#it's like a checklist for him I swear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkworkcourier · 1 year

Note

Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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pray4byron · 3 months

Text

What the

HAZBIN HOTEL CAST

are like as …

PARTNERS !! (And before that!) (Pt. 2)

Also before I get into this, I would just like to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for the immense amount of love I got on the first part of this!! I would’ve never thought I would’ve gotten so much love so quickly, so thanks a bunch for every like or reblog, they mean the world :)

Including: Vox, Velvette, Rosie, Cherri

Warnings: Sexual references (no smut), swear words, possible spoilers to S1

Vox

Crush!Vox had a crush on you before he even met you lmfao

You were a performer, a performer he really wanted to market, and he spent so much time gawking over you and that opportunity before he even met you

But once Crush!Vox got the opportunity to work for you and officially meet you, he was stoked, but don’t let that fool you, he kept his cool…on the outside

And, still, he spent more time gawking over you…

But now, that time Crush!Vox spent fangirling was now spent in his office. He would have to put so much concentration into not short-circuiting, he would not be able to catch what your saying.

After a few months of working with you, he invites you to a ‘business dinner.’

Yeah… ‘business dinner’ turns into fucking…

It took a few weeks after for Crush/Situationship!Vox to turn into BF!Vox, and to be honest, he isn’t sure where to start…

Sure, BF!Vox has fucked around quite a bit, but honestly… he’s never been in an actual relationship with a label, it’s a bit of a heavy weight and he’s scared to do it, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.

His love language is definitely physical touch and acts of service, he’s not great with his words, he actually sounds like a dick in most sentences that fly out of his mouth, so actions are the only way he knows how.

BF!Vox fucks up his words a lot when he isn’t using his business persona, because he’s not used to talking like that, he genuinely has to keep a mental checklist to make sure he doesn’t fuck up his words — especially if you’re upset.

BF!Vox tries to show it through actions (in more ways than one) instead, whether it be a hug while your upset, doing an extra bit of your work if you’re having a rough week so you don’t have to worry about it, physical intimacy, the list goes on.

Overall, he may not be all he’s built up to be, but he genuinely has so much love for you, he just wishes he could tell you.

Velvette

Crush!Velvette is the kinda girl to absolutely stalk your ass when she likes you (not actually), whether it be checking your location every five minutes, digging into your social media pages (especially with the help of Vox), and so much more.

Crush!Velvette decides to DM you about a potential ‘business offer’ (gotta keep the name clean, yk?) to start out, and you guys meet for lunch to discuss it, yeah uh.. turns out you guys hit it the fuck off immediately!

Once you and Crush!Velvette really get close, you grow close to the other Vee’s too, sorta making you and honorary Vee member.

Your off with Vox and Val, and Val’s bitching about god knows what, until he slips about Velvette’s feelings for you.

“Oh yeah, fuckin’ Velvette is just SO into you now, like excuse me bitch?! What the fuck am I to you if you think so HIGHLY of THAT? No offense… But anywa-” Val rants off as you three cruise the street, without Velvette’s presence.

“VAL.” Vox glitched, cutting off Val mid-rant, gesturing to you beside him, before Valentino mutters a “Shit.” under his breath.

Yeah… Velvette found out, and she was livid, but only for a short period because she got sidetracked when she found out you felt the same.

Now GF!Velvette LOVES spoiling you, she’s also constantly getting you business opportunities with either her or one of the boys, tailoring you custom outfits no one else has, spending a shit ton of cash on you, she’s basically a sugar mommy…

GF!Velvette’s love language is gift giving. She could for sure spend several hours at the mall picking out gifts for you, from all different ends of the extreme, one day she’ll come home with a small, cheap trinket from HellMart that was stupid but nonetheless reminded her of you, and the next day she’ll come home with some expensive ass designer clothes and bag.

GF!Velvette thrives off of princess treatment, especially because of how she was treated with the Vee’s before your relationship, so she kinda expects it cause then she feels kinda empty inside without it, and she can get a bit bratty about it, but baby girl means well💕

Rosie

Crush!Rosie notices right away, and she’s pretty smart about it. She spends time with you, but not too much. She’s nice to you, but she pulls back to tease slightly. She gives you a taste of what life would be like with her, but not a big enough taste so your left wanting to know whats next.

Crush!Rosie catches onto the fact that you just might feel the same way, so she decides to just suck it up and ask.

After realizing you two feel the same about each other, you share a lovely conversation over tea about what you two want out of this, communication is very important to Rosie so she thinks if she gives it to you, you’ll give it right back, right?

You two decide, yeah, a relationship would be cool, and GF!Rosie is through the roof!

GF!Rosie is a very open and honest gf, communication is very important to her, it’s one of her top things she expects out of a partner, she tries her best to have an open mind when it comes to her partner, even if you two have a problem, and she expects the same from you — She’s very vocal in a civil way about her feelings and expectations — but don’t let that scare you, she’s a sweetie!

GF!Rosie’s love language is quality time and words of affirmation! Rosie doesn’t expect anything extravagant, (although it is nice, and she surely doesn’t mind it), but being with you is simply enough— and as stated before, she’s not afraid to speak her mind around her partner, so she thinks you look good? She’s gonna say it. She thinks you’re amazing? She’s gonna say it. That’s just how she is, and she hopes you can get used to it because she’s sure as hell comfortable with you.

Cherri

Crush!Cherri will be completely oblivious to the fact that you like her, it could be right in front of her face, and she’d have absolutely no idea. Unless you flat out suck her face off, she’ll have no clue. Which kinda stops her from confessing for awhile.

But after having a talk with Angel, she decides to go for it.

“Cherri, you’re telling me your a badass hoe, who can chuck bombs like it’s nothin’, but you can’t tell someone you wanna bang?” Angel goes off to Cherri as they watch the romcom on the TV infront of them.

She thinks for a moment. “Huh. Yeah. You’re right. I’m gonna tell them!” Cherri announces, marching off,

“Wait now?! Yous leaving me ‘n Fat Nuggets alone!?”

And then, you get a knock on your door at 1am, and it’s Crush!Cherri, with bed head and peejays, going on and on, you didn’t understand a lot of it, you were fucking tired! But bottom line is, you got out ‘We should date’ and you did not pass that opportunity.

GF!Cherri tries to push you out of your comfort zone, and sometimes that leads to accidentally pressuring you, she won’t know unless you tell her (again, not the most aware person), but if you do she ends up feeling really bad, but she’s glad she knows now!

GF!Cherri’s love language is so quality time, it doesn’t matter if you guys are shooting bitches or cuddling on the couch or fucking, as long as she’s with YOU, she could care less

She may not be the best girlfriend ever, but as long as you stick by her side, she’s content.

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ollie-lolly · 1 year

Text

18+ Obey me cast smut headcanons

18+ Don't take my warnings lightly love~

most of Obey me cast x gender neutral reader

Warnings: My opinion, dark kinks, swearing, talking about smut in detail, minors don't interact

Note: Consent is important kids! In all these situations consent is used. Later side characters are not displayed here, since I am not at that part in the story. Reblogs and constructive criticism is always appreciated!

Concept: How I believe sex would be like with the characters! A lot of these are shared opinions by the Obey Me community.

Word count: 858~

Lucifer

-Hard dom for sure

-Will sub for you under certain circumstances

-R.I.P the bed

-Uses you as a stress reliever (with consent)

-Loves tying you up

-Daddy kink

-Brat tamer

-Secretly likes it when you act out

-Is willing to share you with Diavolo

Mammon

-Switch but with a sub lean

-Loves lap dances

-Wil try to use money during sex

-Strip games, especially poker

-Would love a sugar daddy/mommy lifestyle

-Would love being the sugar daddy but would also love you playing that role

-Praise kink 100%

-Will want cuddles for a long time afterwards

-You are his human. No one else's, so sharing is off the table

-Just really wants to make you happy

-Loves watching you play with yourself

-Also is a brat in the sheets, if ya catch my drift

-Loves the pain <3

Leviathan (This being very long is my way of saying happy birthday to my baby boy <3)

-I also believe he is a switch with a sub lean

-Tail fucking

-Two cocks

-Underwear thief

-Loves being degraded and praised so…go to town!

-Needs constant reassurance so please give him some.

-A great way of easing him into it, is sexting and phone sex

-All the hentai he has seen definitely fucked his expectations up

-He also got like a couple of dark kinks because of it

-Hentai addiction, but will imagine you as one of the characters

-Is really into cuckolding, but is too shy to say anything about it

-When figuring out a kink you have to help him out since he is too shy to talk about it

-Does not last long in the beginning, but you can help him build it up over time

-There is a good chance that he is a virgin. He does masturbate a lot though

-PERVERT

-You have to start intimate moments because of his insecurities

-That being said, when he is jealous that is definitely not the case

-Will want to have sex in the infamous bathtub

-Whether it is actually going to happen is up too you

-But if you are willing to do it in said bathtub he will put tons of soft blankets and mattresses in there

-Role play

-When he role plays as a character he likes he is way more confident

Satan

-Hard dom just like his daddy

-Uses you as a way to relive his anger and frustration which is often

-Always with consent

-Pet play <3

-Cockwarming while reading -Fucks you while reading

-Reads smut in public places

-Also fucks in public places <3

-The library is a popular pick, so uhh have fun?

Asmodeus

-The definition of a switch

-This man has tried it all

-Certified sex god

-A sex toy collection larger then Diavolo's castle

-Voyourism and exhibitionist

-Would be the most likely to share you sexually

-Especially with Solomon

-VERY experimental

-Very high sexdrive so goodluck!

-Has his little checklist in his room of where you have and haven't fucked yet

-Moans his own name

Beelzebub

-The definition of a service top

-Food play

-Good at head

-He is super sweet and gentle with you

-Is obviously willing to share you with Belphegor

-2 for 1 deal!

-Will suggest doing it in at the gym or sport locker rooms

-Does not like to do it often, but will do it more if you want to!

Belphegor

-Switch

-Hard dom and power bottom

-60% of the time will let you do most of the work

-A wild card you never know what to expect

-Might play with the concept with consent

-Knive play

-What i am trying to say, is that he likes his sex dark if that makes sense

-Has fantasies of kidnapping you with Beel

-Will use his powers to make you dream about sex

-Gets turned on when he sees you sleeping

-Will fuck you when you are asleep if you give him your blessing

Diavolo

-Soft dom

-R.I.P the bed and the floor, and.. you get the jist

-This man fucks and he fucks HARD

-Breeding kink

-Please read my sugar daddy fics of this man to get a better idea of how he is like

Barbatos

-Also a service dom

-Will stop in the middle of sex if Diavolo or visitors need him

-He is a busy man, so don't expect a lot

-Tail fucking

-This man is a mystery, so he will definitely keep you on your toes

Simeon

-Switch?? Maybe soft dom

-We don't have enough in game material to make confident statements

-The only way you would get there is by a very very very motivated corruption kink

-Congrats! You made him fall from grace

-Will still keep a lot of his angelic traits when he falls. He will be gentle

-Secretly has a lot of pent up anger so good luck with that

Solomon

-Switch

-He is a wild card man (just like Belphegor)

-You can never quite expect what is going to happen next

-Definitely puts his powers to good use

-If you are okay with it, he will invite Asmo to join in

-May or may not be your side hoe when you are in the human realm for a little too long

(Plz i need someone to write about this and tag me)

Started on and finished on: 8th of april 2023

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lowkeyremi · 13 days

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

pairing: k. bakugo x fem!reader summary: Your man's birthday is coming up! Time to set up the venue for the birthday boy! Uh oh... gotta keep it on the low, I think he might be on to you. content: fluff, established relationship, bakugo is nosy, little bit of swearing, mention of other characters (his friend group) (you can find the rest of the series here!) wc: 1k

"Shhhh!! Hurry up and bring the rest of the stuff out to the car." Kirishima and Kaminari can't seem to keep quiet while loading the rest of the supplies into the car for Katsuki's party. The two keep giggling and messing around.

"Sorry [name]! We'll be quieter!!" You highly doubt that because they said that the last two trips and if anything they've gotten louder. "Come on guys, we don't wanna give it away. You know how hard it is to actually surprise Katsuki." The boys know how much you've wanted to do this, so they quiet down and quickly take the rest of the party supplies to your car.

At this point it's almost like a challenge; to see if you can surprise him. His last two birthday parties you've tried to plan out were a major fail because Todoroki didn't understand the element of surprise and said, "Oh yeah, we're just getting everything ready for your party." and the other year he had threatened Mineta into telling him what you were plotting.

So, this year in order to keep it an actual secret, you had told very few people (kirishima, mina, sero, denki, and midoriya.) and sent Katsuki off to his parents to "enjoy his birthday with his family." His birthday isn't until a few more days but his parents were able to tire him out enough to keep him from asking questions or bothering you guys. he's currently in his room napping at 7pm.

"Alright, Sero, Can you read through the checklist once more to make sure we have everything?" Sero's quiet helpful, he'll be hanging up a lot of the decorations and what not. You had momo make a bunch of cool decorations yesterday while Katsuki was out with his parents and then sato baked a cake, that resides in the teacher's lounge thanks to Aizawa Sensei. You had also gotten the decorations that you and Mitsuki went out and bought a little while ago. She is such a big help and a huge part of why this whole plan is working.

Sero reads though the checklist and you give him a small "yeah" each time you see an item on the list.

"Okay I think that's everything let's go!"

In all honesty, Gym Gamma isn't that far away from the dorms, but carrying all of that stuff would have been a huge pain, which is why you're taking your car, with special permission from Aizawa of course.

When the six of your arrived at the gym you took charge of making sure the door was open for everyone to load everything in, and locking it behind you when everyone was inside.

Your teachers had already come up with some kind of white lie saying they were using the gym for some kind of new practice when in reality you're just setting up Katsuki's party.

So far everything's going according to plan, since Kirishima is probably the strongest one there he helps with setting up tables and moving them. While Denki sets up all the music equipment. (he, jiro, tokoyami and momo are going to play music)

Mina, being a natural leader is telling people where to put things, how high to hang up decorations and what not. She's really damn good at it too.

While you're in the trance your phone buzzes in your pocket and you hear the familiar ring tone of fireworks. When you and Katsuki started dating you set his ringtone to fireworks just to piss him off, and at first it did, but now he's just used to it.

"Hello?" In response you here a loud shuffling noise and a small grunt.

"Where the fuck are ya? Your location's off." If it were anyone else on the phone with him they probably would have thought Katsuki was being rude, but this is just how he is.

"Are you sure? I'm like 100% sure it's on." It's not. You know it's not. You aren't completely sure if he knows the gym is "off limits" because he crashed as soon as he got back. There's no way you're gonna risk it though because if he does know about the gym not being available he'll get suspicious of you being there.

"I'll check again, but I'm pretty sure it's off." His voice is groggy with sleep and he goes quiet while checking to see if you're location is on. While he's doing that you quickly mute your phone and yell out, "WHO'S NOT DOING ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?"

Midoriya is the first to respond, he runs right over to you ready to help.

"Listen, Izuku. I'm about to tell 'tsuki that i'm headed to my favorite book store on campus. I need you to take my phone and just kinda hang out there and if something goes wrong, like he tries to call just call one of the others so you can let me know, okay?" The green haired boy shakes his head furiously fast.

"I CAN DO IT!!" Even though you're slightly exhausted, Midoriya's energetic attitude does hype you up a bit.

You quickly unmute your phone, "Hey baby, I'm going down to the book store for a little while. I need to get this one book."

His bed creaks, indicating that he's just finally sat up in bed, "Alright, I'll meet ya there."

"I just need some time alone, please don't come by." You try your best to sound like you need space, because you know your boyfriend respects you and your space.

"Oh.. alright. If you want me to come get ya I will." Guilt slowly trickles through your stomach when you hear his voice drop into disappointment but you know it will all be worth it in the end.

"Love you Kats, I'll see you in a bit." The blond hums quietly in contentment.

"I love you too, be safe." With that he hangs up the phone.

Izuku quickly leaves with your phone to the book store and you + the others get back to work on decorating and making sure everything is organized.

"Okay guys! I think if we keep working at this pace we'll be done in thirty minutes or so." Everyone whoops in excitement.

It turns out you aren't the only one who wants to surprise Katsuki Bakugo.

day 1: you make a birthday gift for katsuki - @zanarkandskylines

day 2: you invite all of class 1-A to the party - @xbabyd0lli3x

day 3: shopping for decorations- @angels-fantasy

day 4: You make a present plan 2.0! - @starieq

💖 day 5: Decorating the venue for his birthday party ! @lowkeyremi

day 6: Baking the cake for his party - @queenpiranhadon

day 7: you and your classmates surprise him ! - @cashmoneyyysstuff

tag list: @gina239 @mystic60 @meowze4r @icedemon1314 @bigsimpo343 @ah-mya @whezdostuff @berry-vioo @seonne @slayfics @food8me @katsuisbaby @azzo0 @kit-katsukii @stoned-anime-babe @kukikoooo

orange = can't be tagged

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

#mha x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader

321 notes · View notes

stop-talking · 2 months

Text

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 1)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.5k words

Tags: 18+, mike x reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, so much angst, flashing mike, fluff, spending time with Abby (because everyone always forgets her??)

Part 2

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Mike holds his breath as the phone rings. He's already gone down the mental checklist of people who he could possibly call for help right now, and is currently scraping the bottom of the goddamn barrel.

*click* "Hello?"

He speaks hurriedly into the dingy landline phone, praying you won't immediately dismiss him.

"Hey, it's Mike. Please don't hang up."

You're tempted to hang up on him then and there, just to prove a point. You guys broke up nearly a year ago, and hadn't spoken in... what, six months now? But the tone in his voice... he sounded desperate.

"What, drunk and lonely again?" You scoff, unable to resist taking a jab at him. You two hadn't exactly ended things on good terms, his lack-of-sleep induced grumpiness and general unpleasant disposition making it hard for him to take criticism without it turning into an argument. It wasn't your fault he never made time for you. It wasn't your fault he was so emotionally unavailable.

"No." He grits his teeth, already regretting calling you. "I need a favor. Please." He chokes the word out, his stomach in knots from having to resort to this.

You pause for a few moments, chewing on his words. It must really be serious if he'd called you, after all the things you'd said to him last time you spoke.

"Well... lets hear it, then."

"I need you to watch Abby tonight. My usual babysitter isn't answering the damn phone, and I have to leave for work in an hour. I can't leave Abby home alone. I just can't."

In an hour? You glance at the clock, it's already 8:30. What ungodly hours is he working?

"I thought you didn't work nights? I swear to god, Schmidt, if you're making me watch her so you can go get laid-"

"No. Nothing like that. I swear." He sighs, sounding genuinely exhausted. "I'm working as a security guard these days. Night gig. Long story. It sucks ass, but I need this job. Can you watch Abby? I'll owe you one."

You bite back the urge to scoff at him. He's not even going to pay you? Figures. Oh well. Holding a favor over his head might be fun.

"Ugh. Fine. I'll see. What time will you get back? I have work in the morning."

"6:15. Maybe 6:10, if I drive like a maniac."

"Shit. I'll have to get ready for work at your place. If I go home first I'll be late."

"Yeah, sure. Anything. Just please stay with Abby. She goes to sleep at 10, you can crash on the couch. I just want someone in the house with her."

You let out an audible sigh. Are you seriously going to go crash on your shitty ex-boyfriend's shitty couch on a work night?

...Yeah, yeah you are.

"Damn it, Mike. You'd better kiss my fucking feet when I get there."

Mike almost laughs at that. Almost.

"Sure thing, Princess." He cant help but taunt you a bit, using an old pet name he used to call you way back when you were dating. It probably wasn't the best decision to irritate the last person he could rely on, but he wasn't in the right headspace to make good decisions right now. These days, he mostly runs off of coffee and self-hatred.

"I'll be there in 30. You'd better be on your knees and groveling when you open the door." You slam the phone down before he can answer. Michael fucking Schmidt. Still the same jackass you broke up with all those months ago.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike opens the door to greet you almost exactly 30 minutes later, he reluctantly drops to his knees. He'd hoped you'd forgotten the silly request, but the unamused look you gave him said otherwise.

"Fucking witch." He grumbles, hanging his head as you brush past him into the house. Were you wearing... pajama pants? He stares at you as you set down your things, a purse and what looks like an overnight bag of some sort.

"Stop gaping. And stand up. You look pathetic." You shrug off your coat, revealing an old t-shirt underneath. Yeah, you were in pajamas, so what? Its late. And you couldn't be bothered to put in extra effort for Mike, of all people.

"Excuse me for doing as her majesty commands." He groans and stands up, brushing himself off. As if that'll make him look any more presentable.

Abby tentatively pokes her head out of her room, watching you and Mike argue. Shit. Did she hear all that?

"Hey Abbs." You wave to her, deciding to ignore Mike's comment. "It's gonna be just me and you tonight, sound good?"

She looks to Mike for approval, who nods and gives her a tired smile. The only kind of smile he's been able to muster lately.

"...Will you play with me?"

