#how to clean your car interior

[leclerc-hs]

73 Questions with Mrs. Leclerc - cl16

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you do a 73 questions interview with Vogue OR charles can't help but third wheel your interview warnings: none??? just cute fluff basically, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 2.1k author's note: I actually got a request by someone to do this and thought it was such a CUTE idea and concept. I obviously didn't do ALL 73 questions cause that would've taken forever. But thought this was a cute little piece to do. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think don't be shy !! xoxo

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THE DELICATE FOLDS of the pale pink sundress fluttered like petals in a gentle breeze, framing your figure with a soft, ethereal elegance. As the front door yielded to the push, the fabric danced around your legs, caressing the tender skin of your thighs with a whisper of touch. Your radiant smile illuminated the scene, a beacon of joy amidst the fluttering fabric and nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” The male voice chimed brightly, his tone cheerful as a songbird greeting the dawn, echoing through the air with an infectious energy that mirrored your own bright smile.

“Hey!” You respond with effervescent warmth, your smile stretching across your face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. With a graceful gesture, you swing the door open wider, revealing the inviting warmth of your home’s foyer. The soft light spills in, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and elegant furnishing. The first thing to notice is the giant painting of a Ferrari Formula One car, hung high above the entry way table.  

“Look who we have here! It’s Mrs. Leclerc!” A delicate blush warms your cheeks, a subtle reminder of the tender affection that tingles within you whenever you’re addressed as such. Though you and Charles have been together for many years, your marriage has infused your relationship with a fresh sense of intimacy and closeness. And despite that it’s been almost five years, the title of “wife” feels forever new and unfamiliar.

“On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“I would say 8, so I’m super excited!” With a gentle click, you shut the front door behind you, enveloping the foyer in a tranquility as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, you stooped to pick up a scattering of children’s toys that lay scattered like confetti on the polished wooden floors, offering a quick apology for the perceived “mess.” However, you couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the orchestrated chaos around you. While the house was meticulously maintained by the cleaning company before the video shoot, every detail was carefully curated to strike the perfect balance between lived-in warmth and elegance, ensuring a setting that felt both inviting and authentic to you and the viewers.

“Any reason for that?”

In the heart of the home lies a kitchen adorned with a stunning green cabinet motif. The cabinets, painted in a rich emerald hue, exude an air of sophistication and charm, perfectly complemented by gleaming brass hardware. Sunlight filters through the vast array of windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble countertops. 

“You mean other than the fact that the kids go back to school soon?” You and the interviewer let out a soft laugh as you made your way behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge in a smooth motion to pull out a water bottle. “Want one?”

“No, but thanks though!” His voice is light-hearted. 

As the fridge door remains open, a tantalizing glimpse is offered to the audience of its well-stocked interior. A colorful array of fresh produce fills the shelves, showing an abundance of vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables. Among the healthy offerings, assortment of juice boxes catches the eye, adding a playful touch to the wholesome scene.

“That’s a lot of juice boxes you have in there.” He makes a comment, it’s not a question, but you take it as one.

“Two kids and a husband,” You start, your tone light and casual before lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper for the camera, “who practically is also a kid, results in a lot of juice boxes.” With a playful wink directed at the lens, you punctuate the statement, adding a touch of humor to the scene. Setting the water bottle down on the expansive kitchen counter, you resume your easy demeanor, effortlessly blending candor and charm for your audience.

“Hey!” Your head shoots over, the camera seamlessly following your gaze to where Charles, your husband,sits on the floor of the living room, two of your kids, aged two and three, beside him with an abundance of toys strewn about. “I heard that!” Charles retorts with mock offense, a playful grin lighting up his face as he joins in the banter.

The living room exudes a chic sophistication with a distinct Formula One flair. Charcoal-gray walls provide a sleek backdrop, accentuating the mounted flat-screen television. A striking statement piece dominates one corner—a display of artwork showcasing all of the racetracks Charles has conquered – infusing the room with a sense of triumph and energy. A plush white sofa, adorned with an array of vibrant red pillows, invites relaxation and style. Across the room, a sizable shelf proudly showcases a collection of racing helmets, some belonging to Charles and others gathered over time, adding a personal touch to the space. Below the television, was a long console table that was adorned in various plants and photos of your family. You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at them.

