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itneverendshere · 1 month ago

Note

rafe finding out you’re back to not taking care of yourself, especially when he’s coming back from rehab. you’re going back to full swing less than bare minimum to take care of yourself

thank you for the request!!🩷 hope you enjoy!!

the way you hold me is actually what's holy - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Rafe had this whole plan in his head.

He was finally back in town after spending the better part of six months at that damn rehab center. Finally clean, head clear, body feeling... normal, or at least as normal as it got after kicking all the shit he put himself through. The whole time he was there, he thought about you. How you visited him every week no matter how exhausted you were from your shifts now that you’d been promoted. How you took extra days off work for him, even when you couldn’t afford to miss them. How you always brought him a home-cooked meal because you knew he hated everything they gave him at that place.

And he promised himself that when he came back, things were gonna change. He was gonna change—for you.

It was all worked out. He’d show up at your sister’s place a day before he was supposed to leave, surprise you, maybe bring some flowers. Then he’d ask you to move in with him. He thought about it day and night. He was tired of that house. Of having his dad constantly hovering over his shoulder, even when he was miles away. He was gonna get a new place, not one of those temporary rentals where he barely unpacked his bags. A real place, a clean slate.

A new start. For the both of you.

But when Monica opened the door, his plans went out the window.

“Rafe?” Her eyes widened for a second before her face broke into the widest smile he’d seen in months. And before he could even get a word out, she threw her arms around him, hugging the living hell out of him like it had been years instead of just months. "Oh my God, you’re back! You look... you look amazing."

The way Monica squeezed him, how genuinely happy she was to see him—it hit him harder than he expected. Rehab was tough. Really tough. And he didn’t expect people to be waiting for him on the other side, not like this.

"I’m back," he muttered, hugging her tightly as he let himself breathe for the first time since stepping out of that damn place. Monica had been there for him too, just like you had. She’d kept you company sometimes when you went on those long drives to visit him. He didn’t deserve people like you two in his life, but he wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Monica pulled back but kept her hands on his shoulders, her eyes sparkling with this genuine pride. "You look healthy. I mean, really healthy. It’s good to see you like this."

Rafe smiled, a little bashful. "Yeah. Feels good to be back. I’ve been, you know, working on shit."

She smiled back, her eyes glinting with emotion. "I’m so proud of you, Rafe."

His throat tightened at that. He wasn’t used to hearing those words, you were the only one constantly reminding him of it. Everyone else said it with some hidden judgment or expectation behind them, like they were waiting for him to screw up again. But Monica meant it. She always did. She was your sister, after all.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling more awkward than he should’ve, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m trying, you know?”

She squeezed his shoulder before stepping back, "You here to see her?"

"Yeah. I, uh... wanted to surprise her.”

The smile on Monica’s face dropped just a little, and Rafe’s stomach sank instantly. He knew that look. It was the same one you got when you didn’t want to tell him something that might hurt him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he already had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Monica sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before she leaned back against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "She’s at work right now."

“At this hour? I thought she—”

“She’s been working extra shifts. A lot of them.”

Rafe frowned. You already worked so much as it was. Extra shifts? Why? He thought things had been better for you since he left, that you had more time to focus on yourself, maybe even catch up on the sleep you’d missed while dealing with his mess. “Why? She didn’t tell me she was working more.”

Monica sighed again—something that made Rafe know he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear, “She didn’t want you to worry. She didn’t want anyone to worry, actually.”

“Monica, what’s going on?” The anxiety clawed at his chest. He hated not knowing. Hated being in the dark, especially when it came to you.

Her eyes softened, and she took a step closer, like she could feel the panic building inside him. “Listen... she’s not taking care of herself. She’s been putting everyone first—Milo, her job, you—but she’s not eating enough, she’s not sleeping enough. She’s been burning herself out.”

Rafe’s heart sank. You hadn’t said a word about it to him. Not during any of his calls or visits. You were always smiling, always saying things were fine. But they weren’t.

He should’ve known. Should’ve seen the signs.

“She didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t tell anyone. That’s the thing. You know she doesn’t ask for help. She just... takes it all on, even when it’s too much. And with you gone... I think she felt like she had to be strong for you, like she couldn’t let herself fall apart because you were going through so much.”

You had been falling apart, and he didn’t even see it. He’d been so focused on getting himself together that he didn’t notice you slipping. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

“I should’ve done something.”

“No.” Her voice was firm, and she reached out to touch his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “This isn’t on you. You were getting better, doing what you had to do. She loves you, okay? She wasn’t going to let you worry about her while you were in rehab. She’s always been like this. Always putting herself last. It’s not about you. It’s about her not knowing how to let people take care of her.”

Rafe’s chest tightened, his mind flashing through all the times you’d pushed aside your own needs in the past, all the times you’d taken care of him instead of yourself. He thought that was never going to happen again. He’d been so blind to it, thinking you were the strong one. But you were just as fragile as he was, maybe more, because you didn’t let anyone see it.

"She’s working until midnight tonight. You should go talk to her. But... don’t be mad, okay? She’s doing the best she can."

Rafe nodded, his throat tight. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t angry at you. He was angry at himself for not seeing it sooner. For letting you drown under the weight of everything while he was too busy figuring out his own shit. “I’ll go see her.”

Your sister gave him a small smile, a little sad but understanding. “She needs you. Just... be there for her, okay? And don’t guilt-trip her about this. She already feels like she’s failing everyone.”

“I won’t,” he promised, even though the guilt was eating him alive inside. He had to be strong for you now, the way you’d been strong for him all this time. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to fix this.

With that, he left, heading to his truck, his mind spinning the whole way to The Country Club. He didn’t know how he was going to make this right, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let you keep doing this. He wasn’t going to let you fall apart, not when he was here now, ready to carry some of the weight for you.

The country club was quieter than usual when he pulled into the parking lot, but the bar inside was still buzzing with its usual evening crowd. He walked in, scanning the room, his eyes instantly finding you behind the bar.

You were moving like a pro, handing off drinks, shaking up cocktails, giving out that charming smile you always had for the customers. But now that he knew what was going on, it was easy to see how tired you looked. The dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped just a little between orders. You were running on empty, and it broke his heart.

Before he could even think of what he was going to say to you, your eyes found his across the room. For a second, everything seemed to stop. Your eyes widened in surprise, and your breath hitched, like you couldn’t believe he was actually there. He felt his heart skip a beat, and then—

“Rafe?” you breathed out, your voice soft and disbelieving. Without another thought, you bolted from behind the bar, not even bothering to tell anyone to cover your shift.

He barely had time to react before you practically jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms circled his neck. You clung to him like a koala bear, and Rafe caught you, holding you tight against him, his heart racing as he buried his face in your neck.

“Holy shit, you’re really here,” you mumbled into his neck, your voice strained with emotion. You clutched him tighter, like if you let go, he’d disappear. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” He explained, his voice muffled against your skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips, even with all the heavy stuff on his mind. Just having you in his arms again felt like a weight lifting off his chest.

You leaned back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears as you cupped his face in your hands. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too baby.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his hands gripping your waist. “I’m back, okay? I’m here.”

A small laugh bubbled out of you, even though there were tears running down your cheeks now. “I can’t believe I’m crying at work. I never cry at work.”

Rafe grinned, brushing your tears away with his thumb. “I’ll let it slide this time.”

You laughed again, but then you seemed to remember where you were. You glanced over your shoulder at the bar, where a few customers were still waiting for their drinks. “Shit, I— I’m working."

He set you down gently, his hands still resting on your waist as you adjusted your shirt and ran a hand through your hair, clearly flustered but trying to get back into work mode. “I should get back to it.”

“Take a break,” He pleaded, his hand moving to grab yours. “Please.”

You blinked up at him, the tiredness you’d been hiding for months finally showing through. For once, you didn’t argue. You just nodded, squeezing his hand before leading him to quieter corner of the bar where you could talk without interruption. Once you sat down across from him, you took a deep breath, like you already knew something was coming.

“What did Monica say?”

Rafe paused, his fingers absentmindedly drumming on the table as he tried to figure out how to start. “She told me you’ve been overworking yourself. Taking extra shifts, not sleeping, not eating enough.”

You sighed heavily, leaning back in your seat and rubbing a hand over your face. “She wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rafe asked. He wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, but he needed to understand. “You’ve been doing all this, and you didn’t say a word to me.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “You were in rehab, baby. You were going through so much, and I didn’t want to add to your stress. I didn’t want you to feel guilty about me.”

“You don’t have to carry everything on your own,” Rafe said softly, his chest tightening. “I know I was a mess before, but I’m better now. I want to be there for you the way you were there for me. The way we used to be before.”

You shook your head, “I just... I didn’t know how to stop. You needed me, Monica needed me... work needed me. And I thought, if I just kept going, I could handle it.”

He reached across the table, grabbing your hands and holding them tight. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’m here now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time you didn’t try to hide them. You let them fall, your grip tightening on his hands like you were afraid to let go. “I don’t know how to let go again.”

“Let me help,” Rafe whispered, leaning closer. “You’ve always been there for me, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. You don’t have to keep doing this by yourself.”

You nodded slowly, wiping at your tears with a shaky hand. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

The conversation gave him a sense of Deja Vu. You two had been here before.

“You’re not a burden,” Rafe said firmly, “You’ve never been a burden. You’re everything to me. And I don’t want you burning yourself out like this. Not for me, not for anyone.”

You took a deep, shaky breath, your eyes meeting his again. “I just missed you so much. And I didn’t know how to handle everything without you.”

Rafe’s heart clenched at the honesty in your voice, and he reached out, pulling you into his arms again. “I’m here now. We’ll figure this out together, okay? You don’t have to keep doing this alone.”

You clung to him, your face buried in his chest as you finally let yourself relax in his arms. And he held you determined to make things right. He was going to be there for you, the way you had always been there for him.

It felt so good to be in his arms, to finally let yourself feel vulnerable after holding everything together for so long. You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. You could see how much he cared, and it made you feel safe, but also exposed, it’s like you’d momentarily forgotten how good it felt to be so close to him.

As if reading your mind, he brushed a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, “I don’t want to see you like this anymore,” he said quietly. “You deserve more.” You opened your mouth to retort, but the words stuck in your throat as he continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future while I was gone, and I know things have been tough for both of us, but I want to make them better. I want to be better. I want you to be better.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes for answers.

He took a deep breath, his expression serious but tender. “I want you to move in with me.”

All you could do was blink in surprise.

“Rafe...” Move in? After everything? After months of barely surviving and keeping your head above water, now he was asking you to dive into something that felt... big. Scary even. You blinked again, and the look on his face was so serious, like he’d thought about this a hundred times over. Maybe he had. But you hadn’t. You’d been too wrapped up in keeping things from crashing to even imagine a future like that, let alone moving in with him. “Are you serious?”

Rafe’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, “Yeah. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t want to be apart anymore. I don’t want you running yourself into the ground, and I sure as hell don’t want you dealing with everything alone. I’m here now. I want us to have a fresh start, together.”

Your heart clenched. This was the Rafe you’d always believed in, the one you saw past all the shit he went through. And it was everything you wanted—more than you’d let yourself hope for. But then the doubt crept in. What if it was too much, too soon? What if things went wrong?

You dropped your gaze, focusing on the way your fingers tangled together, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t even know if I’m ready. I mean, everything’s been so... I don’t know, chaotic lately. I can barely keep my own life together.”

He let out a soft sigh, leaning closer. “I get that. I do. But that’s why I’m asking. We don’t have to do it all at once. We can take it slow. I just... I don’t want you to feel like you’re in this alone anymore. I need you with me, and I think you need me too.”

You did need him.

You’d missed him so much it ached, but you were terrified of leaning on him again, of letting yourself fall into something that might not last. But then again, wasn’t that what love was about? Taking chances, even when everything felt uncertain?

You swallowed hard, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But we take it slow, alright? I don’t want to mess this up.”

Rafe smiled, that slow, crooked grin that always made you fall deeper in love. “Slow is good. As long as we’re doing it together.” He tilted his head, watching you closely. He always seemed to know when you were lost in thought. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice was soft, patient, like he wasn’t in a rush for an answer.

You gave a half-smile, shaking your head slightly. “I just... it’s a lot, you know? If I start freaking out, you have to promise not to take it personally.”

He chuckled, the sound so familiar it almost made you cry all over again, “Deal. And if I start freaking out, you’ve gotta do the same.”

You smiled, finally feeling the tightness in your chest ease. Maybe this could work. Maybe the two of you could find your way back to each other. You believed him wholeheartedly. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t just making promises he couldn’t keep anymore. He was standing in front of you, offering something real, something he was willing to put in the work for.

Rafe’s gaze softened, his lips quirking into a small smile as he cupped your cheek. "I know we say this all the time, but I love you," he said, like it was second nature, like he was reminding you of something you both already knew, something solid and familiar. There wasn’t any grand declaration because it didn’t need to be—it was the quiet kind of love that had been there all along.

You leaned into his touch. “I love you too.” The words came so easily, as natural as breathing, because they were always there, hanging between the two of you, even on the worst days.

His thumb stroked your skin his eyes never leaving yours. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered like he wasn’t just saying it for you, but for himself too. "We always do."

You nodded, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, tired smile. “Yeah, we do.”

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darsynia · 4 months ago

Text

Forgiven (CEO Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Since dropping out of school to care for your sister, your daydream has been that a rich, handsome man will save you from drowning in debt. Until then (read: never), you’ll work hard at your new receptionist job and try not to ogle the impossibly hot construction guy working in the foyer…

Words/Warnings: 2,855 | none

As 5/7 of my Ro Roll birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, forGIVEn is a fluffy meet cute between CEO Steve and f!Freader. Gif is by @ashilesun.

Excerpt:

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.

FORGIVEN

“Thank God for the internship last summer!” your sister says (again).

“I do, I do,” you promise, looking at yourself critically in the grubby bathroom mirror. She doesn’t have to know you pick a new deity to mentally ‘thank’ every time. Today it’s Thor, because you need to bring electricity to your first day on the job.

You’re hoping to look professional but approachable for this customer-facing position, and it looks like the months of clothes thrifting before your internship last year are really paying off. Do you wish you could work in your field of choice? Sure, but working in the same company as a receptionist means you have both in-field and company knowledge. Once Jennie is back on her feet, you hope to be back on yours, too.

You step into the kitchen to check that everything is set up for your sister. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back at lunch?”

“No mother hen-ing, you promised! I’ll be fine, and you’ll need your own lunch!”

Your watch beeps that it’s time to start walking to work, so you slip into your sturdy dress shoes and give the room a final once-over. Jennie’s cooler of food is near the couch, she’s got all of the remotes, and her walker is within reach. You’ve even put a pair of crutches in the umbrella stand and lashed the damned thing to the couch so she can’t knock it over. Her charger is at hand, the blinds are down, and the end table has her morning coffee on a coaster.

“Get out or I’ll start throwing things at you and you’ll be late from having to clean them up!” your sister teases.

“I love when you nag,” you tell her, shutting the door before she can retort.

Star Industries is honestly your dream workplace, even after pausing your mechanical engineering degree to take care of Jennie. After Tony Stark and his company spun it off as a subsidiary, Star really came into its own. The company has an inspiring mission: to ensure safe, affordable prosthetics for the people who really need them. Many customers are war veterans, just like the two men in charge. The COO even has one himself.

You’d filled out your paperwork after hours, so when you walk into the building, it’s a nice surprise to see how the morning light floods the lobby. The atrium of the building is made up of a multi-storey open space lit by tall windows, with the company’s logo laid out in the tile floor right as you come in the doors. The A in the word ‘STAR’ is, of course, a star, but it’s the missing ‘K’ from its parent company that catches the eye. Instead of upright, the K is laid on its ‘back.’ One stick figure’s front leg and another stick figure’s back leg make up the angled lines from the K--and they’re both wearing prosthetics.

The name badge you’re given has a smaller version of the same logo, and you can’t help but hope this isn’t the only time you’ll be representing the company. You fix it to your lapel and sit nervously at the desk beside the woman who will train you. It’s an hour before you come up for air long enough to notice there’s some renovation work going on nearby.

Honestly, ‘notice’ is embarrassingly underselling it.

The windows in the lobby are clearly designed to encourage shafts of sunlight that flood a particular area with a cheerful glow. You’ve managed to look over right when one such beam illuminates a man wearing rough work clothes, his head tipped back to drink out of a water bottle. He’s handsome as hell, with a face like Adonis and powerful muscles straining his sweat-damp t-shirt. The sunlight turns him into a golden statue, and you sure as hell would visit museums more often if the art looked like that!

Your phone rings and you answer promptly, tearing your eyes away from the construction worker just as he smiles at someone. The stammered greeting you offer to the caller could be chalked up to it being your first day, but that isn’t the reason at all.

Your first week on the job is equal parts satisfying and stressful. Satisfying because it turns out you’re a natural at taking zero shit with maximum politeness. Your stress comes from the renovations.

The work isn’t loud, and it’s not like you’re worried about safety or anything. Technically, your job isn’t affected at all… well, not because of your assigned work, that is. No, you’re the one affected, and it’s thanks to the man who seems to be in charge.

After that first day, the tarp that separated their construction from the rest of the lobby had been removed, meaning you could just look over and see him at any point throughout your day.

You’ve been rationing those glimpses for your own sanity.

Despite this, there are still details you’ve noted. One, he’s definitely the foreman. Everyone defers to the guy, but his leadership style seems to rely on trust and respect. Two, he has the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. Paired with his looks, it’s a disastrous combination, especially given Reason Number Three: he’s an utter beast. More than once you’ve seen him moving things with ease that would take multiple other men to lift.