"Yeah, 'course I will. Let me have a chat with your brother real quick." She seems to accept that answer, closing herself back off in her room. You sigh and follow Mike into the kitchen.

"There's leftovers in the fridge, and a lasagna in the freezer. Probably have something edible in the pantry. I think there's popcorn." He explains, pointing out a few different measly options for a quick meal. "Look, she probably won't, but just try and get her to eat dinner."

You watch him lean back against the counter and rub at his temples. God damn, he looks... exhausted. His hair has grown out a bit since you last saw him, dark brown curls hanging low over his forehead. His eye bags seem to hang even lower.

"Yeah... I'll try and get her to eat."

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air as you both run out of things to talk about, so he fills the void with an insult.

"You really had to come over in that?" Mike scoffs and gestures at your frumpy t-shirt and pajama pants.

"What? Were you hoping for something slutty?" You cross your arms and give him a smug look.

He turns his head, unsure what to say to that. Maybe part of him did hope to see you dressed in something a little more revealing. Or maybe just undressed. God damn it, was he blushing?

"Fuck you." He mutters, making his way to the entryway and slipping his shoes on.

"No thanks. Been there, done that." You respond dismissively, watching him leave with a smirk.

Mike slams the door on his way out. Not hard enough to startle Abby, hopefully, but hard enough to make a point he's not in the mood to play your little games. Still, the whole drive to work, he can't help but wonder what if...? What if you had never broken up with him? What if he had been a better boyfriend? A better provider for you and Abby? A better man?

"I fucking hate her." He grumbles, but the words are hollow.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Mike told me you stopped coming over because he found out you're a witch and you curse children. Is that true?" Abby finally musters up the courage to ask the question that's been on her mind ever since you walked through the door.

"Did he say that?" You chuckle, a little shocked that this is what she chose to ask after ten minutes or so of silently coloring together.

"Yeah. He said you cursed him, too. And that's why he can't color anymore. He'll explode, or something." She babbles, not looking up from her paper.

"Hmm... well, if you're really worried about your brother, I'll cut you a deal." You do your best to keep the anger from your tone as you continue to color beside her at the table. That asshole doesn't color with Abby anymore?

"...What kind of deal?"

"I'll lift the curse on your brother so he can color and draw again... but you have to eat dinner. Ten whole bites."

Abby seems to consider this for a moment, turning and eyeing you suspiciously. Mike likes to mess with her like this. Were you messing with her too? Probably. But, well, if it would make Mike spend time with her again...

"Fine. What do we have?"

You smile at her. This babysitting stuff is a breeze.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike stumbles in the door the next morning, he spots you fast asleep on the couch. He flops down in the recliner and just watches you sleep for a minute or two. You look so pretty when you're asleep. Serene. Peaceful. Not at all like when you're awake, giving him that attitude he's so familiar with. He sighs and makes his way over to the couch, knowing he should probably wake you for work.

"Uhh... wakey wakey?" He mumbles lamely, unsure what to really say. Definitely not good morning, beautiful. He scoffs to himself at the thought.

"Mmm... Mike?" You blink up at the man gently shaking your shoulder, your eyes adjusting to the morning light.

"Yeah. Who else would it be?" He shakes his head in amusement and goes back to sit in the recliner.

"I dunno. A hookup?" You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, then stretch out.

"A hookup? Still being passed around, then?" He responds with a scoff, trying to hide just how much that answer bothers him. Even after nearly a year of being broken up, he doesn't like to imagine you with other men. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, even if he's not into you anymore. Actually, you don't look half-bad right now, stretching your arms over your head like that...

"Can you blame a girl? Had to make up for all the unsatisfying nights with you."

Mike reeled at that little quip. The smug look on your face, god... He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to shut you up with a kiss or a punch.

"Just fucking go home." Nice one, Mike. That'll show her.

"Hey, you agreed I could get ready here. I'm gonna go use your shower, and then I have something to talk to you about."

Something to talk to him about? He scowls as you walk off towards his bedroom. Why couldn't you just leave him alone? Why did everything have to be so complicated? He groans and goes to lie down in bed. Maybe he could get in a quick nap while you shower. Maybe.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You emerge from the dingy bathroom connected to Mike's bedroom fifteen minutes or so later, steam trailing in behind you.

"Three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash? Seriously, Schmidt?" You scold him, crossing your arms as you stand before his bed wearing nothing but a towel. At first, he seems annoyed when you pull him out of his brooding, but when he takes in your current state of undress, he sputters.

"S-so? Its economical." He scoffs, irritated, but unable to look away as you make your way around his bed and out the door.

You return a minute later carrying your overnight bag. "Forgot my clothes." Mike just nods, still unable to tear his eyes from you.

"Stop staring."

"Stop waltzing through my room naked."

"This isn't naked." You gesture to the towel wrapped around your body, drawing his attention back to you.

"This is naked."

Mike watches in complete shock as you let the towel fall to the floor, completely baring yourself to him for a few moments before finally locking yourself in his bathroom. You hear him mutter a few curses on the other side of the door, and smile as you get changed.

"Was that really necessary?" Mike scowls at you when you emerge from his bathroom a few minutes later, now fully dressed.

"Calm down, Mikey. Not like you haven't seen it all before." The old nickname you used to call him by doesn't sound endearing anymore. It sounds taunting. Mike looks like he cant decide between kicking you out of the house or pulling you into his bed. Good to know you can still get under his skin. And maybe his bedsheets, if you wanted.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" He finally asks, sighing in defeat.

"C'mon. I'll tell you."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Mike sits in the recliner, watching you set up a bunch of unnecessary crap on his coffee table. Did you really have to do your makeup right in front of him?

"A witch, Mike? Seriously? You told her I'm a witch, and then left her alone with me for the night?"

Mike swallows. Shit. He honestly forgot about that, it was just some lame excuse he came up with right after the breakup back when he was still distraught.

"Am I wrong?" He tries to brush it off with a sassy comment, but folds when he sees your intense glare.

"I mean... uh... I'll tell her you're... not a witch..." Real smooth, Schmidt. Mumble and stare at the floor.

"It's not even about that, really. Feed her all the lies you want. What I'm upset about is that she told me you don't color with her anymore."

Mike finally meets your eyes as you apply yet another random powder he doesn't understand the purpose of to your cheeks with the swipe of a brush.

"I'm busy. And it's none of your business. I asked you to come be her babysitter, not her mom." He snarls, hands clenched into fists.

"I'm not trying to be. It just breaks my heart to hear that stuff from her, Mike. I told her I'd lift the 'curse' off of you if she ate her dinner, and she did. So consider yourself un-cursed."

Mike grits his teeth as you put air quotes around the word "curse". He knew you were right, and that bothered him more than the fact he was being a shitty brother. The worst part was, you weren't even being snarky, you just sounded genuinely concerned for Abby. God damn it.

"...Yeah. Fine. Un-cursed. Got it." He grumbles in agreement as you finish up your makeup and swipe the assortment of products into your purse.

"How do I look?"

He wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, that he missed having you around, attitude or not. But in this moment, he couldn't do it. He was too tired. Too angry.

"Like a whore."

"Someone's jealous he doesn't get any."

"Like I'd want you."

"Oh yeah, the raging boner you had earlier when you saw me in a towel was because you don't want me. Totally."

Oh, now you're just taunting him.

"I'll have you know that didn't happen till after you lost the towel." Mike scoffs as he follows you to the entryway, unlocking the door for you while you slip on your shoes.

"Don't lie to me, Mikey."

"I'd never dream of it, Princess."

Mike has to resist the urge to pull you into his arms as you leave for work. Maybe if you didn't look so goddamn smug, he would. Instead he just shuts the door and locks it, hating himself for how much he enjoyed this whole interaction.

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will probably write a part 2 (with smut??)

edit: here is part 2

(no smut. part 3 tho...??)

idk this was my first fanfic ever so enjoy

#josh hutcherson #mikeschmidt #mike schmidt #fnaf movie #fnafmovie #mike schmidt fluff #josh hutcherson x reader #jhutch #mike x reader #no use of y/n #fnaf fic

244 notes · View notes

silverzoomies · 8 months

Text

Screwball

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn, kissing, hand jobs, loss of virginity, temperature play, mutant reader, ice powers, porn with plot, clunky writing

word count: 14,151

a/n: im so late posting this. i meant to finish this one like a month ago. but it's already september !! and a heatwave fic seems so out of season !! oh well !! i hope someone out there enjoys this. i went through hell tryin' to finish it. but i'm pretty happy with the way it panned out,,

apologies for the usual: clunky writing, slow as fuck execution, potentially ooc dialogue, etc etc etc kbgsjbdghsoiheg

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Westchester, New York had never seen such a record breaking heat wave.

And in all his reckless, fast paced years up to the ripe age of thirty, neither had Peter.

His fragmented memory is jam packed. Cluttered with disorganized checklists of every place he’s ever been. Not that he’s bragging or anything. But Peter’s basically seen the entire world, and then some. If one were to count those gnarly, X-Men space missions. He’d gone places no non-mutant could ever conceivably dream of reaching. From the deathly cold peak of Mount Everest, to the blistering sands of the Sahara desert itself.

Even with all that collected experience, Peter’s a hundred percent sure; he’s never faced summertime heat as insanely lethal as this.

Okay, sure. Maybe declaring Westchester as hotter than the Sahara might be a bit of a stretch. But to Peter’s credit, this heat wave is dangerous enough to warrant a citywide advisory. Which, in layman’s terms, means: don’t get ballsy. Unless you wanna end up fryin’ like an egg on the sidewalk.

The weather outside is so grisly, in fact, the X-Men themselves had to call their latest mission quits. Imagine that! Crazy, right? A fierce team of mutant heroes, capable of taking on behemoth sized sentinels. And even they didn’t dare another second in the heat.

Peter detached himself from the concept of religion ages ago. But thank the mysterious powers above, whoever they may be. Because he was legit two seconds away from collapsing to the ground, in a boiled heap of skin and bone.

He stumbles off the X-jet on wobbly legs. And no joke, Peter swears his muscles have somehow melted into jelly. It’s supremely embarrassing, the way he struggles to keep up with the team as they move ahead. They all stop before going upstairs, waiting to reconvene with Xavier. Organized in a careless, half circle; the X-Men look as though they’ve returned from an Olympic marathon. Their bodies exhausted, and blanketed in buckets of sweat.

Naturally, on account of Peter’s super dope, mutant genes; his body functioned at a nonstop rate of super sonic speed. As a repercussion, his average body temperature burned leagues hotter than any non-mutant’s. It wasn’t abnormal for Peter to dread the tormenting heat of the summer season.

In the blazing eye of a dangerous heat wave, swarming the city like an apocalyptic storm; Peter’s absolutely certain – like, for sure, he’s teetering on the brink of death. A miserable, stewing-in-your-own-sweat kinda death. Leave it to Logan to recite the eulogy at Peter’s funeral. No doubt, Wolvie would have nothing but positive things to say about Peter after he died. Most definitely.

Peter might be a teensy bit freaked out actually. Since he had no idea he was even capable of experiencing heat exhaustion. It almost makes him paranoid. Like a hypochondriac with a chest ache. In an attempt to force his recovery, Peter chugs through exactly thirteen bottles of dollar store water in a flash. The source of his stash? A stainless steel, mini fridge in Hank’s lab.

He knows Hank’s gonna be totally peeved when he finds the fridge raided clean. But Peter doesn’t bother worrying about that right now. Instead, he makes a mental reminder: Water bottles. An IOU. One he’ll probably forget about within the next two seconds. And never get around to fulfilling.

Professor Chucksters is talking, but Peter can’t find it in himself to listen to a single word. Whatever momentous info the ol’ baldy drops, flies a thousand miles over his feverish head. Peter cranes his neck back in overheated agony, lazily chugging Hank’s last remaining bottle of crisp, cold water. The smooth bite of that cold down Peter’s throat makes him exhale with relief through his nose.

Halfway through, he stops to shower his head in the rest. Letting chilly droplets rain down over his silver hair. Sharp tingles erupt down his neck and across his shoulders. Peter shudders, humming in delight to himself.

Oh. Shit. Wait…

Peter then comes to the regrettable realization that, in a heatwave so hazardous; water is a necessity to be shared.

No shit, blockhead.

Now, mind you, Peter isn’t known for his forethought. He’s pretty overzealous. Had he taken time to stop and think for a hot sec…yeah. Sure. Maybe he should’ve been more mindful of his suffering teammates. Oopsie daisies.

Much like a careless dog, Peter shakes off the cold drops soaking his hair. Sprinkles of water splash all around him, with Jubilee caught in the line of fire. She jumps in place with an abrupt, but silent exclamation of ‘ew!’ Shooting Peter a look of burning fury. Damp strands of Peter’s hair fan over his eyes. He runs his fingers slowly through them to give his forehead some air.

Maybe Peter’s a little delusional. Because he swears on his life he catches a red tint in Jubilee’s cheeks. She scoffs, like she can’t stand his bullshit. He throws her a wink. A beat later, she smiles and rolls her eyes.

Peter smirks. Lucky for him, his speedster charm has yet to fizzle out.

The team waits patiently for their opportune moment to flee. It’s obvious they’re all pretty antsy. Probably since they’re dying to change into something lighter. Better fitted for Satan’s city wide celebration of hellfire and brimstone. Anything but the jumpsuits, at least. But that’s just a hunch.

In Peter’s own personal opinion? The most ideal scenario would be to strut around naked, in nothing at all. Sounds awesome, right? Freedom from the suffocation of needless threads! However, societal standards and modern customs definitely wouldn’t allow such debauchery. Not to mention, Peter isn’t super keen on the idea of peeping his teammates in their birthday suits.

Except for Raven, maybe. He never gets tired of looking at those scales. All that blue. Nice.

Oh. And…you. Frankly, Peter’s willing to risk it all just to catch a glimpse of you in the buff.

He swallows a thick lump forming in his throat, sneaking a lightning fast glance in your direction. Observing you with a gawking gaze, Peter ignores the way his heartbeat kicks up to roadrunner speed. Faster than fast. Like, cartoonishly fast. It’s ridiculous.

You’re completely impervious to any heatwave debuffs. Lucky lucky. Standing there without a care in the world, you listen attentively to professor Charlie Brown’s ramblings. Since you’re so distracted, Peter lets his speedy eyes shamelessly wander. Trailing down the glittering, icy blue of your jumpsuit. Uniquely personalized to coincide with your wintry gimmick.

Which doesn’t at all explain why it’s so inappropriately skin tight.

Peter feels himself choke on his next breath. But he’s quick to blame it on the weather. Yeah. It’s just the heat that’s stifling him. Nothing else. Get real, dude.

The sparkling material of your suit hugs your figure a little too perfectly. Complementing every irresistible curve. Peter always thought you looked so ludicrously fine in that suit. If not way, way, way too distracting. Sometimes, he found it ultra hard – ignoring any euphemisms – to maintain focus during missions. Usually because your frosty ass came twinkling in his peripheral, throwing off his mojo.

But let’s chalk Peter’s lack of focus up to his chronic ADD instead, ‘kay?

Heck. Maybe it wasn’t the ADD’s fault. At least, not entirely. Like, cut the bullshit for a sec. Peter doesn’t have a lot of sexual experience. He’s never gone any further than a dozen heated sessions of heavy petting. And from time to time, though he hates to admit it; it haunts him. The way he’s so suppressed. Overflowing with pent-up desire.

Thirty years old and still a virgin? Clock’s ticking, Quickie. No wonder he can’t take his hungry eyes off your body.

Speaking of your body.

Damn, is it hot in here? Or is it just you?

It’s most definitely not you.

Your body naturally radiates a refreshing aura of frigidity. It’s no coincidence, the way your teammates linger so closely in your proximity. Peter can’t really blame them for doing so. You’re the human equivalent of an icebox. Even a touch of your finger could turn the entire X-mansion into a winter wonderland. Part of him wonders why you haven’t done so already. Since you’d be sparing everyone the infernal anguish of this awful heat wave.

Maybe you’re just as absentminded as he is.

Anyway, right about now, Peter desperately yearns to be a long lost tub of neapolitan. Stuffed deep inside your metaphorical freezer.

Which…sounds way dirtier than intended.

Fuck. Alright. Moving on.

Tugging at the collar of his jumpsuit, Peter fights to catch his breath. The fierce heat from outside has somehow seeped its way into the X-Men’s base of operations. Almost like an act of god. Or more like a punishment, maybe.

In desperate need of relief, Peter looks to you once more. He finds himself struck with an ingenious, lightbulb moment then.

A blink, and he bolts, appearing directly behind you. A faint gust of wind flutters your hair. But the breeze fails to even make you flinch. Peter isn’t the least bit subtle with his actions, as he presses his burning body a little too closely into your back. And hoooooooooooooo mama! The sweet relief of your icy presence is so worth any consequences, should they arise.

You whip your head around suddenly, giving Peter a weird look and a once over. He can’t really blame you for staring at him like that. Sure, you’re both teammates. Even family, one might argue. You’re both fighting for the same cause. But you haven’t built an inseparable bond with Peter or anything.

Honestly, he’d be totally down if you did. But that’s neither here nor there.

Peter always thought you were pretty damn cool. In more ways than one, if your glacial mutation was included in the mix. If he were more honest with himself, he would’ve acknowledged his dumb, boyish crush on you an entire ice-age ago. Oh well.

He’s still too much of an awkward spaz for his own good sometimes.

You seem…confused. Staring at Peter as if silently asking him a question. If he had to guess, it’s probably something along the lines of – what the hell do you think you’re doing, you handsome scoundrel? Peter exchanges your puzzled look with an uneasy smile. Dramatically, he fans himself with a hand. Hoping you get the hint, he pokes his tongue out to playfully express his suffocating torment.

Thankfully, you pick up what he’s putting down. As you turn back around, you giggle cutely. Peter breathes an alleviating sigh. He’s left to bask in the glory of your wintry aura. So freeing, and so, so cold. He could kiss you as a thanks, if only you’d let him. But you’ve already directed your attention to Xavier’s painfully long lecture.

Wait. Seriously, how long was this talk supposed to last? It feels like a million years at this point and-

Peter checks the Star Trek watch on his wrist. It’s only been…five minutes. Huh.

The gathering of ye olde X-council draws to a close. At long last! Xavier wraps up his spiel of heroic efforts , world peace , and wonderful work everyone. Bla bla bla. Don’t get Peter wrong. He harbors a lot of respect for the guy. Any other day, and he would’ve found those words somewhat awe inspiring. If not the slightest bit misguided.

But today? Professor, dude, now’s not the time to be preaching words of wisdom. Your nerd club’s literally cooking from the inside out. Give it a rest.

The team wastes no time. As soon as Chuck’s given the go-ahead, they’re gone. High-tailing it upstairs as fast as their tired legs can go. Which isn’t all that fast. At least, not by Peter’s standards. But he’s hella impressed with the enthusiasm.

Unlike everyone else, you move at a frustratingly slow pace. Walking behind you feels akin to waiting too long in a DMV line. Something Peter’s never had to do a single day in his life. And he’s not about to start now. It’s monotonous, and borderline infuriating. But his heightened impatience is probably just another consequence of this outrageous heat.

You take your sweet ass time – and holy moly, did you have a sweet ass – as you ascend to the first floor of the X-mansion. Peter follows after you like a lost puppy, not too far behind. On your way to – presumably – your room, you climb another, dreaded flight of stairs. And since when were stairs a hindrance to a speedster like Peter? He’s never once felt winded making a simple ascent like this. Ever.

Peter’s growing more and more restless. His skin feels sticky and uncomfortable under his jumpsuit, but he can’t rush home to grab a change of clothes. He’s unwilling to risk a race through whatever hellscape lies in waiting outside. No matter how little time it takes him. Not while his lungs are cooking to a crisp.

He aches for the touch of your icy hands. Plain and simple. Nothing to it. Nothing sexual. No strings attached.

Unless…you had a preference for strings. Peter would tie them around his wrists and move like a marionette puppet if you asked. Shit, you want a whole show? Bring out the dancing Muppets.

Midway through your ascent, Peter appears in front of you. He stops you suddenly, leaning casually with his hand against the wooden railing. His other hand rests on his hip. Lamely, he forces himself to act as naturally as he can. Which is virtually impossible, considering the circumstances. But even so, Peter throws you his signature grin and nods his head.

Be cool, dude. Be cool. Ease into it. Just try not to think about how you’re literally baking to death here.

His overheated exhaustion is impossible to miss. Even a dense chimp in a blindfold could sense something’s off about him. The quick rise and fall of Peter’s chest is a dead give away. Revealing how labored his breathing really is. Trickles of sweat race in a tense competition down Peter’s temples. Warm heat pools in his cheeks, and his skin appears ghostly pale.

That…might be the reason you gaze at him like you’re worried sick. As if you’ve seen a haunting, silverette ghost. Peter looks like he’ll pass out sometime within the next five minutes. Realistically, he should probably seek medical attention immediately. But he fakes his aloof casualness anyway.

“Heyyyyy, what’s the haps? Where’re you headed in such a rush, Screwball?” Peter asks, somewhat condescending.

