you were doing so in protest of his cumming inside you or his taunts. A pathetic whimper came muffled from your lips, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting harder.

“Your pathetic fuckin’ husband don’t make you feel this good huh?”

Again, you shook your head. Sex with your husband was painfully boring. This was more painful than pleasurable, and you considered if you were the pathetic one for being so desperate for attention you’d let your old high school crush treat you with such brutality. You hated how the smug grin on his handsome face made you feel, wishing for a moment you could smack it off of him.

His calloused fingers were ruthless on your sensitive clit, and your stomach tightened as you felt yourself nearing orgasm, struggling to catch your breath with his hand over your mouth. You were dizzy and could feel a tear roll down your cheek from the overstimulation. Digging your nails into the leather of his belt that was still secure around your wrists, you writhed as you came, your pussy clenching around his cock. His own orgasm followed soon after, and you felt him bottom out inside you, cursing under his breath as his cum filled you.

When he pulled out, he pulled his hand away from your mouth, leaving you humiliated at the string of saliva that went along with it. He, on the other hand, didn’t mind as he licked it up, almost to your disbelief.

Freeing your wrists from the restraints of his belt, he threw it aside and settled next to you on the bed. You rubbed your sore wrists, but found the additional friction only made them sting more. For a split second, you wondered how you were going to explain your soreness and the raw skin to your husband. You let out a frustrated exhale. He probably wouldn’t even notice, or maybe he would, but not mention anything, the same way you never called him on the proverbial lipstick on his collar.

A pit of shame and discomfort formed in your stomach as you lay next to Bo, but chalked it up to cheating on your husband for the first time. He deserved it, after all he put you through. You’d thought about cheating on him before, wanting desperately to for so long, but in your mind, it was more on your own terms, as an active participant rather than how Bo threw you around.

Turning over to face him, he was sitting against the headboard, a smoldering cigarette between his fingers. You scooted over, throwing an arm over his bare torso as you rested your head against his chest. He stiffened, but before you could move away, he pulled you a little closer.

The two of you spoke softly for the next hour or so, before finally getting up from the bed. Neither of you said much when you got dressed, you waiting by his truck while he turned in the room key. He drove you back to your car, which you’d left at the restaurant.

“See you next week?” you asked quietly, the slightest bit of hesitation in your voice.

He grinned. “You can bet on it, darlin’.”

This rendezvous continued for the next few weeks, the two of you eventually stopping the pretense of getting coffee altogether and meeting at the motel once or twice a week. Whenever you’d see him, he’d have a new bruise or scratch somewhere, claiming it was just a byproduct of his work. That didn’t explain the scratches that looked like someone had clawed the hell out of his arm. He never mentioned having a cat, and while you knew better to assume the two of you were exclusive, you wished he wouldn’t lie about it.

Though generally you knew what to expect from him, it was as if each time you had sex he was testing your limits, pushing you further than you were comfortable at times. Still, you were worried that if you protested too much, he wouldn’t want to see you anymore, and you’d be on your own again.

“He’s gonna be out of town this weekend for a work trip, at least that’s what he says. You wanna stay over?” you asked as you got dressed, taking care to keep the fabric away from the fresh bruises on your hips.

“You askin’ me to defile your literal marriage bed?”

“Yeah, and I’ll cook dinner too.”

He laughed. “You drive a hard bargain.”

In the days leading up to Bo staying for the weekend, you could hardly contain your excitement. You didn’t know anyone to have a housewarming party, so you never got the chance to show off the house to anyone. It was neat enough, but you wanted the place to be spotless, each room cleaned and unpacked so you could indulge in your increasingly frequent fantasies of Bo coming through the front door at the end of the day.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you were excited for the gossip. You had a cordial enough relationship with your neighbors, but you wanted them to see the truck that certainly wasn’t your husband’s in the driveway, the handsome man leaving your house Sunday afternoon looking far too disheveled and satisfied for an innocent weekend visit. What’s more, you wanted them to hear you, no doubt what you were up to while your husband was away, word eventually getting to him that his wife was stepping out on him. Finally he’d get a taste of his own bitter medicine.