Today is Monday and the men were all at work before you arrive. Their project is taking shape; it appears to be a café with low counters, maybe a wheelchair-friendly gathering space? It would be on brand for the company, and certainly explains why you’ve been brought on as a second receptionist. The usual population in the lobby will certainly go up once it’s completed.

Before you sit down, you take stock of the wide welcome desk. Would anyone notice if you nudged one of the large flower pots to the left to mostly block your view of the café area? You decide to risk it. Foreman Eye Candy is a Distraction with a capital D, and you already love this job.

The morning goes smoothly--but by lunch you’re fairly certain you’ve memorized the pattern on the side of that damned pot, for as often as you’ve looked over at it.

When you come back from your break, the pot is back where it was before.

Your hands shake a little bit as you log back into your computer. Did a cleaning crew come through and adjust it? You’re not brave enough to ask the senior receptionist for fear she’ll question why it was moved in the first place. It’s probably a fluke, you decide.

Without your makeshift barrier, you find yourself looking over at the Foreman way too many times before you’re done for the day, but he’s smiled at least twice in your direction, so that’s something.

On Tuesday morning, you choose discretion as the better part of valor and scoot the pot over to obscure your view again, even taking the time to nudge its closest neighbor a little, to even up the spacing.

After lunch on Tuesday, both pots are moved back, and Eye Candy is smiling. You doubt the two are related.

On Wednesday you bring in one of those Newton’s Cradle desk toys with permission from your coworker at the desk. It’s altruistic, distracting the children when their parents show up to ask questions. Because your area is recessed a bit, you risk setting the item on a little paper sorter to make it level with the visitors’ side. Completely incidentally, that placement blocks some of your view of the café under construction.

You come back from lunch to find the shelf moved to the other side of your computer monitor.

It’s so disconcerting that you stand there staring at it in shock for a long moment, long enough to attract attention.

“Something wrong, miss?”

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.

Chanting ‘it’s Wednesday, that’s called ‘hump day,’ there’s nothing that implies you’ve been thinking impure thoughts, pull it together!’ in your head, you answer something non-committal and continue with dinner.

That night you have a dream that Sir Eye Candy walks over and smiles at you, illuminated by one of those rays of light straight from heaven.

On Thursday you arrive at work to find the pots have all been moved farther back along the decorative part of the receptionist’s desk, much too far to move any of them without notice.

As if he’d been waiting for you to see the change, you make brief eye contact with Sir Eye Candy. He does a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to move the large sign for the café. By himself.

“Am I awake?” you whisper to yourself, unable to look away from how effortlessly he moves under heavy strain.

“Keep staring at the boss like that and the rest of his crew will never let you hear the end of it!” your front desk coworker Marcia jokes.

Your cognitive function flatlines as you try to process the word ‘boss’ while at the same time watching the man in question wipe sweat off of his brow. “It’s obvious he’s the foreman,” you mumble, dropping your phone so you have to look away to pick it up. If the screen cracks, you deserve it.

“Oh, honey, this is his side gig. Pet project. Maybe even a vacation, knowing Rogers,” Marcia chuckles.

The name ‘Rogers’ finally gets through to you, in context to ‘the boss.’ Steve Rogers.

Sir Eye Candy is CEO Eye Candy.

“Wait…”

“There it is!” Your coworker gives you the kind of look only busybody aunts and elder coworkers can pull off. “Word is his gym is closed for a few weeks, so he pulled some strings to move this project up. Nice way to start a new job, yeah?”

You’ve been ogling the CEO. “Should I put in my two weeks’ notice?” you whisper. Dismay doesn’t even cover it. You’re practically mortifie--

“I’d advise your manager not to accept,” a nearby voice says. “If anything, I probably ought to call myself into an HR meeting. I’ve been quite distracted this past week.”

It’s CEO Eye Can-- Rogers. All you can do is mutely look up at him, watching the amused look on his face turn into a stern one.

“Have you been messing with my plant display?”

It’s not at all what you were expecting him to say, and you’re still befuddled by the idea he was distracted by you, so you stammer out an admission that yes, you did move his pots.

The phone rings, and after a subtle gesture from Rogers, Marcia takes the call.

“Sir,” you begin, noting the way his posture straightens on hearing the title. You lick your lips in nervousness, and god, his eyes go straight there. HR would be having kittens.

“Go on?” Rogers’ voice is resonant. Everything about this feels like a rom-com, and you are totally worried you’ll screw it up.

“Forgive me for staring?” you offer. You’d meant to say something less obvious, but it’s too late now.

“Yes, well. I’d like to go over your conduct at a lunch meeting, if, that is, you--” he breaks off, lifts his chin, and clears his throat. “In a half hour.”

“I-- Of course--” You’ve answered too late, he’s already walking away and calling out to the crew. Stunned, you look over at Marcia. She’s grinning, but doesn’t look up, and you decide to take your cues from her.

Fifteen minutes later, the work crew wraps up. You see them file out in your peripheral vision, but if Rogers is going to play the Principal’s Office card, you’re going to play at being an obedient student.

This sends your mind on a complete irresponsible rampage, and you’re still tamping down the mental images when a gentleman in a suit walks up to the front of the desk.

Your welcoming smile is already in place when you lift your head to greet him, but it widens into surprised happiness to see that it’s Rogers. At the very last minute you stop yourself from acting like he’s picking you up for a date, even though you very much hope that’s what this is, HR be damned. Every fairytale has a villain, after all, and villains are made to be thwarted.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The word choice is deliberate.

“You can. Marcia, do you usually cover for lunch?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll be prompt,” he says firmly, tapping the flat of his palm on the desk with finality. You take the cue, getting up and slinging your purse over your shoulder, but inwardly your stomach is a riot of sawdust.

Are you reading this wrong? All of your teenage aspirations to be swept off of your feet by a rich, handsome man feel like lead weights at the bottom of your shoes. Steve Rogers’ reputation is sterling, and despite your less-than-angelic daydreams, you don’t want to come across like a gold-digger. Even if you are strapped for cash.

Rogers opens the door for you. The front door. The front door of his business. It’s heady and confusing, even more confusing when a slick silver car pulls up and a valet hands him the keys.

“You look like you either need sunglasses or smelling salts,” he says gently.

“A neck brace,” you quip. “For the whiplash.”

His smile is sheepish as he opens the car door for you. “That’s fair.”

The car is cinematically nice inside, and you suppress the desperate desire to pinch yourself until you wake up as he gets in and adjusts the seat for his height. He doesn’t look over at you, which your adrenaline-drunk mind can’t decide is good or bad.

Then he does, and all you can do is smile back at him.

“A confession: I cribbed some of those lines.” Rogers eases the car out into traffic and lets out a long breath. “From Bu-- a friend of mine. Advice on how to be in charge and ask out a subordinate at the same time.” He stops at a red light and shoots a look over at you. “How’d I do?”

You kind of want that neck brace, but despite the trappings, you’re really enjoying who this man is turning out to be. “That depends. Do you want me to be turned upside down and sideways?”

That earns you a look akin to the one he sent you when you’d called him ‘sir.’ You shiver, and he notices. “I don’t think you want to know what his advice might be on the answer to that question! How about ‘maybe?’”

“Maybe is good,” you manage.

“Glad to hear it. What would you like? Italian? Deli?” Rogers looks over and catches his breath like he’d forgotten his wallet. “An invite to lunch without your employment on the line? I’m sorry about that. I got--” He looks back at the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. “--carried away.”

His candid mix of charm and command are sweeping you completely off your feet, tarnished halo and all. “I don’t think I have time to phone a friend for a better answer, but is ‘maybe’ still good?”

Your sister would walk her ass to the car to smack you if she knew you’d just told the CEO of your new company you’re a ‘maybe’ for a one-on-one ‘maybe’ date with him. You suspect his friend would be facepalming, too.

“Your job isn’t on the line, I promise. I’d never misuse power like that--” He breaks off from his serious tone, looks down at his suit and the fancy car you’re both sitting in, and chuckles. “All evidence to the contrary.”

The whole situation is absurd, unrealistic, completely romantic, and everything you’ve always wanted.

You’re going to wake up any minute now.

Rogers looks over and raises his eyebrows. You realize with embarrassment that he wants you to either tell him where he can stuff his lunch invitation, or where the two of you can go eat.

“I got carried away too,” you rush to say. “Yes to lunch. No maybes in sight.”

“You’re forgiven,” he smiles.

to be continued...

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #fluff #CEO AU #meet cute #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #captain america x f!reader #humor

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waughymommy · 4 months ago

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Mommy Knows Best

Chapter 1

Rebecca Sullivan plugged in the vacuum cleaner and set about cleaning the master bedroom. As she pushed the vacuum to reach under the bed, she hit something she wasn’t expecting. She quickly turned off the vacuum and got down on her hands and knees to investigate. Looking under the bedframe, she discovered a box she had not seen before. She pulled out and looked inside. To her complete surprise it was a full of baby supplies. There were bottles and pacifiers, diapers and onesies. But something was odd. No baby was big enough to fit into any of the diapers. They were huge. She unfolded a baby blue onesie and held it up. She thought to herself my god this would fit a grown man. Is my husband secretly a baby? Is this why he has never wanted to have kids? What the hell? She left the set the box on the bed and returned to cleaning up the bedroom. Brian would be home soon and would have some explaining to do.

He threw his briefcase in the passenger seat and hopped in his car. He ran his hands through is hair, tired and stressed out. All he wanted to do was get home to wife and have a quiet Friday night in. Brian worked for a major marketing company. It was a great paying job, but he often worked long hours, sometimes well into the evening. The stress could just be too much at times. He turned on the radio, rolled the windows down and tried to forget about his work as he drove home. A short drive later and he was rolling into his garage. He stepped out and cast a glance at all the power tools sitting on the shelf. These were all the things that made him feel like a man. Things that made him try and ignore the child that dwelled within. He hoped that by doing all the things guys are supposed to like, he could hide the secret that he still yearned to be little, to be cared for. He loved his wife dearly and had tried so many times to tell her, but every time he tried, his nerves failed him. They had been together for ten years. They had built a life together. He had climbed the ladder in his company which afforded him all the luxuries of life he wanted Rebecca to have. In providing for them both, maybe that childish fantasy would go away. But yet, he still fantasized that one day, she would make him her baby. However that was a fantasy and this was real life. He took a deep breath and walked into the house.

As he stepped through the threshold, he noticed the pleasant aroma of dinner. Rebecca heard the door opened and turned around with a bright smile. It was the smile that had smitten him all those years ago. She embraced him in a warm hug, kissing him on the cheek. “There is my big, hardworking man. Come sit and I will get you a drink sweetheart. Dinner is just about ready.” Brian didn’t object, sitting at the table and took a big sip of the Jack and Coke she placed in front of him. “My god honey, I needed a drink. It was just meeting after meeting. I’m pretty sure my brain has turned to mush. I’m going to try and forget about work until Monday,” Brian lamented. She soon retuned with their plates and the two enjoyed their dinner. He soon finished his drink and she quicky poured him another. “After dinner sweetheart, let me take care of you. Let me help my baby boy relax and unwind, she said in a syrupy sweet tone. He was a bit taken aback by “baby boy,” but he was too tired to really care.

“Here sweetheart, have one more drink and go sit in your comfy chair while I clean up. I will come get you when I’m ready for you.” Ready for what he thought. “Um ok, honey. Thank you for making such a wonderful dinner. I am so lucky that I have you to take care of me,” he replied. She smiled and said, “Of course.” Brian walked into his den and plopped down into his favorite chair. The drinks were starting to kick and soon he was nodding off to sleep. “Is my baby boy sleepy?” she asked while caressing his hand. He opened his eyes and mumbled some apology for falling asleep. “Its ok baby boy. Come with me and we will get you all cozy.” She led him by his hand back to their bedroom. His grogginess soon turned to panic when he laid eyes on his box sitting on the bed. Oh god. I am so fucked. I have no way to get out of this now. He chest grew tight and he felt like he might be sick. For decades, he had managed to keep his secret quiet. Rebecca quickly sensed his apprehension and squeezed his hand. “It’s ok sweetheart, trust me. Everything is all ok. There is no need to scare. I know my big man needs to be taken care of,” she said with such a maternal tone. “Now lay down on the bed for me. You don’t need to say anything. I know you want this. Brian, I know you want to be a baby, I found all of your stuff. I am not mad, I promise. You know I have wanted a baby for years. And maybe that time is here.” Rebecca looked down on him, seeing his eyes dart all over the room. He was scared. She knew he was filled with guilt and embarrassment. Brian thrived on being able to take care of her. “I want to be able to do this for you, but this is the only time I will make this offer. So if you want to accept this, you don’t need to say anything. All you need to do is place your thumb in your mouth and start sucking and mommy will know that you are going to be her little baby boy.”

Brian closed his eyes, as tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt horrified and excited all at the same time. His heart was racing. What do I do? This is my only chance. This is what you have always wanted. Trust her and let go. You need this. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife’s smiling face. He took a deep breath and slowly curled his fingers into his palm. He lifted his hand to his face and placed his thumb in his mouth. There he did it. Rebecca beamed, “Oh mommy is going to take such good care of my baby.” She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and then moved onto his pants. She removed all of his clothes until he was lying completely naked on the bed. She reached into the box and produced his pacifier, “I know you want your binky honey.” Returning to the box, she pulled out one of his diapers. “Get that sweet little tushy up baby,” as she slid the diaper under his bottom. The smell of baby powder seemed to put him in a trance as he sucked harder on his pacifier. She taped up the diaper, making sure it was secure. She kissed his exposed belly and then climbed up onto her side of the bed. “Come here cutie. Let me hold my baby.” He quickly complied with her demand. He laid his head on her chest, feeling her soft bosom. He let out a sigh and melted into her. He was now her baby. A tear escaped her. She had her baby. But she wasn’t content to just pretend. If she was going to be a real mommy, he needed to be a real baby. She ran her fingers through his hair and floated off to sleep.

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cuntdevil · 3 months ago

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★ THE CLEANER-UPPER!

a highly-regarded murder cleaner is assigned a job at a hotel. unfortunately, when housekeeping walks in, it breaks bakugo's streak and ability to make a clean getaway.

( fic demographics. ) boku no hero academia, bakugo katsuki, dark content (violence) & sexually mature | minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact & 7000 words.

╰┈➤ murder cleaner!bakugo, housekeeper!reader ( afab & she/they pronouns ), mentions of murder, dead bodies & blood. smut: rough sex, bondage with a belt, anal play, fingering, degredation, spanking, etc.

( author's note. ) this fic is based on a mobile game ive been playing recently, nobodies: murder cleaner. it's so fun and was an interesting concept i wanted to turn it into a fan fic uwu.

Bakugo has always been thorough with everything he does, living his life in a pristine manner that his friends often teased him for. Everything he has and owns has to be placed in their designated areas or his mind will start racing and it’s as though he’s a ticking time bomb. It’s a problem that he has, but he’s made it work in his favor. Especially in his line of business.

When Bakugo’s asked what he does for work, he’s honest. He’s a cleaner. Typically, people won’t question him further. They might ask what a guy of his size and caliber is doing working a small job like that. He’s gone to a well-established university and earned a high-GPA that his academic peers are envious of. Why is he wasting such talent on a dead-end job? Surely, there are other professions and careers he could go in.

And with further elaboration, Bakugo goes into a little bit more detail, saying that he works for a private company and that he gets paid by the rich to clean up. Then, by seeing the type of stuff he’s able to afford, they can come to some sort of understanding of why he does it. A paycheck is a paycheck and does he really need a job that’s mentally taxing? They learn to dismiss further questioning, even if they’re not satisfied with the course of life in which Bakugo’s decided, and let him be. He’s got a roof over his head and is able to come home to a full fridge. He’s obviously not struggling like they have to.

But the majority of the time, that’s a stranger’s outlook on his life. People that are more dear to him have come to grow suspicious. Are the rich really that willing to pay him that much money just to clean their homes? Do they really just throw their money away just like that?

His parents, specifically his mother, have inquired plenty of times about his job. She had asked for full reports about the business he works in and Bakugo’s been willing to share. Giving his mother a business card, pamphlets and flyers, his tax information when she further insisted. And through conducting her own research, everything has checked out. Her son is indeed a cleaner. A well-paid cleaner that’s able to live in a nice luxury apartment by himself, owning a car that’s better than her own, and doesn’t have to come back to his parents for anything financial wise.

He doesn’t have to worry about a thing, and while that should make Mitsuki happy, it doesn’t. She’s proud that her son has a job and is able to support himself and doesn’t need to depend on her or her husband for anything, but she feels as if she’s not needed— not wanted anymore. He rarely calls and when he does, he makes sure to make it worthwhile, always stating how his job has kept him and away from the phone. When Mitsuki tries to make unexpected visits, he’s never home�� peeking through the windows, his apartment barely looks lived in.

The more and more she thinks about it, Mitsuki realizes that this isn’t normal. Days at a time he would be absent and when he’s back it’s only for a day or two until he’s back on his feet. It’s exhausting to watch, and it surely must be twice as exhausting for Bakugo to keep working such strenuous hours. She’d try to get him to quit, seeing purple starting to form under his eyes. That’s not like her son— that’s not like Bakugo to not get at least eight hours of sleep every night. However, he’s always quick to protest, giving her every reason in the book not to. And he’d always end it that he actually loves his job and loves what he does— that it’s his outlet.