“Screwball?” You narrow your eyes, puzzled, “Oh, y’know, my room probably? I might take a nap. Why?” You laugh despite your confusion, crossing your arms. Fixing Peter with a look that only suggests one thing: suspicion.

Fair enough.

He nods, rapidly tapping his fingers on the railing.

“Cool. Coooooool. I can dig it. Nothin’ wrong with that. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna spend a summer afternoon like this lazin’ around in bed, amiright?”

Good. Nice and easy. Peter should probably stop there, and speak no further. But his hazy, addled mind works on autopilot. The words race past his lips faster than he can keep up.

“It’s hot as hell today too. So, you could totally sprawl out butt ass naked and-”

Too late.

“...Yeah?” Based on your expression alone, Peter knows he’s made a total ass of himself. By some miracle, you don’t deck him with an icy fist of freezing fury. Not that you seemed the violent type to begin with.

“Wait, no-” He abruptly pauses to try and make sense of his thoughts. A stifling heat in the air swarms his head, drowning Peter in hot molasses, “Oh. Gah! What the hell am I even saying? Sorry, that was-uh…that was totally weird, right? Uh, lemme start over-uhm-”

Peter clears his throat, masking his mortification with his speedster charm. Super popular with the ladies. Tested on the battlefield of life and approved. A five star rating. No need to question why he still hasn’t managed to get laid, like ever.

“Sooooooooo…anyway. Y’wanna hang out?” He asks, cheesing a dorky grin.

“You never ask me to hang out with you. But today, of all days…that’s when you do? Everything’s closed, Peter. Y’know, because of the heat advisory? I mean, clearly…you look like you know.” You gesture to Peter himself.

A sweaty sheen coats his skin. He really should’ve taken a cold shower in the communal washrooms. At least before confronting you like this. Man, he really screwed this up. If this interaction falls flat, Peter’s just gonna bail. Maybe he’ll try and stuff himself in that mini fridge of Hank’s. He’d be way better off there. Until Beastie finds him, anyway.

“Uh, yeah? Pffft …no duh. I knew that. But, so what? Just ‘cuz there’s some lame stuff happening outside. That doesn’t mean we can’t do somethin’ totally cool inside. Know what I mean?” Simple and subtle.

“Hm…” You think on his offer for a moment. But it feels like he's aged another thirty years by the time you reply, “At least let me change first, okay? You probably should too! I know you gotta be burnin’ up in that jumpsuit, sweetheart!��

A dopey smile plays on Peter’s lips, pressing into his dimples.

So…sweetheart, eh? That’s a new one.

Politely, you push past Peter to make your way up the remaining stairs. Without any forethought or plan of action, he cuts you off again. He slides across the floor into your visual radius, worn sneakers squeaking along polished wood. Wait…why’s he losing his balance?? Peter doesn’t usually lose his balance. Shit.

Ah. he’s lightheaded now. Great.

You’re close enough that Peter can feel the tempting coldness radiating off your body. Oh, man. If only you’d envelop him in your frosty arms completely. You could even lay on top of him like a blanket of snow post avalanche. Anything. Please. Peter is so beyond desperate to beat the heat, he’d let you pelt him with a flurry of snowballs. At least then, he wouldn’t feel a spark away from igniting into flames.

Staring at him with an impatient look, you tilt your head and furrow your brows. Awkwardly, Peter shifts on his feet. Thick humidity overflows his lungs, close to bursting with the force of an atomic bomb. Breathing is near impossible at this point. Peter may as well bite the silver bullet, before he finally kicks the bucket.

Godspeed, or however the saying goes.

“Hi…sorry. Okay-uh…hear me out, please?” He begs. Peter brings his hands together in front of him like he’s praying at the altar, “This is gonna sound weird. Like, next-level weird. Yer probably gonna think I’m a huge creep. And I’m not tryna freak you out ‘er anything. ‘kay? Like, I totally get it if yer not down for this. ‘Cuz, y’know, we’re not really all that close. Plus, you probably have other stuff you’d rather be doin’ than helpin’ out some loser like me, but-” Peter rapidly stammers over his words.

Way to go, ponyboy. Graceful as ever.

Holding out a small hand to politely silence Peter, you utter his name in the sweetest tone he’s ever heard. Hushed, soft, and so gentle. Your voice is the equivalent of candy to his eardrums. He kinda really digs the way you sound when you talk. So courteous and nice all the time.

Be still, his palpitating heart. Seriously. Calm down. Or he’s literally gonna die.

“Peter?”

“Uhyeahwhat?” He stammers again.

“Are you…okay? You’re sweating like crazy. You look like you’re gonna pass out, dude.”

Peter throws you an ‘ok’ sign with a hand, his grin sluggish.

“Peachy keen, baby.”

He swears with every fiber of his sweltering soul that calling you ‘baby’ made you blush. But, y’know, since he’s a little bit doubtful, he might have to test that theory again. Just to be a hundred percent sure. Break out the ol’ chalkboard and sketch some x’s and o’s like a scientific diagram. Top of the line research. He’s the leading psychoanalyst in speedster charisma.

“You sure about that?” You ask, arching a brow, holding an easygoing smile.

Taking a few steps closer, you bless Peter with your emanating chill. He doesn’t at all expect you to raise your hand. Peter swallows a thick, blistering lump in his throat. Frozen in place, he watches in slow motion as you bring the tips of your frosty fingers to his chest. Brisk, winter cold spreads in fractals of frost over his jumpsuit.

Freezing heaven on scorching earth. It’s sorta…poetic, in a way. Peter blinks rapidly, caught in a mind-altering daze for a beat or two. Your touch really is like a miracle cure, alleviating that stifling thickness suffocating his lungs.

“W-Wow. Okay.” He chokes awkwardly, cheeks flushing. His skin tingles under his jumpsuit, “Wow. That’s cool. Literally cool.”

“Peter?”

“Mmmmmmhmmm?” He hums, slouching his shoulders. Peter shamelessly relaxes under your wintry touch.

“You’re suffering in this heat, aren’t you? You need me to help you out?”

Stupidly, like a colossal, doofus dumbass, he shakes his head. You’re offering the exact thing Peter came to you for. A golden opportunity. He’s really hit the jackpot now. All he has to do is face the music, and admit it. Just be honest. Say it, doofus!

“Huh? Naaahhhh! Pffft …why would-...hey, I told ya! I’m juuuust peachy, Screwball! Don’t gotta worry about me!”

Hanging in the air by a delicate string, is a tension Peter’s too stunned to identify. Taking another step closer, the swell of your breasts meets his chest. The hand you’ve placed over his speedy heart trails tantalizingly slow, up to Peter’s flushed cheek. His dark eyes flutter closed, and he almost falls face first into your touch.

“I can take care of you, y'know? I really don’t mind, honey. It wouldn’t be an issue.” Your soft voice exudes genuine compassion. The sweet, gentle attention burns his skin to a boiling point, his veins melting underneath.

That unidentifiable tension in the air permeates, thicker than summertime heat. Despite the relieving cold you’ve given him to bask in; Peter finds it even more difficult to breathe. It confuses him, the way you act so nice and considerate. And now? He’s melting entirely.

Literally. No dramatizations. Peter can feel his damp skin drooping slowly off his bones.

He’s already close enough to death as is. What’s with the tenderness and affection, huh? Were you going out of your way to make sure he dies faster? Have some humanity, for Geddy’s sake. Jeez.

“I-uh…I…” Peter stutters, at a loss for words, “I wouldn’t wanna put you out like that, but…uh…”

“Alright. Whatever you say.” You steadily pull your hand from Peter’s face, “Offer’s still on the table, though!”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Why are you pulling away? No, no, no! You can’t pull away! Not yet! Come on!

All at once, the soothing cold you’ve gifted Peter disappears. No thanks to the steaming fever brought upon by his overheated, speedster body. He nearly whines at the loss, pulling his lip between his teeth to stifle any embarrassing noises.

It takes Peter only a millisecond to give in. With a slower reaction time than usual – not really all that slow, from an outside perspective – he darts his hand out in a flash. Peter lightly grabs your wrist, stopping you from retracting your hand any further.

“Wait-” Peter groans, acting hasty. Frustrated with his own awkwardness, he rolls his eyes, “...I’m…I’m literally dyin’ here, okay? Like, no joke. I think my heart might actually explode. And I…kinda can’t breathe right now? So, uhm…can you just, like, touch me? Just a little bit? But not-” He panics suddenly, eyes widening, “N-Not like-...not in a weird way, I swear!”

He almost tacks on a suggestive ‘unless you really want to,’ but decides against it. Better not, lest he dig himself into a deeper hole. So far under the Earth’s surface, he’ll come out the other side. Not a bad idea, actually. Maybe it’s cooler over there.

“And I’ll totally make it up to you. I promise. Pinky swear. Cross my heart, hope I don’t die of heat stroke.” He insists.

You giggle again, cute as can be. It’s not the least bit condescending either, thankfully. Peter feels the weight of a billion megatons finally lift off his shoulders. With a nod, you take his hand in yours. A surprisingly intimate gesture, since the two of you have never done anything quite like this before. Hell, you’ve never spent time with each other one-on-one outside of the X-Men.

“C’mon, you silly goose.” You lightheartedly joke.

Your affection catches Peter off guard. Not that he’s got a problem with it. No siree. In fact, his heart might’ve skipped a few beats. A lazy smile plays at his lips, as you guide Peter down the hall to your room in your usual, slow stride.

Oh, sweet, frosty sanctuary calls.

As soon as Peter steps inside, you quickly close the door behind you. Feeling somewhat out of place in the unfamiliarity of your space, Peter distracts himself with the posters on your walls. He casts quick glances over the silly knick-knacks occupying your desk and dressers. Turns out, your room has a lot of personality. Neat.

He overhears a faint click suddenly. Whipping around to find you locking the door, Peter narrows his eyes in thought.

Huh.

Maybe he’s overthinking. Probably. But doesn’t locking the door like that suggest some…implications? Then again, Peter could be looking at this in all the wrong ways. Like, okay, if he were being realistic? More than likely, you didn’t wanna risk someone walking in. Not while you got handsy with one of your teammates in your room. Totally reasonable, he thinks.

But then-

Leaning your back against the door, you steadily unzip your glittering suit. Pulling the tiny, snowflake zipper down just enough to expose the swell of – Oh, hellllloooooooooo snowy cleavage. Where in the world have you been all his life? Peter has to refrain from whistling.

Okay. You totally did that on purpose, didn’t you? That was completely intentional. And Peter’s definitely not reading too far into things. He’s most unequivocally not letting his attraction to you affect his perception of a simple gesture. Not at all.

He can’t control his lingering gaze. Peter’s droopy eyes follow the slow movement of your hand, his mouth falling agape in a heat-exhausted stupor. Somewhere around him, he can barely make out your voice. But it’s muffled. All noise. Akin to a teacher from a Peanuts cartoon. Bwah Bwah Bwah Bwah.

Peter blinks.

“Huh? Sorry…you say somethin’?” It’s a failed attempt at a recovery. Peter taps his temple, “Gotta couple screws loose in here right now. Y’know, heat’s kinda gettin’ to me.”

You arch a brow, gazing at Peter like you see right through his bullshit. And yeah, he’s gonna go ahead and bet you probably do.

“Uh huh?” You scoff, giggling, “I asked if you’d be more comfortable on the bed, doofus.”

Moving closer to your bed, you bend over to adjust the fuckload of plushies resting on the blankets. Wow. Check that out. It’s like a Toys R Us threw up. A colorful mess of too many plushies for Peter to count. There’s barely any space to lie down, even if he wanted to.

Doing a quick double take, he glances between you, and your occupied bed. Peter sways where he stands, light headed from heat exhaustion. His brows shoot up in unexpected surprise. He whistles through a suggestive grin.

“Waiiiit, seriously?” Peter huffs a charming laugh, “Wow. Didn’t peg you for the direct type, Screwball. Y’wanna take me out to dinner and a movie first?”

“Dinner and a movie? I dunno, Peter. You’re askin’ for a lot.” You giggle again, acting nonchalant. You make your way around the room to a record player on a corner shelf. Neatly organized vinyls are aligned meticulously next to it. As you poke through your collection, you continue, “But sure. Fuck it, right? Why not! What movie?”

Distracted, as he usually is, Peter glances curiously around your room. Framed photos, postcards, and letters adorn your walls. Pinned carefully in place. Some of the photos, he suspects, are of your family. Others, more than likely friends. There’s even a few group photos of the X-Men together, bringing a fond smile to his face.

Bwah bwah bwah bwah?

Wait. Shit. You’re talking again. And Peter totally missed whatever you said.

“Huh?” Peter darts his head in your direction, watching with half lidded eyes as you set up the record player.

“Dude.” You roll your eyes affectionately, chuckling, “I said, is it hot in here, by the way? Just wondering. Since I can’t really tell.”

“Oh-” Peter exaggerates a sigh, “It’s really bad, babe. Like, sooo bad. I’m definitely gonna die if you don’t come over here and put those icebox hands on me, like, right now. Seriously.” He snickers, falling limply backwards into your bed.

Several plushies bounce with the impact of his weight. Some tumble onto the floor. Others topple onto Peter himself, but he leaves them be. He clutches a Beatles Blue Meanie plush to his chest. Breathing in quick, muggy breaths. Peter finds he’s even more consumed by the record-breaking heat. It’s a miracle he hasn’t disintegrated into a pile of ash by now.

“Howard the Duck.” Peter adds, staring at the ceiling in cloudy thought. He twirls the Blue Meanie in his hands.

“Pffft…what?” You laugh, “What are you even-”

“That’s the movie I wanna see. When you take me out? I wanna watch Howard the Duck. Oh! And I want popcorn too. Can’t watch a movie without popcorn. But it’s gotta be one of the big ones. With extra butter. And some candy-”

“ When I take you out. C’mon, really? Dude, didn’t critics totally pan that movie? I swear, I saw that in the paper just recently! It’s such an awful movie, Peter!”

“Uh, yeah? And so what? That’s kinda what makes it the ultimate date move, babe. Check it out – we could have the most awesome time makin’ fun of it.” Peter throws his head back further into your bed, peering at you from upside down, “Ooooh! Did you hear about the duck boobs scene? No joke. I kid you not. It’s got duck titties.”

A mellow tune slowly encompasses the quiet, muggy space of your room. Peter instantly recognizes it from the first few beats alone. Obscured by Clouds. Pink Floyd. …Cool. Peter’s pretty fond of that album himself. It’s not necessarily his favorite, per se. But it’s awesome enough. And it’s perfectly fitting for the mood of sweltering, summertime vibes too, he thinks.

“I didn’t until now.” You sarcastically scoff. Meandering towards Peter on your bed, “Spoilers, dude.”

He brings his head up to look at you. Spreading himself out, Peter knocks more of your poor plushies to the floor. Carelessly, he drops the Blue Meanie plush. Letting him fall to his ultimate demise. Au revoir, his blueness.

“Right. My bad.” He snickers. After a beat, Peter adds, “I love this album, by the way. It’s a nice vibe.”

In your eyes, he must look a lot like a beached starfish. Sprawled out and helpless. Drying to death in the heat of the summertime sun. Peter has his long legs hanging loosely off the edge of your bed. Moving in between those spread legs, you carefully climb onto the bed. Your knee stops just short of his crotch. As you inch yourself further over his body, Peter’s eyes widen. He blinks slowly, feeling hot beads of sweat roll down his temples.

“I know you do.” You grin down at him with a warm gaze. Peter’s lungs threaten to shrink into nothingness.

“Y-You do? Huh…no shit?” He appears put off, raising a silver brow, “How’d you know?”

You shrug, keeping your grin, “Guess I pay more attention to you than you think, hmm?” Perched over Peter with a palm to the sheets, you brush the silver bangs out of his eyes, “You got any limits?”

Peter blinks again, dumbfounded.

“Lim-...uh, what now?”

“Limits, y’know. Like, where am I free to touch? Anything you’re not comfortable with?”

“Oh. Uh…you can…touch me anywhere? It’s whatever yer comfortable with. Yer the one doin’ me a favor here.” he gazes at you with an unsure, sleepy eyed look. Nervously nibbling his lip, tasting the salt of his sweat, “Do you-uh…do you do this kinda thing a lot? Fer…other people?”

“Nope.” You blink down at him with that genuine, sweet smile again. Shrugging, “Just you.”

A subtle aura of addictive cold radiates from your body like a light. Peter can feel the faintest hint of it as you move in close. It teases him, promising sweet relief from the merciless summer heat. With his lips parted, Peter stares longingly into your eyes. His smile reveals a glimpse of his front teeth, as he snickers in disbelief.

“Uh huh. Alright. See, now I know fer sure yer just messin’ with me.” He bashfully laughs.

“Not yet I’m not.” You throw him a coy wink. Innocently, you ask, “Where do you want me?”

Which could so easily be misconstrued. Dammit.

Yeah. So, this one’s definitely on him. Peter’s inexperienced, sexually charged instincts immediately jump somewhere totally depraved. He’s a little ashamed of that fact. But hey, who’s the one climbing over him on their bed? Who’s the one fluttering those pretty lashes? Giving him those flirtatious smiles. Come on. Really? No wonder he’s lost his mind in the gutter.

Where do you want me?

Peter’s dark eyes immediately dart to his crotch for less than a second. But it happens so fast, he doesn’t doubt you missed it.

“Uhhhhh…I dunno. I didn’t…I didn’t really think about it? But, you cou- HHHHHHhnnnnnnnaaaaaaa-”

Frigid cold invades the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, as you press your hand gently there. A tiny thumb brushes his adam’s apple. Shivering, Peter bunches his shoulders. Tingling chills surge across his body.

“That’s good. That’s g-great. Awesome. Totally awesome. Thanks. Thank you.” He chokes in a rush, instantly melting into your icy touch.

Relaxing his body in your bed, Peter’s head falls loosely back. He breathes a long sigh of relief, his mouth falling open in a dopey smile. His eyes flutter closed as he laughs. Steadily then, your hand travels lower. Grazing frosty fingertips over his chest. Your fingers soon find the zipper of his jumpsuit, and you tug it down a little further.

That heavy tension from earlier grows a thousand times more distracting. For whatever reason, the mellow melody of Pink Floyd’s ‘When You’re In’ only seems to heighten said tension. Almost like it’s setting a certain kinda…steamy mood.

Did Peter wake up in some cheesy, VHS porno? He’s definitely living the plot of one.

Peter flutters his eyes open, met with the sight of you on your knees over him. Your gaze appearing heavy, focused intently on your task. You nibble your lip in thought, looking fine as hell while doing so. Pressing your small palm to his chest, you finally grace him with glorious cold again. Right over the sweaty abomination for a shirt he wore under his jumpsuit. He’s almost embarrassed that you’re even touching it.

Using your glacial gift, you manifest more coolness. Allowing it to spread all over Peter’s body. He sucks in a harsh breath, freeing his lungs from their heated asphyxiation.

There it is. Sweet, icy sanctuary, at long last.

“Ohhhhhhhh …” Peter groans, “Nice.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his veins straining under his skin. Digging your nails firmly into his chest, you manifest snowy trails of glittering frost. The biting cold nips at his skin over the fabric of his shirt. Like walking chest first into an arctic glacier.

“Is this helping you much at all?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

“You have nooooooooo idea, babe.” Peter breathes a grateful sigh, “This is, like, so amazing. Thanks. I owe ya one.”

“Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

Your freezing hand meets Peter’s sweaty forehead, pressing into his skin. Like you’re checking his temperature with the gentleness of a mother’s touch. Humming to the music, you card your cold fingers through his damp locks. Firmly massaging Peter’s scalp.

Peter lets his eyes drift shut again. His mouth falling open out of his control. Leaving his hair, you bring your attention back to his body. Watching him carefully for any sign to stop, you tug the wet, frost nipped fabric of his shirt. Bunching it up over his neck, exposing his broad chest.

He shoots an eye open, fixing you with a curious look. Feeling hot skin under your soft palms, you slide your hands over his raised pecs. Your fingers gliding in a touch as delicate as powdered snow. It sends sharp chills down his spine. A sensation he’s quickly finding extremely addictive and all too pleasant.

Instantaneously, something clicks in Peter’s brain.

A beat, and your touch goes from relieving, to downright pleasurable. Even sort of…arousing. Peter immediately reacts, arching his back in an abrupt jolt. He laughs his surprise through a broken moan, tossing his head back for the umpteenth time.

“O-Oh, fuck.” He chokes, loud enough to disturb whoever occupies the room next door.

Peter’s so righteously fucked now. Because he really shouldn’t be as turned on by this as he is. It’s just…he’s so boiling hot. Miserable as hell. And not only are you finally breaking him free of hellfire’s tyranny. But you’re also touching him sorta intimately. Peter’s really not immune to attention like this. Especially not from a stone fox he’s super attracted to.

His nipples harden under your frigid spell, perky against the tips of your fingers. Peter hisses, whimpering another moan without meaning to. Your only response is to giggle. Curiously, you tilt your head. Quickly taking notice of the way Peter’s noises have changed in pitch.