Your husband hadn’t bothered returning home after work on Friday, bringing his suitcase to work with him in the morning so he could head straight to the airport from the office. You honestly didn’t remember where he was going, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when a little after six, you heard the knock that made you rush to the front door.

A change from his usual work shirt, worn out jeans, and cap, Bo stood on your front porch in a dress shirt and nicer jeans. You smiled, giving him a kiss on the lips for the neighborhood to see. Moving from the doorway, you felt a bit nervous for him to see where you lived.

“Some place ya got here,” he said, looking around.

“It’s his. My name’s nowhere to be found on the mortgage,” you said.

“The guy buys a house like this and is barely in it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t get it either. I’ll give you the grand tour later, though. For dinner I was thinking chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and I forgot to get a vegetable so that’s just gonna be frozen green beans,” you said as you walked into the kitchen.

“As great as that sounds, I was thinkin’ of startin’ with dessert first,” he responded, his gaze hungry as he took in the sight of you standing in what had become your natural element.

“The bedroom’s right up those stairs,” you whispered, glancing toward the staircase.

He grinned. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

Taking his hand, you led him upstairs and down the hallway, past the closed doors of the empty spare bedroom and hardly stocked guest bathroom. Your bedroom door, however, was wide open. You’d never admit the amount of time you spent cleaning it before he came over, at least wanting a nicer experience than the dingy motel rooms that the two of you had been accustomed to having sex in.

He hardly took a look around before pushing you back onto your own bed, kissing you as he slid one of his knees between your legs, pressing it against your clothed pussy.

“You know what I wanna see you do tonight?” he asked, his voice low.

“What’s that?”

He practically spat his answer back. “Ride my leg like a bitch in heat.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, wasting no time in moving over so he could sit on the edge of the bed. When you reached for the hem of your shirt to start undressing, he clicked his tongue.

“Clothes on, darlin’,” he said, patting his thigh.

You could feel your face heat up as you settled on his lap. Doing this fully clothed left you with a sense of humiliation you weren’t sure whether or not you liked. Slowly, you grinded your hips against his leg, holding onto his shoulders for support.

His hand slipped between you, his fingers rubbing your clit through your panties while the other squeezed your hips. You could feel your orgasm building up when he pulled his hand away from your clit suddenly, giving you a cruel grin in response to your look of betrayal.

He smacked your ass. “C’mon now, you gotta work for it.”

It didn’t take you long to get a rhythm going from there, squeezing his shoulders and letting out high-pitched whines of frustration as you chased the pleasure that seemed just out of reach. Something in your core tightened, and you desperately tried to get more friction from the rough material of his jeans to your aching, clothed pussy.

Biting your lip, your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment as you considered the situation you were in, humping the leg of a man who wasn’t your husband in your shared bed while he was none the wiser. It was wrong and debauched, but it made you wetter than your husband ever had.

“Jesus Christ, ya really are a lil’ bitch in heat, gettin’ my nice pants fuckin’ soaked,” he taunted, flexing his thigh as you rutted your hips against it.

You moaned, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Bo, fuck, I’m close.”

“What the fuck?”

You felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on you upon hearing your husband’s voice. Turning around to look at him, he was furious—and marching right toward you.

He pulled you off of Bo, and you landed painfully on the ground. Just when you thought he’d start in on you, he punched Bo square in the jaw. Pushing yourself off the floor, you narrowly avoided the two men beating the shit out of each other in your bedroom. Your husband managed to get a solid kick to Bo’s leg, and his knees buckled as your husband readied himself to land another blow.

“Fuck you! Get off of him! Get off—“ without thinking, you grabbed the lamp off of the nightstand and swung directly at your husband’s head.

The ceramic base shattered upon impact. He collapsed to the ground, blood slowly pooling from his head, though his limbs continued to twitch. You dropped the broken lamp, eyes wide in shock at what you’d just done.

“Oh my god. Oh my god—what am I gonna—“

You looked to Bo, who despite his split lip, was shockingly unbothered by the situation as he stood up. From the floor, your husband emitted a groan, choking on his own blood.

“He’s still alive. Oh fuck, call an ambulance or-or—“

Bo rolled his eyes, grabbing the cord from the lamp and strangling your husband with it until he stopped making noise. You turned away to vomit on the carpet.