And with that reasoning only is why Mitsuki hasn’t dragged her son’s ass back home and forced him to quit already. Her boy is happy.

—

MISSION REPORT:

Asset #1080, last night Q-100’s logistics expert Shinsou Hitoshi used a known alias to check in to the Escenica hotel in Buenos Aires. Turns out that was the last mistake he ever made.

Our operative had to act fast to catch him in his room, so you may well have a bigger mess than usual on your hands.

Housekeeping will begin making rounds any time now. Make sure there’s nothing for them to find.

Disposing of the mission report right as the plane lands, Bakugo lets out an exhausted sigh. He pulls out his airpods case as he stands to his feet, plopping the small buds into his ears and hearing the habitual chime of it connecting to his device. Swerving past the private flight attendant, his footsteps are as quiet as a mouse, something that used to be unlikely before working in this field. He puts on his playlist, he always plays it when heading to a new job— it oddly relaxes him.

Heading to the black Lexus that’s sitting there waiting for him, he opens the door and hops in, not having to say a word as he’s been driven right where he needs to be. Being introduced to this line of business, Bakugo never thought he’d be someone who’d become insensitive to the sight of death and the thought of it all. However, being led through the first job and oddly finding it satisfying, he slides through every gig with ease and always concludes it a piece of cake when his agent comes to collect a completed mission report.

People think that what he’s doing isn’t challenging, always giving him looks when he tells them he’s a cleaner, thinking that what he’s doing is a waste of talent. However, he finds it to be his perfect calling, finally finding something that silences that constant creak inside his head.

When the Lexus comes to a final stop, Bakugo doesn’t bother with a farewell, more like a thankful grunt and nod before exiting the vehicle and watching as the automated doors open for him. It’s awfully quiet for a hotel, he thinks the moment he steps in. It’s close to the holidays. Shouldn't it be a little bit more crowded?

He’s not trying to wish for a difficult procedure tonight, but he finds the silence odd. However, he finds himself grateful the moment he passes a door with the body splayed out on the bed with the bed sheets covered in blood. Rushing in, he curses, “shit.”

I know they had to act fast, but couldn’t they have used some of their senses if they had any? Bakugo continues to curse under his breath the longer he stands inside of the hotel room, moving to turn the lock on the handle. He lets out a sigh as he takes a moment to himself. Scoping the scenery out, he hums to himself silently as he thinks of his options. The first thing he notices are the windows— they’ve been left open.

I could make it look like he jumped, he suggests before quickly disregarding. No, that’ll call for attention. It needs to be something silent. And something outside of this room— Turning around, he twists the door knob before remembering that he locked it, feeling something flap around underneath. Two signs for maintenance— just what he needs.

Opening the door and peeking his head through it, the coast is clear. The red ‘do not disturb’ on his door and the green housekeeping sign for the room adjacent to him. This will give him enough time to venture out and get a better look at his options.

—

By the time Bakugo’s finished his tour of the hotel, he’s managed to reroute the surveillance off of his floor and housekeeping has fallen for his small diversion, the cart parked right outside the room next to him— he’s managed to successfully snag the keys off of it as well, opening what he needs before setting them back in place. In such a short time, he’s managed to conjure up a plan to successfully hide the body— if he’s able to get the garbage chute up and running in a short period of time while also getting the staff outside of the laundry room right when he needs it. Inwardly, he cheers himself, finding this to be an easy task before instructed another assignment to complete.

Heading back inside the room, he’s found the edge of the bed frame to be falling off, and hopefully it could aid as a ladder to create a diversion for the laundry staff. Those damn workers will be in there twenty-four-seven if he doesn’t do something about it. Finding the custodial closet using the keys he borrowed, he’s managed to twist off the pipe and found some fuses that’ll help repair the garbage chute.

Bakugo thought that since it’d be a year since doing this, his heart would calm down and stop pounding against his chest, but as much as he loves it, he’s reminded of the impeccably tight schedule that he’s on and that he needs to do this fast. He moves with a haste, sorting his thoughts out with every step that he takes. Turning off the valve to the water supply, he’s figured that’ll lead to a little halt in the laundromat workers downstairs and with the garbage disposal inside of the custodial room, he can quickly get rid of the body and the blankets in no time.

Climbing down from the roof, Bakugo pauses when he hears sudden movement. “The damn water stopped working all of a sudden,” a rough voice speaks, his tone rising the more he gets angrier. “What am I supposed to do for the next seven to eight hours?”

“Calm down,” Bakugo hears next, a soft feminine voice coming from whoever the man is speaking to. With the exasperated sigh leaving their mouth, Bakugo can tell that this seems to be an ordinary occurrence of the man complaining and the woman having to hear it. “Call in for maintenance and use the rest of your shift to relax. Easy.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say,” the man scoffs. “You’re just a young thing with nothing much going on. For Pete’s sake, you’re in your twenties working in a goddamn hotel!”

Bakugo doesn’t know how the young woman’s able to keep calm when he hears her nonchalantly retort back, “And you’re in your fifties working in a hotel. Shouldn’t you be working high up in corporate by now?”

You’ve managed to silence the man, completely exiting the clean room and making your way down the line. You’ve gotten used to Aizawa’s complaining by now, but sometimes he knows just what button to push. Like now. Eyebrows rising, you see Adam's apple bob as he realizes his mistake. You have surely proven your point. In his incessant rambling, he forgot that both of you are in this circumstance and while there’s no further hope for him to better his life, you still have that opportunity. And unlike him, you have a plan on making it out of the hotel and finding a much more secure and well-paying job.

“Y’know what?” Aizawa clears his throat. “I’m gonna go read that book I’ve been meaning to catch up on the worker’s lounge.”

You curtly nod, plastering a faux smile on your face as Aizawa makes his way down the hall and out of your sight. “Tell me about it later.”

With a heavy exhale, you let out your breath as you push the cart down to the next room, forgetting to read the sign as you move to unlock it. Bakugo doesn’t move fast enough before you have the door unlocked and you’re pushing it open. The sight before you doesn’t fully register until a second too late, eyes widening and about to scream when you feel a rough hand planted over your mouth and you’re being pushed up against the wall. It went by in a flash, but it’s vivid in your mind. Pale skin sprawled out on the bed— motionless. Lifeless. Your heart is racing, panging heavily on your chest as the crimson red eyes that match the color of the blood-soaked covers peer down menacingly at you. “Do. Not. Make a sound.”

You finally make eye contact with the person that’s got you in this position. And it’s easy for you to jump to conclusions— think that he’s the killer and because you walked in on this scene, you’re going to be his next victim. Bakugo’s never been in this position before, never getting caught. He doesn’t know what to do in this predicament.

Actually, he does, but he’s not sure if he wants to carry through. He’s not a killer, only the man that cleans up. He can stomach seeing a dead body, but not sure if he can stomach actually creating one. But, he doesn’t necessarily need to do it himself. He can call his organization, have them do the job for him and he’ll gladly clean it up.

Could he, though? Could he clean up the body of his own mistake? A young and pretty woman, seemingly around his age range, who had no business being in his. Of all of his tasks and mission reports, he’s never had witnessed a woman being killed and he really doesn’t want to anytime soon.

Fuck. You’ve really put him in a predicament here. Couldn’t you read the damn sign?

“Do ya understand me?” Staring into your eyes, he can see that you’re still freaked out. You’re still breathing heavily and your heart’s still racing. Your eyes continue to divert his, trying not to make eye contact at all. His patience is running thin and everything he’s just thought will be running right through the door if you don’t calm down. So, he gives you a little “nudge.”

Shaking you, he clenches his job as he breathes once more, “do y’understand me?”

And finally does it register to you that he’s speaking, fright turning into confusion as your eyes turn glossy. “Mwhat?”

Bakugo seethes, hand pressing down harder over your mouth as he squeezes you into the wall. “Listen to me,” he checks his surroundings, reaching over to lock the door once more while simultaneously making sure he keeps his hold on you. “If ya make a sound, yer going to join this man. I have a pair of pliers that I can use to gouge out yer throat, it only takes a few seconds. Y’understand?”

Tears start to trickle down your eyes as you squeak, nodding your head in obedience. You’ve seen your fair share of movies, true crime television shows and podcasts. You don’t doubt a word that he says. And with a man of his size and caliber, if you dared to fight back, he’d tower over you in less than a second. If he goes back on his word and kills you, you hope it’d be a quick and easy one. So, in his hand, you nod once more. “I understand.”

He keeps you in that same position for a little while longer, staring into your eyes for a bit while longer before letting you go. Dropping his hand, you and him both let out a breath, but he still keeps you trapped against the wall. “Since ya decided to ignore the ‘do not disturb’ sign, yer going to help me dispose of the body.”

You rapidly nod. “Okay.”

You’re complying so easily, it makes him skeptical. “Yer not gonna fight?”

You shake your head, stammering out a “no.”

“Why not?” In response, you start to squirm within his tight hold. His big and calloused arms on your waist. So close to you, you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, so close to your neck. And his eyes, the color of rubies, despite them scorning you and scrutinizing your every move— they’re pretty. This scruff of a man with messy blond hair towers over you, bulging muscles that have easily pinned you down to the wall the moment you stepped foot into the room. The longer you look into his eyes, you realize that this man has seen some shit and has done even more terrible things. Why would you fight?

“You’d win,” you ultimately shrug. It’s enough to receive another once over from Bakugo, “You got a point.”

Peeking over Bakugo’s shoulder as best as you can, you look at the lifeless body— the corpse seemingly at peace. It makes you curious, and maybe a bit too brave. “W-why’d you kill him?”

“Huh?” Taken aback, Bakugo didn’t know how to answer your question. Should he tell you the truth or should he lie about it? Or should he evade your question altogether? Glancing behind him, at his current job, he lets out an exhale. “Just help me hide the body if you don’t want your skull bashed in.”

—

With the extra hand by his side, Bakugo was able to seamlessly dump the body inside of the garbage disposal and set everything that he had used back in its previous spot. You were compliant and didn’t argue with anything that he told you to do, able to divert and lie when questioned by your coworkers. It was as though you were familiar with this and had been working as a cleaner yourself. Bakugo was impressed. Still, he’s still unsure what to do with you.

Standing inside of the hotel room, he’s watched you clean up every crevice of the room, analyzing how you’ve fixed it up to pristine shape for the next occupant. It’s just a shame that the next person will have to deal with the ghost of Shinso Hitoshi. Dropping a spray bottle back into your cart, you slowly turn around to sheepishly view who you suspect to be a murderer. “Are you going to kill me now?”

You’ve taken him back yet again, but more so because you’ve been so calm. How are you not scared at the possibility of losing your life? He doesn’t answer your question and his silence is all that you need to finally break down. “Because before you do, I’d like to at least plead for my life!”

With the raise of your voice, your eyes widen. “Sorry,” you tone it down. “B-but… I won’t say a word. I’ll just— I’ll stay silent! Plus, you’ve made me an accomplice. If I did say anything, you could easily rebuttal it in court.”

You’ve got a point, he sighs. It’s a shocker that he didn’t even think about that before. He just made you an accomplice in the heat of things. Checking the time, it’s late and he has a bit of time for himself before he’s called in for his next task. “Are there any bars close by?”

“What?” you ask, bewildered. He gives you a look, telling you not to let him repeat himself. Gulping, you nod your head, “There’s a few not too far from here actually.”

“When do ya get off yer shift?”

Checking the time, you do the quick math. “In a little less than an hour actually.”

“Great,” he pushes himself up from off the wall. “We can discuss it over a drink then.”

“You’re not going to kill me then?” The moment you clocked out, Bakugo dragged you outside of the building and instructed you to take him to the nearest bar. As per usual, you complied, bringing him to one that you actually frequented yourself as the bartender immediately recognized you the moment you took a seat, setting a Mojito right in front of you before asking Bakugo what he wanted. With a bourbon in his hand, Bakugo cocks an eyebrow at you. “What makes ya think that?”

“You haven’t done so already,” you shrug. “I don’t know. With all my true crime knowledge, if you wanted to kill me, you’d have done it already. You’ve had plenty of opportunities.”

“Maybe I’m just having my fun with ya before I kill ya off. Have ya thought about that?” Bakugo inches into your personal space, standing up and towering over you. Purposely taking a domineering stance, he watches as fright twinkles in your eyes. Sickeningly does he find some humor in it before he sits back down on the stool. Clearing his throat, he takes another sip of his drink. “Nah, but yer right. ‘M not gonna kill ya.”

“Then why’d you bring me with you?” you ask. “Why not just send me on my way with another threat or something? It'd have worked.”

Leaning into his chair, Bakugo shrugs. “There’s just somethin’ about ya that makes ya interesting—” licking his bottom lip, his eyes grazing over your body, taking you more in. “—just need to discover what.”

—

Back pressed into the dresser, it aches as the straight edge leaves a bruise on your bare skin. His bare hands are no gentler, calloused palms that hold you down and grip your waist with a vice strength that has your heart beating against your chest. From its incessant pounding, it's caught Bakugo's attention as lets out an airy and amused chuckle. “Not scared to clean up a dead body, but yer frightened by my cock, hm?”

His breath against your neck as his teeth graze the shell of your ear. He paused and in anticipation, your body shudders. “Fear it's the one thing that's gonna kill ya? Yer a rather sick one, aren’t ya?”

You can only mewl out in pain as he pushes you further against the dresser. You can’t help but stare into those crimson eyes of his, how they’re sparkling in lust— lust directed right towards you. However, despite the pain and the haughty desire that courses through your body right now, you can only agree with him. That rush of being afraid, the possibility of losing your life and simultaneously hiding someone that’s already lost theirs. It was an exhilarating experience as you had a tall and brawn of a man that glared daggers into your chest if you dare get him caught. The possibility of aiding a criminal and becoming an accomplice no longer frightened you. No, it was the fact that you enjoyed it and now want to continue feeling that rush of living on the edge.

At the lack of response, Bakugo can only continue to chuckle in pure amusement. He’d mistaken you as a fragile being when in reality, you’re just as fucked up as everyone else is in this world. What was that saying again? The innocent ones aren’t as naive as they seem? At least it was something along those lines.

He leans over to bite down on your lower lip, thick and supple as he can taste the remnants of whatever chapstick you were wearing. You shamelessly moan at the feeling of his touch roaming your body. Big hands that reach to cup your ass and grope at them before hoisting you up on the dresser and eliciting a squeal from your lips. Who knew that a vixen such as yourself could sound so pure. Yet, Bakugo takes the opportunity to fully indulge in you, his tongue exploring the caverns of your mouth and giving you no fighting chance towards catching up. Instead, you can only moan and whimper against him as he’s in between your legs and you’re trapped in his vice grip.

Even with the assisted height of the white piece of furniture, Bakugo still has the leverage. His hips meeting your inner thighs as you feel the press of his clothed erection against your mound. Hands that previously didn’t know what to do finds themselves snaking around his neck and your nails scratching at the nape of his neck, playing with the short strands of his undercut. It drags a guttural groan from him, humming in response to your actions as he pulls away from you.

Your eyes flutter open to make contact with him once more, they’re glossy and needy as they beg for me. “Please…”

You don’t know what you’re begging for to be quite honest. You just need to feel more of him— to no longer be restrained by each other’s clothing; to feel each other’s raw bodies against each other’s. Bakugo knows exactly what you want, what you so specifically desire. And as much as he wants to give into those natural urges, he finds it fun to tease. “What’s it that ya want?”

His rough fingers start to traverse your body, from the nape of your neck down to your shoulders as goosebumps start to rise in anticipation. From the crevice of your shoulder to your waist does his fingers travel upwards to flick at the nub of your breasts and down to your navel. “What do you want inside of you, hm?”

His gruff and gravelly voice really does wonders to you, spiking up your heart rate even more that you’re concerned if this’ll turn into a medical mishap. Body still so close to yours, you can feel his body heat mixing with yours as small beads of sweat begin to form. “Do you want my fingers inside of ya?” he inquires. “The same ones that were used to hide a dead body? You’d fuckin’ like that, wouldn’t ya?”

And you nod ever so shamelessly, eyes pleading with him to make you feel full in some sort of capacity. “Ah,” he hums. “Once again, so quick to comply and say ‘yes’ to anything I tell ya. It’s kind of… pathetic.”

You let out a screech, fingers reaching for your hair and pulling ever so roughly. He’s forced you to bear out your neck, your chest heaving heavily as you pant. “Don’t you think so, too?”

You squeal out something incoherent, too fixated on the pain to contort anything understandable. However, his grip loosens as he once again pulls you in for a kiss, swallowing away the momentary pain. Pulling away once more, Bakugo looks at you to say, “don’t worry, doll. I promise to make ya feel good.”

He’s kept well on his promise, fingers stuffed inside of you as he’s still got you sat on the dresser. Legs spread open wide for him as he’s hell-bent on seeing just how well your pussy reacts to him. Your juices secrete onto the piece of furniture as your mind is fixated and captivated on this brute of a man. Two digits stuffed inside of you— thick and intimidating. The hands of a murderer, your subconscious whispers into the back of your mind, yet you can’t find the strength to fight him off. And you sure as hell don’t want to, especially when those said hands are being used to bring you to such immense pleasure right now. Has a man ever made you feel this good before?

You’re afraid to answer your own question as you’re letting another moan as your thighs begin to tighten and your sweet cunt starts clenching around his fingers. Your hand reaches to grab his wrists, but he’s unrelenting as he speeds up the pace. “Oh, God…” you cry out.

“No God here,” Bakugo smiles connivingly. “Just me, doll.”