They’re more like moans of ecstasy now. Because, well, they sorta are. Whoops.

Lowering your hips, you suddenly move to rest on Peter’s lap. Just to give your knees some much needed rest. His hammering heart threatens to burst straight through his ribcage. Rising from the bed onto his elbows, Peter tries to protest.

“Wait! Wait, don’t sit- hoooohhhh.” A throaty groan slips off his tongue.

The full weight of your lower half drops onto his lap. Right over the stiff hard-on in his jumpsuit, doing little to hide itself. Your ass is so outrageously cold against his crotch and… oh, fuck. That’s so perfect. Peter groans again through a shuddering breath. Limply, he lowers himself onto his back. Hoping to conceal his shame, he brings his hands to his face.

Except, there’s no denying his obvious desire anymore.

“Auuuuugh.” Peter curses himself, “Shit. I am seriously so, so sorry-” Your name plays on his tongue in a desperate, apologetic tone, “I-I really…I dunno why I’m so-uh…I’m not usually-”

“Hey, don’t worry! It’s okay. Believe me, I don’t mind…”

Gosh. There you go again, doing that thing. The thing where you act so unexpectedly understanding in the face of an awkward situation. But even then, Peter can hear your smooth voice waver. Despite all you try to hide, he can tell. You’re just as nervous as he is, but ultimately better at masking it.

He doesn’t see it, but you gaze down at him rather suggestively. A fresh, newfound sense of lust lingers in your eyes. Raking your nails teasingly down his chest, you draw numbing streaks of snow, making him wince. The frost manifests seamlessly from your fingers, tickling Peter’s ever burning skin. It melts instantly, leaving beaded droplets.

“Does it really feel good when I touch you like this, pretty boy?” You tease, that waver in your voice barely leaking through again.

Wooooah. Okay. Okay. Hold up. Rewind. What?

Peter isn’t hearing you wrong this time. He couldn’t be. It’s impossible to misread the dirty tease in your tone. In the blink of an eye – rapid fire speed – the blood pooling in his cheeks vacates straight to his dick. Peter’s cock twitches, pulsating under his jumpsuit – under you – and shamefully unveiling just how horny he really is.

The high-speed boom boom boom of Peter’s heart skids to a deafening halt. His exhausted lungs finally collapse. Squeezing out his final remnants of life. If someone were to hook him up to an EKG, he surely would’ve flat-lined. Sayonara, suckers. This foolhardy speedster’s at the end of his road.

But…what’s this?! Peter’s still alive and breathing? Who could’ve predicted such a phenomenon??

He lowers his hands from his flushed face, peering over the tips of his fingers. His black coffee eyes blown exceptionally wide.

“Woah. Hold on now. What?” Peter snorts. He shakes himself free of total shock, frantically nodding, “Uh, yeah? It feels…really fuckin’ awesome, to tell you the truth.”

“Mhm?” You hum a sensual vibration, biting your lip, “Mind if I try something bold then?”

Peter arches a curious brow. You’re kind of a little minx, aren’t you?

“Literally? You can do whatever you want with me, babe. I’m all yours.” He heaves an exasperated laugh.

A smirk dawns your pretty lips, and you shimmy backwards over Peter’s lap. Until the bulging swell of his hardness lies before you, squirming under his jumpsuit. Teasing him, you drag your biting touch down to his crotch. Euphoric cold dances across his pelvis. You stop short of his hard-on, and Peter draws in a ragged breath.

“Awww…feelin’ a little stiff, sweetheart?” You coo in a sultry sound. Peter feels his blood pressure drop to a life-threatening degree, “Let me help you out.”

Testing the metaphorical, frozen waters; you bring your frigid palm over his bulge. You watch Peter for any sign to retract your hand, fixing him with an intense look. But to your surprise, his cock doesn’t soften under your frosty touch. Not like one would expect. Oh, no. The opposite happens, in fact.

“Mmmmhh…oh my god.” He moans, his front teeth clamping hard into his lip. Jolting in response to his own sensitivity, he rolls his hips into your small hand, “Please…”

You squeeze the thick length of him as well as you can over his jumpsuit, applying more pressure. Awkwardly stroking his dick with your wintry tipped fingers. The bleak touch you cast sends chills racing through Peter’s veins, and sharp pleasure rises in his groin.

“F-Fer the record, by the way, this is not how I expected this to go.” Peter shivers, breathlessly chuckling.

“Oh, no?” You mutter, climbing over Peter on your knees. Glacial breath ghosts his lips. You lean in close, giving his cock another firm squeeze, “Hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Fuuuuuuck no, baby. Not a chance.” Peter groans his reply, lifting his hips. Yearning for more of your gratifying chill. Another wintry wave of cold seizes through his groin, and Peter’s eyes roll back, “Holy shit. That’s it.”

Peter finds himself a little conflicted. His brown hues can’t decide if they wanna gaze into your own, or stare longingly at your lips. In the past, Peter thought about those same lips more often than he’d admit. But to be so up close and personal with them like this…

“I’m not even gonna lie to you, Screwball. I really wanna kiss you right now.” Peter admits defeat. Even in your polar proximity, humiliation burns his cheeks with the force of hellfire.

Knitting your brows, you narrow your eyes. And for a painfully long instant, Peter thinks he’s finally fucked up. As if confessing his desire to kiss you was somehow a step too far over the line.

Is there even a line left between the two of you anymore? Or did you both trip over it the moment you gave him ‘fuck me’ eyes?

You lean in a touch closer, quietly chuckling. Cold puffs of air fan over his lips, a needle-thin space away.

“You’re so silly, y’know that? Why do you keep callin’ me Screwball?” You ask, placing a tantalizing kiss to the corner of his lips. Like the touch of a delicate snowflake, “You make it sound like you think I’m crazy.”

“Well, okay, first of all, you gotta be some kinda crazy. ‘Specially if yer screwin’ around with me.” Peter jokes. He’s beyond winded under the teasing brush of your soft lips, “S-Second of all, it’s an ice cream thing. You ever-uhm…stop by an ice cream truck before?”

Why’s he even doing this? Making casual conversation like it’s a date at the diner. Peter half expects you to pull away. Since this is the least sexiest thing he could be doing. Amazingly, you remain where you are. Trailing kisses across Peter’s cheek, down to his ear. Leaving feather-light sparkles of frost in your wake. Still, they melt within seconds.

“Yeah. Of course I have. So?” You mumble.

He tenses as goosebumps descend down his neck. The tight grip you have on his dick doesn’t let up. Any words Peter planned on saying seem completely lost on him now.

“Uhhhh…Screwball’s the little…it’s got the-uh…gumballs at the bottom. It’s, like, a cone-”

Righteous work, casanova.

“Right. And I’m Screwball because…?”

Damn you, little minx! You know why. The answer’s totally obvious. There’s no way you’re that dense. Nah. You’re just so set on teasing Peter, tempting him to nervously ramble. Like you find his embarrassment…humorous or whatever. Pfffbbtt …

“You messin’ with me? It’s ‘cuz it’s ice cream, yeah? No duh. And ice is, like, yer thing, babe. I dunno. It made more sense in my head.” Peter laughs in spite of himself, “Listen…can I please kiss you? Before I make even more of an ass outta myself?”

In this position, Peter can’t kiss you. Even though it’s all he can think about. You’re too busy mouthing at his neck, grazing his skin with your teeth. Fondling his cock in freezing strokes, making him whine under his breath.

Up until this very moment, Peter’s hands remained mostly still. He’d dig his fingernails into your blankets, as the pleasure of freezer burn simmered in his pelvis. But he held himself back from ever really touching you. Since this little interaction wasn’t supposed to end up like this to begin with.

But now? Well…shit.

You knead at his junk like you’re making biscuits, flicking your icy tongue across the skin of his neck. Eliciting another husky whine from deep in his throat. Peter’s pretty sure, judging by your forwardness; you wouldn’t mind so much if he touched you just a little, right? Like, you totally wouldn’t protest if he brought his large hand to the back of your head, would you?

He threads his fingers through your soft hair, tugging your head back gently. Pulling you from his neck, just so he can meet your wanton eyes again. There’s a single second of hesitation, as both of Peter’s hands claim your cheeks. That second seems to stretch for what feels like an hour, while Peter memorizes the features of your face. His racing, speedster heart leaps at the sight.

He swiftly pulls you down for a kiss. It’s clumsy as all get out. Initially, anyway. But if there’s one thing he can actually pride himself on? At the very least, he’s had a lot of experience with canoodling. Kissing you comes as naturally to Peter as running does. His skillful lips and tongue guide yours effortlessly. Coercing you into a heated makeout session. Against his own, your lips are frosty cold. Like drinking crisp water straight from a chilled glass.

Or…it’s more like he’s lapping his tongue across some kind of…slushy ice cream. Like…a Screwball cone, maybe?

No?

Fuck it. Whatever. The only difference is, you don’t taste anything like cherry. You taste like you. And Peter would argue that’s almost better. Almost. Cherry’s pretty hard to beat. It’s a tough competition.

As you fall victim to his bitchin’ makeout skills, Peter indulges himself. He touches you the way he’s dreamed since forever and a day. His hands glide thick fingers down your chilly body. Feeling every glittering facet of your suit under his fingertips. Meeting the curves of your hips, he squeezes them firmly.

“Mmmmm…this is awesome.” Peter breathes, “This is really fuckin’ awesome.” He hums into your lips, stifling a moan by kissing you again. You stroke his clothed cock a little faster, and he chokes, “O-Oh…yer so awesome. Fuck.”

“You’re really awesome yourself. But I’ve always thought that about you.” You titter, nuzzling his nose so tenderly, “The others on the team? Yeah. They’re alright. But you? Peter, you’re the coolest.” You admit with a bashful smile. After locking him in one more, passionate smooch, you pull away, “Sexy too.”

“W-Wait, really? Are you bein’ serious right now?” Peter asks, stupefied. He furrows his brows. Another beat, and he forces himself to smirk proudly, “I-I mean…well, yeah. Pssshh …of course. Why wouldn’t you think that? I’m the bomb, baby.”

Peter keeps his hands on your hips, feeling your ravishing curves. Stroking them with his thumbs. They fit so perfectly in his grasp. And Goddamn, Peter doesn’t ever wanna let go. Mark his words. Right here, right now. He’ll glue his hands to you forever if he has to.

Lowering your ass over his crotch, you keep your erotic gaze focused on his. Your intense eye contact never seems to break for even a moment. Pressing into the exposed, damp skin of his chest, you brace your freezing hands over Peter’s pecs. A filthy moan teases your lips, as you roll your gorgeous hips forward and back. Grinding into his needy bulge.

Oh.

This is happening now. Fuck yeah.

Peter squirms in place, tightening his hold on your hips. His nails tear at the tiny sequins of your jumpsuit, digging into the sparkling material. It’s such a needlessly skin tight thing, for fuck’s sake. Criminally skin tight, even. How did Xavier ever greenlight that? Peter can see the tempting outline of your pussy in it, deliciously rolling into his clothed cock. His mouth waters at the sight. Lifting his hips off the bed, he meets your slow thrusts.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, what the fuck-” He moans an octave louder.

A strangled sound catches in his throat, and you’re quick to shush him the moment it frees itself.

“Pietro, honey, you gotta be quiet, okay?”

Hushed moans pour from your parted lips as you speak his given name. Peter’s completely bushwhacked at the mention of it. Since no one ever – excluding his mom, in her more frustrated moods – uses that name. A tickling flutter erupts with a burst in his belly. He almost creams himself at the sound of that name in your voice.

“Come on. Be good for me. You can be good for me. Can’t you, baby?” You plead. Moving your hips in a painfully slow, steady rhythm.

“Fuuuuuuuck. Babe, please-” Peter begs, “Faster? Faster, please. Yer killin’ me."

Your sharp nails sink into his bare chest, manifesting more glassy shards of frost. Winter cold seizes Peter’s body entirely, infecting him with frostbite’s kiss. Peter knits his brows tightly, his dark eyes mesmerized with your every movement. The freezing solace permeating from your pussy proves a little too overwhelming. As sharp, pinpricks of cold rush through his veins; it all morphs into carnal heat.

His muscles quickly tighten, every inch of him tensing in an instant.

“Wait wait wait! Fuck!” Peter whimpers in desperation, a flurry of moans erupting from his throat. His rock hard cock twitches, pulsating under you as he cums. Leaking thick streams of his seed into his boxers and jumpsuit, “F-Fuck! I’m sorry, baby! Ohhhhh god! I’m so sorry.”

As far as Peter knows, you have no clue he’s a virgin. Until now, he was content with that. He hadn’t planned on announcing it anytime soon. In hindsight, it’s pretty fucking embarrassing how easily he comes undone. All from a little dry humping, no less.

Yeah. You’re bound to figure it out sooner or later. Yikes.

Sticky, white pearls of his cum seep through his jumpsuit, staining the material. Your erotic motions slow to a stop, once you notice the streaks sticking to your clothed cunt. Tilting your head, you raise a brow. A delicate blush swarms your neck and ears, as you stare down at Peter with genuine surprise. He tilts his head back shamefully, sighing.

“D-Did you just-” You hesitate to continue. Wintry fingertips trace over his bare chest, “Damn, Quickie, that was fast.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Peter sighs again, bringing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, “Dammit.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, feeling blistering warmth rapidly return. Taunting him with the promise of death by suffocation all over again. Before he finally succumbs to it, you crawl over him. Knees braced on either side of his body.

“I’m…god, I’m really fuckin’ sorry about that.” Peter awkwardly stammers, “I-I just…fuck! Yer just so-”

You shush him, chuckling, “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. That was so, sooooooo hot. Really hot, if I’m being honest.”

By virtue of his blessed genes, Peter takes very little time to recover. And hell, you make it an impossible feat not to chub up all over again. Your arctic tongue intertwines with his hotter one, as you meet him in another sloppy kiss. Cold hands grasp his cheeks, quickly sliding through his hair. Dragging your nails across Peter’s scalp, you kiss him with more urgency.

Peter sneaks his hands to your juicy ass, warm palms feeling at your plush booty cheeks. He gives one of them a light, playful smack. Drawing out a squeak from you, Peter giggles into your mouthy kisses. He’s distracted enough, he almost doesn’t notice you tugging the zipper of his jumpsuit.

“C’mon, get this thing off already.” You pull the zipper down even further, murmuring through frantic kisses, “Before you die of heat stroke in my bed.”

With a hmph , Peter nods his head, “Hey, if it’s life ‘er death? Guess I’ve got no choice then, huh?” He replies, fabricating his confidence, “Just a sec.”

Peter sits up fully on your bed, his feet absentmindedly kicking a few plushies on the floor. You slide off the bed entirely. Stepping back to give Peter the space he needs. From your perspective, the removal of his sweaty jumpsuit takes less than a second. But from Peter’s own POV, it’s a thousand years before he finally pulls himself out of his clothes. Clumsily, he peels his sticky limbs free.

“Fuckin’ shit-” He curses, struggling to free one of his ankles once he’s done.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but a faint air of raw cold filters through the space of your room. With his body free of stifling clothing; Peter can finally embrace that coolness in full. It bites sharply at his skin, making him shudder. Peter inhales a slow, deep breath just to feel it all

“Oh, wow! It feels damn good in here, Screwball! Like, woahhh! I feel like I’ve been sweatin’ my balls off this whole time until now.” He says.

“That’s the most charming thing you’ve said all day.” You sarcastically chime. And he snorts.

Peter promptly rids himself of his sweat soaked shirt, aching to feel more frigid air on his skin. He tosses the drenched fabric to the floor. Left in his cum stained boxers, Peter shifts uncomfortably on your bed. Self consciously, he gazes at you with a doe eyed look. He twiddles his thumbs in his lap.

“Sooooooo…uh…a-are you gonna take off yer-uhm…” Peter gives you a once over, gesturing to your jumpsuit.

He lets his long, sturdy legs hang off the side of your bed. Watching as you take slow steps backwards, pulling that tiny, snowflake zipper of yours. Dragging it all the way down. A mischievous spark twinkles in your eye, and Peter’s heart skips a thousand beats. Even though you’re trying your best to be sexy, you’re still just as clumsy as he was.

Which somehow, ultimately makes you even sexier to him.

You peel your limbs out of your glittering jumpsuit. Revealing the underwear beneath, fitting your body in all the right ways. Peter’s adam’s apple bobs, his eyes flitting up and down your curvaceous form. Drinking in the image of you almost completely bare.

“Holy shit.” Peter mumbles, leaning back and bracing his hands on your bed.

You’re giggling again. Blessing his ears with a precious sound he’s grown to adore over the last…however long it’s been since you invited him in. Peter can’t really remember. It’s impossible to hold any sense of rational thought while watching you like this. Especially when you pull off everything except your little, lace panties. Freeing your-

Whoaaaaaaa, mama.

There they are. In all their beautiful, freezing glory. Your icy cold knockers bounce freely. And with a flawlessly executed jiggle, too. If Peter had a sign, he'd rate them a perfect ten.

The skin of your breasts is heavenly soft, dusted in a faint motif of frosty snowflakes. Nipples perky.

Peter's wondered about those suckers for ages. And you most definitely don't disappoint. He whistles, his eyes flying open. Black pupils dilating like drops of heavy ink. No matter how hard he tries, he can't tear his gaze away from those bouncy beauties.

"Damn, Screwball…" Peter grins, shaking his head, "Yer a smokeshow, babe."

Subconsciously, he palms his hardening dick over his boxer briefs. Momentarily grimacing at the texture of drying cum in the fabric. His focused gaze lingers a little too long on your totally righteous titties. You're talking again. Speaking words in that sweet voice, though they go unheard.

Bwah bwah bwah bwah!

You must have given up on trying. He barely sees you coming, as you collide your lips with his again. Shocking him out of his boob-induced daze. The moment you're in close enough range, he reaches out to touch you. Burning hot palms fondle your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples. Furrowing your brows, you squeal into his mouth.

"Your hands-" You whine, "Your hands are so hot. It's like you're on fire." And Peter chuckles a heated breath in response.

"See? And that's why we're here. Gotta beat the heat somehow, eh?" He says, his hands playing with your frosty titties. Silken and cold on his skin.

Sinking to the floor, you lower yourself onto your knees. Peter knows without an ounce of doubt; your poor knees have to be aching like hell right about now. Yet, you persist. He scoots a little further at the edge of your bed, allowing you to ease yourself between his spread legs. With one less layer of clothing in the way of your touch, the coolness feels even more crisp and harsh over his cock.

“God, you’re so pretty…” He mumbles.

Peter stares down at you in awe, curling his fingers into the sheets. Biting your lip with an impish grin, you ease his boxers off completely. As your glimmering eyes meet the full length of his cock, you're instantly enamored. His dick, colored a scarlet hue and pulsing with thick veins, bounces over a silver bush of hair.

You haven't even touched him directly yet. But Peter can already feel that freezing aura easing in close. Swiping your tongue across your plush lips, you gaze at Peter's dick like your hunger hasn't been satiated in weeks.

No words are spoken between you both. As one of your hands treads carefully. Barely touching his thickness with your fingers. You stroke him in slow, but firm motions at first. Peter arches his back in shock, the cold like electricity rushing through his veins. Arctic temperatures rapidly pump his body full of adrenaline.

Maybe that’s why he’s so into this. Being a speedster, he’s always been addicted to the rush of exhilaration.

“Ohhh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Peter moans.

Your strokes slide up to the swollen, purple-ish head of his cock. Squeezing tightly. But the tip is too outrageously sensitive. A simple, icy cold tug of it gets Peter practically seizing. White light flashes through his vision. And just like that, he’s going totally mental. He jumps with an abrupt jerk, his body vibrating.

Peter whimpers in quick gasps, “Ah! N-Not the tip, baby! Not the tip!”

You make a quick retreat, sliding your hand down to the thick base of his length. Pumping his vascular cock in a frosty fist. He can feel his blood vessels constricting with every motion. Cold creeps under his skin, bringing with it a burning sensation. Peter’s groin tightens, and his moans turn to pleading whimpers.

With a cheshire grin, you flutter your lashes over a naughty gaze. Leaning forward, you tease the smooth length of his cock with your lips. Kitten licking a vein with the tip of your tongue.

“W-Wait! Hold on, Screwball! Fuck-” One of Peter’s hands finds your head, clutching strands of your hair between his fingers, “It’s too much, baby! I can’t-”

A long, chilling swipe of your tongue brings momentary crystals of ice. Igniting the burn along his skin. Peter never thought himself a masochist. But this freaky, frosty jerk-off session has somehow completely rewired his brain chemistry. Pain never felt so good.

In all your wickedness, little minx, you refuse to heed Peter’s warning. Your mouth engulfs the scorching heat of his cock. Surrounding him in a crisp, cold shroud. Bringing upon him a vengeance of the bleakest kind. Like a frostbitten hug, sending shockwaves of pleasure fluttering through his bones. Peter’s breathing quickens.

“Ah! FUCK! Gonna fuckin-...I’m fuckin’ cumming, baby! Sorry, sorry, sorr-” He falters over broken whines.