“Are you finished? ‘Cause the way you were carryin’ on, there ain’t no way one ‘a your neighbors haven’t called the cops by now.”

“What do I do? I mean, can we say it was self defense?”

He kicked over your husband’s limp body, showing you the damage in all its bloody glory. “That look like self defense to you?”

“Fuck. Bo, I can’t go to jail. I can’t—“

“Darlin’, no one’s goin’ to jail. You just gotta do exactly what I say. Got it?” he grabbed your face, pulling your attention from your dead husband to him. “Got it?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

He instructed you to break the lock on the front door, and then gather any valuables you could. Your stomach lurched when you realized he wanted to stage a break in, your husband an unfortunate casualty and you abducted in the fray. It was genius, but worrisome how quickly he came up with the idea.

As you set the scene of your now ex-husband’s untimely demise, you tried not to think about how Bo didn’t hesitate to kill him, cold and calculated. No time to consider the implications. You’d made your bed, and there was nothing to do but lie in it—except you couldn’t even do that, because your husband’s blood was splattered all over it.

You took one last look at the house, knowing whatever Bo had in mind involved you leaving and never coming back. The thought evoked no emotions in you. The place was never a home, somewhere you felt particularly attached to. Instead it served as a facade, an ornate casket that was fit for your marriage to formally be laid to rest in.

Upon returning to your bedroom, you grabbed your duffel bag, the one you’d kept packed and hidden in your closet for when you’d meet Bo at the motel. Shoving what you could into the bag and your purse, you attempted to appear casual as you walked outside, putting your things in his truck and waiting for him to join you. You wished you had time to clean yourself up before leaving, feeling self-conscious of getting your husband’s blood and your own wetness on the passenger seat.

Your heart skipped a beat when he opened the driver’s side door a few minutes later, but you calmed down a bit when you saw it was him. Wordlessly, he started up the truck, leaving the headlights off as he slowly drove up your street. When he turned them on a few blocks away from your house, you let yourself breathe a little easier, but you weren’t off the hook yet, not until you got the hell outta town.

“You passed the turn for the motel,” you observed.

“We’re not goin’ there.”

“Then where—“

“Ambrose. Ain’t no one gonna look for ya there.”

“It’ll be all over the news. Anyone could see me and turn me in,” you said.

“They won’t. Trust me,” he said, his firm tone giving you the assurance you were seeking.

He continued driving, the old country backroads becoming more and more familiar to you. So many times when you’d thought back to your youth, you wondered what was a dream or a memory, but these narrow, pothole-littered roads confirmed it was all real.

As soon as you saw the sign welcoming you to Ambrose, you felt like you could finally breathe. The sign had definitely seen better days, but it didn’t matter. You were home.

“God, it’s like nothing’s changed,” you whispered, mostly to yourself as Bo drove up Main Street, passing the places your teen spirit would haunt when life seemed so complicated but was still so simple.

“A few things have,” he said, “but yeah, ya know how people are ‘round here.”

You nodded, about to respond when you noticed the gas station coming up. “Wait, can we stop here? I wanna see your shop.”

He hesitated for a moment but obliged, wordlessly pulling into the station and turning off his truck. You got out, leaning into him when he wrapped his arm around you. Being in your hometown again filled you with conflicting emotions, but the safety you felt on Main Street slowly began to fade as soon as you stepped foot in the gas station.

“So you run this place on your own?”

“Yeah, just me. Not enough people comin’ by to warrant extra help, but—“

He was interrupted by the sound of metal clanking and what you could have sworn was a woman’s muffled screams.

“Bo, what was that?” you asked, anxiety lacing your words as you stepped closer to the source of the noise.

He sucked on his teeth, the sound making your skin crawl. “Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

You stopped in your tracks, feeling yourself become dizzy as the distressed yelling didn’t stop. It sounded far too clear to be your imagination. “What the hell did you do?”

“See, if I was you, I wouldn’t be showin’ so much hostility to the man who saved your ass from the electric chair,” he snapped. “‘Less you want me to drag your ass to the cops that’re crawlin’ all over your house by now?”

“Bo, c’mon,” you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

“Just get back in the damn truck,” he said, his voice low.