With a casual wave of your hand, you dismiss Charles’s playful interruption, maintaining your position at the kitchen island as the camera refocuses on you. The gesture carries an air of affectionate familiarity, a gentle reminder of the dynamic energy that permeates your bustling household.

“If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?”

“Definitely Austin Butler.” You answer almost immediately, no hesitance in your voice.

“Hey!” Charles’s playful yelp echoes through the room once more, accompanied by the joyful laughter of your children. One nestled in his lap, the other engrossed in a picture book, their presence adding warmth and vitality to the room. You share a knowing smile with Charles, the affectionate banter a familiar melody to your family life.

The laughter of the interviewer joins the playful exchange. The camera effortlessly captures the dynamic interaction between all of you with ease.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Restez en dehors de ça.” Stay out of this!

“Arrête de faire semblant de vouloir faire l’amour avec quelqu’un d’autre que moi!” Stop pretending you want to make love with anybody but me!

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you turn back to the camera, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Can I change my answer?” You inquire, injecting a hint of playful anticipation into your tone.

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“You’re supposed to say no,” You quip with a chuckle.

“Oh, um no?”

With a playful pout, you glance over at Charles who is already staring at the interaction. A smile adorned on his face like he is in complete awe of you, regardless of what you are saying. “Sorry honey!” You wave your hand around. “Answers are final!”

Leaving the kitchen behind, you make your way towards the backyard, where the promise of relaxation and leisure awaits. Stepping through the door, you’re greeted by the sight of a large pool shimmering under the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters beckoning for a refreshing dip. Surrounding the pool, lounge chairs are strategically place, some on the pool’s ledge, inciting you to bask in the sun while enjoying the cool water. A wide arrangement of pool floaties from unicorns to racecars litter the pool as well.

It’s a breathtaking sight: a vast expanse of bright blue skies stretching overhead, adorned with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. The warm rays of sun dance upon your skin. With a stylish flourish, you slip on a pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, a subtle nod to your husband’s sunglass collection. 

“Vintage or new?”

You ponder for a moment as you stand in the backyard, a breeze blowing your hair behind your shoulders. “Depends, but definitely vintage.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Aisle, although Charles likes to take the aisle more.”

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“Wait, do my children count as two of the three?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay, so my two children. And my lip gloss.” You laugh, pausing for effect. “Kidding! My two kids, and my lip gloss…” You pause, jokingly. “And my husband of course.” The light-hearted remark reflects the joyful chaos of humor and love in your life. “He’s really the sweetest man. I’m so lucky.”

The glass door slides open with a whisper, and into the frame steps Charles, his presence incessant. With a carefree demeanor, he approaches you clad in a pair of baggy jeans and a plain white t-shirt that stretched at the seams from his muscles. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks, the stubble of his own rubbing against your smooth skin, his love evident in each tender kiss.

“Désolé,” Sorry. He apologizes before pecking another kiss to your cheek. “Tellement ambrassable.” Just so kissable. He places one more on your cheek, your face bright red from the camera’s catching all of this.

“Looks like he can’t be far from you for very long.”

Charles looks at the camera, a glint in his eye with a large smile, like he was the happiest man on earth, and nothing could dampen his spirits. Especially with you nearby. “Est-ce que tu la vois?” Do you see her?

The interviewer, unaware of Charles’s words, simply nods in response behind the camera lens, acknowledging the affection in his tone. Later translations will reveal the depth of Charles’s words no doubt. Elle est tellement belle. Bien sûr, je ne peux pas rester loin longtemps.” She’s so beautiful. Of course, I can’t stay far long.

Your face is bright red as Charles remains at your side.

“Where are the kids?”

“Put them down for a nap!” Charles answers, his arm slung over your shoulder as he leans on you comfortably. 

As the interviewer continues the questionnaire, Charles can’t resist interjecting with playful remarks and comments on almost every question. His spontaneous interruptions add an element of humor and spontaneity to the video, turning what could have been a standard interview into an entertaining and engaging exchange.