Acting on impulse like the total spaz he is, Peter panics. Tugging your head from his cock so he doesn’t bust a load in your mouth. He lags a few seconds behind. Late again, as per usual.

Peter accidentally showers your precious lips in his cum. Painting your face in hot, messy strands of it. He writhes in place, sluggishly rocking his hips forward. The spurting tip of his dick kisses your lips, the length bouncing with every eruption of thick, sticky heat.

For a second time in a row, he’s blown his load prematurely. Impressive, in a really lame way. But, hey, even if Peter feels a little bad for glossing you in his cum. He’s gotta admit, you look drop dead gorgeous like this.

Peter quickly snaps out of his post-nut daze, his eyes dancing across your decorated face.

Ah. Actually, now that he’s thinking somewhat clearly again…it’s a little gross. He fumbles over an onslaught of apologies. Reaching to the floor for his discarded shirt without thinking, he wipes your face clean of his nut.

Wait. Fuck. Why’d he use his shirt? Shit. Get it together, Quickie!

As always, you’re just as chill about this as you have been everything else, “That wasn’t so bad. But thanks. Sorry about your shirt, though.” You giggle. But all Peter does is shamefully laugh in response.

You’re perceptive enough to catch onto his sudden hesitance. He tenses, avoiding your pretty eyes. Bouncing a nervous leg at the speed of a rabbit’s kicks. Twice now, you’ve seen him finish way too early. And though he knows in his heart you wouldn’t judge him for his lack of experience; a small part of him fears the worst.

He really likes you, actually. It’d hurt like hell if you thought less of him over something so trivial.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” You ask. Playful, but still concerned.

Peter’s heart aches in the presence of your gentle nature. Swallowing his pride, he opts to confess. And if you think him pathetic for being a thirty year old virgin? Fuck it. He’s betting Hank’s mini fridge is still vacant.

You’re resting on your knees in between his legs, tracing feather-light, frosty patterns into his thigh. Peter’s skin swiftly erupts in goosebumps again, his body never accustomed to your arctic touch. Taking a deep breath, he drops his head forward.

“I…gotta be honest with ya about somethin’. I’ts-...” Peter cuts himself off with a sigh, burying his face in his hands, “I’m kind of…a virgin. Y’know, if you couldn’t already tell. I just…didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Pfffttt …” You puff in disbelief, like you’re assuming he’s messing with you. But Peter blinks, staring down into your eyes with a look that tells you he’s all business, “You’re serious? But, Peter, no offense? I’m really surprised! You always seemed like such a player. Like, you flirt with literally everyone.”

Peter stares at you in silence. He shakes his head, brows furrowed. A timid grin curling into his lips.

“I guess? I talk a big game, yeah. And I’ve made out with a lotta girls. Screwed around a few times. But…nah. I’ve never-uh…actually, really screwed. I dunno if the timing was never right or what, but…” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Despite fighting an internal war of crippling shame.

“Well, we’ll just have to remedy this then, won’t we?” Your hand rises to his chin, thumb tenderly stroking rough, silver stubble.

His eyes fly open, cheeks swarming a bright red. A beat, and Peter’s dick already twitches to life again at the prospect of your offer. However, despite his body’s insatiable desire, he waves his hands and shakes his head.

“N-No! No, babe! Listen, you don’t have to. I really wasn’t implyin’ anything when I said…uh…it’s just…I-I’ve never told anyone. That's all!”

“It’s fine! I said I would take care of you, didn’t I?”

He swallows, caught off guard by your choice of words. ‘Take care of you.’ His brows raise high, and the cartoonishly fast pounding of his heart returns. Fluttering in his chest, hiking up to sonic speed. Peter opens his mouth to protest, to remind you that you shouldn’t feel pressured into stealing his v-card.

But you’re already pushing yourself off the floor, climbing over Peter on your bed. With your icy hand to his chest, you guide him down onto his back. He gazes up at you with an uncertain, but lustful look in his dark eyes. In spite of the significantly cooler temperature of your room; Peter’s entire body breaks out in a humid sweat.

Okay. Calm down, man. Take a chill pill. Relax.

“You got any condoms?” You ask, blunt and up front.

So. This is really happening, huh? Yeah. Peter’s gonna lose his v-card to one of his teammates. No biggie. Screwing his fellow X-Man Screwball? Totally not a big deal.

Peter swallows dryly again, an awkward chuckle vibrating over his tongue.

“Not on me, no. I don’t really-uhhh…carry those around.” He makes a hasty move to sit up, “But I can run to the store really quick and grab some. Y’wanna snack ‘er a drink while I’m at it? I could really go fer somethin’ sweet like-”

Your frosty lips capture his in yet another, intimate kiss. For the sake of Peter’s inexperience, you take your time. Guiding Peter down onto his back once more. Working with tender consideration. When your tongue so lovingly swirls with his, he scowls. Tasting the lingering bitterness of his nut. He curls his lip.

“Euuuugh! Augh! Blegh! Is that really what I taste like? Eck! I’m so sorry, Screwball. I’ll try to spare ya next time. Eugh. That’s disgusting!” He rambles, overcompensating for his uneasy nerves again.

“Next time?” You raise your brows. Supple, wet lips smirking.

“Y-Yeah? Yeah…like… pfftt …if you want…” Peter shrugs, casual, blinking puppy dog eyes, “I dunno about you, but I’m havin’ a killer time fuckin’ around like this.” He adds, fingers toying with the hem of your panties.

Reaching for his cock, you take his length into your icy cold grip. Peter jolts again, cursing under his breath.

“I need to confess something too.” You say, bashful. Peter watches your facade of confidence diminish for a moment, “Would you still wanna do this if I told you I’m just as cold on the inside?”

“Woah…yeah. Listen, that is the opposite of a problem for me.” Peter reassures you, looking between your bodies, “Call me crazy? I’m really diggin’ the whole cold thing.”

He watches your fingers hook through the hem of your panties, sliding them down your smooth legs. It’s a bit awkward for you to get them off in this position. But eventually, you’re entirely exposed.

No more messing around. This is the real deal.

Wiggling your ass, you position your wintry cunt over his cock’s swollen head. Peter’s fingers tremble as they grab your ass for purchase. Holding you steady, he keeps his lidded gaze on your pussy. Entranced in the sight of your puffy lips lowering over his tip. Barely nudging it in, giving just a little tease of what’s to come. He shivers, muscles locking, shockwaves of glacial cold racing through his veins already.

“Ohhhhhhhh …wow…” He whines, teeth clamping his lip, “Please, ya gotta gimme more than that, baby.”

“Pietro, be patient.” You chastise him, fluttering your eyes closed.

Sighs and erotic moans of euphoria rise from the both of you in unison, just as his leaking tip dives through your cushiony walls. Peter shudders again, craning his neck back. Moaning a broken, strangled sound from deep in his chest. The tight, freezing sting of your cunt causes him to tense up. Peter digs his nails into the flesh of your ass, his lips parting for breath.

“Mmmmmfffuuck. You good? You okay?” You ask, little mewls bubbling in your throat.

Through frantic, wordless intakes of breath, Peter nods.

He’s never felt anything like this in all his thirty years of life. It’s a completely new sensation. The plushiest of pins and needles constricting tightly around his cock. Or the world’s softest pillow, pulled straight out of the freezer. Sex with you is the kind he could so easily become addicted to. If it was possible to stay connected this intimately forever, he’d do so in a heartbeat. No questions asked. Totally worth the searing pain of frostbite.

You take a few moments to adjust to the length and girth of him. It feels like centuries before you’re moving, but the wait is more than worth it. Your cunt weeps around his cock, swallowing him up completely in a frosty slickness. Peter chokes, his breath hitching. The pace you set is frustratingly slow, bouncing into his pelvis in steady slams of bush on silver bush.

“Fuck yeah. Just like that. More? C’mon gimme more, baby, please. Oh, please!” He whines, submissive and needy.

Sitting up a little straighter, you balance your cool hands on his chest. Peter’s skin is all raw and red, frostbitten from your previous teasing. It’s a little painful now, actually. Leaving a tingly burn. But the stinging pain registers as pleasure in Peter’s speedy brain.

Your pussy molds perfectly with the thick shape of him. Roughly shocking you with a surge of dull pain, Peter’s cock knocks straight into your squishy cervix. His expression contorts in overstimulation, his mouth falling open. He wets his lips with his tongue.

“That’s it. Fuckin’ ride me. Mmmmm yeah~” Peter moans, “Yer so fuckin’ cold. Shit-” His moans steadily trail off into whimpers.

“Should I stop? Is it too much?” You halt your movements for a second too long.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ stop.” He groans, animalistic and ragged, “Ohhhh~ Please don’t stop.”

As you thrust your beautiful body into his lap, Peter follows your lead. Driving his hips against your ass with each bounce of contact. Overshadowing that sultry melody of Pink Floyd with the lewd smacking of skin on skin. Your cunt hugs his cock in a grip tight enough to induce more freezer burn. But it’s such an alluring feeling, he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

Peter’s brown-eyed gaze rakes down your body. Intoxicated with the way your titties bounce and your pussy sucks the ever-speeding soul out of him. He has to mentally-prep himself so he doesn’t cum too soon again. But the piercing cold compressing his dick sends thrilling pulses through his limbs. Erotic pleasure burns deep in his gut.

“Pietro!” You cry. Riding his dick and mewling soft kitten noises, you circle your little clit with your fingers, “Want me to cum on your cock, pretty boy? Wanna feel this tight, little pussy cum for you?”

Ohhhhh. You can’t do that to him. Dirty, little minx. He’s never heard such filthy words like that come out of your mouth. And the way you sound, how you look touching yourself on his cock; It all triggers a carnal instinct in the recesses of his mind.

Peter lifts his hips in a display of super strength, abusing your cervix repeatedly with his cock. Pounding your pussy so fast and hard. With a force deep and rough enough to make you see stars. A filthy squelch of a sound echoes from inside you.

“Oh my god-” Peter’s face contorts in needy desperation, brows creasing, “Please? Wanna feel you cum, baby. Need you to cum on my dick so bad.”

Sitting up on his elbows with his mouth hanging lazily open, Peter brings his fingers to his drooling tongue. His eyes are half lidded and cloudy, almost rolling back into his skull. He reaches out, the wet pads of his fingers meeting your cute bud. He buzzes his digits in a scorching vibration, knowing how sensitive you are to his heat. Easily coaxing you towards release.

“HOH! FUCK-” Peter’s eyes flutter in shock, “ Ohmyfuckingod that’s really fuckin’ tight. ”

His body tenses hard as stone. Feeling you clench around him while he fucks you so deep he thinks he’s reached your stomach. Within a few, measly seconds of teasing vibrations on your clit; you’re cumming. Coating his cock in a wave of crisp slickness. You tremble uncontrollably, tilting your head back and crying like a siren of the arctic seas. Singing a mantra of the name Pietro.

Peter grips your hips hard with both hands, sinking his blunt nails into your skin. Animalistic instinct overflows his mind as soon as he’s reached his own peak. Ecstasy tumbles over Peter in an overwhelming crash, much like an avalanche. And just as he’s pumping you impossibly full of hot, thick ropes of cum; something happens.

His release burns inside you, pooling in a milky heat. A stark contrast to the freezing temperature constantly flowing through your body. Your nails scratch red lines into his chest, manifesting glass crystals of frost. They burn like hell, and Peter hisses. One, final slap of your ass against his lap, and –

A ripple of explosive, winter cold rushes from your body in a flash. The bombastic wave coats your entire room in powdery snow and sheets of ice. Turning the small space into a glorified freezer. It even hits the record player, slowing the final tune of Obscured by Clouds to a creeping stop. Piercing cold fires through Peter’s lungs, and he chokes on it.

…D…Did that really just happen??

Glancing around frantically, he pushes himself up on your bed.

A soft, tingling blanket of snow drapes his body. Peter sputters, quickly brushing as much of it off as he can. You’re still sitting over his lap, his softening dick tucked safely between your pussy’s plush walls. With every puff of warm air from his lungs, Peter can see his breath fanning like smoke through the air.

“Woooahhhhh, babe…” He nudges you on the shoulder to get your attention, his expression wide eyed and bewildered, “Are you seein’ this shit?”

Recovering from your numbing state of euphoria, you lazily scan your room. You gasp, though it sounds more like a really cute squeak; covering your mouth with a hand.

“Ah! What the hell did I do!? I’m sorry! Oh my god, Peter, I’m so sorry!” You say, dropping your face into Peter’s frost-bitten chest.

He hisses as you lean into his sensitive, scarred skin. And before you can spout off another flurry of sweet apologies – a noise catches the attention of you both. Outside, the two of you hear the unmistakable sound of children’s laughter. Joyful cries, followed by playful giggles and screams. You raise your head, meeting Peter’s doe eyes with a questioning look.

Narrowing his eyes, he pats your thigh. Signaling you to hop off his lap.

Clumsily, Peter zips around the room in a blur, searching for something to cover himself up with. But his clothes are all caked in snow. And not to mention a little something else. Peter has to resort to a blanket stuffed underneath all the others on your bed. Untouched by your surprise blizzard. He cloaks himself in the blanket, appearing at your door in a fwip.

Discreetly, he pulls the door open.

Or, at least, he makes an attempt. It’s completely frozen in place, sealed with ice around the lock and hinges.. Why is he even surprised at this point? Peter tugs the handle once or twice with barely any strength. And when that doesn’t work, he jerks it open with a harsh flex of his muscles. He pokes his fluffy, silverette head halfway out the door. Looking up and down the hallways.

Only to find…

Your orgasmic snowstorm reached places far beyond the confined space of your room. Looks like Christmas came early this year. The hallways of Xavier’s mansion are all drenched in frosty spreads of snow. It’s not nearly as much as what’s accumulated in your room. But it’s enough to stir up the students and teachers. Many of the kids run around excitedly. Bouncing, cheering, celebrating.

And who can blame them?

To those unseen forces of the universe out there: thanks for blessing us all with the power of Screwball's ecstasy.

Out of nowhere, the X-Men’s laser eyed leader makes his appearance. Scott comes skidding to a halt outside your door just at that moment. He balances himself with a hand to your door, a genial smile on his face. A fuzzy fust of red tickles the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

Across the hall, Logan leans casually against a wall. Puffing a cigar, wearing a thin undershirt that compliments his jacked form a little too well. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his fitted jeans.

For a moment, Scott doesn’t seem to register why Peter’s even in your room.

But in this life, one speedster can only be so lucky.

“Wh-...Peter? Hey-uh…where’s-” Scott mentions your name, and continues, “I wanted to give ‘em my thanks for doing this.” He gestures over his shoulder to the mess of snow covering the walls and floors, “Some of the kids were getting really sick from the weather. And I know Xavier's gonna be pissed, but-...” His voice slowly trails off.

Scott’s smile falls for a beat. But Peter finds it hard to read his emotions without seeing his eyes clearly. Those sunglasses must do him loads of favors on a daily basis. If he tries, he can gauge what’s going through Scott’s head based on the look of surprise that crosses his face. Followed by a sly, knowing grin.

Summers is an intelligent guy. It doesn’t take long for him to put two and two together.

Especially with the way Peter stands in your doorway. He’s draped in a blanket that clearly isn’t his, shoulders bare underneath. The surface of his skin burns cherry red in some places. His hair is a tousled, fuzzy mess, and his cheeks are flushed bright pink.

Peter awkwardly swallows, avoiding the vibrant gaze of Scott’s red-tinted sunglasses. He directs his attention over his shoulder instead, making accidental eye contact with Logan. Wolvie arches a thick, quizzical brow, his eyes glancing over Peter’s blanketed form.

He really hadn’t meant for anyone to find out about this. But it looks like the cat’s out of the bag.

“You kids better be using protection.” Scott jokes, patronizing.

Which is funny, coming from him. Peter’s got ten years on him at the least.

“Uhhhh, yeah. I’ll totally tell ‘em you said thanks. We cool? Bitchin’. Later, Summers.” Peter rushes through his words ultra fast, before slamming the door shut behind him.

That’ll be a rough one to explain later. But hopefully no one’ll be nosy enough to pry. Besides, Peter doesn’t wanna think about it right now. Since, y’know, he kinda just got laid for the first time. Which is really fucking awesome, now that he can stop and really digest that it happened. And with someone he’s been crushing on too.

Maybe he’s luckier than he thought.

Peter presses his back against your icy door, letting the thick blanket covering his body fall to the floor. Leaving him butt ass naked in your freezer of a room. He rakes his fingers through his hair, cheesing a goofy smile to himself.

“What’s goin’ on? Were you talkin’ to someone?” You ask, emerging from your bathroom and brushing snow off a towel.

“Oh- pfffttt …just Summers. Yeah. He-uh…wanted to tell you thanks. ‘Cuz you kinda went all blizzard on this whole place and now it’s, like-” Peter makes a wide gesture with his hands, mimicking the sound of an avalanche falling. Or, that’s what he tries to do, anyway. He’s never been the best at charades.

“HUH!? What are you-” You rush to your door. Those pretty titties of yours bounce with every step. And Peter ogles them shamelessly. Poking your head through the door, he overhears the sound of your gasp. Followed by the shyest little, “Heyyyyyy, Logan.”

Before you’re closing the door again, marching to your bathroom with your head cast down in shame.

“Xavier’s gonna kill me, dude! I can’t believe this!” You whisper-shout.

Your bashfulness and frustration are so cute, Peter has to refrain from snickering. And as you reach the doorway, you stop yourself. He catches the motion of your eyes checking him out, before your gazes meet again. Peter smirks.

“Uhm…how was your first time, by the way?” You ask in a quiet, uncertain tone, “Was it…okay?”

Oh, you cannot even be serious right now.

Peter gives you a weird look. Staring at you like you’re some strange, newly discovered entity from a far off universe. Really, you must be, if you’re gonna question a good time like that.

“Okay? Okay?? ” Peter appears before you in less than a blink’s time.

He wraps his strong arm around your waist, pulling you close to his body. Grinning confidently, he darts down to kiss your frosty lips.

“Screwball, baby, that was a total rush. Are you crazy? It’s not every day I make somebody cum so hard they kickstart an early winter, y’know. Not bad fer my first time, if I do say so myself.” He waggles his brows.

I’m really glad I could help you out…” You mutter, smiling so sweet.

Your fingers trace the burns littering Peter’s chest with a feather-light touch. Even the faintest brush makes him wince in pain. But he’s not ashamed to admit it’s totally worth it. What’s a little freezer burn and frostbite between friends, huh?

Or, between…whatever the two of you are now.

“Oh, you did wayyyy more than help me out.” Peter winks, kissing you once more, “You rocked my world babe. Don’t sweat it, ‘kay? I had a great time.”

You saunter off to your bathroom then. And Peter reaches out to playfully smack your ass as you walk away. He admires your gorgeous figure in all its naked glory. His eyes following the jiggle of your booty cheeks.

“Yer still takin’ me on that date, right? Dinner and a movie?” He asks, startling you with his sudden appearance in the bathroom. Peter presses himself into your back, standing tall in comparison to your height.

“Can we hold off? Do you think you can wait until the city isn’t on fire?” You meet his dark eyes in the mirror over the sink, “And it can’t be Howard the Duck.”

“No. It’s most definitely gotta be Howard the Duck.” Peter brings his warm hands to your shoulders, thumbs gliding along your soft skin. He leans down to pepper your sex hair in kisses, “I won’t accept nothin’ else, got it?

“Mmmhm. Shouldn’t I be the judge of that, Peter? Since, like, you keep implying I’m the one paying.”

He scoffs, slowly gliding his large hands over the irresistible curves of your body. He gives a mischievous grin through the mirror, his look oozing speedster charm.

“Who said anything about paying?”

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #txt #smut

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starlazergazer · 1 year

Text

I Will Come Back for You

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: Anakin and the reader were friends since they were little, both slaves, when Anakin gives her a necklace to remember him by when he leaves for the jedi with the promise that he will free her one day. Years later Ani realizes he is in love with the reader and decided to rescue her. Only to find out that a prince has freed you and taken you with him so Anakin mounts a rescue plan to free you from the prince’s grasp.

Warnings: Some swearing, some jealousy

Word count: 7K

A/N: As always I may have played with the original request a bit so if @sweetcheesecakesblog has any issue with the story let me know! But I had a lot of fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it!

“Alright helmet”

“Check” 8 year old Anakin called back out in a bored tone, more than used to your prefight checklist you made him go through every time.

“Seatbelt?”

“Check”

“Flux density compressor”

“You made that one up” he laughed with a shake of his head, flipping switches on the dash to bring the speeder alive.

“Did I or do I just know more about mechanics than you?” You taunted with a smile on your face, bringing one, as it always did, to Anakin’s as well.

“That’s funny. You’re funny”

“So do I get to come along for this one?” You asked him sweetly, wide puppy dog eyes staring up at him from the ground beside the speeder. He made a point to avoid connecting with them.

“Absolutely not”

“Ani come on” you whined with a roll of your eyes, “you never let me come”

“I’m going for a record Y/N” He shrugged dismissively, busying himself with the controls that honestly no longer needed his attention.

“So?”