“I— I’m gonna—”

“Let this pussy cream all over my fingers, baby,” he drawls, spreading your legs even wider with his free hand as he feels your walls pulsate around him. “Show me how much of a dirty slut you are for me.”

And the way your body follows his commands boosts his already inflated ego, a maniacal grin gracing his features as he watches your body convulse. Your mouth falls open in an ‘O’ as you have fallen speechless. A white band forms around the base of his fingers as he continues fingering you through your orgasm, a small puddle starting to form as it widens and sticks to your inner thighs as he watches you in delight. “Yeahhhh…” he breathes, barely above a whisper.

Not a complete asshole, he gives you a moment for you to relax before he’s pulling you out of your haze suddenly. Forcing your legs to wrap around his waist, he carries you over to the bed, dropping you on it and watching your body bounce on it as he’s caught you off guard. In this naked glory and now laying on the bed so vulnerably, it’s given Bakugo the better opportunity to ogle your body much more closely. He takes in your breasts and your curves down to your delectable cunt that still glistens from your orgasm. Eyes traveling back to your face, nothing beats those features of yours.

What’s a sweet little maid doing in the hands of him? You’ve surely lost your way.

Bakugo starts pulling off his own clothes, giving you a show that you have no intent on looking away from. And the way your pupils darken is all the reminder that he needs that you aren’t no saint. Reaching for his pants, he pulls at the buckle of the belt, dragging it from the loops with one aggressive swoop before dropping it on the bed. It could possibly find itself handy.

He maintains eye contact with you, as he watches you sit up on the bed. Unzipping his pants, he shimmies out of it before kicking them off and slowly crawling on the bed and over you. He feels like a predator who’s caught his prey and ready to devour you. Your eyes widen in expectancy, ready and waiting for him to pounce. Both now in an equally naked glory, you’re ready for whatever he has to give. However, from hovering over your body, he’s sitting up once more and removing such close proximity that has you confused and has you questioning his next move.

Until you feel a hand on your ankle. You can’t imagine the ease it takes to flip you over, not letting out a single grunt as he’s gotten you on your stomach now. Breasts pushed into the soft fabrics of the bed with a hand pushing down on your back as you feel his heavy-weight against you. The jingle of his belt comes to your ears as you look behind you, feeling both of your hands in his grip and he’s using the piece of leather to bind them together. He watches you intently as he smirks, “Can’t have ya movin’ ‘round while I use your perfect little pussy.”

He fixes you how he wants, forcing you on your knees as your upper body lays pliant and still. He’s got your ass and pussy out in the open for his use and he watches how your cunt is once again begging to be filled, clenching onto nothing in the search of friction. He’s got a hand around his length, hard and waiting to fill itself into you and ruin this pretty little body of yours. Dark shaft of his that’s veiny and cut tip leaking of pre, he rubs his head as the many possible ideas of what he could do to you rings throughout his mind. But with the aching throb of his cock, he knows he can’t keep withholding you what you want— what the both of you want.

With his body weight, he inches forward until you can feel his skin against you. His heavy cock in between the crevice of your ass as his body heat radiates off him like the scorching sun. Engulfed in his presence, your breath hitches as you tug on the tight restraints of the belt wrapped around your wrists. The raspy chuckle that escapes the man above you sends shivers down your spine as he leans into you. His chest presses against you as one hand grabs at the belt-bounded hands and the other helps align his cock with your entrance. “Y’think yer ready for the wild ride, doll? Cuz I don’t think I’ll stop once I start. This pussy just looks too good to give up.”

“Yes,” you huff out, nodding. “Please, I need you in me.”

He grins. “Whatever y’say.”

The walls of your apartment are paper thin, so you don’t doubt that your neighbors can hear your extracurricular activities. You’re not being considerate of their comfort at all as you shamelessly weil into the night. Skin slapping against skin, the wet sloshing sound of your juices sounding through your bedroom as Bakugo fucks you viciously. You’re crying out like a disgusting little whore, first whining about how he was too big of a stretch and now look at you. You’re not bitching anymore.

“Look at ya,” Bakugo grunts, keeping up the rough and torturous pace. “Taking my cock like the nasty little slut ya’re.”

A thumb prodding at your asshole, puckered and tight, Bakugo lets out a nice string of saliva trickle down in between your ass as he massages the next entrance. The action has you clenching as your nails dig into the palm of your hands, tensing up at the feeling of him teasing your hole. He slaps your ass, nonverbally reprimanding you. “Don’t tell me you can’t handle a finger up your ass now,” he mocks you. “Aww, don’t tell me you can’t handle it. Don’tcha wanna feel good? I know you do.”

You mewl, eyes shut as your face is stuffed into the comfort of your silk-clad pillow, you don’t utter a word to Bakugo. Can’t bring yourself to. “Don’t worry, doll—” For once, Bakugo’s a bit more gentle. Still keeping the exhausting pace of drilling your poor pussy, he rubs your ass with a gentleness. “—It’ll only hurt for a moment.”

He doesn’t give you any warnings, only pressing his thumb deeper until he can’t anymore. Just as he said, where one moment you were squealing in pain, the next your body relaxed as your nerves didn’t know what exactly to focus on. The beatings of your cunt or the thick digit invading your ass. Right as you got adjusted to the additional penetration, you let out a dragged moan that only had Bakugo smirking. “Told ya,” he says with a smack of your ass.

It’s all overwhelming, how you feel so full yet can’t reach behind you to touch Bakugo, to pull him impossibly closer to you. You whine and moan out, high-pitched sounds that’re like music to Bakugo’s ears as you jut your ass back into him. Your cock swallows him whole, your sweet cunt pulsating and clenching around his length in a desperation for him to breed you. And fuck is he tempted to. He can imagine the ropes of cum he could pour into you, mixing with that intoxicating nectar of yours.

His grunts and moans are guttural as he withholds his orgasm, waiting for that perfect moment. With his thumb still inside your hole, he presses the palm of his hand into your ass, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin and threatening to create dark bruises. “C’mon, doll. I ain’t got all night.”

You’re so close, you can feel it. In the pit of your stomach, that familiar churn rises up inside of you and bubbling up to be something deadly. “Fuck,” you cry. “‘M so close!”

It’s inhumanly possible, but Bakugo speeds up even more, battering down on your pussy until you’re screeching out a garbled mess. White blurs your vision and if Bakugo was trying to say anything, you didn’t hear it. Your body spasms as you feel your inner thighs and the sheets beneath you get soaked. You don’t register the sudden hollowness you feel as Bakugo pulls out, the sight of you squirting getting him on so much that his orgasm follows yours shortly after. Ejaculating, he spurts his cum all over your back as your legs fall pliant as the last of your juices seep into your sheets and you can only lay in your mess.

Cock softening as droplets of his orgasm drip down your ass, Bakugo pants as he looks at the time. Half past three in the morning, he should really leave. He knows this, but he’s exhausted and if he makes more than five movements, he’s going to knock out for sure. “Fuck,” he curses as he climbs off you and falls to your left side. You’re panting heavily, chest rising and falling as Bakugo looks over at you. Your eyes feel heavy and you’re trying to force yourself to stay awake, but to no avail. With all the strength you have left, you spin to the side and your back towards the blonde in your bed. Bakugo snorts as he shuffles to turn away from you as well. G’night, he grunts out in his mind.

—

“I’m not a murderer, by the way.” Bakugo finds his way on the edge of the bed, his back towards you. The sun peeks out through your curtains, giving him the light he needs to get dressed. “Don’t think I’ve ever clarified that. I didn’t kill that poor piece of shit.”

He catches you off guard, making you turn around to view his back. Processing his words, you’re not sure if you believe him or not, but you decide to go along with it. You’ve already laid in bed with the man and you’ve given up on convincing yourself of the morals that you believed you once had. Was this a way to make you feel any better? “Then, what are you?” You didn’t mean for the little laugh to leave you at the end of your question, making it seem like you were doubting him. Though truthfully, you were.

“I just clean up the bodies after the murder,” he explains as he gets dressed, ignoring your little chuckle. He can’t blame you. “Someone else kills them and I hide the evidence that it even happened.”

“Oh,” you breathe, intrigued. There’s a job for that? Before you can answer any questions, he stands. Now fully clothed, all except for his shoes.

“Yeah,” he answers, gruffly. “I’ve sent out a recommendation for ya. You seem fit for the job, so I made a call to one of the higher ups to get in contact with ya.”

“You… you did?” Furrowing your eyebrows, it catches you off guard. “How’d… when did you even have the time to do that? You were pretty much glued to me the moment I walked in on you.”

Bakugo smirks. “I’ve got my ways—” Glancing at the clock, he silently curses to himself. “—Anyways, I’ve got to go. See ya around or whatever.”

Your eyes widen at the announcement of his departure, making you sit up in the bed and reach out to him. “Wait!”

“What?” he snaps back, glaring right at you now. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Is that it?” you ask, not sure what exactly that you’re asking. “Is there nothing else?”

“Nothing else to what?” he turns back around. “I’m pretty damn sure you won’t call the cops. That’d be stupid of ya.”

That smirk on his face. Moments ago, you found it to be such a sexually appealing thing, but now you just wanna smack it off his face. “Or what? You want me to say I had a good time with ya? Is that it, doll?”

Your face heats up as you grow flustered. “No.”

“If it makes you sleep better at night,” he crosses his arms, making them bulge even more. “I did.”

With that, he gives you another once over before reaching for the door. Without a goodbye, he swings it open and then shut as he quickly makes his departure.

—

SEVENTY-TWO HOURS LATER

Bang, bang, bang. Three hefty knocks at your door that makes you jump out of your seat from around your very small and quaint living area. You haven’t heard from Bakugo since he’s left, and you don’t know how you expect him to when you don’t even have any way to contact him. However, you were still hopeful— still had him on your mind since the moment he walked out of your small apartment. From the three knocks, you’re hoping that it’s him, coming to devour you like he did three days ago.

“Who is it?” you call out from the other side, but there’s no response. When you look through the small peep hole there’s no one there. Kissing your teeth, you’re about to head back to the couch when something in the back of your mind tells you to turn back around. When you do, you hear the small slip of paper slide from underneath the front door and there’s a singular letter sitting there right at your feet.

Picking it up, the envelope just has your name on it— first and last— nothing else. Not your address and not one from who or where it came from. It reminded you of some of the last things Bakugo told you. “I’ve sent out a recommendation for ya. You seem fit for the job, so I made a call to one of the higher ups to get in contact with ya.”

Ripping open the envelope, you let the tattered thing fall to the ground as you read letter:

Dear (Y/N),

It’s a shame to know that one of our trusted agents was caught during a mission. Truthfully, you should’ve been handled with more care and caution, but if it were to go that way, you wouldn’t be receiving such an invite like this. Agent #B354 has recommended you to join our very secretive profession to be part of our agency.

We will give you another twenty-four hours to make a decision and get your bearings together. Whether or not you accept this invitation, you will be sworn to secrecy about this organization or you will be dealt with accordingly— as you should’ve originally been. If you decide to join, welcome to the team Agent #Y976. If you decide that this profession isn’t for you, you’ll receive a non-disclosure agreement to sign and we wish you the best of luck in life.

From, NMC Organization

( departing words. ) honestly, this fic could've gone on longer and i feel like it could be more detailed, but i don't have the time for that, unfortunately. please leave your comments and feedback below!

#bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki smut #bakugo smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bnha #tw: (n)sfw #tw: dark content #x reader #x black reader #bakugo x black reader #‧₊˚ ⋅ standalone.

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syoddeye · 10 months ago

Text

the christmas party

ceo!price x reader / smut free / ~2.8k words

A very belated Christmas drabble thing. Definitely not inspired by real life events. 👀 Featuring a fem!Reader x Price, background Ghost x Soap, and Gaz, the incredi-boss. Might fuck around make this a series, we'll see! Maybe I'll clean it up and throw it on AO3, too.

CW: alcohol, substance abuse (mentioned) inappropriate comments from coworkers

You came to expect drama at the company Christmas party. It was as traditional as the optional White Elephant gift exchange, the hired group of carolers, and the ugly sweater competition.

Last year, a 'mystery' baggie of powder and a credit card belonging to the former Head of Sales was found in a bathroom stall. Two years ago, it was the unexpectedly raunchy dancing between an engineer and a project manager you swore hated each other. Three years ago, a division head went home with someone who was definitely not her spouse.

You'd seen a lot in your tenure. The good, the bad, the ugly, the hilariously mortifying.

Coming up on your fifth year with The 141 Group, you were a rarity. Most folks job-hopped. More power to them, no shame in gaining good experience after a year or two to leave for greener pastures. The fact you stuck around labeled you a 'veteran', a cheeky if not sensational label, though there were times you certainly felt like you'd seen war. Acquisitions. Rebrands. Reorgs. Yeesh.

But life at 141 suits you. You are an executive assistant, a good one. It helps that your direct supervisor and the VP of Finance, Kyle Garrick, a fellow 'vet', was an incredible boss. He lets you work from when you need to, doesn't micromanage, and treats you like a person, unlike other execs. He had faith in your ability to manage his calendar, prep materials, book travel - in short, you organized his work life. In return, whenever some new hire got too fresh with you, all it took was one teensy mention in a morning meeting, and by lunch, the offending party had only apologies for you. Most importantly, though, the job nets enough money to make rent and let you pursue your hobbies.

With years of Christmas parties under your belt, you were looking forward to tonight's low-grade yet cataclysmic event. Pre-gaming and primping at a fellow assistant's house, Jordan, you clasp the silver holly leaf pendant around your neck where it lies just above your modest cleavage. The dress code was simply 'Christmas Color', another tradition. Formal attire was expected, if not an unsaid requirement, which meant slipping into a gorgeous dark green dress you spied weeks ago in a boutique window. You thank yourself for earning that last pay bump to afford it because you look fantastic, in your humble opinion.

Lacing her leather Oxfords, Jordan gives a low whistle when you turn away from the mirror. "Like a big, sexy pine tree."

You smirk. "Thanks. Remind me why we both couldn't wear red tonight?"

"Because of the two of us, red is my color. Do I not look like some kind of holiday vampire?" She asks, standing with a sweeping gesture down at her deep, red velvet suit.

"More bellboy, but-"

"Rude!"

The two of you lovingly bicker all the way out to the awaiting car. The 141 Group, ever mindful of its image, always reimbursed rideshares for its company parties. Given the amount of liquor that flowed at these events, it wasn't only generous but smart. Like the higher-ups needed a scandal. The car ferries you across town to the ritzy event space at a local art museum. Leaving your coats at the complimentary bag check, you enter the well-underway party.

The events team needs a raise, like yesterday. The sprawling space was completely done up. Several open bars, a champagne wall, a photo op with a to-scale Santa's Sleigh, and dining tables with place settings that probably rival a monarch. Silvery white birch trees enveloped in lights line the walls, with clusters of small fir trees fully decorated dotting the space. The dancefloor was already busy with a DJ fully dressed as Santa.

Four going on five years, and it was still quite the sight.

You gently elbow Jordan. "So. Cheesy themed cocktails first or canapes?"

"Obviously drinks. I just saw one with an ornament in it!"

Three hours in, it was a dead heat for Most Dramatic Event. Two separate calamities slowly built throughout the night.

At the nexus of the first, Chad from marketing was almost blacked out. After winning the ugly sweater with a true abomination of a sweater (working lights, a mini speaker, and an ungodly amount of sequins), he celebrated. A little hard. He bopped from open bar to open bar as the bartenders cut him off one by one. He was trying to convince a coworker to grab him another Mistletoe Martini, and it was progressively getting louder.

The second was from the rumor mill more than anything. Apparently, a developer named Scott brought the wrong gift for the exchange. As the story went, his wife used the same paper for an identically sized gift, one of a titillating nature, and now he was visibly paranoid that he nabbed the wrong one on the way out the door. The man stalked the pile of gifts as folks drew numbers.

Jordan bet on the first, and you bet on the second. From the corner, you watch, giggling behind a cup of Prancer's Punch.

The sound of your name drew your attention. Kyle, in a charcoal gray suit with a sleek snowflake tie bar and green tie, approaches with a Tiny Tim Collins in hand. Though you waved hello earlier in the night, he spent most of the evening in the company of who you deemed his 'buddies' - Johnny MacTavish, VP of Technology and Jordan's boss, and Simon Riley, the Chief Security Officer. You learned in your first month to leave the trio to it.

"Having fun, are we?" Kyle grins and turns to observe the twin events.

"I love this party. Every year, delivers just like Santa," Jordan gleefully said.

"Someone should stop them," You add, knowing nobody would. At least not Kyle.

And as if on cue, the man chuckles. "Not my circus, not my clowns."

The three of you chat, swapping bits of office gossip collected through the night. Not the most appropriate, but not the worst social crime, surely. You're the right amount of tipsy: warm and relaxed but solid.

The wager came up naturally.

"What do you want if you win, my pine tree?"

"Hmm. It's gotta be something outrageous but not a fireable offense. Hmm. Maybe I'll have you sing on a video call, pretend you thought you were on mute or something."

"...That's boring."

"Do I want to know?" Kyle asks, sipping his drink.

"We have a bet on who's gonna be this year's drama - Chad or Scott." You explain.

"Maybe I ought to get back…" Your boss said with a laugh. "Better not witness to whatever you two plan."

"Might be for the best. Night, Kyle," You accept the brief hug from the man, then poke a finger against his chest. "Listen, if I get one DM about work during the holiday, I'm switching your coffee to decaf."