“How do you define beauty?” “My wife.” “Charles, the questions are for me!”

"What do you love most about your body?" "That's an easy one...I think her--" Charles begins, but you swat his chest and cut him off. "I love my arms. Not because they're that nice but they give me the ability to hold my children." Charles clicks his tongue, hating that you even implied something about yourself as 'not that nice'.

"Least favorite color?" "Red." Charles lets out a large gasp with a string of phrases in French, clearly hurt by your response. "It's a joke, mon amour!" "How did you know you were in love?" You look at Charles then, his eyes already on you, a soft smile pulling on both of your lips. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with him. Probably when I realized I would rather be awake in the middle of the night, since he was traveling so much, just to talk to him for even a few minutes, instead of going to sleep." Charles plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers as he chimes in. "We've known each other for so long. But, when I first met her, it was like meeting someone I've known my entire life. There was no awkward silences between us. We just clicked."

“Diamonds or pearls?” “Pearls.” “Mon chou, don’t lie.” “I’m not!” “The diamond on your finger says otherwise!”

“If you made a documentary, what would it be about?” “Charles’ brain. I seriously question what goes on in there sometimes.” “Hey! It’s only you…”  You raise your eyebrows at him, like he’s a liar. “And racing.” “Definitely racing.”

“If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Charles smirks deeply, like he knows something the world doesn’t, the interviewer picks up on it. “Wait, you have a tattoo? Can we see it?”

“No! It’s for me only.”

You playfully swat at Charles’ chest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks as you both wander throughout the house, showcasing its beautiful décor. Despite your embarrassment at Charles’ antics, you can’t help but be thankful for him easing your nerves. You weren’t one for the public eye, normally. So, when you agreed to this interview it came out as quite a surprise.

“Okay final question of the day.” 

You both stand by the front door, the interviewer on the front step outside of the home. 

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Definitely ki—” You don’t get to finish your answer as Charles’ fingers grasp onto your neck, his fingers sprawled along your jawline as well, and tugs your face into his. He shuts the door as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It’s a few seconds before you push him off you. “You’re unbelievable!”

A giant smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you. “Only for you, mon chou!”

[flowersforbucky]

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.” 

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees. 

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all. 

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.” 

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?” 

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.” 

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.” 

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.” 

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding. 

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape. 

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning. 

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee. 

“Thanks, but I think I can–” 

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?” 

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun. 

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC. 

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch. 

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can. 

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.” 

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour. 

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–” 

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth. 

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel. 

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision. 

“Never because of me.” 

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line. 

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly. 

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?” 

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.” 

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you. 

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind. 

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion. 

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it. 

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it. 

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up. 

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee. 

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain. 

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you. 

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them. 

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake. 

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–” 

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!” 

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.” 

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down. 

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.” 

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him. 

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.” 

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity. 

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.” 

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee. 

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver. 

— — — — — 

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car. 

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite. 

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts. 

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month. 

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room. 

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing. 

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit. 

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons. 

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?” 

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.” 

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?” 

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.” 

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues. 

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.” 

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?” 

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.” 

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.” 

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender. 

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.” 

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?” 

— — — — — 

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table. 

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are. 

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here. 

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago. 

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you. 

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening. 

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself. 

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.” 

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?” 

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit. 

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath. 

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night. 

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky. 

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.” 

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion. 

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening. 

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards. 

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.” 

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour. 

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position. 

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying. 

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.” 

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?” 

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — — 

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound. 

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.” 

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin. 

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room. 

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”  

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you. 

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win. 

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long — 

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box. 

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–” 

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more. 

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans. 

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?” 

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave. 

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.” 

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you. 

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile. 

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare. 

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission. 

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.” 

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.” 

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly. 

Truth. 

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?” 

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands. 

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–” 

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly. 

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try? 

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.” 

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity? 

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly. 

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.” 

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?” 

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer. 

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked. 

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.” 

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before. 

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline. 

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point. 

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.” 

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him. 

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards. 

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison. 

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans. 

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line– 

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings. 