“So it’s dangerous”

“How come you’re going then?” you demanded with a frown

“Because-because-“ And he didn’t even know what words he was reaching for, knowing he didn’t want you coming along on a dangerous run but not fully understanding why. Instead he said the first thing that came to mind “because I’m a boy”

“What and girls can’t do anything dangerous” you laughed back at him with a raised brow.

“Yup” he answered simply, resting his arms on the edge of the speeder as he looked down at you “I think it’s a law”

“Now who’s making things up” you grumbled

“Alright you’re right that’s not a law” he ceded with a smirk “it actually says girls named Y/N can’t do anything dangerous”

You pouted back up at him, crossing your arms defensively over your chest prompting him to sigh. “Come on Y/N I need someone to time me”

“C3-PO could time you” you protested

“C3-PO’s not done” he countered

“Exactly my point!” You exclaimed in exasperation “you’re giving me a job so simple an unfinished protocol droid could do it”

And now it was Anakin’s turn to pull out the puppy dog eyes “Y/N please”

And just like he knew you would you caved, sighing as you sank into yourself on the spot, taking a second to note that his helmet wasn’t even on before holding up the stopwatch so he could see, pointedly hitting the button to start the timer.

“Wait wait I’m not ready” Anakin called out in a panic, throwing on his helmet and buckling himself in.

“4…5…6” you counted with a smirk on your face, watching as Anakin rushed through the last of his preparations before tearing off.

Hugging each corner more than he realistically should have Anakin made the loop in what felt like record time, slamming on the breaks to bring the speeder to a stop before yelling out to you excitedly “what was my time?”

He couldn’t hear your response over the drum of the engine so he shut it down, pulling off his helmet before repeating himself “Y/N what-“ and the sight before him made the words die in his throat.

The spot you had just been standing in was empty, nothing but a stopwatch buried in the sand in your spot.

“Y/N?” he called out in confusion, hopping down from the speeder and desperately looking around. You had been in a wide, empty area no where to go or hide in the amount of time he had been gone, it didn’t make sense.

He knelt down to pick up the stopwatch before a glint in the sand caught his eye, a familiar gold chain just to the left of the stopwatch.

But that was impossible, he hadn’t given you that necklace yet, wouldn’t for another year at least when he leaves with Qui-Gon, a way for you to remember him until he comes back for you.

“Ani?”

The voice caught him off guard, it was your voice but different, older? He spun around on the spot to see you standing there, but it wasn’t the you he knew at 8 years old, it was a you that was the same age as him now. He barely even registered that he wasn’t that 8 year old kid anymore either.

“Y/N?” he asked hesitantly, gripping the necklace pendant in his fist as he surveyed you “what’s going on?”

And at this you laughed bitterly only furthering his confusion “I was going to ask you the same question”

“What?”

“It’s been years Anakin” you words came quickly and sharply, anger dripping from each one “you said you were going to come back. Going to come get me out of here”

“I am…I-I I will I just can’t-“ his words tumbled out of him as he struggled to speak, his mind struggling to keep up with what was happening.

“Oh I’m sorry have you been busy?” you sneered at him, pushing him back “too busy learning to be a jedi, making friends, saving the galaxy, that must have been so hard for you”

“Y/N I’m sorry-”

“Oh good” you laughed, taking a step back from him “I’ve been a slave stuck on Tatooine with no friends, no family, working under Watto for years but it’s nice to know that you’re sorry, that sure helps”

“Y/N I meant what I said” he pleaded with you “I’m going to come free you”

A humorless laugh escaped you, all anger dropping from you almost instantly as your whole posture sagged “yeah well, you’re too late”

His eyebrows scrunched together, taking a hesitant step towards you “what do you mean-“ the rest of the sentence hung in the air as a man came into his field of vision.

He was someone Anakin had never seen before but a very well-dressed man, a man that was very pointedly only looking at you, looking at you with an expression that immediately had Anakin on guard.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she” the man spoke softly, reaching out to drag a single finger up your arm, the touch causing your entire body to tense up, Anakin’s fist clenching down on the necklace pendant in response before he even fully understood what was happening.

“Who are-“

The man cut him off, reaching up to put a single finger under your chin, pulling your gaze up to his “she was wasted on a person like Watto, a planet like Tatooine” You’re entire body seemed to shake on the spot.

“Look I don’t know what is going on here but if you don’t-“ Anakin’s threat was cut short as he tried to take a step forward only to find his feet buried in the sand below completely unable to move.

The man laughed softly, “With a face like this” he suddenly grabbed your chin, fingers squishing harshly into your cheeks as he turned your head to face him, a mischievous glint in the stranger’s eyes as he looked back at Anakin “think of the possibilities”

“You lay one hand on her and I will end you” his voice had dropped dangerously low, fist clenched so tightly around the pendant it dug harshly into his skin.

“Oh” the man laughed again, dropping your face to pull you by your arm, crashing your body into him, his arms snaking their way around your waist as your eyes pleaded with Anakin to do something “I wouldn’t dream of it”

His hand went instinctively for his lightsaber only to find the spot where it was usually clipped to his belt empty, his hand fumbling uselessly around in his robes for a bit as the stranger watched in amusement.

“If you’re quite done with these empty threats Y/N and I have some place to be” he smirked, pulling you along by your elbow.

“Y/N no please” he called out desperately, weight shifting forward on his feet though they still refused to move.

You didn’t say anything as you were pulled away, didn’t fight back, didn’t do anything but look back at Anakin sadly, begging him wordlessly to do something, to save you.

“No…stop…Y/N” he called out but his voice was starting to die within him, knowing he couldn’t do anything while his feet refused to move, forced to just stand there as he watched you get pulled away from him.

He reached out with his hand towards you as far as he could, putting all his weight into his toes trying desperately to do anything to move. When suddenly it was as if they became unstuck from the ground, his whole body immediately pitching forwards, his face flying directly to the ground.

His hands came up instinctively to protect himself as he hit the ground but he didn’t ever connect with it really, instead he fell through it, reality shifting instantly so he was falling through the ceiling of his room, body slamming back down on the bed violently prompting him to bolt up inn an instant, breaths heavy and erratic as he took in his surroundings.

It was his room at the temple, his empty room, it was just a dream, at least that was what he told himself. But this felt different somehow than the dreams he had of you before. You had been his age in this one, that was what struck him, before you had always been at most the nine years old he had last seen you at on Tatooine but not in this one, why not in this one.

Something felt wrong, he could feel it. Not in the force per say but in his gut, you were in trouble he just knew it.

As he felt his heart rate start to go down, his breathing finally slowing back down to a normal rate, he brought his hand up to his face, looking down into his palm, an indent of a familiar necklace pendant etched into the skin staring back up at him.

You had never been one for court. The threats and promises Prince Willard doled out without a second thought as if he were a god, capable of controlling everything and everyone beneath him. As if he somehow deserved the loyalty of these people due to a position he was born into, as if he deserved to posses the fist that he too often used to crush innocent people.

It was why you barely paid attention to the next person that strolled into the throne room that day.

He had fluffy hair that fell nearly to his shoulders, piercing blue eyes that looked almost familiar if you stared into them for long enough but of course you didn’t. You never liked to note the hope in people’s eyes as they asked for favors before the prince snuffed it out.

It was the man’s voice that caught your attention. A voice that haunted your dreams, a voice that had promised you he would come back for you, the voice of a kid you had long since given up hope of ever seeing again.

“Your majesty” the man said, dipping low into a bow as you sat up straighter, inching ever so slightly closer to the edge of your seat, eager to see the man’s face as he came back up only to see his gaze already on you, the edges of his lips turned up into a small smile “My name is Anakin Skywalker”

And you felt your whole world freeze, because it was him, that boy, the one you had grown so close to as a child, the one you had waited years for on an empty promise made when he was nine, the one now much older than when you had last seen him, bowing before you on the floor.

You felt a relief wash over you instantly, you’d spent all this time worrying for the worst: if he was dead, if he had forgotten about you, if he had never cared in the first place.

But now standing before you, eyes never breaking from your own as he smiled you could see that none of that was true, that he had kept his promise after all, that not so little anymore Ani had finally come back for you.

If only he hadn’t come too late.

“What can I do for you Mr.Skywalker” Prince Willard’s voice filled the silence you hadn’t realized you had let fall, not missing the way the Prince’s eyes flicked back and forth between you and Anakin suspiciously, a tightness in his jaw you never liked to see make an appearance.

“I come for the princess” Anakin’s gaze never left yours, but you tried to force yourself to ignore it, to slump back down into your chair, to force your expression into one of indifference.

A humorless laugh filled the throne room, echoing off the expansive stone walls as the prince looked between you and Anakin again “you come for my princess?”

“The republic does not condone keeping slaves Prince Willard” Anakin continued to threaten no matter how much you begged him behind your eyes to shut up “so I suggest you release Y/N to me and we can set this whole matter behind us”

“You must be mistaken” you hated how calm his voice was as he spoke, remaining the same even tone even as Anakin’s started to spike in anger “Y/N is not a slave here, she is as you said a princess”

“I happen to know for a fact that you purchased her servitude from Watto just two years ago” Anakin continued, stalking dangerously close to the throne as his voice dropped down an octave “thereby making her your slave”

“I freed princess Y/L/N from Watto two years ago” you could hear the smugness in the prince’s voice as he spoke, more than happy to put Anakin in his place “she is here of her on accord. Isn’t that right sweetheart”

You felt your heart seize in your chest at the nickname, watching as Anakin’s eyes broke back to yours wide with hope, begging you to say otherwise, to let him take you from here.

You practically choked on your next words “that’s correct”

You forced your gaze back to the prince’s before you could watch Anakin’s chest fall, watch the hope flicker from his eyes. It would make the first time in this room you had caused that instead of the prince.

“Nevertheless-“ Anakin tried to continue though his voice had lost most of its bravado in the process.

You watched as the prince’s hand started to snake further down the armrest of his chair, fingers coming dangerously close to the button you knew was at the end of it that would call in the guards and did the only thing you could think to do to stop it.

You leaned over and grabbed the prince’s hand, calmly lacing your fingers through his and giving it a soft squeeze.

You watched both the men freeze at the touch, Anakin’s eyes snapping immediately to your interlaced fingers on the prince’s thrown.

The prince’s eyes, however, immediately snapped to you and you could see the confusion in them. Afterall when was the last time you had shown him such affection, surely not since your first few weeks in the castle, not since you learned exactly what type of man he was.

But you forced a smile to your face, watching in some small satisfaction as a similar one grew on his, his other hand coming over to rest atop your own.

“I suggest you leave Mr.Skywalker” and there was some annoyance in his voice as the Prince said it. But annoyance was good, annoyance you could deal with, as long as it meant the anger had been washed away.

Anakin shook his head in response, taring his gaze away from your clasped hands and notably not stopping to rest on yours for even a second “not without the princess”

You had never wanted to throttle the Skywalker boy more in your life.

You could practically see the anger rising within the prince as Anakin continued to demand your freedom, his fist coming off of your hands to bang on his armrest as his voice for the first time rose enough that you were sure the guards were going to be alerted “now you listen here-“

You cut off the prince quickly with a simple “darling”, reaching out to his chin to softly pull his gaze to yours. The anger was wiped from his face in an instant, as if it had never been there in the first place and you could see him practically hanging off your every word. Afterall it was a nickname you only pulled out in the most dire of circumstances.

And though you knew it was a dirty trick to play, and that Anakin was standing right before the two of you, more than able to see everything you were about to do, you leaned forward a bit giving the prince a good view down your neckline, watching the way his brain lagged as his gaze was instinctively drawn to it.

“Do you think we could wrap this up I’m feeling rather tired” you asked sweetly, the prince’s gaze finally snapping up to your eyes.

“Of course sweetheart” he all but whispered, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a small kiss to the back of it, you doing your best not to flinch before he turned back to Anakin.

You could see Anakin’s clenched jaw even from your chair above him, not missing the daggers he glared in the prince’s direction as he waited for him to speak, his hands clutched tightly into fists at his side.

“I will not ask again Mr.Skywalker” the prince acted as if he couldn’t see the anger dripping off of Anakin, his eyes only straying from you for brief moments to address him “leave now or I will have you thrown out”

At this Anakin’s eyes broke to yours, this time not begging you to say something but rather daring you to, giving the stare but a moment’s pause before he bowed again, never taking his eyes off you as he spoke “as you wish” and you knew those words weren’t directed at the prince.

Nevertheless Anakin strolled out of the throne room slowly and you tried your best not to watch him go, not to wish he would come back and take you with him despite everything, not to want him to stay.

“come let’s get you to bed” the prince’s words broke you from your trance as he helped you from your chair, a soft hand placed on the small of your back as he led you down the hallway.

“What’s brought all this on my sweet” he asked innocently though you could detect the undercurrent of suspicion in his words, forcing your feet to stop carrying you forward, turning more fully to the prince as you spoke.

“Just…hearing someone lie like that…about knowing me in order to get close to me…it scared me honestly” you forced your voice to be as small and helpless as possible, exactly the way he seemed to prefer his princesses.

And you watched his face light up in response, a small chuckle escaping his lips before he pulled you softly into a hug, your head crashing lightly into his chest as he rubbed a hand up and down your back “there is no need to worry. I will always protect you”

And though you gagged on the inside, and had to fight the urge to push him away from you, you forced yourself to sink further into the hug, mumbling softly against the linen of his shirt “I know you will”

You woke in the middle of the night to a soft tapping on your window, familiar blue eyes connecting with yours from the balcony outside.

Swearing softly under your breath you slipped out from beneath the convers, careful not the wake the prince sleeping right next to you as you did so.

Only once the crisp night air hit you did it dawn on you that you hadn’t bothered to throw anything on over the simple slip you slept in with the prince, something that clearly didn’t escape Anakin’s notice either.

“Did you-“ he let the question hang in the air, his eyes flitting back to the prince still asleep in your bed inside.

“I’m fine” you answered simply, not caring that that was not the question he had asked in the first place “Ani what are you doing here”

You hadn’t meant for the nickname to slip out, the familiarity of being in his presence just taking over but you could see the way his mouth quirked up at the sound of it, his attention drawing completely back to you as you said it “I could ask you the same question”

“Yeah well” you crossed your arms protectively over your chest, gaze breaking to anything other than Anakin’s eyes as you spoke “only one of us is here willingly”

You watched the smile on Anakin’s face grow into a grin as you admitted it “I knew it”

“I’m so glad my enslavement amuses you” you grumbled back in response.

“Hey it means I can do something about it” Anakin responded just making you shake your head more, had he learned nothing from this morning.

“You cannot-“ and you cut yourself off, eyes darting back briefly to your bedroom to check on the prince’s sleeping form before you changed tactics, only focused on ending this conversation as soon as possible “Anakin you need to leave”

“What?” he asked in disbelief, blue eyes bouncing back and forth between your own “I can’t leave. Not without you”

“Ani I-“ you sighed, eyes breaking to the sides of the castle “look at least meet me in the guest bedroom okay, its just that balcony over there” you pointed to the balcony a few rooms down from your own “we can’t have this conversation here”

He looked down at you skeptically, eyes breaking back into your bedroom before reluctantly nodding.

You sighed back in relief, carefully slipping back into your bedroom and out into the hallway though not without grabbing a robe to wrap yourself in on the way.

And you had meant to go into the room telling Anakin off, demanding he leave before he causes even more trouble. But then you saw him standing there in the room, the perfect reflection of the little kid you had known on Tatooine, and you couldn’t help yourself.

You bound up to Anakin quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck as his snaked around your waist pulling you into a deep hug. You felt him sigh into it, pulling you tightly against him and you knew he needed this as badly as you did.

“You grew up” you whispered into his ear, feeling your whole body shake as he laughed in response, reluctantly letting you go.

“So did you”

And you relished the smile on his face as he said it, the familiar air that had encapsulated you in that moment, as if the years that had passed without him didn’t exist, as if he had been there with you the whole time.

His eyebrows suddenly quirked and you watched his hand come up to your neck, fingers grazing the skin around it as he pulled on the simple golden chain he had given you ages ago.

“You still wear it” the words came out in disbelief, a soft chuckle along with them.

“A good friend gave it to me” you responded with a smile “told me it was so that I wouldn’t forget him, or his promise”

“And did you?” he asked you, eyes breaking from the necklace back to you hopefully.

“Not for a second” you answered honestly.

His next words came quick and with the same veracity as that promise he had made you long ago “neither did I”

Another brief silence passed between the two of you before Anakin finally broke it, dropping the necklace, allowing its charm to thud softly against your chest “why did you agree to go with him Y/N? I promised I would come get you”

“How long was I supposed to wait Ani?” you asked him softly “I’d already waited so many years, I had no way of knowing if you were even alive, so when the chance to finally get out from under Watto came along. I took it”

“And the prince?” he asked in response “he treats you well? You’re happy here?”

“He treats me well” you assured him, taking one of his hands in yours and giving it a soft squeeze, pointedly ignoring his latter question.

“come back with me” he pleaded, taking your other hand in his.

“I can’t” you shook your head in response.

“Why not?”

You sighed softly at the question “Because I am single handedly keeping at bay three different wars by staying his hand” your answer slipped out before you could stop it “because the people here deserve better than to live on a war torn planet which is what this place will be reduced to if the prince is left to rule alone”

“the jedi order can-“

“The order can do what?” you cut him off quickly “there is a treaty in place and the prince has so far done nothing wrong. The order can’t step in until it is too late and you know it”

And again there was a moment of silence as Anakin digested your words, tried to think of a way to counter. “Please don’t make me leave without you.” He took a deep breath, eyes bouncing desperately back and forth between your own “I already did that once and I can’t bear to do it again”

And you couldn’t help but smile sadly at that, a hand coming instinctively up to cup his cheek, rubbing soft circles into the skin “Ani I can’t”

Anakin opened his mouth to respond but instead the prince’s voice came out startling the two of you “You know I knew you were lying when you said you didn’t know him” You and Anakin jumped back from each other hastily. The prince continuing on softly as if he hadn’t noticed “I never thought I asked you for too much. I gave you everything you could ever want: a castle to explore, a planet to rule over, subjects to wait on you hand and foot and all I ever wanted in return was for you to love me. Instead I find out you’re undermining my rule behind my back.”

Anakin grabbed your arm protectively, pulling you closer to him as he spoke “you don’t get to buy someone’s love like that. You earn it and if Y/N doesn’t want to go back with you than she won’t”

The prince in turn completely ignored Anakin’s words, his eyes only focusing on you “Now Y/N you know I don’t like to play this card but I do own you” he held a hand out to you, waiting for you to take it, already expecting that you would “now be a good girl and come back to me”

And he was right, it was as if your hand was being pulled by strings, your arm already lifting before Anakin was pulling you back behind him, defensively standing between you and the prince “As I already said slavery is illegal under the republic”

“As the leading supplier of weapons to the republic I’m willing to bet they will look the other way just this one time” he said it all with a smile, already knowing he had won, that you were bound to come back to him just as you always did.

“They may be but I am not” Anakin dropped into a defensive stand before you, hands making for his lightsaber strapped to his hip and illuminating it before him, casting an eerie blue glow in the room.

“I warn you this is not a battle you can win Skywalker” the prince threatened, giving Anakin a moment to stand down before calling out “guards”

In a second the room was swarming with guards, every available space filled with a new one, each with their blasters pointed squarely at Anakin.

And you could see from his stance that there was still no backing down, that he planned to go down fighting if that was what the situation called for.

The prince, however, kept his eyes on you, a smirk on his face as he held a hand out to you still, patiently waiting for you to take it.

“Ani stop” you all but whispered, setting a soft hand on his back as you made your way around him.

“Y/N, no” he tried weakly to stop you though you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He knew this was a fight he couldn’t win.

You ignored him as you stepped around him, reaching out to take the princes hand, not missing the way his grip was much stronger than necessary once you had grabbed it. “that’s a good princess” he cooed happily, smiling back at the daggers Anakin was glaring into him “now you and I are going to have a very important discussion but first” he turned his attention back to the guards, hand never breaking from your wrist “show the jedi out and make sure he doesn’t come back this time, I don’t need the entire order on my ass claiming I kidnapped one of their knights”

For a moment there was just silence, Anakin glaring back at the prince, no doubt imagining the thousand of ways he could kill him right now before he finally deactivated his lightsaber, turning his attention back to you just over the princes shoulders “I’m coming back for you” he promised, putting as much force into the words as possible before his gaze snapped back to the prince “and I’m not taking no for an answer”

It had been a while since you had been thrown in the dungeon, something that happened fairly rarely though still often enough that you had your own room.

Some furniture had been added, a more comfortable bed and all but there was still no mistaking it for what it was, a prison cell.

Anakin had said he would come back for you, the exact promise he made you as a nine year old on Tatooine, and sure he had fulfilled the promise the first time but that how many years? Could you really afford to wait that long again?

But Anakin didn’t owe you anything, you weren’t his responsibility, and further it made no sense for the jedi to sanction a rescue mission like that. Overthrowing the monarchy of the planet that supplied most of the republics weapons over one girl? That didn’t make sense.