You nodded, dazed as you made the short walk back to his truck. Sitting in the passenger seat, you put your head in your hands, trying to figure out how your life got fucked up so quickly. You’d never know what brought your husband home from his work trip early—if that was even the case, maybe he had his own plans to cheat over the weekend that didn’t work out, his usual squeeze standing him up.

There were so many what if’s that raced through your mind, like if you hadn’t impulsively grabbed the lamp and made the situation go from bad to worse. The way Bo had escalated things to absolute worst by dealing the death blow to your husband, cold and calculated, suddenly made sense. Even if your husband had approached the situation calmly, you knew Bo wouldn’t do the same. It would have come to fruition at some point, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

When Bo returned to the truck, you noticed the fresh blood on his knuckles as he grabbed the steering wheel, but didn’t mention it. What was there to say? It wasn’t like you could do anything to help whoever he had trapped somewhere in that gas station. It did explain the scratches and bruises he’d show up to the motel with.

“So, how about that dinner you were gonna make? I’m starvin’,” he said nonchalantly, the key in the ignition making the engine roar to life.

Staring blankly ahead, you whispered something about mashed potatoes. He gave you an unreadable glance from the driver’s seat before throwing his arm over your shoulder and driving up the street to his place, the Sinclair family’s house atop a hill. When he drove past your childhood home, the lights were on inside. You wondered who lived there now.

#bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x female reader #slasher fandom #slasher community #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #slashers #bo sinclair

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otakween · 3 months

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Digimon Tamers: Brave Tamer - Final Thoughts

Phew! If you're wondering why I've been quiet for a bit, it's because this game took me 3 weeks to beat. It was kind of grueling at times. It definitely assumes that you played the previous 3 (or 4 if Anode and Cathode count for 2) games and does NOT baby you at the start. It definitely wasn't my favorite game in the series, but the fact that it did away with the terrible old Jogress system earned it a lot of points in my book. There are still some Wonderswan games to play, but I think that's really it for Ryo games! Thank goodness :)

Notes:

Major downgrade from D1 Tamers visually! D1 was so colorful and exploring the world was actually interesting. Brave Tamer follows the Digimon World 2 strat of making every single dungeon pretty much identical and the hub world is bland as heck as well. You don't even need to travel to get to the dungeons you just walk up to the same hole every time. Lame.

Thank God this game lets digimon level up and evolve normally. It basically follows the Pokemon style of evolution. In previous games there were bullshit level caps unless you jogressed a zillion times. This game still has that dumb mechanic where your digimon devolves into a baby. I get that that happens in the show, but it felt pretty silly in the game. They get back to normal pretty quickly after a few battles.

Digimon recruitment is limited to borrowing digimon from digidestined from the various anime series. What an awkward concept. Ryo comes out of nowhere to save the day and then each partner digimon is like "See ya partner, I'm ditching you for Ryo!" I'm just imagining the characters that are left partner-less facing certain doom after Ryo leaves lol. Maybe it's one of those situations where they're only gone for a few minutes due to dimension hopping.

The card slash system (based on the Tamers universe of course) was interesting, but kind of annoying to figure out. After I got a handful of strong cards I couldn't be arsed to keep trying new jogress combos.

Speaking of taking the lazy route, I didn't use the majority of the digimon I recruited once LOL. It's more efficient to just stick with the same digimon for the whole game unless you want to spend a lot of time grinding, so that's what I did. I ended up with only mega-level digimon at the end which is frustrating because MegaloGrowmon and Taomon were at level 30! (They upgrade to mega at 31).

The bosses were strangely easy in this game (except for one that took me like 5 tries). What made it hard were the frickin' labyrinthine dungeons (the last one is TIMED! Evil). I have a terrible sense of direction IRL and in video games so the dungeons in this game were torture for me. You have to traverse up to 5 floors and sometimes there are so many dead ends and roadblocks that it takes what feels like an eternity. Also, there are random battles every 2 seconds that increase the suffering. In the later game I planned my route ahead of time by figuring out where the boss was on YouTube and mapping backwards from there. Here's a screenshot of me and my map in MS Paint:

(By the way, I always play Wonderswan games in windowed mode or else they look wonky. This time, that really came in handy).