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing. 

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.” 

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it. 

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants. 

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles. 

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest. 

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–” 

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center. 

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit. 

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed. 

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center. 

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax. 

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris. 

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth. 

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him. 

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices. 

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter. 

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck. 

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue. 

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants. 

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.” 

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest. 

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked. 

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them. 

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts. 

"You're goddamn stunning.” 

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering. 

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance. 

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once. 

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already. 

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast. 

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head. 

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?” 

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back. 

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.” 

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you. 

With you still panting and limp beneath him,  his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you. 

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you. 

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened. 

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before. 

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

[shoeistars]

— NO PHOTOS ! pt. 2

༺ feat. reo, barou, rin, sae, shidou

༺ outline. where the boys keep their slutty polas of you <3

༺ w. pro!players, 18+ content, minors dni, photos/polas, fem!reader, read at your own discretion as I don’t do individual tagging for element of surprise <3

༺ pt. 1 (isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, nagi)

— REO ! car dash

When Reo got his hands on his first hypercar, his main priority was keeping the thing clean. No trash, no eating inside of the vehicle, you weren’t even allowed to do your makeup when you’re playing your role of passenger princess. He just wanted to keep the interior spotless, despite the fact that he could buy as many overpriced vehicles as he fucking desired

So, when you hopped into the car one day and noticed the pola of you that he had resting against the dash of his brand new Bugatti, you were stunned. He hadn’t even put a goddamn air freshener on the rearview yet

Whenever you got around to questioning him, all he did was shrug, a smug grin on his face as he drove you to your nail appointment. After all, he got bored when he was sitting in traffic. The picture of you, perched on his California king with the prettiest bra and panty set hugging your body juuust right was worth bending a few rules over

— BAROU ! wallet

The polaroid itself was your idea in the first place. He didn’t really understand what the hell the hype was about, but he’d bend over backwards to see that pretty smile you’d give him when you got your way. Whenever he saw the photo, however, his perspective was changed immediately

You’d been hiked up onto a bathroom sink, always getting way too horny for your own good at events where attendance mattered. He’d sneak you away when you’d start touching on him and whispering dirty shit in his ear, never able to say no to his queen

Thus the birth of the pola nestled in his wallet, right beside his bank card. The view of his thick dick stretching your tightness out was too good to pass up, milky ring of cream wrapped around his base and spilling out of your hole. He just had to have it with him at all times

— RIN ! under his pillow

Pushing the pussy whipped loser boy agenda for Rin because you’re most definitely his first love, the first girl he’s ever touched, fingered, fucked. Having popped his cherry, he can’t help but be completely enamored by you. The mere thought of you gets him hard and he hates that factor to his core

Which plays into why exactly he has a nasty polaroid of you tucked under his navy-clad pillow, right where he rests his head to sleep for the night. It’s safe there, it’s within easy reach for him to fuck his fist to when you’re too far away, which is too often for his own liking thanks to away games

The photo itself is his treasure, a simple one where you’re on your bruised knees, showing him what exactly a facial is. Although he loves you most barefaced, he can’t even lie and deny that your face dripping wet and sticky with his seed isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on

— SAE ! checkbook

Weird place, sure, but there is nothing normal about Sae as a whole. In his eyes, there are three prizes in the world: wins, money, and you. The polaroid fits perfectly right where he has it

There’s nothing more rewarding to him than whipping out his checkbook to buy something big, just to be greeted with your cunt on full display, the photo clipped front and center onto the leather book cover

It’s a real looker of a photo too, his thumb spreading your glossy folds to show off the stream of his cum dripping out of your hole, coating your asshole in thick nut. All he can ever think about is how you whimpered when he licked it up after snapping the shot

— SHIDOU ! pola wall

The consequences of dating a shameless, unhinged individual consists of your nudes being shown off any and every possible chance presented to him. He’s sick, sometimes unreasonable, but you’re too goddamn pretty for him to just hide away

Hence why he’s got a nice slab of white wall in his bedroom, fully dedicated to you. He calls it romantic, of course. All sorts of polas are taped up as decoration, different positions and scenarios

Maybe it’s awkward for guests that just so happen to step into his bedroom for whatever reason, but you like being shown off, don’t you? He figured a slut like you would wanna be put on display, considering you’re just like him

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part four ]

[ part one & part two & part three ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw

word count: 1531

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

it took you about a half hour to get ready.

okay, maybe you spent a solid five minutes screaming into a pillow, but that’s besides the point.

descending the staircase of the inn, you emerged in the lobby, dressed up and dreamy. stan pines has spent years perfecting his poker face, but when he laid eyes on you, he couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping.

he was so glad that he gambled on a ‘yes.’