Kyle claps a hand over his heart as if he's been shot. "Monstrous. Fine, have it your way, no work during Christmas…Now, behave yourself, both of you."

Watching him retreat back to MacTavish and Riley (who look quite cozy - perhaps another piece of gossip?), Jordan nudges you. "If I was into guys, that's who I'd be into."

"You and like fifty other people here," As Kyle's assistant, you're more than his Girl Friday; you're also a professional gatekeeper. You could wallpaper your apartment with the amount of cringy notes you've stopped from reaching his desk.

"Not your type, then?"

You whip your head back to Jordan, utterly horrified. "No way. Not that Kyle isn't an absolute dreamboat; he's just not my dreamboat. Plus, at this point, it would be so, so weird."

Jordan laughs. "Y'know, even though we've been work besties for a year, I don't think we've ever discussed this. What is your type? As dudes are not my specialty, I have no clue."

Your type, huh? As if you don't know. Your type's been the same for as long as you can remember. Big and brawny, the kind of guy who could haul you around. Dark hair. Well-groomed, well-dressed, well-endow–You could still make it onto the naughty list.

Using better and cleaner terms, you relay this information to Jordan.

"Huh. A man's man. Whodathunk–oh! Oh shit, look who it is!" The other woman pats your arm and gestures with a nod.

Joining Kyle and his buddies, is none other than John Price - CEO of The 141 Group. Fashionably late (very fashionably late), yet another tradition. Adorned in a Santa red suit jacket and a matching red tie, he somehow makes the boring dress code dashing. Flanking him is a pair of bodyguards. He's just in time for the wager to come to a head.

God, he looks good.

As Kyle's assistant, you see John fairly regularly. Not that he sees you. No one above a certain pay grade sees assistants. You kind of just blend right on in. Not even Mr. Riley, whom you've been introduced to a dozen times by Kyle himself, recalls your name. When you tag along to meetings to take notes for the boss man, you assume you're on the same level as a lamp or plant. That doesn't mean you haven't ogled John Price before. Kind of hard to not to, what with his commanding presence. You're kind of ogling him right now.

"Wow, you really do have a type," Jordan hums with a shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," You hiss into your drink and look away, just in time to see Chad from marketing lift a gift box-shaped ice sculpture and smash it onto the ground next to one of the open bars with a frustrated yell. The poor bartender and caterers jump back, and the music scratches to a halt. A thick silence fell over the party, impressive for a crowd of over a hundred, and your eyes flick to Mr. Price.

He glares daggers in Chad's direction, then nods at the taller of his bodyguards. Without hesitation, the man crosses the event space toward a petrified, drunk-crying Chad. As the guard hauls him away, your coworker, or former coworker, you assume, bursts into ugly tears and then disappears from sight. But your eyes are still on John, whose gaze turns to the DJ. The music starts again, as does the chatter.

"Fuck yes," Jordan giddily whispers.

"Well, shit."

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"...Unfortunately, yes. Yes, I do," You sigh and down the rest of your drink. "Before you swing the axe, let me grab another punch."

"Hurry back, I've got my thinking cap on," Jordan impishly smirks.

With a groan, you make your way to the nearest open bar. One far from Chad's little tantrum. Most folks are on the dance floor at this hour, leaving this particular bar quiet. Waiting in line behind other tipsy coworkers, a clearing throat behind you grabs your attention.

"D'you have a recommendation?" A low, gravelly voice from all your best dreams asks.

You turn, and the sweet Hallmark-worthy image that blossomed in your mind in the last two seconds promptly morphs into a nightmare. Not a running-for-your-life nightmare, but a you're-the-only-naked-person-in-class nightmare. Laughable, considering the topic of conversation not three minutes ago.

John Price stands tall behind you, arms crossed, testing the fabric of his red suit jacket. He smells like tobacco and something spicy, and his eyes are a shade of blue you hadn't noticed before. You never got this close. They narrow slightly, and you realize you haven't answered him.

"Prancer's Punch." The name sounds cornier aloud.

"Hmm. Brandy or rum?" He sounds unimpressed. Was he unimpressed?

You're quicker to answer this time. Except, you babble. "It's, uh, made with dark rum. It's delicious. I've had a few. The cranberry juice isn't too tart, compliments the sparkling wine and–It's good."

Santa, run me over with your reindeer.

Kyle would be humiliated to have heard all of that. You are humiliated for having said all of that.

To your surprise though, the corner of John's mouth hooks in a smirk, then he chuckles. "How many qualifies as 'a few'?"

You, apparently committed to acting moronically, answer honestly. "Five."

It gets you an actual laugh this time. His hand raises up to scritch at his cheek, flashing the band of a watch you're certain is worth more than your life, then juts his chin forward slightly. "You're up, miss."

"Oh, no, Mr. Price, I insist, please-" You start to sidestep to let him up in line, but his hand lowers immediately and stretches out to stop you. He doesn't touch you, but the hair of your arm stands up at the proximity.

John smiles again, and his head tips toward you. "I insist. Join me, Miss…?"

"Mr. Price?" A voice suddenly interrupts. The taller bodyguard that removed Chad steps up and steals away Mr. Price's attention. "The problem's been dealt with. Regarding…"

You don't hear the rest of the conversation because you hurriedly ask for a punch and bolt back to Jordan.

And Jordan saw everything. Your heart is racing, and you miss half of her teasing.

"You made him laugh. Twice. I don't think I've ever seen him smile, let alone laugh."

"Because I basically admitted to being drunk!"

"Calm down, you're not, you're solid," She reassures. "Besides. You saw that death glare at Chad. If he was upset, I reckon you'd be on the receiving end of one of those."

You groan and take a swig of punch. You hope you've had enough of the good stuff to burn away the memory of your embarrassing rambling. You look back to Jordan to say something and find your friend once again grinning devilishly at you.

"I just thought of what I want for my victory."

Any time, Santa. Put me out of my misery.

"What?"

"So…You know #AskPrice?"

You know where this is going, and your eyeballs nearly bulge out of their sockets. "Jordan. Please. No. Do not make me post something stupid there."

#AskPrice was the name of the open channel at work. Anyone across the company could post questions for Mr. Price to answer. More often than not, it was a venue for bootlickers and kiss-asses to rain praises and share bad proposals. Rarely was there a legitimate question or a good idea.

"Darling, of course not. I have something far funnier in mind," She started, and you swore you saw the flames of hell itself in her eyes. "You're going to direct message Mr. Price and ask what he wants for Christmas."

Jaw, meet floor. "Absolutely not!"

Jordan laughs and hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you in. "Come on. It's harmless. Believe me, I considered making you send a selfie or asking if you're on the naughty or nice list."

"He could fire me!"

"For what? It's just a question! He always says we're welcome to DM him."

To be fair, Mr. Price did say that at the end of every company-wide call or in email announcements. He always harps on 'transparency' and 'open channels of communication', hence #AskPrice. To your knowledge, however, no one ever takes him up on that, at least at your level.

"Jordan…Mercy. Please."

"My sweet pine tree, you lost fair and square," She releases you and pats your shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I bet he gets a thousand messages a day. The notification will get lost in the noise."

It doesn't take much more prodding and encouragement from Jordan. Your phone ends up in your hand, and you tap into the chat app. Your hand shakes a little when you pull up John's username and open the message dialogue.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas?

Short and to the point. Jordan calls it 'boring', but you're already putting your neck on the line for a stupid wager. You're not risking anymore by dressing it up. Bet fulfilled, you press send, quickly turn notifications off, and shove your phone back into your little purse. Jordan rewards you with a squeeze to the shoulder.

"That was terrifying." You whine.

"That was a rush. Come on. Let's dance."

The next morning, when you're all but molded to your couch and housing takeaway, there's a little ping from your phone. It's the chime of the chat app.

"Kyle, for the love of everything, it's Sunday–"

You nearly drop your phone.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas? > World peace. > I'd settle for a drink, though.

#call of duty #john price #captain john price #captain price #price x you #price x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #price x female reader #cod fanfic #cod fic #ceo!john price

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interpolanticssuperfan · 1 year ago

Text

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 1 | 18+ only

warnings: this will eventually contain smut so please be mindful. part of my goal is to explore ken developing a relationship with a human who struggles with their own vices, and doesn't feel qualified to teach him how to be human. i'd consider this slow burn with obviously eventual relationship fluff and smut (this includes ken doing things like drinking alcohol for the first time, having sexual experiences for the first time, etc.) not sure how many parts this will be but i will keep everyone updated!

also - my main is @snuffbby i just didnt feel comfortable posting it there, but you can follow me there if you want to chat or ask questions about this ongoing work. thanks <3 <3

Meeting Ken was actually a complete and unforeseen fluke – not on your part, it’s not like you were looking for him.

Frankly, you weren’t looking for anything at this point in your life. Burnt out, at the end of your rope with men and content to enjoy your own company in the comfort of your apartment, happy to work your menial clerical job for the rest of your life until a better paying career fell into your lap.

Or whatever.

You didn’t really care. As odd as it sounded, you were thankful right now for boring. For humdrum chores, for cleaning the kitchen and brainlessly answering emails for eight hours a day until your joints ached.

Having been out of college for four years now, you’d put in a decent tenure at your current company doing data entry. It wasn’t challenging and afforded you plenty of freedom in your schedule. That being said, most days were seamless copies of one another – wake up, feed your guinea pig, stretch on the tiny sliver of patio out front, then head to the library down the road to work until your eyes crossed from screen fatigue.

Nothing really ever changed. Yogurt for breakfast every morning. Repeated motions of the only three yoga poses you knew. Even your guinea pig seemed to look at you with confusion sometimes when you fed her, tiny eyes ogling up at you from her spacious enclosure.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you’d mutter, dropping in romaine lettuce and pellets for her. And after every complaint, she would twirl in a circle, waiting for her daily brushing.

The library was a godsend on these hot summer days, air conditioned and quiet. You didn’t even need headphones, but preferred them to focus. The secretary stopped asking if she could help you find anything when she realized you’d become a regular patron of the modern looking white table near the massive windows.

“Good morning, Pat,” you’d smile as you passed, and she’d give you a little wave, usually on the phone with someone or engrossed in a book of her own.

Updating spreadsheets. Notifying supervisors of progress. Nearly nodding off at eleven thirty. It had been shaping up to be an entirely normal, predictable, cut and dry day. Until a silhouette by the front desk grew bigger, approaching your peripheral and then flat out startling you. Numbers and figures had started to blur together, so you blinked hard and shut your laptop – just to find an incredibly curious sight across from you.

Sat comfortable and cross-legged in the opposing chair was one of, if not the most objectively attractive men you’d ever seen in your entire life. Pretty in a way that bordered on unnatural, like a living sculpture. A long, denim-clad arm splayed out lazily along the back of the chair.

This man gave you a calculated yet warm smirk that danced across his features. Bleached blonde like a model and face angled, glazed in sunlight that inched through the windows. He was something straight out of a fairytale – picturesque, almost glowing.

Where had he come from?

“Is this seat taken?” Inexplicably you felt the back of your neck heating up, a ring of sweat forming around your collar where your necklace was clasped. It seemed to sear into your skin as you fumbled over your words, deciding what to say to the stranger who’d placed himself in front of you like an apparition.

“I… no, I’m here by myself. Working, I’m, uh. Just working.” Strangely, you noticed him make a fist to himself, concealed partly by the table, but his gesture of victory was obvious, as if he’d just won a bet or something. The blonde composed himself then with a twitch of his neck, nodding evenly, instantaneously cool as a cucumber again. His bright blue eyes studied you, your laptop and planner on the desk, your bag hanging across the arm of the chair. You’d never needed the air conditioning to be effective more so than this moment. Crank it way up – igloo this place all the way.

“Excellent. My name’s Ken.” Big blue eyes finally locking with yours, he puffed his chest out, like a purple and green speckled peacock trying to attract a mate with his confidence, his easy bravado. Though it was difficult to ignore the openness – the curiosity in his eyes as he took you in.

Like it was his first time talking to a woman, or at least trying to do… whatever he was doing right now with you.

You felt that your instincts would warn you if this neatly manicured man was making you uneasy or frightened, but you didn’t notice an inkling of displeasure. On the contrary, it was almost electrifying to be stared at like this. Flattering.

Had been months, almost a year since anyone paid attention to you like this.

“Ken?” Unable to stop the laugh, you tilted your head sideways, scooting your chair back to get a better look at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Ken. Wait – I’m sorry, that’s not true. My dad’s boss was named Ken. But you wouldn’t, um. You wouldn’t know him. At least I don’t think so, I have no idea where you’re from. He was an engineer, this senior engineer for a huge company in New Jersey… we don’t keep in touch, he’s sort of an asshole.” You found yourself rambling on as you drank this surprising man in, freely sharing details about yourself without even telling him your name first.

But what an interesting view he was. Painted still with this deeply intoxicating smile, pupils darting and eager like an energetic puppy.

“I am not from New Jersey. But I’m sorry the other Ken was – what did you call him?”

“An... asshole?”

“Yes, I’m sorry he was that.” Your long winded introduction didn’t seem to bother him one bit. He kept his gaze unmoving right on your face, like he was terrified to break eye contact.

You eyed his white cowboy boots (did people still wear those?), black leather pants that hugged his legs like a gift from the heavens, and a long sleeved white denim jacket that appeared to be cropped, revealing just a hint of his lower stomach, and when you caught your eyes lingering for just too long on the tanned patch of skin peeking out, you sighed, shutting yourself up.

You couldn’t shake one thing, though; leather and denim on a day like this? It was nearly ninety outside, you remembered, and cocked your head at him.

“Oh, I was talking about my dad, not his boss. And I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” Ken replied, studying you to gauge your reaction to his compliment. It was clear Ken was attempting to hit on you, and it was equal parts unfamiliar and gratifying.

“Thank you. I’ve never had anyone say that about my name.” Ken winced as if shot through the heart, his flawless eyebrows flying up to his flawless hairline, and he clutched at the buttons on his jacket. This display would have probably seemed incredibly dramatic on any other man, but for some reason it read as… serious on Ken.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You shook your head. “I’m not.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“Well, I really appreciate your honesty, Ken.”

“It’s no problem at all. I would never lie to you. Not in a hundred million years.”

Very heartfelt words coming from someone you’ve known for all of… four minutes, generously.

You quirked your head, caught off guard by his comment. “I… thank you. If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you over… here? To sit with me, I mean?”

This caused a beam to unfold across Ken’s face, and he leaned back in the chair, perching his chin up so as to look professional. “Can I tell you the truth?”

“Well. Yes, I’d like that.”

“I saw you here last week. On – what’s the one that starts with an ‘F’?” Ken screwed his eyes shut, scanning his brain meticulously for a piece of very common, everyday information.

This is a bizarre way to flirt with someone for the first time, you thought to yourself, bewilderment sinking into your gut as you helpfully offered, “Friday?”

“Yes! That’s it. Friday,” He uttered to himself and dropped his eyes, seemingly making a mental note. “So, I saw you here Friday. You were getting a book from right over there.” Ken pointed to the magazine rack nestled against the front desk that you once in awhile perused when the weekend approached, for lack of anything better to do at home.

You had checked out a magazine last Friday, in fact, after you clocked out for the day and packed up your things. It wasn’t anything special, just a stupid crossword puzzle collection with a recipe for a quiche you wanted to try making.

“You saw me on Friday and didn’t say anything?”

“Exactly. You got the magazine, and then you walked home, and I didn’t know what to say because you were already inside. So then I walked back here – the library – and waited in case you came back. But that rude lady up there told me they were closing at nine, so I had to leave. Actually, she told me a little more than that. She said that I couldn’t loiter, whatever that is, but I was free to check out a book, so I asked her what book you had just gotten. But she didn’t want to tell me that for some reason.”

Ken recounted this like he was describing the weather with a colleague, just simple, redundant water cooler talk. Your jaw hung open in disbelief. Was he being serious? You’d finished work at four thirty. He sat here, allegedly for hours until it closed?

He’d followed you home?

Before you could interject with a dozen questions flying through your mind, Ken continued.

“Anyway, I thought about walking back to your house – and you have a big house, by the way! I had a feeling you would. You seem like a very successful lady. That’s why I had to meet you. Successful, captivating, beautiful, I couldn’t just go all the way back to Barbieland after I saw you!”

Had he mistook your apartment complex to be something you owned? And – what did he just say?

“Go back. To Barbieland.” You stated, smile faltering quicker than Ken managed to absolutely stun you with his fanatical tale.

“Right? I knew you would understand. I just knew you would, (Y/N)! Not to mention how long it took me to get here in the first place. So after security kicked me out –”

“Hold on, I’m sorry. I just… Ken?”

“Yes, my dove?” Ken’s taken to periodically toying with his jacket in positions that display his pronounced biceps. It’s endearing. It’s distracting. He’s stiflingly mesmerizing.

“Okay. Can we back up for a moment?”

Ken’s wide eyes regard you with infinite patience, wisps of his almost silver-like bangs falling against his brow bone. You remember that it’s only noon, and you’re still technically on the clock. In fact, your supervisor is almost certainly trying to get ahold of you for his midday rounds, checking on your team’s progress for the day.

“Ask me anything you want. I am an open book. Especially for you.” He enunciates each syllable, adoring eyes raking over you again, and it’s beginning to feel a bit too much – and there’s a lot more information you need to derive from Ken before you can backpedal to… introductions and amicable conversation. (Not to mention the curling heat that’s pooling in your lower abdomen the more Ken devours you visually. He may have just dropped a bomb on you, yes, but he’s… well. He’s bewitching, alluring in a fashion that’s barely comprehensible.)