I had to use multiple guides to figure out some of this game because the most popular walkthrough wasn't very good. It barely gives you any instructions on getting through dungeons, which was what I really needed.

Most scandalous part of this game was when Millenniummon called Ryo his lover (koibito)? Whaaaaa...?

I didn't realize that this game is a prequel to Tamers so I kinda did things out of order, whoops! I didn't realize that Cyberdramon was supposed to be the outcome of a Monodramon/Millenniummon jogress. Makes me want to rewatch some bits of the anime...

There was so much dramatic build up for the final battle and then it was so easy? I didn't even need to use the 10 low-level healing items I stocked up on. Oh well, guess I was well prepared.

Of course there's a post-game where you can scan all the digimon you missed, but that just seems silly. They're not partners in this game, they're cards. If I can't a raise a digimon I don't really see the appeal in collecting them all. (I mean I guess I wouldn't see the appeal in raising them all either, but the cards seem like even more of a waste of time).

The Wonderswan games have always been my fave digimon games but this one felt simultaneously half-assed and overly complicated. I'd give it like a 5 or 6 out of 10. Let's call it a 5.5.

#Digimon Tamers: Brave Tamer #wonderswan #oswan #digimon #Ryo Akiyama #Digimon Tamers

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izukuwus · 10 months

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Boiling Point 2: A Watched Pot - Miguel O'Hara/Reader (NSFW)

First - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: yeehaw I didn't forget

Summary: The game is on, and you begin your very important training.

Warnings: masturbation, strong language

Word count: ~3400 words

It is the evening you have decided to re-train your discipline, with or without a dominant partner, and you need to figure out what the fuck you're thinking.

I mean, sure, it's perfectly fine to tell yourself that you'll get your discipline back and posture in the general direction of the source of your recent car crash into hornytown, but you do need to ask yourself what any of that actually means. Yeah, you were disciplined before. If the guy you were with told you not to touch yourself, you didn't touch yourself. But you had no problems doing that because—and this part is key—you really didn't feel like it all that much.

So, really, the issue was never that you were disciplined and now you're not, it's that you never needed to be disciplined before and now you don't know what the fuck to do with yourself.

The obvious answer is this: set ground rules. Set some sort of challenge for yourself so that you know where to begin and what to do to train yourself so you stop wrecking your shit and doing stupid things, like overheating your entire vibrator collection and letting some totally original asswipe of a villain punch you through a wall just to feel something.

So you sit down with a pen and a notebook and you brainstorm until you come away with a list of restrictions and a purpose. You debate on keeping the list itself with you, as a reminder, and eventually decide that, no, you’ll write it up on your whiteboard. A nice little reminder. You need to be able to see what you’re doing, after all. Wouldn’t very well do if you forgot, would it?

When it’s written up, you step back and give it a glance-over, nodding to yourself in satisfaction.

Estimated delivery date for new toy: ??? end of next week? The site said 7-10 days from date of shipping, but it doesn’t ship immediately. We’ll go two weeks from today’s date to be safe.

- no orgasms until the new vibe arrives

- touching, playing, thinking, etc. allowed IF not to completion

- you do NOT need a dom to discipline you. literally just stop being so fucking horny.

- suffer.

For good measure, you add a line a few inches down and sign your name in big, flourishing swoops, as though that's sealing a contract with yourself. Stupid, there's no witnesses. This would never hold up in a court of law.

...actually, the exhibitionist in you kind of wants to know how that would work out.

Besides, from time to time you like to think that the spider that made you is carried with you. She's done enough for you, anyway. Probably definitely died by now. You don't think spiders live that long. Either way, she’s your witness.

So you cap your dry erase marker and close up your notebook and neatly slide it back into its place on your bookshelf. Luckily, you don't ever have people over, so it's not like anyone will be seeing your totally innocent contract. Maybe you should have worded it in such a way that you can spin a different web about it, just in case.

...nah. You'll leave it just like that. When you get your toy and emerge triumphant from two weeks of self-imposed orgasm denial knowing that you do NOT need any extra discipline, thank you very much Mister Miguel O'Hara, middle manager of worlds, you'll take it down and put some over-inspiring quote up in its place or something.