“sweet moses.” he breathed, rubbing his face with one hand before taking another good, long look at you.

“how do i look?” you carefully pushed a stray hair back into place, glancing expectantly at your flabbergasted date.

“like you fell from heaven.” a smug grin grew on his face. he was smitten. “i’d offer you my arm, but you look too perfect to touch.”

his charm was working wonders on you. you chuckled softly, rosy cheeks hinting at the feelings that raged within. “i’m far from perfect, you know.”

he held out his hand to you, his voice low. “not in my eyes, doll. i call you angel for a reason.”

you took his hand, and he led you out to where his car was parked. he made a point of opening the passenger side door for you, shutting it after you were situated and coming around to the driver’s side.

you could faintly smell the cigarette smoke that stubbornly clung onto the car, but he had totally cleaned up the interior, having crammed all his things into the trunk and scrubbed away troublesome stains. there was even a small pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

“i hope y’like the place i picked. it ain’t much, but i figured it’d be nice.” starting the engine, he snaked his arm around the back of your headrest, looking over his shoulder as he reversed out of the parking lot and made his way out onto the road. you could feel yourself practically buzzing with excitement and curiosity, smiling and folding your hands in your lap.

it was about a five-minute car ride, and neon lights illuminating the bustling cityscape made for a nice view. you found yourself pulling into the parking lot of one of the nicest restaurants in town. wait a second …

your brows rose. “stan, this is—”

you were cut off as he shushed you, waving his hand dismissively. “don’t even think about it. don’t worry about it. just let me do this for ya, alright?”

“but—”

his hand gently pushed your mouth shut from underneath your chin, tilting your head towards him. “it’s my turn t’ be the nice one. ya got it?”

all you could do was silently nod your head. you wanted to question how much this was costing him, but it was obvious that he didn’t want you to know that.

a moment later, you walked into the restaurant, and a waiter led you to your table. sitting down across from stan, you looked around the place, fascinated.

“you know, i’ve always wanted to check this place out, but i’ve just never had a reason to.” you smiled, returning your focus to him. “this is exciting!”

“oh yeah? huh, musta been a lucky guess.” he sighed, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at you.

the waiter came around, and you placed your orders. stanley could barely take his eyes off you the whole time, and they stayed just as glued in place after the waiter left.

“so, i’m gonna cut to the chase …” he paused, fidgeting with a fork on the table, never breaking eye contact.

“... i wanna know everything about you.”

you felt your face heat up. he was staring at you with a lot more intent than he had the last time you’d gone out to eat together.

“you do? … everything?”

“you heard me.” his tone was soft, but serious. “whatever you’re willing t' share, i’ll gratefully take.”

your heart beat louder in your chest. this man genuinely wanted to get closer to you.

“well … my mom is a schoolteacher, and my dad works for the bank.” you stroked your chin thoughtfully. “i’ve always been told i’m good at hosting people. i think that’s sort of what inspired me to open an inn in the first place.”

you continued to infodump about your life, your passions, and whatever else came to mind. stanley was loving every single second of it. he’d occasionally pipe in with a comment on something you’d said, but for the most part, he just gazed dreamily, leaning his head against one hand.

the conversation kept on going throughout the meal, and the two of you took turns talking while the other took a few bites of food. you hadn’t spent quality time with someone like this in so long—you’ve only been worried about minding the inn for the past few years—and you found that you were totally captivated by him.

you wanted to stay like this forever.

after swallowing a mouthful of food, you met his warm brown eyes with your own. “hey, stan?”

“hmm?”