“Right. Here’s where I’m at. With all of this. I am very flattered by you, and your… dedication to finding me.”

Ken’s grin overtakes his face, eye lines wrinkling with complete satisfaction. You almost forget your next words, forget to draw a line in the sand with this (gorgeous) stranger who’s just admitted to essentially stalking you.

But somehow, the pit in your stomach ceases its knotting when you meet his honest cobalt eyes. Not a hint of malice behind them, not a shred of ill intention. Not for the first time since you’d met Ken, you’re astounded that with any other man this behavior would scare you, probably compel you to call the police, even. Maybe you’d misjudged him.

He forgot the word for Friday, for Christ’s sake.

But then there was this talk about traveling a long way to come here… about Barbie? This didn’t sit right with you, and the concept that Ken might be mentally unwell dawned on you, though he seemed coherent and relatively well spoken. Just a half hour ago you’d been toiling away with spreadsheets, and now you were silently cataloging all psychiatric facilities within a ten mile radius, wondering if a man of average height and average build could walk that far on a sweltering hot day. And still look, for lack of a better word, perfect.

As you sat agonizing over the right words to say, Ken merely watched with his hands in his lap, boot tapping against his knee with no discernible rhythm. Patient with an emotion akin to devotion swimming through his watchful gaze.

“Ken… where are you staying?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where have you been staying while you’ve been in town? Do you live around here?”

Ken smirked again, leaned in close to you, resting his elbows on your work laptop. “There’s that humor I like about you. Silly girl. I already told you, I live in Barbieland. It takes me seven hours to get here!”

“Okay. Right. So, let’s try this. Friday when I went home and you came back here. You remember that?”

“Uh huh,” Ken bobbed his head with sincerity, unfazed by this line of questioning, not picking up on how perturbed you’d grown.

“Where did you sleep that night? Do you know anyone here?”

Ken took his bottom lip in between his teeth, thoughtfully chewed on it. “Besides you, I don’t think so. The book lady who kicked me out doesn’t count as knowing someone. Right?”

“...Probably not. So where did you sleep?” You didn’t have the heart to tell Ken he didn’t really know you.

“I didn’t.”

“Sleep. You didn’t sleep?”

“No one’s asked me that before. I don’t really… get tired.” This confession strikes you as highly strange.

Your head began to feel fuzzy, and you guessed it wasn’t from skipping breakfast this morning. At least the sweat on your back had finally dried, and you inhaled deeply, trying not to startle Ken with your obvious worries.

“How about we do this. As you can see, I’m working right now,” you open your hand towards your long forgotten computer. “Well, I was working. And I’m not done for a few hours. But I think that we need to sit and talk about… everything. That you’ve told me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just wait here with you until you’re done! Look – I wanted to show you this. I even got a book before you got here.” Ken seems excited to share, so you purse your lips, watch him as he procures a book from underneath his chair.

Ken holds out and frames a well worn paperback titled “Misty of Chincoteague”, frayed at the edges and featuring a wistful painting of a horse on the cover. For some reason, this childlike display of wonder touches you, and against all reason you’d ever acquired throughout your life, something nags at your conscience to trust this strange man – something tells you, like a mantra beating in time with your heart, that this man is not a threat to you, he is not going to hurt you.

“Are you a horse lover?”

“I’m more of a horse admirer… they intrigue me,” Ken quips, scanning your face again to see how you’re reacting to him. He seems to be at once keenly self aware and simultaneously oblivious to how he sounds – how he’s received by others. This man is a conundrum, made up of so many conflicting personality traits and mannerisms that don’t belong together but mesh nonetheless.

And, you tell yourself, you’re still giving him your undivided attention.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”

“Really?” Ken’s act of unbothered macho-man seems to slip slightly as his eyes bulge, intently seeking for validation, wanting to hear you talk more about him, your impression of him so far. Maybe this is the way to get more information out of him, you realize, so you humor him.

“Not at all, Ken. Tell you what – why don’t you come back with me to my ap… my house, and you can tell me more about the things you like? Would you like that?”

In the minutes since you’d begun talking to him, Ken shone brighter than ever, practically buzzing with enthusiasm, gilded with a golden halo from the unrepentant sun as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Perfect. You lead the way, I’m ready whenever you are!”

#ken #barbie movie #ryan gosling #ken x reader #ryan gosling ken #ken x fem reader #ken barbie #female reader

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years ago

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afternoon delight

pairing: rhett abbott x girlfriend!reader

author’s note: this idea has been rolling around in my head for a while, and all the recent lew content has given me the push i needed to finally write it. i’ve been in a bit of a rut with my writing lately, so i’m just glad to be able to get this out of my system!

warnings: 18+ for explicit sexual content (semi-public sex and nearly getting caught), language, a healthy dose of fluff

Nothing was more boring than working the afternoon shift at your parents’ general store.

Well, maybe that wasn’t exactly true.

Nothing was more boring than working the afternoon shift at your parents’ general store alone.

At least when Moira or Kayla shared a shift with you, there was time for some idle chitchat and laughter. But it was a few weeks yet before the spring semester was over and the girls would return home from college for the summer, so today you were on your own.

And you were bored.

It wasn’t that nobody in Wabang visited the store in the early afternoon hours, but there was definitely a lull in the already slow activity once lunchtime rolled around. Most people in town headed home around noon for a quick snatch of respite and sustenance. That, or they headed to The Handsome Gambler for a liquid lunch. Either way, their minds certainly weren’t on buying a new shovel or a few cans of paint.

So the store remained virtually empty as the bright afternoon sun reached its zenith in the wide open sky, and you were left dusting the already clean shelves for what felt like the hundredth time since you’d arrived. Your parents would have been there working with you, but they’d taken a drive to visit one of their suppliers.

“You’ll be alright on your own for a few hours, won’t you, sweetheart?” your mama had asked before she and your dad left.

It was a rhetorical question and you both knew it. Besides the fact that your parents were already well aware there’d be hardly any customers in their absence, you’d also grown up in the store and knew how it operated like the back of your hand.

“I’ll be fine, Mama,” you assured her, waving as they headed out the door. “See ya’ll later.”

And you were fine. You were just so bored you thought you might lose your mind.

Tapping your fingers absentmindedly on the countertop near the register, you glanced down at where your phone sat, silent and still. You’d toyed with the idea of calling Rhett and asking him to come keep you company, but you knew that wasn’t fair. He had a lot to do on the ranch, especially at this time of year, and he couldn’t afford to play hooky just to keep you entertained at work. Besides, he’d already promised to take you out to dinner tonight. As much as you missed him, you knew you’d just have to be patient.

Huffing out a decidedly impatient breath, you stepped over to the ancient radio your father had refused to part with and fiddled with the knobs until you landed on a radio station you were satisfied with. At least now the silence in the store wouldn’t feel so deafening. You couldn’t help but grin as a new song began, the mildly familiar tune swirling in the warm air, among the dustmotes and beams of light spilling in from the large glass windows at the front of the store. You didn’t even know the name of it, but you knew it had been playing on the radio the other night when Rhett took you out to go stargazing, the two of you lying in the bed of his truck and lazily pointing out various constellations in between whispered words and slow kisses.

Your mood brightening considerably at the memory, you began humming softly under your breath as you decided to take the time you had to yourself to restock some of the shelves in the back of the store. Stepping into the back room, you grabbed a new box full of deodorant and shampoo and dragged it towards one of the shelves along the back wall. You were so focused on lining the shelves in the orderly manner your mother had taught you that you were caught off guard by the sound of the front door opening, the small bell tinkling to announce the arrival of a customer.

“I’ll be right with you!” you called out, your back to the entrance of the store as you reached for the last couple bottles of strawberry-scented shampoo. You smiled to yourself when you remembered the time Cecilia had come in and bought a whole case of it at a discounted price. Rhett had smelled like strawberries for over a month. Not that you minded one bit.

So caught up in the vividness of that memory were you that you didn’t register the heavy footfalls making their way down the aisle until a familiar pair of muscular arms were snaking their way around your waist and the stubbled face you loved more than anything was pressing against yours.

“Mmm, and what if I’m in a hurry and too impatient to wait for you up there, huh?” Rhett’s husky voice whispered low in your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as his lips ghosted over your cheek.

“Rhett!” you gasped in surprised pleasure, dropping the shampoo bottle you’d been holding without a backward glance as you turned around and faced your boyfriend head on. He looked exceptionally rugged and handsome in his Stetson and Wranglers, the sleeves of the plaid shirt he was wearing rolled up to the elbows, revealing his sunkissed forearms, the ones that made you feel so safe whenever they were wrapped around you.

“Heya, honeybee,” he grinned in that way that had you mentally pinching yourself to remind you that he was real and not just a figment of your wildest dreams. Pushing his hat back with one calloused finger, he lowered his head to plant a slow, lingering kiss on your lips.

“What are you doing here?” you breathed out once he finally pulled back, your eyes half-lidded and your brain feeling a little fuzzy.

“Now what kind of greeting is that when I drove all the way out here to see you?” Rhett teased, reaching out and resting his hand on the shelf behind your head so that he was leaning over you slightly.

You smirked in return, not minding at all the close proximity of his hard, muscled body. “Do Royal and Perry know you’re sneaking off like this?” you asked with a chuckle, one of your fingers trailing lazily along the buttons on his shirt.

“My mom had to take Amy to a doctor’s appointment, so I told them I’d drive into town and pick up some lunch,” he explained, running a hand down your bare arm. You’d worn one of your favorite sundresses today—one that just so happened to be Rhett’s favorite, too—which left your arms and a good portion of your chest exposed to your boyfriend’s hungry gaze. Food clearly wasn’t the only thing on his mind. “I think they figure I’ll be a little while,” he added with a suggestive wink, which made your cheeks grow warm instinctively.

“Hmm, and I was just thinking to myself how lonely things were getting around here. You’ve got some timing, Abbott,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down to you, kissing him deeply.

Rhett responded in kind, a low groan escaping his mouth as his arms wrapped around you and he pressed you tightly to his chest. As the kiss grew more intense, his tongue snaking out to brush against your bottom lip and beg entrance into your mouth, the two of you stumbled backwards, your back slamming up against the shelves you’d just been painstakingly restocking and upending an entire row of men’s deodorant, sending them crashing to the floor.

With low moans of both yearning and frustration, the two of you broke apart and glanced down at the mess you’d made.

“I’ll clean it up later,” you panted with an indifferent shrug of your shoulders, your lips seeking his once more.

“Damnit, honeybee,” Rhett moaned as you bit down gently on his bottom lip, his hands reaching up to play with the straps of your sundress. “You just had to wear this of all things?” he murmured, his voice thick and husky with want.

“Thought you’d like it for dinner tonight,” you whispered, smiling against his mouth.

He threw his head back slightly, which granted you access to his exposed throat. “Like it right now,” he ground out, his fingers running through your hair as you nipped and sucked on his neck. “Fuck, baby, I need you. Right now,” he practically growled, holding you closer so that you could feel just how intense his need was.

“Not here,” you told him, glancing over his shoulder. “Someone might walk in.” You could feel his heart thrumming in his chest, could hear the unsteady rhythm of his breathing. Your own heart was beating wildly, your body aching with just as much need as his. “Come help me with something in the back,” you told him with a mischievous grin, taking his hand and leading him into the back supply room, making sure to close the door firmly behind you.

It wasn’t a huge room, but it felt even smaller with Rhett standing in it, his large, powerfully built frame the only thing your eyes could focus on.

His gaze was fixed on you as well, his blue eyes blazing as he looked at you. He only broke eye contact for a moment to glance around the room, a smile curving his lips as his eyes darted back to your face.

“Never imagined we’d be fooling around in here, honeybee,” he murmured, his pulse racing at the very notion of taking you in the back of your parents’ store, a store which anyone from town could walk into at any moment.

“Do you not want to?” you asked, chewing on your bottom lip and twisting your hand in the folds of your dress.

“Oh, make no mistake, baby,” Rhett rasped, stepping closer to you. “I want to.” His eyes were serious as he suddenly wrapped his hands around your hips and lifted you up onto the wooden worktable that sat behind you, spreading your legs so that he could step between them. “I want to,” he said again, burying his fingers in your hair as he kissed you like a starving man.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” you breathed out, rubbing your body against his and kicking your sandals off so that they fell to the floor. “Someone could—I mean anyone might—”

“Honeybee, trust me,” he cut you off, resting his forehead against yours. “The way you got me goin’, I don’t need much time.”

You mewled softly in response, turned on by his words as he lowered his head to kiss you once more. You were desperate to run your fingers through his hair, but his hat was in the way. Moaning softly against his lips, you reached up and tugged it off his head. For a moment, you considered dropping it next to you on the table, but then a better idea struck you. Smirking slightly, you dropped his hat right on top of your head, feeling the way his body went taut beneath your palms.

“Honeybee,” he grunted, his work-roughened fingers digging into your waist through the fabric of your dress. “You’re really determined to make me lose my damn mind, aren’t you?”

“Come on, cowboy,” you whispered teasingly, your tongue flicking out against his lower lip. “Clock’s ticking.”

Your words seemed to flip some kind of switch in his mind because suddenly he was pulling you to the edge of the table, his hands less than gentle as he shoved your dress up, bunching it around your waist. Slipping his hand between your legs, he pushed your panties to the side and swiped two fingers up your slit without preamble.

“Fuck,” he panted under his breath, his head falling forward to lean against your shoulder. “Already soaking wet for me, honeybee,” he moaned, pressing a kiss to your bare skin just to the right of your dress strap.

You just gasped out his name in response, your arms tightening around him, which spurred him to slip both those fingers inside you, curling them against your spongy walls in a way that had you struggling to catch your next breath.

“Rhett,” you whimpered, burying your face in the crook of his neck as his fingers pumped in and out of you at a relentless pace. He smelled like sweat and sun and the Wyoming earth. He smelled like Rhett. And there was nothing that aroused you more.

“Sh, sh, I got you, baby. I’m gonna take care of my girl,” he murmured softly, peppering your temple and the side of your face with kisses.

“Need you,” you gasped, fisting your hand in the front of his plaid work shirt. “Need you inside me. Now,” you begged, your pulse racing in your veins as the temperature in the back room steadily climbed.

Rhett didn’t put up any argument, his fingers sliding out of you as he reached for the waistband of your panties and tugged them down your legs, leaving the soft scrap of fabric dangling around your ankles, all while you reached for the belt at his waist, unbuckling it with lithe fingers before making quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Damn, honeybee, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so quickly. Like lightning,” Rhett chuckled hoarsely, pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” you laughed breathlessly, helping him tug down his jeans and his boxers just enough so that he could free himself from their constraints. He was thick and hard and ready, but he pumped himself a few times for good measure before lining himself up against your entrance.

“You alright, baby?” he asked, stroking your cheek with his free hand. He knew you were usually used to more foreplay than this, and he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Mhm,” you nodded, cupping his face in your hands to reassure him. “Please, baby,” you mouthed against his lips.

Within seconds, he was buried deep inside you, your fingers tangled in his hair and your legs locked around his waist as he began rocking his hips back and forth in an increasingly frenzied rhythm.

It was messy and sloppy and chaotic, and you loved every minute of it. You cherished the moments of slow lovemaking that you and Rhett shared, when he worshiped every inch of your body and took his time giving you more pleasure than you ever could have thought possible. But you also loved these wild and crazy moments, when the two of you were so overcome by your animalistic need for each other that your bodies came crashing together in a way that was so uncontrolled and frantic and perfect because it was yours.

“Rhett,” you moaned, your voice high-pitched with pleasure. “Rhett, Rhett, Rhett,” you cried, tugging on his hair and panting against his ear, your words tumbling out in concert with the sound and rhythm of his thrusts.

“Right here, honeybee,” he gasped out, lacing his fingers through yours as he reached for one of your hands. “I’m right—oh, yeah. Oh, shit, baby. Shit, shit, shit,” he grunted as his movements became more frenetic and out of sync.

You knew he was close. So were you.

“Rhett! Baby, I’m—”

“Sweetheart?”

Everything came to a crashing halt as the sound of your mother’s voice suddenly pierced your consciousness. Your back stiffened immediately and your eyes went wide with horror.

“Rhett!” you whispered frantically, your boyfriend still rutting inside you.

You could tell from the way his head had shot up in alarm that he could hear your mother, too, but he was too far gone now. You both were, and neither of you knew how to stop.

You heard your mother call out your name, louder this time. “Are you here, honey?”

Terrified of what your voice would sound like when you called out to her, you first made sure to clamp a hand over Rhett’s mouth, trying to keep him as silent as possible.

“Y-yes, Mama!” you called out, breathing through your nose to keep from screaming out in pleasure as Rhett continued to pound away, hitting your most sensitive spot. “I’m in the back!”

Rhett’s forehead screwed up in concentration and you felt him take your fingers into his mouth, which sent your eyes rolling into the back of your head in ecstasy.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?” your mother asked. It still sounded like she was near the front of the store.

“No!” you practically shouted, eyes widening once more. “I mean, um, I’m okay! I’ll be out in a m-minute,” you announced, your legs starting to tremble violently.

Burying your face in Rhett’s shoulder, your hand still clamped firmly over his mouth, you rocked your hips against his at an almost violent pace, desperate to drive the both of you over the edge.

You could feel him tense up, caught his gaze as he looked at you, his blue eyes almost hazy from the high of his pleasure. Wordlessly, the two of you stared at one another as, seconds apart, you came undone, your mouth open in a silent scream as your climax tore through you. You could feel the warmth flooding you as Rhett reached his finish as well, his chest heaving as you continued to hold your hand against his lips.