But his eyes when he had promised you again, the tone in his voice, the conviction with which he said it, you believed him, you really did.

But logic won out, it always did, you just needed to sit here and wait, wait for the prince to forgive you, wait for him to decide he would rather have his arm candy at the next ball than be mad at you. Put your head down and play your part that was how you had gotten this far in this life and it was how you were prepared to continue.

So you waited, waited for an all too familiar apology, the same excuse of how he didn’t like treating you like this, or even worse that this hurt him to see you like this more than it hurt you.

Instead on the fourth day you were awakened by an explosion loud enough to shake the castle walls.

You were on your feet in an instant, pressing your ear desperately to the door trying to pick up any noise at all that would clue you into what was happening but the door was too thick, you couldn’t make out anything.

Swearing under your breath you gave up on that tactic, moving instead to pacing the room before deciding better of it, grabbing the only thing you could think to make a weapon (a pillow) and pressing your back to the wall right next to the door.

Forcing deep, even breaths you waited, only having to stand there for a few minutes before the door finally slid open, you waiting a single moment before swinging the pillow towards the person walking into the room.

Only a few steps in the person effortlessly turned to you and held a hand up to block, you only realizing with relief that it was Anakin after you had nailed him in the forearm.

“A pillow? Really?”

“I don’t exactly have options for weapons in here” you sighed, throwing the pillow back onto your bed.

“Literally anything would have been better” he chuckled “you could’ve just punched me”

“Then you could’ve grabbed my wrist and I’d have been restrained”

“Oh glad to know there was at least some thought put into this plan” he shook his head in amusement “now come on you’re ruining my knight in shining armor moment”

With a grin you took his hand, letting him lead you down the hallway to the stairs that would take you to the main floor, the sound of gunfire growing with each step.

“The order sanctioned a hostile takeover of the castle?” you asked him in disbelief.

“Its just the 501st battalion up there” he whispered back to you as he drew his lightsaber, pointedly not answering your question.

“And the jedi council and the senate gave you permission to use them to come here right?” you responded with a raised brow.

“When we get up there stay low and stay behind me we’re going to be moving quickly” Again Anakin ignored your question as he started to move up the stairs.

You reached out to grab his arm, forcing him to stop and look at you, you raising your eyebrows waiting for your answer.

He sighed as he looked down at you before shaking his head softly “I made a promise. And I already wasted too much time before fulfilling the first one”

“Ani but all this” you sighed back at him, gesturing to the sounds of battle above “people could get hurt, you’re going to be in so much trouble-“

“I told you” he cut you off with a small smile “I’m not leaving this planet without you”

And to your own surprise you had no response to that, a moment of silence hanging in the air before Anakin turned back to the stairs and whispered “now stay low and behind me we’re making a break for the ship okay?”

“Okay”

You can’t remember the last time you were able to just sit in the grass and watch the clouds. Honestly you weren’t sure you had ever been able to do so. There was always work to do, customers to overcharge, kingdoms to run. It was nice to just sit and do nothing for a change.

You heard footsteps approaching from behind you but didn’t bother to turn around and look, you knew who it was.

Anakin sat down wordlessly next to you, his shoulder brushing yours lightly as he leaned back on his hands, his gaze following yours up to the sky.

“How much trouble did you get into for an unsanctioned rescue mission like that” you asked him with a raised brow, laughing softly as you watched his gaze pointedly avoid yours.

“Why don’t we just say that doesn’t matter now” he proposed with a soft smile “you’re here, you’re free, that’s what matters”

“So a lot. I tried to warn you” you chuckled with a soft shake of your head.

“I free you from being a slave, from a literal dungeon and you’re still going to do an ‘I told you so’ moment” He laughed finally looking down at you.

“I mean I did” you shrugged with a grin, moving to sit up straighter, your smile slowly dropping from your face as you picked at the grass beneath your legs, letting you gaze stay down as you prepared for your next words “you know, waiting all those years on Tatooine, I was starting to think you had forgotten me”

“There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about you” Anakin’s answer came immediately, his tone soft but serious.

“Yeah?” You chuckled lightheartedly, eyes coming up to see that he was already looking down at you “nice to know I had such an impact on your childhood”

At this Anakin chuckled softly, wringing a hand through his hair as he spoke “I mean how could you not? We spent nearly every minute together, you were the one I always wanted to talk to, the one who made me laugh no matter whatever else was going on. Of course I thought about you. I meant it when I said I was going to come back for you”

“I know you did” you answered honestly “even back then, I knew you did”

A moment of comfortable silence fell over the two of you before Anakin broke it “you know I had this plan in my head on how I was going to rescue you” he chuckled softly, eyes casting up to the clouds above as he spoke “I was going to storm in and demand you back, fight my way to you if I had to, and you would see me and be so grateful that I had finally come for you that you ran to me, threw your arms around my neck and…” he seemed to choke on his next words, a brief moments pause before a humorless chuckle escaped his lips “and that’s not how it ended up going at all”

“It did not” you agreed with your own chuckle

“then I saw you on that throne, looking more beautiful than you ever had before in that gown that I almost forgot what I had planned to say. I panicked and bowed instead”

And you couldn’t help but laugh at that, at the idea of the Anakin Skywalker getting so flustered by anything that badly was absolutely ridiculous.

“Then you acted as if you had no idea who I was” his voice seemed to hollow out at these words, “and this pit grew in my stomach, and I just needed you to look at me and tell me that you remembered me”

You took his hand without a second thought, giving it a soft squeeze as he continued.

“Then I saw you reach over and grab his hand, and you called him darling and smiled at him with that same smile you used to give me and I told myself that I could be okay with that. That I would be okay with that if you were in love with him, if you were happy. If being a princess gave you all you wanted then I would just walk away”

“Then why did you come back” you asked him softly “later that night”

He chuckled softly to himself again, giving your hand a squeeze “I told myself that I just wanted to make sure that you were happy. That if you looked me in the eyes and told me that you liked it there that I would leave. But honestly” he paused for a deep breath, looking down at you for the first time “honestly I just needed to know that you remembered me, that I wasn’t crazy for hanging onto those years we knew each other as kids for as long as I did”

And you couldn’t help but laugh at his words, resting your head against his shoulder as you did so “Oh Ani I could’ve never forgotten you”

“Yeah?” he asked you and though he tried to play it off as a joke you could hear the desperation beneath his voice, how badly he needed to hear you say it.

“Of course I didn’t forget about you” you sighed out, your other hand coming up to squeeze his bicep softly “I’ve been in love with you since we were five”

You felt him go rigid beneath you, a brief moment of panic coursing through you as you sat back up to look at him, his wide eyes planted squarely on you as you straightened up to meet his gaze “you what?”

“I thought it was obvious” you chuckled at his reaction “always practically hanging off your side, doing anything and everything to get you to laugh, to notice me”

You could practically see his brain working to catch up, to process your words “why…why didn’t you tell me?”

“And when would I have done that?” you chuckled again “when you were my only friend in the world that I couldn’t risk losing or after you left to go become a jedi?”

His eyes flitted back and forth for a moment, his head whirling at what had apparently been new information to him only making you smile and shake your head softly.

“And what about now?” he asked quietly

You smirked back up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye “what about now?”

He forced out a chuckle at your words, his grip on your hand tightening unconsciously “what do you think of no longer nine years old Anakin”

You couldn’t fight the grin off your face as you leaned back slightly, allowing your eyes to graze over him, pretending to scrutinize before answering “hmmm not bad. Could use a haircut though”

And you watched a grin grow on his own face at your words, the grip on your hand used to pull you closer to him. “I’ll have you know I like my hair”

“Oh no the long hair suits no longer nine year old Anakin” you assured him, reaching up to run a hand through it “just a little trim”

He caught your hand as you tried to withdraw it from his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist before he spoke softly “okay, for you, anything”

#anakin x reader #anakin x you #Anakin Skywalker #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #anakin fic #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x you #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars x you #star wars x reader

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hqbaby · 9 months

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ten — rin

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.9k content. swearing, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (on birth control tho), soft sex

He doesn’t care. You’ve been busy with school and practice and Atsumu. He gets that. You’re a busy person with a life. Priorities. A checklist. Why would he care that the two of you haven’t been alone for two weeks? Exactly. He doesn’t care. It’s fine. It’s whatever.

“You know, you say that so much I’m starting to think you do care.”

He looks at you with a bored expression, toothbrush hanging from his mouth as he scrolls through his phone. “Well, I don’t.”

You’re sitting on the counter of his bathroom, grinning at him like an idiot as you reach out to poke his cheek. “I think you kinda do,” you say, words garbled as you brush your teeth with the yellow Winnie the Pooh toothbrush he got you after the first time you stayed over.

“I don’t wanna make out with someone with morning breath,” he said when he handed it to you. “You owe me 500 yen for that.”

“Rin, this is for five-year-olds.”

“Are you not five?”

“You missed me,” you sing before rinsing your mouth out and spitting into the sink. You clean your toothbrush and place it in the holder. “I don’t blame you. I’d miss me too.”

He pulls his toothbrush out of his mouth and puts it in its place beside yours, walking away and ignoring your teasing.

“You know, you’re supposed to actually brush your teeth, right?” you ask, shit-eating grin still on your face as you follow him into his bedroom. “Not just put it in your mouth.”

He groans. “I already brushed my teeth, I told you,” he says. “You just didn’t wanna do it alone. Like a kid.”

“Aw, you didn’t want me to be lonely?”

“Fuck you.”

“But I wanna fuck you,” you say cheekily. He doesn’t respond, avoiding your eyes as he sits down on his bed. Your face falls. “Did I say something wrong?” you ask. “Are you… Are you mad at me?”

His head shoots up when he hears the sadness in your tone. “What? Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because I haven’t been spending time with you?” you offer dejectedly. “Because of what happened last night?”

He shakes his head furiously. Why would he ever be mad at you for what those assholes did? “Will you just—” he reaches out and grabs your hips, pulling you onto the mattress, “I’m not mad at you.”

You adjust yourself on the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of him. You lean forward and kiss him gently, cupping his face with your hands. He melts into your touch but still doesn’t reach out to hold you. You pull away. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…”

“Just?”

“I missed you, alright?” he says almost angrily. “Is that what you want me to say?”

You’re still holding him, faces inches away. “No,” you tell him, your breath fanning against his lips. “I’m sorry. I never wanted you to miss me,” you peck his lips then you add, “I missed you too. Just so you know.”

“Sure.”

“What?”

He moves out of your grip, resting his head against the headboard and crossing his arms. “You didn’t miss me.” He almost laughs at how ridiculous he sounds. But you don’t laugh. You just stare at him with those concerned eyes of yours, trying to understand. “You have Atsumu. Why would you miss me?”

You scoff. “Atsumu? The fuck does he have to do with this?”

“Why are you even here?” he presses. “Why don’t you just go and ask him to be your boyfriend? You know he’d say yes.”

“Why are we talking about this?” You grunt in frustration as he continues to look at you with that distant gaze of his. “For fuck’s sake, Rin! I’m here because I care about you!”

“Oh, so you care about me? Are you sure you don’t just care about my dick?”

You shake your head. This isn’t right. This isn’t him. Suna’s an asshole a lot of the time but never to you, not in a way that hurts. “What’s really going on?” you ask quietly. “You’re going to have to tell me because I can’t read your mind, Rin. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

He sees the way your shoulders drop, the way your eyes glaze over. You’re not supposed to look like that. He’s not supposed to make you look like that.

“I said your name,” he tells you, looking away. He stares at his window, curtains fluttering when the fan hits them.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your name,” he repeats. “I was fucking some other girl and I… I said your name when I came.”

He’s so embarrassed. Just wishes the earth would swallow him whole. When you stay silent at his confession, he can feel his heart beating impossibly fast, like it’s about to climb out of his chest and fall out of his mouth. He dares to look at you and finds your hard stare meeting his eyes.

Without a word, you go on all-fours and crawl into his lap, your lips brushing against the skin of his neck. He winces when you bite down into him before running your tongue over the area and sucking. Your mouth moves up to his ear and he can hear you breathe as you whisper, “I told you I was the best.”

He isn’t even thinking when he flips you over onto the mattress, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss. His hands come up to your hair as he holds you close. There’s something different about the way the two of you move. It’s slower than usual, more tender. He wonders if he’s just imagining it.

“I missed you,” you say between kisses. “Missed this.”

All he can do is nod, enraptured by the way your tongue slides between his teeth. He can taste his toothpaste on you and somehow that’s what flips the switch in him—because it’s his.

He pulls away from your lips and starts kissing down your body, lifting the shirt you're wearing—his shirt—so he can pepper your breasts with the touch of his lips. He moves down, pecking your stomach until he’s right where you want him. Slowly, he pulls your underwear away, listening to the little sounds you make as he does.

He gazes at you for a moment, from the dazed look on your face to your hardened nipples to your dripping cunt. Splayed out before him, you look so vulnerable. Like he could do anything in this moment and you would let him. Because you trust him. Because you care about him.

And he cares about you too. So much more than he would ever admit.

“Rin,” you murmur. “Please.”

He hushes you. “You don’t need to ask, sweet thing,” he says. “I’ll take care of you.”

His tongue comes out to lick your folds and he moans against you as you shudder beneath his touch. He’s gentle, sweet even, as he laps at your cunt. You lie down with your back arched, hands gripping the sheets tightly as he pulls the prettiest sounds from your lips.

“Taste so good, Y/N,” he tells you. “Love it when you let me take care of you.”

You whimper with your head thrown to the side and eyes pressed close. Suna laps at you, showering you with praise, making you feel so good, and all you can do is scream. You’re so fucked out, you don’t even realize that he’s using his tongue to spell out the same word again and again and again.

“Just like that!”

“Right there, baby, right there.”

“I’m coming!”

You writhe on the mattress, your body shaking from the orgasm. The pleasure washes over you in waves, a loop of pulling you in and letting you go until it passes. Your eyes open and you stare up at the ceiling, blinking.

“Rin,” you say, unmoving. “Please fuck me.”

He chuckles. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You hear the rustle of fabric as he takes off his shirt and pajamas. He makes his way on top of you, pulling you in for a kiss as he lines himself up at your entrance. “You good?” he asks.

You nod, holding his face in your hand. “I’m good,” you tell him, kissing him as he slides inside of you. You moan into his mouth. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he says as he pulls out then moves back in. “Missed you so much, Y/N.”

“I know,” you tell him, grinding your hips slightly to meet his thrusts. They’re slow but deep, you can feel every delicious groove of his cock, every vein, every twitch. He catches each of your whimpers and moans with his mouth, kissing you softly as he fucks you.

Except he’s not fucking you, not really. That’s not what you would call this.

You cling to his back, your nails digging into him. “Sorry,” you say when you realize what you’re doing. You try to put your hands away but he catches your arms, shaking his head.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, keeping you in place, “I missed that too.”

You moan at that. His cock hits a spot deep inside you, one so rarely touched that it feels like you’ve just been struck by lightning when his tip brushes against it. Your grip on him tightens.

“Who was she?” you find yourself asking.

“Who?”

“The girl,” you say, eyes meeting his confused gaze. What am I doing? “The girl you fucked. Who was she?”

He smiles at you, all soft and gentle, as he lets out a quiet laugh. “Nobody. I don’t even remember her name.”

You smile back. You don’t know why, but that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Good,” you say before you feel your body seize up. He hits that spot again. And again. And again.

Suna buries his face in your hair, catching a whiff of his shampoo on the strands. “I don’t care about her,” he tells you. “I only care about you.”

Oh shit. What?

“Fuck! I’m almost there, Rin.”

He holds you tight, wrapping his arms around your back as he continues to thrust into you. “Let go for me, Y/N,” he tells you, panting. “Let go.”

His tip jams into that spot one last time and you convulse against him, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. It just feels so good. Too good. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this way before. You let yourself go, taking comfort in the fact that Suna has you, that he won’t let you go.

You feel his thrust grow erratic, unable to help himself as your orgasm makes you tighten around him. He spills into you, more cum than he ever thought was possible. You moan and hold onto him as he fills you up. Fuller than you’ve ever been. It’s an impossible feeling that has your head swimming in the haze of only one thought: Rin.

After a while, he pulls out of you and collapses at your side. You lay your head on his chest and he wraps you up in his arms, trying to keep you as close to him as possible. It’s a familiar scene. You’ve ended up in the same position countless times.

But this feels different. Everything about this feels different.

Neither of you have the courage to speak. There’s too much tension that you don’t understand and you don’t have the strength to address it. All you can think about is his touch. His smile. His voice. His… everything. Just Rin and every single thing there is about him. It makes your heart beat faster than it probably should—than you know it should.

So you stay quiet, just drinking in the silence and the feeling of his arms around your naked form. You don’t have to talk about it now. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to.

notes. team suna i see you 👀 i love reading everyone's conflicting feelings bc SAME!!! writing this story's been so chaotic but ykw at least we're doing this together :") i wanna know where you guys think this is all going so far...

#hqbaby.fyi #hqbaby #haikyuu #suna rintarou #suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou fic #suna fic #miya atsumu fic #atsumu fic #suna smut #haikyuu fic

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

A Love You Don't Find Everyday Part 20 The Wedding | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Tradition states that you and Bradley shouldn't see each other the night before you get married. But the two of you aren't traditional, and neither is your wedding. Can you and he actually pull off the secret wedding of your dreams?

Warnings: Fluff, angst, and swearing

Length: 5600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

After the house was cleaned up, and your parents had been dropped back at their hotel, Bradley had you tucked against his chest in the kitchen.

"Tomorrow. Holy shit," he whispered. "I can't believe we're getting married tomorrow."

You were giddy, practically vibrating in his arms. "Let's go over the checklist. I can't believe everyone fell for our little white lie."

Bradley kissed your forehead and never stopped touching you as you and he went down the list together. "Did you call the caterer yesterday?" you asked, pen poised over item number seven.

"Yep, dinner, drinks and cake are all set," he confirmed, and you smirked to yourself, because he had also been duped. You couldn't wait to give him his last wedding gift.

"I think that's it then," you confirmed. "I filed the permits. Mav is ready. We are mostly packed for the honeymoon. And everyone else thinks it's a regular day." He scooped you up into his arms and carried you to your bedroom.

"I don't think I have ever been this excited for anything before," he said, setting you down on the bed and climbing in next to you.

"You have to go sleep in the other room," you informed him as he kissed along your collarbone.

His lips froze on you. "What are you talking about, Baby Girl?"

"It's tradition! We're not supposed to see each other the night before or at all tomorrow until we actually get married!"

"Yeah, we're not doing that, Sweetheart." He continued to kiss you as you wiggled away from him, laughing.

"Come on, Roo."

"Listen, I'm not saying we need to have sex, but I'm not sleeping in the other bedroom when you're in here."

You glared at him and kept scooting away when he tried to touch you until he heaved a deep sigh and climbed out of bed. "Fine. I'll be in the other bedroom. Banished without even fucking up. I'll consider this husband training."

You laughed and stood to give him a kiss before he left. "You're going to be the perfect husband, Roo. You already are. I love you."

"I love you, Baby Girl."

"I can't wait to marry you."

He stroked your cheek with his thumb and smiled. "Me too, Mrs. Bradshaw."

Then you shoved him out of the room and started laying out all of your lingerie for the next day. You had someone coming over to do your hair and makeup in the morning, and you wanted to be organized. When you unzipped the garment bag containing your dress for a final peek, you jumped up and down and squealed quietly. It was perfect. And Bradley was perfect. And your little scheme was working out perfectly.

You got yourself ready for bed and climbed in alone. Tramp must have followed Bradley to the other bedroom, so you settled in and tried to fall asleep. It was quiet, and the bed was comfortable, but when Bradley wasn't with you, it reminded you of his deployments. You rolled over onto your back and thought about how pretty the view would be tomorrow, but you were too cold in the bed without him. You rolled onto your stomach in his spot and pretended you were laying on him. But it wasn't working, because while his pillow smelled like him, nothing was as comfortable to lay on as Bradley's warm shoulder.

"You're ridiculous," you groaned, flipping your lamp back on and grabbing your glasses. You walked through the living room and into the other bedroom and watched Tramp and Bradley both perk up when you said, "Roo?"

"What's wrong?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

You bit your lip and whispered, "I miss you. Will you come back to bed?"

He was out from under the blanket and walking toward you in just his underwear immediately, and then he scooped you up in his arms without another word. Tramp trailed behind him as he carried you back to your bed. He took off your glasses and tucked you in as Tramp curled up in his own bed. Then Bradley turned off the lamp and climbed in on his side, and you were on top of him in an instant with your head on his shoulder.

"I didn't like you being here but not being with me," you whispered, kissing his warm skin while he laced his fingers with yours.

"Please don't make me sleep alone unless I'm deployed."

You snuggled in and closed your eyes, finally feeling calm and comfortable. "Never."

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

Bradley woke up to you draped across his body, enjoying the sound of your deep, even breathing. He was going to marry you today. Tears stung at his eyes at the thought of you in a white dress putting a ring on his finger. When you started to stir, you looked up at him and smiled.