“how long are you staying for?”

he paused, setting down his utensil and straightening in his seat.

“i mean … i wanna keep doing this with you.” your voice was quieter. “getting to know each other, just … talking. but … i know your stay with me is probably temporary …”

his bit his lower lip for a moment, looking down. the bill came, and he scribbled a signature, handing the waiter a few folded bills along with the receipt.

“let’s head out, yeah?”

“okay …”

the car ride back to the inn was silent, save for the ambience of surrounding traffic and the low hum of the radio. there was a certain tension hanging in the air.

pulling into the parking lot, stan put the car in park, taking the key out.

“look.”

he shifted in his seat, turning his body towards you. nervously, he reached one hand out, placing it on your arm and capturing your attention.

“i’ve been walking a tightrope for what feels like forever. and … i don’t know if i’ll get the privilege of keeping you in my life.”

your heart skipped a beat.

he took a deep breath. “i know damn well i don’t deserve you. hell, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. when i’m with you, i feel like i can be appreciated by somebody …” he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“... nobody has ever made me feel that way before.”

tears welled up quietly. he clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his composure, but ultimately failing.

“i … i had no … idea how much i needed that. how much i needed you.”

a single tear rolled down his cheek, succeeded by another … and another. he was choking the words out.

“i … know we haven’t known each other that long, but … do you … feel it, too?”

there was desperation in his voice, in his eyes.

it was as if he were asking for a miracle.

tears were already clouding your vision. turning in your seat, you gently wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace, which he quickly returned.

“i feel it too, stanley.” you murmured, biting back a voice crack as you felt the tears falling. you just squint your eyes shut. he held onto you even tighter, as if he was afraid that you would disappear.

“hah … so i’m not crazy …” he laughed weakly, sniffling and pulling his head back to look at you. his thumbs gently wiped the tears from your face. his touch was so delicate … almost reverent. “i knew there was something between us.”

you sighed quietly as he held your face, smiling upon hearing his laugh.

your next words escaped your mouth before you could process it.

“i love you.”

stanley’s eyes went wide.

“you … what?”

“i … i lov—”

you didn’t get the chance to repeat yourself, as he had leaned in and pressed his lips against your own.

stunned at first, you gradually returned the kiss, letting your eyelids shut on their own. it was sweet and sincere, as if it held the meaning of a thousand words.

after a moment, he pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed.

“i love you, too.”

he shifted closer to you, moving his head to rest on your shoulder as he pulled you into another hug.

“please … no matter what happens, please promise me you won’t ever forget about me.”

“oh, stan … don’t say that. i couldn’t forget you, even if i tried.”

his strong arms tightened around you even further. you could feel his heartbeat through the rise and fall of his chest, and it lulled you into a trance.

“... my love. mine.”

he kept mumbling vaguely into your shoulder, refusing to let go of you. you smiled to yourself, bringing your hand up to his ponytail and undoing the hairtie so that his mullet fell loose.

and for the next half hour, you ran your fingers through his hair while he clung to you like a magnet.

end

[ part five ]

author's note:

i said goodbye to my sanity in the middle of writing this chapter

also THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ?!?!? the first three parts collectively have over 750 notes DANGGG

part five is happening. >:) lmk if you want in on the taglist

tag list: @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @seahorrorz @blustalker @hay-needle @phanmai1002 @samanthastarss @bumblingbriars @arya-eats-chips @bihexualandferal @hello-i-like-owls @blurryface505 @ryethebrokengae @skeet-2 @thisisprettymuchafanaccount @loleeness @mothie-jpg @ryoiii @ghostieballs @dinsfire24 @put-a-cork-in-it-nork

[dekustowel]

[12: that time she met the parents]

synopsis - in light of a major controversy that causes his fan support to dwindle significantly, katsuki bakugou is forced to do anything possible to garner back the affection of his fans before the announcement of the year's hero rankings. katsuki has two options: either "date" japan's most-adored social media star, in hopes of her amazing reputation bringing up his, or kiss that #1 spot goodbye. it's a no-brainer what he chooses. and it shouldn't matter at all, right? it's a fake relationship. nothing more, nothing less.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist | previous | next