You scroll down the tab opened to a new toy shop you're trying out, seeing as your previous go-to sold you a nearly two hundred dollar vibrator that barely made it through one rough month with you (you should really follow up with them on a refund or a replacement or something, actually) and take your pick of their wares. Maybe this site will have vibrators that aren't made for weak vanilla bitches who only need to cum once to the thought of their boss before they're satisfied. Couldn't be you.

Hey, maybe you'll call in sick to work and have a marathon once you've kicked this challenge's ass!

...nah. Better not. Miguel would catch word that you're off work and somehow find an anomaly to sic you on. Not to mention, you’d probably fucking break the new one again at that rate.

Once you've placed your order, you update the contract with estimated delivery dates, and settle in for a nice night in.

Let the games begin.

It is day one of your new lease on your sex life, and this shit's easy.

Who ever thought this would be difficult? Just don't masturbate. Do something else instead. Scroll social media or something. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, you're so fucking disciplined it's unreal. Who needs to prove anything to anyone? You certainly don't.

This morning, you took out the trash and said farewell to the final remnants of your last toy lost to Miguel O'Hara's unfair physiology. You went to work, did your job perfectly fine, and went out to patrol the streets. When you returned, you returned to find that the garbage pickers had come and taken the bags away. Good riddance.

(You didn't hear this from me, but you only checked your email twice today for a shipping confirmation from the shop. You're so fucking good at this.)

It is day two of enacting a contract with yourself to be more disciplined and less horny, and your toy still has not shipped.

I mean, it's not really a big deal. You've got shit to do and all. It's now the weekend, but crime doesn't actually stop regardless of when you clock in and out of work, a fact which you're honestly very happy with. I mean, imagine if you never got to close down shop for an hour while someone beat the shit out of some comic book wannabe in the streets outside your office? Unsustainable, to say the least. And sometimes, you get to go beat someone up directly after a really obnoxious phone call, and honestly? That may be the only reason you haven't been fired yet.

So, you spend the morning chilling out, get lunch, and just as you've finished getting ready to head out for a neat little patrol, someone drawn in a suspiciously out-of-place art style launches past your window.

Perfectly punctual! This is great! You slide out your fire escape and give chase, launching yourself anomaly-ways with a hoot. It's only after you're already face-to-face with the guy that you think to let someone know what's up, but then you're being launched backwards so you don't really have the chance. Dammit.

Anyways, you've got this, so you really just need Miguel to take him back once you've kicked his ass, and—

Oh, speak of the devil. There he is launching through a portal directly at the guy, and there's you following up to join him.

It's practically a dance by now—you swing to catch up, use a web to pull this abstract motherfucker up and prevent him from causing issues with traffic. It takes precious little time to deal with him, and once he's sent back, you resign yourself to being dragged back to HQ to report in and probably hear something about how you should have called HQ to let them know about the anomaly.

"Did you plan on calling in the anomaly, or were you just going to try to handle everything yourself?" Miguel asks you the second the problem is dealt with.

Fucking called it.

"I literally had my hand on my wristband when you showed up."

"I didn't see it." He shrugs.

You can't help but roll your eyes. Part of you wants to be a brat. You gently remind yourself that being a brat only works if you're actually with a brat tamer, and you have no confirmation that Miguel would. You know, as if you had a chance with him anyway. He's married to his screens. (It’s a really good setup, so you don’t blame him.) "I did, though. He just kind of showed up outside my apartment, so I followed. Best to reduce collateral first, right?"

He sighs. He does that around you a lot. "Right."

See, this shit's easy. He's right in front of you, and you're telling him about the two minutes you had with the villain before he showed up, and your mind is on the topic at hand. You are present, and you are disciplined. You took no stupid hits during that fight. You're fucking fantastic.

...he's really pretty, though. Effortlessly, even. You think it’s the way he carries himself.

"So, hey, I already ate, but do you want me to bring you something to eat? I know that was like, more sunlight than you've gotten in the past month."

He raises an eyebrow at you. He does that around you a lot. "I do eat on occasion, you know."

"I do know! That's why I'm offering to bring you something. You're busy a lot and should probably eat more than you do."