"Happy wedding day," you whispered.

"Happy best day of my life, Sweetheart."

Your sleepy laughter filled the room as you sat up and kissed him. "You need to get dressed and leave so I can get ready."

Bradley grumbled but did as he was told while you made breakfast. Then he sat at the dining room table with you on his lap wearing nothing but his UVA shirt while you ate eggs covered in hot sauce. Occasionally you tore off a bit of your toast and fed it to Tramp as he begged next to the chair. Bradley wanted his life with you to last forever. He couldn't get enough of this.

"Hey," he whispered and you turned to look at him with a piece of toast halfway to your parted lips. "It's just you and me, Baby Girl. Forever."

You smiled and set the toast down before wrapping your arms around his neck. "Me and you."

Before Bradley got changed in the extra bedroom and left, he put both wedding bands in his pocket and made sure his phone was charged and loaded with the correct playlist. Then he told you which parking spot he would be waiting in with the Bronco.

"I'll be there, Roo," you promised, kissing him so sweetly he was having a hard time making himself leave. But he knew the sooner he let you get ready, the sooner you'd meet him and everyone else in your wedding dress. So he pulled out of the driveway with a smile on his face.

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

Your hair was done. Your makeup was done. You were slipping into the outrageously expensive satin panties with Mrs. Bradshaw embroidered on the front when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. You looked amazing. This is what Bradley was going to see later when he brought you home. You cupped your breasts in your hands and turned to really look at yourself. You weren't perfect, but he loved you.

You were wearing the new earrings Bradley had given you, and Carole's beautiful veil would be your something old. The blue Mrs. Bradshaw stitching in your lingerie would cover that element of the tradition, but you still had to figure out how to incorporate the keychain from Jake, even if he had no idea that's why you demanded he let you borrow it.

When you checked the time on your phone, you nearly screamed. You were running late. You got your dress on as quickly as you could, struggling with the zipper. Then you took the time to lace your high heels up your calves and tie the ribbons in pretty bows for Bradley to undo later. You grabbed your shoes for the reception and Jake's keychain, and then you were ready to go.

When you pulled up to the parking lot, you saw Mav and Bradley next to the Bronco with your parents. Mav came running over to move the orange traffic cones so you could pull in, and he had a huge smile on his face. Then you parked two spots down from the Bronco, leaving one empty one in between both cars.

When you opened your door, Bradley was right there with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. "Baby Girl," he sighed, helping you out of your car and into his arms. He looked at you and then held you close, whispering, "I am so lucky." You let him hold you as you ran your red fingernails along his yellow and red tropical print shirt while he brushed your ear with his lips. "So lucky. I love you so much."

You melted against him as his big, warm hands spread across your bare back. "I love you, Roo. Forever." Then he took a step away from you and ran his hands along the fabric of your wedding dress.

"Do you know how badly I wanted to look in that garment bag for the past month? That damn thing was taunting me in the closet, but I had fun imagining what you'd look like today." He licked his lips and ran his thumb along the lace between your breasts. "God, you look amazing. I couldn't even imagine anything this perfect."

"It's just for you." Your words had a rosy color creeping along his cheeks as he ran his hand down your body to the exact location of your tattoo.

You could hear your mom crying next to the Bronco, and when you kissed Bradley one last time and glanced over at your parents, you almost laughed. Your dad was wearing an old Naval Academy shirt with his swim trunks, and your mom had on a sundress with her sunglasses perched up on top of her head. Bradley gently pushed you toward them, and then they were both pulling you into their arms.

"I'm sorry we lied and told you it was just a beach day today," you said, trying not to start crying yourself.

"That's okay. We don't mind," your dad said with a soft laugh.

Your mom held your face in both hands. "When Bradley picked us up in white linen pants, I was a little concerned. And then when he stopped at a florist and asked me to hold onto your bouquet while he drove, I started crying. And I haven't stopped since. Because I'm so happy."

When she finally released you and clung to your dad instead, you hugged Mav who whispered, "You look beautiful. Just as pretty as Carole did on her wedding day. The Bradshaw men have impeccable taste."

You tried not to cry as you ran your fingers along Carole's veil where it fell back along your shoulders. "I wish I could have met them," you told Maverick, and then you really felt like crying.

But then your dad asked, "Not that I don't love it, but why exactly did you pick a parking lot for your wedding venue?"

Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist and said, "This parking spot is where we had our first kiss."

You looked out past the front of your car at the cliffs beach and the Pacific Ocean and thought about that fateful day early last September. "I kissed you."

Bradley nodded. "You owed me after all the mixed signals, Baby Girl."

"The Bronco was parked in this spot," you said, tapping your toe on the crumbling pavement of the empty parking space.

"No. The Bronco was parked there," he replied, pointing to where it was currently parked.

"What? No, it was definitely this spot, Roo."

"You're so wrong, Sweetheart."

You opened your mouth to argue further, but then you watched an SUV pull in right over the cones, followed by Phoenix screaming your names at the top of her lungs out the driver's window.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" she screeched as she jumped out of her car while it was practically still moving and ran over and right into Bradley's arms.

He hugged his best friend who was wearing a sports bra, athletic shorts, and flip flops. Then Bob hopped out of her car as well and rushed over with his nose covered in zinc sunblock and his sunglasses clipped onto his regular glasses. He looked around as your mom handed you the bouquet of red and yellow flowers you ordered. "Are you getting married? Today?" he asked quietly, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Yes!" you said, and Bob hugged you so hard, he got sunblock in your hair. And then Nat started crying as you handed her a smaller bouquet that matched yours while your mom fixed your hair.

"I literally never thought this was going to happen," Nat sobbed at you. "I was still afraid you might change your mind, because he's kind of a nightmare, but he's so fucking pussy whipped for you, I can't even think straight. Oh my god, I'm sorry about my language," she muttered to your parents while she wiped her tears on Bob's shirt. "I can't believe you said it was a beach day, and now I have to wear this in your wedding photos!" she said, hitting Bradley with the flowers.

Everything was turning into a commotion as Maverick moved the bent traffic cones for Penny and Amelia to pull in along with Payback, Fanboy and Coyote. Maverick also had to keep waving people past, even though there was a sign hanging up with the county seal that said PERMIT FOR PRIVATE EVENT- NOVEMBER 28TH 4 PM TO 9 PM.

You laughed at everyone's attire and shocked faces. Penny and Amelia were wearing matching Hard Deck tee shirts and the boys all had on bathing suits.

"It's a wedding! It's not a beach day!" Fanboy yelled when he saw you and Bradley. "It's actually a fucking wedding!"

You buried your laughter against Bradley's chest and wiped your sweaty palms on his shirt. He kissed the top of your head through the veil as the guys all made a fuss over you.

Jake, Maria, and Cam were still missing, and you nervously worked Jake's keychain in amongst your flowers as Maverick checked the time.

"Do you want to get started now?" he asked you and Bradley. "Or should we wait a bit longer?"

"We need to wait," you replied quickly while Bradley rubbed your back.

"Hey, can you call Hangman?" Bradley asked Coyote who immediately took his phone out. But then you saw Jake pull past and run directly over all the cones to get in the parking lot.

"You lied to me!" Jake shouted as he parked and walked over to the ceremony spot overlooking the ocean. "You are both liars! This is a scam! Mexico? Really?" he asked, playfully shoving Bradley before shaking his hand. And then he gave you a bear hug that had you gasping for air.

"Thanks for giving me my something borrowed," you said with a smile when he released you. Jake examined your bouquet when you held it up, and he kissed your cheek when he saw his keychain.

"I'd tell you to keep it, but I think you have to give it back now."

Everyone was shifting around a bit impatiently. Nat was putting Coyote's shirt on as the photographer got to work. You were looking up and down at every car that passed, hoping to see your friends. And Bradley kept his arm wrapped around you, reassuring you that they could all wait as long as you wanted to before starting.

When you looked up at Bradley's soppy expression and puppy dog eyes, you sighed, not wanting to wait any longer. "Let's do this," you told him, about to hand Maria's bouquet to Jake to act as your maid of honor. But your friends didn't let you down. You watched Maria drive up, and Fanboy moved the crumpled cones so she could pull in. She had Cam in the car with her, and they were both smiling.

"My flight was delayed because of snow! On your wedding day!" Cam called out, walking over to you in jeans and a flannel shirt. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, pulling you into a hug. "I would have flown back from Pittsburgh last night."

Maria joined in the hug as she cried. "You picked a wedding date after all." She held her bouquet and stood next to you while Nat in Coyote's shirt stood next to Bradley. Mav shuffled some papers in his hands and stood with this back to the beautiful vista as everyone else crowded into the parking space between the two cars.

But you just looked at Bradley who was very clearly on the verge of tears. Every time he swallowed, the bob of his Adam's apple had you biting your lip, probably ruining your lipstick in the process. You had more love in your heart for him than you knew what to do with, and as you took his left hand in your right one, Maverick cleared his throat.

"This is nice," Mav said, smiling at everyone. "Small and perfect. These two knew what they were doing."

"Fucking liars," Jake whispered loudly, making everyone laugh.

"Yeah, well," Mav agreed with a grin, "it somehow ended up working out. And they didn't give me anything to work with, rather they told me I could say whatever I wanted before they exchanged their vows, so I will make this brief." Mav turned to you and smiled, saying, "You and Bradley are so very lucky to have your parents here today. You are about to marry the son of the best friend I ever had. I knew Goose's opinions on every topic imaginable, because he did not know how to keep his mouth shut. And I can tell you that he would have absolutely loved you. But that love would have been a mere fraction of the unyielding adoration that Carole would have had for the wife of her only son."

You sobbed as tears filled your eyes, and Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek. "And Bradley, I'm going to say word for word what your dad would say if he were here right now. 'You pulled off something incredible here, kid. You're following right in my footsteps. She is way too good for you. Do not fuck this up.'"

Bradley laughed as Mav reached out to shake his hand. "You're right Mav. I think he would have actually said that."

Once everyone's laughter had quieted down again, you took a deep breath and looked out at the ocean, letting the warm breeze help dry your eyes. When you looked back at Bradley, your lip was quivering a bit, but he was grinning at you. "Can I say my vows first?" he asked. "I'm really excited."

"Yeah, Roo," you whispered, handing your flowers to Maria so you could wipe your eyes with the tissue Mav handed you. "You can go first."

You handed the tissue to Maria, and Bradley took both of your hands and pulled you closer to him until your body was skimming his. He reached up and ran his thumb across your cheek, and your eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds.

"Baby Girl. It's obvious to anyone who knows me that I was alone for a really long time," he told you, and you felt like it was just the two of you, having a conversation. "I made it my lifestyle, my personality for almost two decades. It was so much a part of my identity that I couldn't even recognize that I wasn't just alone, I was also lonely."

He took a deep breath and touched your lip before returning his hand to yours. "I never thought I could have the life I have now, because I didn't appreciate what I was missing out on. And then I met you... and holy shit, Sweetheart," he sighed, kissing your forehead. "I knew immediately that there was something there for me. Something different. Something important that I needed to pay attention to. I was in love with you before our first date. It was devastating. I had no idea what to do about it. What if you didn't love me back ever? What was I going to do then? How did people deal with this wonderful and horrible feeling? The fact that you said 'I love you' first? Baby Girl, that showed some real restraint on my part."

You laughed at the look of concern on his face, and then he was smiling at you like he always did. Like he'd never seen anything as wonderful as you. "You want to know what's kind of crazy?" he asked, and you saw Nat crying silently out of the corner of your eye. "It feels like I must have known you my whole life. When I count our relationship by months or years, it feels incorrect. It should be longer than that. It feels longer than that. Because you make every day feel full now. I wake up with a purpose, and I go to sleep with a purpose, and that purpose is you, Baby Girl."

It was getting hard to look at him through the tears in your eyes, and you thought you would get a headache if you kept smiling this much, but he continued.

"I get to spend my hours with you or thinking about you. I get to fill up every minute making plans with you. Every minute is made up of seconds where I get to hear your voice and listen to your ideas. And you're so smart and it's crazy that you love my back, because you make every day now worth those decades of feeling like I didn't deserve more.

"So this is my promise to you....my wedding vow. Baby Girl, I will try to make all of your years and days and hours and minutes and seconds as perfect as you make mine. I want to fill up all of that time with my love. I will try to make every second count, but I also know that all the time in this world still won't be enough with you, Sweetheart. But I'm going to enjoy every single moment that I have."

You were crying softly as you buried your face in the collar of his floral print shirt and breathed him in. He held you tight against him as he whispered, "I love you so much," next to your ear and kissed you there.

When you finally looked up at him, he kissed your lips as you said, "You made me cry, and now I have to say my vows." With a soft smile he ran his fingers across your cheeks to clear away your tears, and you took a deep breath. "Roo. On our first date, I asked you to tell me something embarrassing about yourself."

His eyes went a little wide. "Please don't make me say it here."

You laughed at him and shook your head. "I won't. But when I asked you that night, you told me! And it was funny and charming, and I thought you were adorable. And then you let me keep asking you for more. I wanted to learn everything about you. I still do. Because you make it easy. You never make me feel like I'm bugging you. You always make me feel like you have time to talk to me. And you have always been honest with me, telling me I can ask you anything."

Bradley nodded and whispered, "I love talking to you."

You kissed his lips and then continued. "You're the most open and honest person I have ever met. I always know where I stand with you. Do you know how good that makes me feel? To always be someone's highest priority? To always be your highest priority? And you always let me know your expectations. Of course, that means I knew you intended to reach our wedding day after we'd been dating for approximately two weeks." Bradley laughed as he swiped some tears from his eyes, and you were a little started to hear your friends and family laughing as well; everyone else had drifted into the back of your mind as you focused on Bradley.

"Roo, I'd rather have that kind of transparency with you than anything else with anyone else. You make me feel like it's okay to be myself. And I believe you when you tell me something. And I love that you trust me, too."

"I do, Sweetheart," he promised. "I'd trust you with my life," he said, his voice catching on the last word as released your left hand to wipe away more tears.

You took a deep breath before saying, "I can't wait to keep learning all of the little intricacies about what makes you tick. Because for someone who has been through so much in such a short amount of time, you are a fighter when you need to be. But you never make me fight for the things I deserve. Like your love, and your patience, and your honesty. You love me so much," you whispered as Bradley covered his eyes as his shoulders shook. "You protect me, and I protect you. Because you're right, all of our minutes and hours spent walking Tramp or making dinner or just having a lazy day...they are so important, because you're with me." You voice was quiet and shaky as you took a deep breath while Bradley met your eyes with his tear filled ones.

"So, Roo, I vow to be as open and forthcoming as you are. But that's not going to be easy, since you're amazing at it, but I'll try. Because you're it for me, Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley took your face in both of his hands and looked at you in awe. "How can you love me that much?" he asked you, his voice rough with unshed tears.

You reached up and stroked his wrists softly as he held you. "You make it so easy, Bradley." Then his lips were on your forehead and then your nose before they found yours. He kissed you so sweetly as his hands gently went to the back of your neck.

Maverick cleared his throat, and you jumped a few inches as Bradley pulled back from the kiss.

"We haven't even gotten to the kissing part yet," he said, wiping tears from his own eyes.

"Well then hurry up," Bradley told him, letting his hands slide down between your neck and the veil and along your body until he was holding your hands once again.

"Yeah, okay," Maverick agreed, and you turned to find everyone was smiling and wiping tears from their eyes. Nat was dabbing her face with Coyote's shirt and your parents were holding each other. "Do you have rings to exchange?"

"Yes," Bradley replied as he reached in his pocket and then held out his palm with both wedding bands. You carefully took his ring between your thumb and index finger with a smile.

"You can go ahead and put the rings on each other's fingers," Maverick said, and Bradley went first. The way the gold band matched up with your engagement ring had more tears coming to your eyes. "Would you like to say anything else?" Maverick asked.

Bradley softly kissed your finger where both rings were, and he told you, "I love you. I love my wife."

You smiled and slipped his ring on his hand as you told him. "I love my husband!"

Maverick rubbed his hands together and said, "Somehow the state of California has made me legally allowed to say this: I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss!"

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

Bradley reached for you so fast, wrapping his hands around your waist to settle low on your back. The veil his mom wore the day she married his dad was skimming his fingers as he pulled you closer. Your eyes were wide and trusting, your lips parted in the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. The remainder of the tears you had shed while Bradley poured his love into his wedding vows to you were dry on your cheeks, and he was about to make you his wife.

"Somehow the state of California has made me legally allowed to say this: I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss!"

Bradley kissed you as your palms rested on his chest before wrapping around his neck. He kissed you long and hard as everyone cheered and hollered, and when he broke the kiss because you were both smiling too much, you chased his lips for more. You pulled him close again as your fingers skimmed through his hair. So he kissed you until you were both laughing, and he held you close to his side as you turned to face everyone. Your head came to rest on his shoulder, and he kissed your forehead.

Bradley was vaguely aware of the photographer and the fact that the catering van was now running over the orange cones that Nat and Jake had previously decimated. He could feel Nat reaching up to kiss his cheek, and he watched your parents both give you a hug. But he never stopped touching you. His perfect wife.

You were holding your flowers again, and every couple seconds, you reached up, bumping him with the bouquet before giving him a kiss. This had been the perfect day for the secret parking lot wedding of Bradley's dreams. And somehow as the sun fell low on the horizon, you looked even more beautiful to him.

"I can't stop smiling, Roo," you told him, hitting his cheek again with the yellow and red flowers as you leaned up to kiss him.

"This has been the best day of my life, and it's not even over yet." Bradley ran his thumb over his wedding band as you wrapped your arms around him. "You're my wife. You're my fucking wife, Baby Girl!" You laughed against him as he announced to everyone gathered in the parking spot, "I can't believe she married me!"

"Neither can we!" Nat replied, and Bradley let everyone's hugs and words of congratulations wash over him as you held him in your arms.

Bradley watched the caterers start to carry coolers and trays of food down the rocks to the beach as if they did this every day. You had your fingers laced through his as you hugged Jake with your free arm. Bradley watched as he kissed your cheek and whispered something to you that made you laugh, and then Jake was patting him on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, Bradshaw," he drawled with a smirk. "I gotta say, I never thought I'd be so happy to have a girl choose you over me, but here we are."

"If she's too good for me, then she's way too good for you," Bradley replied with a laugh. Then he pulled you into his arms as Jake started to help your mom down the rocks to the sandy beach below the parking lot.

As everyone was heading down along with the caterers, leaving you mostly alone, Bradley pulled you in for another kiss. "I can't get enough of you, Mrs. Bradshaw," he whispered, running his hands all over you. "God, you look incredible."

You moaned softly into his mouth, and he pushed you gently against the passenger door of the Bronco. "You like my wedding dress?" you asked between kisses.

"You look like a fucking goddess, Baby Girl. I can't believe you're mine."

Your fingers trailed along the buttons of his newest Hawaiian print shirt as he kissed your neck and let his hand drift down to the slit in your dress. When his palm came to rest against your bare thigh, you sighed. "I'm all yours, Roo."

"Let's go home," he suggested, only half joking. "Get a jump start on the night?"

You laughed as he rubbed his mustache along your neck. "No way. I want my confetti cake and the little bottles of pink champagne," you told him as his hand wrapped around to the back of your thigh. "But after that...I see no reason why we can't go home. Now help me change out of these shoes."

Bradley helped you climb up into the passenger seat, and he started to untie the ribbons that wound up your calves. "These are pretty," he grunted, gently running his hands down your legs as he took your shoes off for you. "Will you put them back on for me later?"

"Will you actually take five minutes to help me lace them back up my legs just so you can fuck me in them?" you asked him sweetly, and he groaned.

"Well, maybe not for round one, Sweetheart, but for round two or three, yes."

Your eyes went wide. "How late are we staying up tonight?"

He scoffed. "We only get one wedding night."

After he retrieved your flat shoes from the backseat of your car, Bradley helped you slip them on. But instead of climbing out of the Bronco when he reached for you, he felt you pull him in closer.

"What does this remind you of, Roo?" You ran your fingers over the scars on his neck and cheek before pushing your fingers up into his hair. Then you pulled him closer and closer until you pressed your lips against his. Bradley drew little circles along your waist through your dress with his thumbs, and he parted your lips with his and tasted your tongue.

You moaned softly into his mouth as he trailed his lips across your jaw, whispering, "Our first kiss, Baby Girl. Right in this parking spot."

"Mmm," you hummed as he kissed your neck. "It was the next parking spot over, but it doesn't matter, Roo." He kissed along the tops of your breasts, as you whispered, "We did it. We pulled off the secret parking lot wedding. You're my husband."

He wrapped his hand around your waist and kissed you hard. "Let's get down there, Baby Girl. The sooner we finish celebrating here, the sooner I can celebrate with my wife at home."

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

THEY ARE MARRIED! THEY DID IT! BRADLEY AND BABY GIRL BRADSHAW! Thanks for reading, whether you've been here since the beginning or joined somewhere along the way. I really appreciate you. Next chapter is the beach reception and the wedding night. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls for helping me every step along the way.

PART 21

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