*there’s a written piece of this chapter*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes quickly darted up from your phone catching on to something that would leave anyone that bled red speechless.

now to make something perfectly clear - you never thought katsuki bakugou was ugly.

not in school, when you'd see him in the hall. bakugou was unapproachable in his own right - and believe it, your friends tested that theory often. there was an unspoken beauty about him, said in a whisper from lips that knew they would never meet his.

he was not ugly when you lived separate lives and only saw him on billboards and your television screen. there are enough people in japan with bakugou's face plastered across their shirts, their rooms, and their bodies, that you could never deny his beauty had only amplified over the years.

you could always appreciate that the boy wasn't ugly.

'not ugly' isn't how you would describe seeing him today, leaning against the nicest car you've ever seen, with a grimace that would make anyone smart enough turn in the other direction.

today, katsuki bakugou stands tall and striking, with blonde hair that catches the light just right, framing a face carved with sharp, almost ethereal features. his eyes, a vivid and unsettling shade of red, holding an intensity that made it hard to look away. he's definitely a little more than 'not ugly'.

when the fuck did you start noticing details about his fucking eyes?

you pushed down any semblance of a reaction to the masterpiece before you as you wearily approached him.

"you look good," was not supposed to be said out loud, but your body's doing all kinds of weird gymnastics today, so you accept that you've said it and search his crimson eyes for a response.

katsuki doesn't dignify what you just said with a response.

instead, his eyes rake over you in what appears to be fucking disgust, as he opens the car door, feigning any illusion of a gentlemanly bone in his body.

you're barely able to get all your limbs safely in the car before bakugou slams it closed and walks around to the driver's side.

it's going to be such a long afternoon.

the car ride is mostly silent other than the low hum of an unrecognizable artist playing over the radio.

you take a moment to look at the interior of katsuki's car. black, like his fucking soul, and absolutely spotless. leather seats, probably so it's easier to clean the blood of his sacrifices off of. manual, because bakugou obviously wants you to know he's better than you in every way.

he probably never even stalls.

you laugh to yourself before your eyes zero in on his radio.

he listens to music, like the rest of us. this shouldn't surprise you, he's human. but it's an insight into the katsuki bakugou novelty. and your next move lines up with all the other impulsive ones so far for the afternoon.

you reach over and turn up his radio to just about max volume.

I thought that I was dreaming When you said you loved me

"you like Frank Ocean?!" you just about yelled, causing katuski to jerk the wheel a little bit.

"are you fucking insane, don't do that!" he scolds, turning down the radio to a more manageable volume, "and what's it to you?"

"i love Frank Ocean."

"not very uncommon, most people do."

"i guess, i just didn't realize you fell into the category of most people," you look out of the window as the sunset cascades down one of musutafu's nicer neighborhoods, "it's refreshing. you're human."

"get out of the car, y/n." you hadn't noticed the car come to a halt in front of a particularly nice house. it looked like the kind of house that loved poured out of. the sort of house that contains and produces well-rounded, delightful members of society. how katsuki bakugou lived here his whole life, you don't fucking know.

"so, this is where you grew up," you mutter, folding your arms over your chest, and leaning against the car door.

"what's it to you?" he snaps, his voice cutting through the air just as the driver-side door slams shut with a hard thud, matching the edge in his tone.

"nothing," you say, letting a smirk slip as you stand upright. "i just didn't know you were a little rich kid," you add, your tone light but taunting, a crooked smile playing at your lips as you glance his way

"have you realized im god's favorite yet?"

you laugh a little at his comment before mindlessly slipping your hand into his as he walks by. bakugou stops, turning to you with—well, it's hard to place his reaction—you've never seen it before. it’s agitation.. but softer?

it's convoluted, like everything involving katsuki bakugou.

"what’re you doing?" he demands, his gaze fixed on your interlocked fingers. despite the edge in his tone, he makes no move to pull away, his hand staying right where it is.

'holding your hand?"

"why?"