"I'm fine," he says finally.

You quirk a little smile and turn to leave. "Fine, fine. I'll surprise you, then. See you in a few! Thanks for the assist!"

Okay, so maybe bringing him food is, among other things, an excuse to leave the room right now immediately and also a reason to come back, once you've wound down from the adrenaline of the fight.

But, consider this: shut up.

You return with a box of food for him, quietly leave it on his desk just out of his immediate line of sight, and sneak out of the room before he can tell you no.

When you're home, you decide that you owe it to yourself to chill out a little more. You did good! You got the guy! You did a nice thing for the very attractive person at HQ! Your mind only wandered a little! You didn't even let your voice kink take over your brain when he spoke to you!

So, you scroll mindlessly. A nice, restorative pastime that only has positive effects on your mental health.

And goddammit, your mutual put porn on your dash again.

You sigh, you stare at it too long, and you try to keep your mind off it. You really, really do.

It is day four of the contract, and your new vibrator has finally shipped.

Great, too, because it was definitely not starting to get difficult. You usually hang around HQ on Sundays, if nothing's going on in your own dimension. You like being helpful, so you keep yourself on standby.

Standby is a nice thing to be on. You get to hang out with other Spiders, learn from the others at HQ. Sometimes they've got cool tricks to show you, or you run into less experienced Spiders and get to teach them something fucked up they can do with their webs. Rarely, Miguel actually leaves his little Spider-cave for food or to track someone down. More rarely, you actually catch glimpses of him when he does, which is how you find yourself chilling out with one of your favored Peters and pretending like you're not looking at his ass.

What? It's a nice ass.

...you wonder what he'd do if you just grabbed his ass one day. You're kind of tempted to try.

(Probably have to punish you. Probably growl a little bit. Probably bend you over and—)

Anyway, this shit's easy. Looking at a hot guy's ass does not break your rules, so you let yourself peek when he walks by and play it off when you get called out on it by a teasing Peter. I mean, it doesn't exactly work, but at least playing it off looks better than openly staring at your collective boss's ass and not even pretending you weren't.

Keep telling yourself that, anyway.

It is day five of your quest to be more horny and less disciplined, and—wait, that's not right.

It is day five of your quest to be more disciplined and less horny, and your dreaming brain has fucking betrayed you.

You dreamed that you actually grabbed his ass. You dreamed that he turned on you.

You dreamed of Miguel taking you back to his cave with him, and demanding answers for your behavior, and you dreamed of pushing him over the edge until he yanked you over with a well-placed web and spanked you back into your place. You’re not usually that into spanking, but that did not stop you from waking up with a damp heat between your legs and the urge to do something about it. You indulged yourself, in the time it took you to wake up, and then, by the time you were really conscious, you had to rip your hand out of your sleep shorts, lest you prove Miguel right. And you’ll be fucked if you ever prove Miguel right.

…wait.

Okay, so look. You stopped. You didn’t cum. You’re doing a good job. You wash your hands, get ready for work, carefully adjust your suit underneath your work clothes, and get through the day.

It is day seven of this bullshit, and you are starting to get tired of this story format.

More than that, you’re tired of this story. You tried to distract yourself with reading, only all your books are about vampires, so that only got you thinking even more because the POV character got bit by a vampire and it was so well-described and so horny and you’re very horny and moderately-described now.

You get called in, because of course you do, and you see his stupid face, because of course you do, and you’re desperately torn between pissing him off to get him to flash his fangs your way and being relieved that he’s not angry enough to speak clearly.

You are decidedly not relieved. The knowledge that they are there is enough, and you have every intent to hump your pillow when you get home like some fucking teenager, knowing damn well that it’s never enough for you.

Sleep-deprived, and you move to leave, but no, it never works that way, does it?

“[name]. A moment.”

Fuck.

You dally a bit with a sigh. “You’ve got to have better things to do with your time than badger me for details I already gave you.”

“You’re going to be off for the next few days.”

That’s worse, actually. Your hackles raise on instinct, and you turn to glare at him. “What? No! I’ve been doing a good job, haven’t I?”