Your mother called your name again as Rhett’s lips met yours in a searing kiss, one that robbed you of any breath you might have had left.

“Just a minute, Mama!” you called, hoping you didn’t sound as lightheaded as you felt.

“God, I love you,” Rhett whispered, holding you close to his chest as he stroked your back slowly.

“I love you, too,” you whispered in return, leaning against him for support.

Knowing you were short on time, he pulled back reluctantly to reach for your panties, sliding them back up your legs and securing them in place. He pressed the fabric against your entrance, knowing it was liable to get messy when you stood up. He dropped a kiss on your forehead before stepping back to adjust his pants, buckling his belt as quietly as possible.

“Grab that box off the shelf,” you instructed him, sliding off the table and adjusting your dress. “There’s no way Mama isn’t going to see you, so we’ll just tell her you were helping me get some things from back here.”

Rhett shot you a mildly skeptical look, but did as you told him, pulling a large box off a high shelf.

Just as you were about to open the door, however, he suddenly hissed. “Honeybee! My hat!”

Gasping, you quickly pulled off his Stetson and dropped it back on his head, grateful that he was paying more attention than you were.

When you and Rhett finally stepped back into the store, your mama looked over and raised a surprised brow.

“Hi, Mama,” you chirped with an overly bright smile. “Rhett just stopped by on his lunch break and offered to help me get some boxes from the back,” you offered before she could even ask.

“Ma’am,” Rhett nodded respectfully, his cheeks turning bright red.

Your mama glanced from you to your boyfriend, then to the back of the store, and back again. You felt your heart plummet inside your chest. Your mother wasn’t a stupid woman. And you weren’t a very good liar.

“Thank you, Rhett,” was all she said, glancing down at the cash register. “Always such a good boy.”

“Of course, ma’am. Um, thank you,” Rhett stammered sheepishly, unable to meet your mother’s eye.

“Um, well, shouldn’t you get going, baby? I’m sure your daddy and brother are getting hungry, waiting on you to bring home lunch,” you said, shooting him a pointed look.

“Oh, yeah,” Rhett nodded, blue eyes widening slightly. “You’re right about that. I best be off. I’ll see you tonight, honeybee,” he told you, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. Turning towards your mother, he tipped his hat in deference before hurrying out the front door.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, your mother turned to look at you, eyebrows arched.

You swallowed nervously, wanting nothing more than for the earth to devour you whole.

“Just be glad, little missy, that it was me and not your daddy who came back early,” your mama said, shooting you a knowing look before pulling out the ledger from underneath the counter. “Now can you go pick up that deodorant that’s all over the floor?”

“Yes, Mama,” you nodded, your mortification complete as you slowly walked towards the back of the store.

As you walked, you felt your phone buzzing in your dress pocket. Pulling it out, you saw it was a text from Rhett.

Sorry, honeybee 😬😘

Smiling despite yourself, you tapped out a quick message in response.

You’ll just have to make it up to me tonight 😉

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett x reader #x reader #x female reader #outer range #lewis pullman

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years ago

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“They” say that unattended cooking is the number one cause of kitchen fires, but I was standing right next to the oven when that pot full of carburetor cleaner went up in flames. Okay, not carb cleaner. I can’t afford the good stuff. It was a pot full of Pine-Sol. Okay, Columbo, it was dollar-store brand imitation Pine-Sol, which is indeed flammable.

The most important thing to do in the event of a fire is not to panic. Luckily for me, my life experience consists of dealing with many fires. Panic is actually completely impossible for me at this point, as the part of my brain that handles the adrenaline response for such a disaster is no longer responsive to stimuli. Last doctor I had was pretty sure it had just burned itself straight out from over-use, did two papers on it. She got a job at some AI-run drug company, one of the ones whose name is all consonants. Let’s get back to the fire.

I had a fire extinguisher. In my kitchen, no less. It was just attached to a big chunk of Chrysler Imperial, because it used to be part of an NHRA-standard drag racer. Those guys are sticklers about fire protection, probably because you can only watch so many up-and-coming teenagers with immense racing talent reduce themselves to barbecue before you decide it might be time to ask them to carry a fire suppression system onboard. I hit it with my adjustable wrench, which is the only thing an adjustable wrench is good for, and it goes off, blanketing the room in some horrendously caustic fire-uncausing chemical. I also sometimes use it (the wrench) to grab hot pots off the stove when I can’t find my oven mitts. Now is such a time, and I quickly throw the entire assembly out of the missing kitchen window into the snow, where it sizzles and is rendered inert.

After a few minutes to regain my composure and discover the furthest extents of man’s discoveries of new and exciting profanity, I step outside to retrieve the carburetor. Clean as a whistle. I smile, and walk back inside, ready to begin the arduous task of forming my own carburetor gaskets out of old roof shingles.

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musings-ofthe-unamused · 9 months ago

Text

Honey So Sweet pt. 1 (Genshin Impact)

Pairing: Childe x Reader, Harbingers x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Childe

A/N: Man, I could deal with Childe if he gave me money

It sucks being broke. You had no luck in job searches and college had ended more than three months ago. The only solace you had was going to the café near campus. It was cheap and quiet most of the time. The only downside was that the coffee sucked. Big time. Your nose scrunched as you set down your mug and deleted yet another rejection email.

It was raining outside. It seemed to match your mood, the way it poured relentlessly. The gray cloud swallowed up every bit of sunshine there could be. You watched as a flash of bright orange hair flashed past the window. The bell attached to the door rang as a man walked in. He huffed and shook off the water droplets from his hair. His outfit was impeccable. A thick gray wool overcoat covered a nice looking black dress shirt. His matching gray slacks were impeccably clean and tidy, expensive leather Italian dress shoes pulling the whole outfit together.

Like you, Childe was a regular. More than several times, he had bought you coffee and kept you company as you searched for jobs or studied. As much as you appreciated the company, he was annoying. Not only was he talkative, but he always talked about the expensive items he bought or the lavish trips he went on. You couldn't help the jealousy that grabbed any common sense and destroyed it. You wanted the lavish lifestyle. You wanted to stop drinking bad coffee and get the expensive shit that only tasted slightly better. You wanted to-

"It's pouring down, huh?" Childe pulled you away from your thoughts. He slid a piece of chocolate cake towards you. "I thought I was gonna get soaked."

You hummed and happily accepted the cake. "Maybe you shouldn't wear an expensive coat like that. It could get ruined."

"I'd just buy another one."

There it was. That smirk paired with the nonchalance of spending wild amounts of money. It drove you crazy. You angrily pierced the cake with your fork. For once, you just wanted to live life comfortably. Was it too much to ask? Probably. The world enjoyed laughing at your expense. Your empty wallet was just an ongoing bit. But at least you had free cake.

"Tough day?"

"Another job rejection." You sighed and lowered your head. "Why can't I be rich?"

Childe leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand. "Let me take you out for dinner tonight."

You groaned and shook your head. "Can't. No money."

"I'll pay."

That piqued your interest. You raised your head. "Okay… but where?"

"The new place that opened just outside campus."

"The steakhouse?" You snorted. You couldn't even afford to look at it. "I don't have clothes fancy enough for that. Why don't we just-"

Childe took out his wallet and produced a black card. He held it out to you. Your eyebrows furrowed. Was he just trying to show off his money now? You took the card and turned it around in your hands, studying it. Childe stared at you with a smirk. He was most definitely planning something.

"Buy yourself some clothes. Then go out to dinner with me."

"I couldn't-"

He stopped you, his hands moving over yours. "Yes, you can. You deserve it, okay? Think of it as a gift."

"No one is ever this generous without a hidden motive."

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't have hidden motives. Other than wanting to see you happy for once."

You took a deep breath. What was the worst thing that could go wrong? If anything, you could just return whatever clothes you got after dinner. Your eyes drifted over to your laptop. After months of constant rejections, you did deserve a break. You deserved some happiness. And it wasn't like you didn't trust Childe. At least, you didn't think he would have anything malicious planned. So you nodded and agreed. Nothing bad would happen. Right?

***

The restaurant Childe chose was all the buzz. You heard your classmates dream about even stepping inside. And here you were, your arm looped around Childe's as he led you into the fine dining restaurant. The place was big with a wide open space. Chandeliers decorated the ceiling, the lighting soft and intimate. There was a stage towards the left of the dining area where a grand piano sat. The pianist played music that flowed throughout the building and added to the already romantic atmosphere. This was… a date.

You looked up at Childe. He had a grin on his face as he held you close. So this was his whole plan. To take you on a date, woo you, shower you with gifts, and then suddenly it's two years later and you're a stay at home housespouse. You took a deep breath and sat down as Childe pulled out your chair. He then walked around and sat, giving you a smile.

"You look gorgeous tonight."

"All thanks to you."

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Did you enjoy shopping?"

"It wasn't bad…" You looked away from him. "It felt kind of awkward. Like I was afraid to buy something too expensive."

"Please, you barely left a dent in my wallet." He picked up the menu then motioned for you to do the same. "Get anything you want."

You picked up the menu. As you expected, everything was out of your price range. Not to mention, you barely understood any of the names on the menu. It was one of those places that didn't have pictures either. You frowned, bringing the menu closer to your face. You peeked over the edge to see what Childe was doing.

He was staring, of course.

Your face flushed and you brought the menu back up. "So… see anything you like?"

"I was about to ask the same."

"Uhm…" You slowly set down the menu and gave him a sheepish smile. "Why don't you order for me?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. There was definitely something fishy going on here. Childe had never wanted to talk to you so much before. And now he was acting like… he enjoyed pampering you. As the dinner went on and you ate food too fancy for your tastes, your mind tried to find a reason for him doing this. Even as you enjoyed yourself, you couldn't help but think that something deeper was going on. Maybe it was because you felt so out of place. You were a commoner, someone who had to rely on some rich spoiled kid to give you even a singular day of relaxation.

After dinner, you two were walking back to campus. Childe's arm was looped around yours as he held you close. He felt warm and shielded you from the cool night air. It was silent as you tried to rationalize why someone would ever do something like this for you. Childe pulled you closer. It felt so right, but there was still something off. Eventually, the two of you made it back to your dorm.

"Wanna go shopping this week?" He asked, his eyes trained on you.

You looked up at him. "Me? Why?"

"Because you deserve it. And I want to see how you shop."

"Is this not a waste of money?"

"I'm rich, sweetheart."

You frowned and stopped walking. "Childe, why are you doing this? I'm starting to feel like a sugar baby."

"Hah!" He chuckled and rolled his eyes as he leaned towards you. "Wouldn't be too far off."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Are you a sugar daddy?"

"A new one, yeah. I was getting bored. I wanted to spend my money somehow, so I signed up for this app that hooks up sugar babies to sugar daddies. Or mommies. Or whatever you'd like."

"Okay… but why me? I know for a fact I'm not on that site." You crossed your arms and tilted your head. Was this a blessing in disguise?

He hummed and reached out, pinching your cheek slightly. "Because I couldn't resist that cute sad face of yours."

Your face scrunched up. You couldn't tell if that was a compliment or pity. Either way, it felt weird. So there was an ulterior motive. It may not have been sinister, but it was something different than you expected. You sighed and pushed his hand away. "So I'm your sugar baby?"

He shrugged. "If you wanna be. I'm not the type to force you if you don't want it. It'll be a learning curve for me too."

"I'll… I'll think about it."

"Great." He leaned in and kissed your cheek. "I'll text you."

With that, he left. Your hand brushed where he kissed you. You went inside, dazed and confused. As you lay in bed in your too expensive dress, you took out your phone. Childe had texted you asking if you got in safe and when you were free next. You sighed and set down your phone. You had to admit, under all the bad vibes you felt, the date was fun. Hanging out with Childe, going shopping… you enjoyed it. Your phone dinged and you got another text.

Childe: "Here's the app in case I'm not enough ;)"

Your eyes widened. He wanted you to have… more? Was this normal? You weren't exactly educated in glucose activities. But… nothing could go wrong. Right? As long as Childe was okay with it, there would be no harm in trying out at least another one. So you downloaded the app. The way it was set up was exactly like a dating profile. You made an account fairly easily. As you swiped right through the ones you didn't like, one caught your eye. He looked well off, brand name glasses perched on his nose and dark long hair put into a neat side ponytail. His eyes were closed in a joyous smile.

"Pantalone, huh? I guess… It won't hurt." And then you swiped left.

#x reader #fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin childe x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin tartaglia #fatui harbingers #genshin harbingers #harbingers x reader

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maidssingapore · 11 months ago

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#window cleaning company #affordable window cleaning company

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sunnylands-world · 2 years ago

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stepdad draco x crybaby needy y/n smut

CRYBABY

Pairing: step dad draco x fem reader

Summary: Draco brings you to work but instead of helping like you're supposed to you, you whine about him not touching you until he has enough…

Word count: 1'707

Warning: fingering, daddy kink, oral [female receiving], reader is a crybaby, unrealistic description of taste, dirty talk, oral in a workplace?, Mean Draco to soft Draco

Mistakes are all mine

Universe: step dad

A/n: sorry it took me a while hope you all like it!!?

It wasn't often you went with your stepfather to work. You went with him every once in a while to help around the office, but today he insisted that it was bring your kid to work day to which you told him you were not a child. you were 20 for crying out loud! but he chuckled and said "you're still my girl" so like the good girl you are you didn't argue and made your way into the shower; washing your hair clean of dirt and following up with your skin.

After your shower, you threw on your nice baby blue dress. you had decided you needed to look the part. It hugged you nicely and even gave your breast a nice push. you brushed your teeth again, brushed through your hair, and gave yourself an encouraging nod, only to pull the door open and have the wind knocked straight out of you.

HOLY SHIT.

Now you had seen your stepdad in his business clothes before but you'd never seen him in this all-black suit that he was wearing now. His shoulders were high as he fixed the end of his sleeve. The man looked large and expensive, something you wanted so badly but couldn't afford and he was standing right there in front of you. you swallowed after eyeing him shamelessly.

When you met his eyes they twinkled with a look you recognized very well. He was sex on legs in this suit and you were more than happy to remove every layer of his clothing to worship him like the god he is.

"You look gorgeous," he hummed, licking his lips. you crept forward, fingers wrapping around his tie making him arch a brow.

Don't play dumb Draco. I know you want me.

"Maybe you should cancel so we can stay home" you whispered, and he nodded in agreement.

I got him right where I wanted him.

"tempting," he says bringing his thumb to run over your bottom lip-

Just put it in my mouth and I'll suck it for you

before he pulls back, slapping your ass with his other hand, making you jump.

"But I have work and you're coming today," he said, turning on his heel and heading for the door.

"Wish I was," you called back, a pout coming to your face as he chuckled. How could Waltz in here, tease you and then reject you for work? What type of man does that?

"You just rejected me" you whined, looking at him as he drove to his company, his hand gripping the wheel making you clench your thighs together as you watched from the back seat. Why were you in the backseat? Because he told you to sit there saying he didn't need distractions while driving.

"I did not reject you! you know if I didn't have work I'd-" he sighed, his blue eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror. you huffed, turning towards the window your arms crossed over your chest.

"I just wanted you to fuck me" you cried. Draco inhales, focusing his gaze back on the road as you enter the parking lot.

"Don't," he said, pulling into his spot.

"I'm not doing anything," you snapped, jumping out of the car as he turned the key, heading for the building. Draco followed behind you with his jaw clenched as you entered the elevator. He pressed the button to the floor still not saying a word and it only made you more upset.

"Daddy please," you wimped, pulling on his sleeve.

"I said wait! Stop being a brat!" He sneered, tugging his hand away.

"but daddy"

"I said no! that's final." With that, he stepped out of the elevator heading for his office. Your lip trembled at his tone, your eyes watering as you turned towards the girl's bathroom.

Why was he being so mean? Did he not want me to want him?

You can't help that you were so turned on by him this morning. It was him to blame for looking so good. you only wanted him to touch you. You still did, finding the wetness between your legs uncomfortable, but he refused to. The tears escaped your eyes from the sexual frustration before you whipped them away. you met your reflection in the mirror.

Your face was puffy and your skin flustered. you sighed, heading for his office, waving at people who said hello before entering it and taking a seat in the corner. The day continued silently with you running around for him. He'd brush your hand as you grabbed the paper but you didn't make any fuss about it. He seemed to be hurt that you hadn't spoken to him, not even to joke or anything. You sat back in your seat, a pout still on your lips as you flipped through a magazine ignoring his stare across the room.

"[name],"

no answer.

"[name] baby look at me" he called. He was begging. You glanced up for a moment before looking away.

"Don't be like that. I'm sorry I was just busy and a bit stressed out. I wasn't trying to be mean to you babydoll, I'm sorry" he said softly, walking over to you from around the desk, his hand resting on your thigh, sliding its way up.

"Let me make it up to you," he said, his fingers rubbing your, clit through the fabric of your panties.

"Don't you want me to make you feel good baby" you bit your lip trying to hold back the sound making its way out. You were almost mad that you caved so easily. He was always good at making you forget why you were upset.

"Draco," you whine, bucking your hips into his touch. "uh uh that's not my name" he smirks, easing a finger into your tightness. That smirk. You weren't sure if you wanted to slap or kiss him for it. His fingers work inside your warm wet walls with ease.

"daddy" you moaned

"good girl" he praised standing a bit to kiss your lips hard and apologetically, swallowing your cries. your legs trembling as he fingered your sobbing hole.

"you poor baby having to wait for daddy" he teased and you only could whimper in Response.