You hate the stern way he looks at you. He’s an enigma, one you’re still trying to learn when you’re not too busy being infatuated with him on every other front. It’s difficult to tell what’s stern and what’s just his beautiful resting bitch face, but you’re leaning more towards stern. “You’re doing too good. It’s concerning.”

You are floored. You are aghast. You are fucking flabbergasted.

“You told me to be more disciplined?”

“Is this discipline?”

He’s hard to piss off. Not for anyone else—he has firm opinions and knows what’s best, and you never really want to piss him off for any reason beyond seeing him go a little feral at you, so you take extra care to actually just listen to him, aside from the small quips and quibbles of the day-to-day. Right now, though, you want to piss him off. You are vibrating with horny energy and affronted energy and genuinely just Energy, so with your fists clenched, you turn up your nose at him. "I don't know, you tell me." Okay, that's good. It's mildly flirty. You are winning at Being a Brat.

"I'm sure you do know. Discipline is not what I would call throwing a fit at being ordered to take care of yourself. It's definitely not stomping your feet at being told no."

"I am taking care of myself! I am balancing work, sleep, eating regularly, bouncing around the multiverse and my own dimension, and I'm not even complaining about anything!"

"You are actively complaining. To me. Right now."

"Because I don't understand why you're punishing me for doing a good job!"

"Trust me, you don't want to know what an actual punishment would look like from me."

Oh.

You quite do, actually.

You are grateful for the dim lighting Miguel keeps, grateful that he's not likely to notice the sudden flush to your cheeks. If he does, he's more likely to take it as anger, anyhow.

"Go home. Get some rest. It's obvious you haven't been sleeping enough."

"T-that is really rich, coming from you!"

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that the only proof I have that you ever eat or leave this room is sometimes I bring you food and it gets eaten. You take care of yourself, and I'll gladly take care of myself."

"Are you trying to strike up a deal with me?"

"Is it working?"

"No."

You hum, feeling the thrill of gaining ground. He's turned away from you, proving that you're right.

"Look, Miguel, we'll both get dinner and get some sleep, and tomorrow morning, the multiverse will still be here, intact, because you are not the only person who can handle yourself and I am not the only person who can handle mine, and—"

"If you would please shut up, I will go eat food."

"Good."

He scoffs. "Already blowing it."

Infuriated, you open your mouth in retort, then slam it shut. You turn, and you leave, and try not to let his voice echo around inside your empty head like a Windows screensaver.

Miguel's voice echoes around inside your empty head like a Windows screensaver, because Miguel’s voice does not care what you are or are not trying to do for your sanity. Every time it hits a corner, you switch between scrolling your phone in frustration, fingering yourself in frustration, and refreshing your package tracker in frustration. Nothing moves or changes, and you are still thinking about his threats to punish you, still thinking about whether he's actually getting good rest, still considering the idea that maybe as part of his you-mandated self care routine tonight, he has gotten food, gone to wherever his bedroom is (likely somewhere hidden in the depths of HQ), and also resorted to lazy masturbation.

You know better to do more than dream, though, so you are stuck with the knowledge that he is not, that, knowing him, he probably waited for you to leave HQ and immediately turned back around to go back to his comfortable dark room, his comfortable monitors, and his comfortable total lack of self-care.

Still, a Spider can dream, and right now, you are dreaming of his cock.

You are rubbing small, slow circles into your clit, two-fingered, and you imagine what he must look like. Healthy fantasies dictate that he's probably only a little above average, so that's what you try to imagine when you think of what he must look like fisting his cock. Your mind conjures the sound of him groaning quietly into a too-large room, the sight of his face, flush with desire that only darkens his handsome features.

It is only a daydream in spite of the late hour, and your imagination can only wander so far, but you allow yourself to think of his fangs flashing as he sighs into the motion, allow yourself to speed up a bit as you imagine him doing the same. He'd be thick, he'd work himself up to an inadvisable pace that you can barely match. He rarely cares for himself, and you imagine that'd translate well—not to desperation, but to desire that bleeds into demand.

It is, after all, quite difficult to tell when a request is an order when it comes to him.

Your body sings as you get close, and then you open your eyes just a little bit, and you see it. The fucking whiteboard.

Mournful, you yank your hand away and slam your face into your pillow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

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