"You're so wet for me baby, bet I could slip right inside you." He moans. your cunt sucked his digits greedily as your head fell back against the glass of his office.

"You look so pretty like this," he groans before he pulls his fingers away. you whine in protest.

"Hush baby, I'm not done," he says, pulling you from the couch. you stood as he grinned, grabbing a cushion from the couch.

"Lay down princess," he says, helping you walk over. With your head resting on the pillow, he lowers so he's lying between your open legs.

"Beautiful," he says, bringing a blush to your cheeks. He spreads your legs wider so he can fit, his mouth latching onto your pussy, his tongue lapping at your juices as you cry out boldly. His large hands pull you closer, baring him completely between your legs.

He takes your clit between his lips, sucking on the throbbing bud and switching to flicker his warm, wet, tongue against it. Your eyes are rolled in the back of your head, your hand tugging at his blonde hair as you scream his name into the office. The thought someone could hear you sends a shiver all through you.

"Fuck you taste good, could eat you for hours," he mumbles. Your back arches like your trying to reach the sky, but there was no need when Draco would fuck you with his tongue to oblivion. You looked down at him between your legs and it sent you spiraling as he grinned at you. You bucked your hips into His face. It felt too good for you to be ashamed.

The way his blue eyes peered into yours made it all so intimidating. How could he make you feel small and submissive when he was the one between your legs?

"You're gonna look so good when you cum all over my tongue," he groans, slipping it right into you. licking at your walls and thrusting it deep like he was trying to taste every space inside you. your legs shook. They went through a battle about whether or not to shut or stay open. The knots in your stomach made your toes curl and your body felt like it was weakened from every stroke.

Fuck, he's good at that!

"Daddy!" He already knew and he nodded against you. You wondered if that was on purpose so he could bump his nose against your clit. You were whining and whimpering as tears filled your eyes. You wanted to cum so badly and Draco would get you there one lick at a time.

His hand left your thigh, pushing two fingers in as his mouth moved back to your clit, sucking. His fingers are knuckle deep as he slams them into you, having no care for your insides and neither do you when it feels so good. It's not like you'd stop him, even if you could when he Blurs the line between pleasure and pain, making you feel like you were floating from the ground in the best way. You weren't even sure what you were saying or if you were even saying anything, but he cooed in response to it and it had your heart fluttering. His other hand rubbed your thigh in a comforting way.

You were his precious girl. "That's it, baby, give it to daddy," he says sweetly. He managed to be so soft with his words while he was destroying your pussy and it pulled all the right strings inside you. Your body spasmed as he moved on top, kissing you. His tongue shared your sweet taste as you worked yours against his in a filthy kiss. He moved his hand to hold you close as you fell apart. He was playing with your heart and your pleasure all at once. God blessed you with this amazing man. You had no interest in ever stopping being greedy. For your daddy, you would always be a crybaby...

Request open 😺

Draco's lovers and requests

@alexxavicry, @sarahthehuffpuff, @supercoffeeblogs, @thatwattpadobsessed, @amyclare04, @kyracanwrite, @animeloverfreak310, @imafangirl22, @phildunphyisadilf, @jac1ndaa

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fluff #draco x reader #malfoy #draco imagine #draco fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #hp smut #smut

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lichfucker · 2 months ago

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The idea for me Max to be the “wife” in treasure island only works if they remain miserable and constantly wanting different people but also…the familiar company keeps them going. They will outlive everyone but they’ll stop wanting too. They both made the choices that lead them here and now they can only stare at each other knowing it didn’t have to end this way.

Like I don’t know if it’s mean, but sometimes I think it cheapens the tragedy if like…Max ends her life happy. Like if anything, she needs her Jim Hawkins to be a clear sign of change but she can’t do it. And in the end, her and silver are still stuck clawing at surviving.

I know this fandom isn’t a musical one. But Max and Silver reminded me a lot of the songs in “Lempicka” especially “Here it Comes” and “In the Blasted California Sun.”

oh for sure. that situation on nassau we leave max in is NOT a stable one, not by any means, and it's only a few years after the end of the series that jack gets executed and anne disappears. I imagine that that's probably when max finally pulls the plug and flees to bristol.

I don't know if I'd say the tragedy is cheapened by max having that smug power shot overlooking the tavern. I think the tragedy is complicated by it. a pyrrhic victory, of sorts. yes, she got the thing she claimed to have wanted-- the image of a little girl in the muck peering through the window at the safety and warmth afforded to people Not Like Her-- but look at all that had to be destroyed to achieve it. how long can it possibly last? even with the reinforced backing of colonial rule, not nearly so ephemeral as some independent pirate haven, this place is still just sand. it still cannot love her back. other people have articulated this point better than I can right now.

also when I said I like writing madi in bristol because I like tragedy and misery, that's not to say I think everyone would be fine and happy if max were there instead lmao. I just mean that the dynamic of two people who thought they loved each other once trying and failing to make a life in circumstances neither of them could ever have wanted is particularly compelling to me. like. for a few months in her mid-20s madi had Everything. she had a vision of the future that would see the world changed and her people freed; she had authority over a community who not just respected her but revered her; she had the good love of a good man. and ALL of that got eviscerated in an instant by that very same man, and now for the rest of her life if she wants to have a life at all she must be anchored to that man as she knows him less and less; is forced to leave her home and travel across an ocean where she scrapes a living servicing englishmen; will die long before the end of the transatlantic slave trade. how can she ever move on from silver's betrayal? how can she ever get over it? silver isn't over it. silver stays fixated on it for the rest of his life, too. silver names his parrot captain flint. silver goes back to skeleton island to find that fucking cache and when he finally gets his share he disappears just like he always dreamed of doing-- one big prize, and with it freedom-- and where does that leave madi? alone, in fucking bristol, running the spyglass, playing barmaid to white english sailors until she dies. and this, according to silver, is better than her having died in the war? what if her death had meant their victory? he still wants her to believe that THIS is preferable to that? that HE finds this preferable? still? does he even bother pretending he still loves her? does she believe he ever did anymore? did he ever tell her a single thing that's true? she cleans spilled beer off the floor. her father died a king. this is not what she wanted.

#I'm a big musical theatre person but I am NOT familiar with lempicka so I'm big 👀👀👀 at these song recs #long post #anonymous #bluh bluh #black sails #max #madi scott #treasure island

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trekscribbles · 12 days ago

Text

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Three

Chapter One Chapter Two

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

“You sure you’re all right?” J.B. asked for the third time.

Spencer took a deep breath, closing his eyes and concentrating on staying upright. “Fine,” he grunted. The lie came easily, and it brought back the question he’d been trying to avoid.

What sort of a man was he?

He’d known exactly what to do to escape the parking garage, and he hadn’t balked at being shot at or waking up beside a dead body. He’d almost certainly killed before. He lied without remorse. He’d even found himself noting various pickpocketing targets as he followed J.B. through the streets. Worst of all, he’d left something behind in that garage—something important, something worth more than his life—and he couldn’t remember what.

He was a criminal, that much was clear.

Maybe the men who’d been after him had a good reason to want him dead.

They walked just over a mile, and Spencer felt every step in his pounding head and aching bones. He definitely had a concussion, and his various other injuries were growing harder to ignore. The obvious solution would be to go to a hospital, but instinct warned him against that. He had no idea who his enemies were or where they might be. Hospitals meant reports and questions and paper trails.

He’d had worse. Probably. No hospitals.

He was shaking by the time J.B. led the way up the front steps of a tall, thin building squashed between a liquor store and an office for rent. “This isn’t an official shelter,” J.B. explained, puffing up the stairs and throwing a gap-toothed smile over his shoulder at Spencer. “Nothing run by the city, anyway. Miss Sunny June lets a few of us stay in her extra rooms, ‘s long as we help out around the place. Jim seems to have gotten himself on his feet again, so there’ll be an opening.”

Spencer hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, gripping the railing with his bloody hand, his breath coming in pathetic little pants. After a few steps, J.B. paused and gave an encouraging wave toward the door. “Almost there.”

“Why are you helping me?” Spencer blurted.

J.B. lifted his eyebrows. “You need help.”

He smiled, and when Spencer only stared in response, he turned and went on. Spencer stayed where he was. He couldn’t afford to trust random men he’d met on the street, not with so many others looking for him, but what choice did he have? He needed rest, a chance to clean up and assess his injuries, to try to remember something about his situation. He’d found J.B. by accident—his enemies couldn’t have anticipated him going down that exact street at that exact moment—but still, he was uncertain. That feeling still pulled at him, the certainty that he was leaving something behind, that he needed to go back.

“Come on,” J.B. called gently. “You can leave tomorrow if you want, but you need a place for tonight.”

Rest when you can. Regain your strength, then get back to the job.

Spencer leaned his weight on the railing and started up the stairs.

“Sunny’ll want a full name,” J.B. said casually. “She doesn’t keep records, but she likes to know who’s staying with her.”

Another name. Spencer closed his eyes, casting through the darkness for some fragment of identity. Nothing came to mind. He dug through his recent memories, billboards and posters they’d passed on their walk through the city, and settled on the name of an oil company that had advertised a job opening in the window of a career center.

“Ready?” J.B. asked. Without waiting for an answer, he knocked on the door and stepped back to stand beside Spencer. He straightened, trying to make himself look as presentable as possible, but he winced when a light came on over the door a second before it opened.

A large, round woman stood in the doorway in a cotton nightgown, her gray hair done up in curlers, a baseball bat in one hand. She adjusted a pair of cat eye glasses over her nose and studied them before breaking into a grin. “J.B.! I was wondering if you were going to come by tonight!”

“Miss Sunny June,” J.B. said, stepping foward to give the woman a hug. She lowered her bat, but kept it in her hand as she looked over J.B.’s head at Spencer.

“I see you brought a friend.”

“He needs a place,” J.B. said, stepping back and setting his hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

Sunny June gave him a long, appraising look. She was several inches taller than him, and somehow managed to look intimidating in her nightclothes. “What’s your name?”

“Spencer Stone.”

“I got no tolerance for drugs or alcohol in my home,” she said sternly.

Spencer tried not to squint through the light as he nodded. “No, ma’am. Won’t be a problem.”

He fell into a southern drawl as he spoke, which somehow felt both natural and affected. She studied him a moment longer, a slight frown settling over a mouth marked with laugh lines, before finally leaning the bat against the wall by the door.

“All right then. If J.B. vouches for you, we can give it a try. There’s a room upstairs you can use, but you’ll be sharing a bathroom with J.B. and Tomás. That a problem?”

“No, ma’am.”

She continued to watch him, but her expression was turning curious. “Get yourself cleaned up. I have some supper left you boys can share.”

J.B. gave her another hug, and Spencer dipped his head and murmured, “Thank you, ma’am,” as he ducked inside. He followed J.B. up the stairs and into the tiny room he was to use, furnished with a twin bed pushed against one wall, a dresser, and a small desk. It was simple, but the smell of fresh soap wafted up from the sheets, and a few old paintings and bright curtains gave the room a homey feel. Spencer stood in the doorway and inhaled, sinking into a flash of memory: he was small, running between dangling clothes on a laundry line, laughing as he chased after a girl in a yellow dress.

“You can use the bathroom first,” J.B. said behind him. “There are soap and towels in the cabinet. Sunny usually keeps some extra clothes in the dressers. Take a look, see if anything’ll fit.”

He opened his eyes, forcing down the hollow feeling burning through his chest. He should thank J.B., he knew he should, but he wasn’t sure how to say it. Thanks for not leaving me to die on the street. I can’t pay you back. I don’t know if I trust you.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” J.B. said, backing into the hallway, and then it was too late.

So he was a coward as well as a criminal.

He considered just going to sleep, but his stomach was empty and there was blood in his hair, and he didn’t want to ruin Sunny’s sheets. With brisk, mechanical movements, he searched the dresser drawers until he found some clothes that looked like they might fit, then shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the shower without looking in the mirror, afraid of what he wouldn’t recognize. His clothes were torn and stained and singed, the pockets empty except for a little cash. Still, they were his only clue to himself, so he folded them as nicely as he could and left them on the floor. Undressing only gave him more questions: bruises across his forearms, defensive wounds to go with the swollen knuckles earned from punches; scraped skin on his shoulders and back, probably from his fall; a shallow cut across his thigh, and a turned ankle that throbbed without the support of his boot. Then there were the scars crisscrossing his body, more stories he couldn’t remember. He ran the washcloth over them quickly, not wanting to linger over the feeling of calloused and pitted skin. He gritted his teeth as he washed the blood from his hair, feeling gingerly along the cut in his scalp. It wasn’t large, and had mostly stopped bleeding already, though he stood under the water until he was sure he wouldn’t get blood on anything else.

When he could procrastinate no longer, he turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and cleared a circle of steam from the mirror.

Apparently he had blue eyes. There were tiny cuts along his right cheek and ear where the window glass had flown up in his face, and his bottom lip was split. He stared into his blank expression, waiting for the moment of recognition.

It didn’t come.

He sighed and pulled on his borrowed sweatpants and dark blue hoodie, both a size too big, and toweled off his wet hair. He still looked like hell, but at least he wouldn’t make a mess of Sunny’s house by walking through it.

J.B. was waiting for him in the kitchen, a small room with yellow wallpaper and dated cupboards. He sat with Sunny at a round table barely large enough for the two cups of coffee and the plate full of leftovers it held, and he smiled when Spencer walked in. “How you feeling?”

Spencer ducked his head, self-conscious of the bruises and cuts visible in the uncompromising light. “Good. Thanks.”

“You’re not a good liar,” Sunny said. “C’mere, let me take a look at you.”

Something in him warmed at the words not a good liar, but he shook his head when she reached out to guide him toward an empty chair. “That’s all right, I just came down to thank you for—”

Sunny scooted her chair back and stood, pulling a plate out of the cupboard as she spoke. “Let’s get this straight, boy: I don’t like repeating myself. Now you sit down and eat, and let me fix up those cuts before you pick up an infection. Then you can go on up to bed.”

Spencer sat. He accepted a plate of chicken and rice casserole and ate in silence while she took a first aid kit from beneath the sink and moved a chair between him and J.B. She waited until he’d taken a few bites before opening the kit. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Car accident?”

“Yes,” Spencer said.

She swatted his leg. “I told you you’re no good at lying. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me.”

He looked at her, studying her sharp brown eyes and feeling like a bug underneath her microscope. She’d given him an out—you don’t have to say if you don’t want to—and that, more than anything else, compelled him toward the truth.

“I fell,” he said, simply, finally.

Sunny held his gaze a moment longer and nodded. “All right. Eat.”

The kit was well stocked; while Spencer chewed with his sore jaw, Sunny dabbed ointment on his various cuts and bruises and bandaged the larger injuries. She started with his hand, working her way up his arm and neck before gently turning his face to reach his cheek. He kept his eyes on his plate, trying to relax his tensed muscles. The casserole was good. The chicken was canned, but well seasoned, and the rice had been boiled in chicken stock instead of water. Simple ingredients, strong flavor.

He found he liked her.

“I’m gonna take a look at your head,” Sunny said, tilting his chin up with one careful finger. “You might need to go in for stitches.”

Spencer pulled away. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “You couldn’t reach. Now come back here and don’t move.”

“I can do it,” J.B. offered, speaking for the first time since Spencer had joined them. He’d watched Sunny’s ministrations in silence, sipping his coffee while Spencer tried not to feel like a county fair exhibit.

Sunny leaned back in her chair to look at J.B. “How do you know a thing like that?”

“Picked it up a ways back,” J.B. said. “You know how it is.”

Sunny shrugged and turned her attention back to Spencer’s head. He’d stopped eating, and was keeping as still as possible while her careful fingers parted his hair. His breath hitched when she touched the edge of the wound, and rush of nausea made him clench his jaw shut.

“All right,” she soothed. “J.B., come here and hold his hair back. There, that’s better. Okay. It’s not as bad as I thought.”

Spencer took a shaking breath through his nose and waited out the pain. He had a feeling he’d done that before.

“The cut itself isn’t bad,” Sunny went on. “Though it’s looking pretty swollen. I’ll get you something to put on it, but you really should go in. You’ve probably got a concussion.”

“They’ll just tell me to rest,” Spencer said.

The fingers withdrew, and Spencer exhaled in relief. “You don’t need to be stubborn about it,” Sunny said, wiping her hands on a napkin.

Spencer looked up at her and tried for a smile. “Supper is delicious, ma’am. Thank you.”

“That’s all you got to say?”

Her expression wasn’t quite irritated, so he eased a bite of casserole onto his fork and lifted it between them. “If you buy a block of cheese and shred it yourself, it’ll melt more evenly. The pre-shredded stuff has starches to prevent clumping, which affects how it melts.”

She laughed, and the sound almost made the pain worth it. “Fine then. I’ll get you some acetaminophen and a cool cloth, but I’m going to be checking in on you in the morning. Don’t think you can get out of that.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“And that’s enough of that ‘yes, ma’am, no, ma’am’ nonsense. You call me Sunny or Sunny June, or you get yourself back out onto the street.”

Spencer stood, moving slowly to make sure he didn’t lose his balance, and took his and J.B.’s empty plates to the sink. There was a dishwasher tucked under the counter, so he put the rinsed dishes inside and returned to the table just long enough to take Sunny’s hand. “Thank you, Sunny June,” he said quietly, and nodded to J.B. before making his way back up the stairs to bed.

#leverage #eliot spencer #the bushwhack job #fanfiction #leverage fanfic #my fic #whump #eliot spencer whump

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