"for your parents, so we look like a couple?" you ask, voice midly irritated as you start to pull your hand away, "do you want me to let go?" But just as you begin to slip free, his grip tightens, holding you in place. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the warmth and solid feel of bakugou’s hand, more comfortable than you'd expected.

his grip is firm as he drags you toward the front door, his strides confident and unfaltering. meanwhile, your stomach twists with nerves, each step making you more aware of how close you’re getting to his parents’ house. you try to keep up with his pace, but your pulse races, and you find yourself squeezing his hand a little tighter—hoping he doesn’t notice just how nervous you really are.

"callm down," he says simply.

you swallow, the anxiety tightening in your chest. "what if they don’t like me, katsuki?"

he scoffs. "doesn’t matter, ‘cause we’re not actually dating, idiot."

unhelpful.

you don’t even look at him, too consumed by the dread pooling in your stomach.

this was a bad idea. im going to kill Mina. this was a terrible idea.

"hey," he says more gently, an arm slipping around your shoulders. a warmth spreads through you, chasing away the knots of fear. "relax," he murmurs.

you glance up, eyes wide. "everyone likes you. just calm down, all right?"

you're barely even able to process the interaction you were just a part of before the front door comes swinging open, presenting the clear explanation for bakugou's good looks and charm.

she really is a milf. fuck.

"jesus, katsuki! it's fucking cold, you're gonna just stand there gawking at her and let her catch a fever?" the woman, who you can easily assume is bakugou's mother, beckons for you both to come inside.

"the pictures don’t do you justice; you’re absolutely breathtaking," she beams, pulling you into a warm embrace. as you bask in her warmth, her eyes sparkle with mischief. "but why are you with my son? you could do so much better, sweetheart."

"thanks, mom." bakugou deadpans.

"shut it, twerp. im talking to your girlfriend," his mom snaps back, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"matsukawa, come meet your future daughter-in-law!" she calls out, her voice echoing through the room. A deep blush creeps up your neck at the thought, and you nervously scan the space, trying to steady your breathing.

your gaze accidentally locks with bakugou’s, and in that fleeting moment, something in his expression takes you completely off guard. there's an intensity there, a mix of vulnerability and warmth that absolutely floors you.

but as quickly as it happens, he turns away, leaving the moment hanging in the air.

completely unacknowledged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

FUN FACT: Mitski and Matsukawa already googled everything they'd need to know about y/n before Mitski messaged Bakugou. they already liked her! they really just wanted to see their bratty son ;)

thank you for reading!

@teacakes06 @pinxeajin @eitelle @kaldurahms-lover @daughteofaphrodite @sara4uuu @f0und-heaven @azamii0 @vitanicheney666 @twinnintwink @kara062284-blog @astraea-lunar @neoclb @apple9i3 @thekookiecorner @beatr2x @lovra974 @justbepeace @luvrluvrr @kyluskaye @nottherealslimshady @punicorn999 @itgetzweird08 @iamaconfusedpan @yoonights @shotos-angelic-whore @nnnyxie @nachofrien @bakunianadecorazon @spilled-coffee-cup @minetaphobe @y-n1simp @enterdivinity @sweetblueworm @kovu-bunnbunn @gsyche @nerinefy @missmanda511 @m-0ona @bbybubbles @tokeposts @jiyuu-zou @ch3rry-bombb @living-in-a-veil @lainlovelain @prentisswig @marsbars09 @iluv-ace @prentisswig @haychhans @awkardnerd @peachystea @lover-no-lover61 @emma-sometimes-writes @irenne-stans @themultifandomgirl @fuckassinstincts @rv19 @centerhabit @strwbrrykthv

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

RED IS THE COLOUR OF

KINKTOBER DAY 1 - BLOOD WITH JACKSON RIPPNER

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - Jackson returns home covered in other men’s blood. He’s too impatient to shower first.

Warnings - noncon! dead dove do not eat ! forceful, abuse, blood play, blood tasting, p in v, oral! m receiving, drawing blood, biting, bondage, abduction.

Word count - 1.4k

Notes - Starting kinktober off strong with my sweet baby boy Jackson. This is quite dark and mentally disturbing so be warned.

The heavy slam of the front door woke you up. As you jolted up, the short chains locked around your wrists yanked your body back to the bed frame. In the darkness, your senses focus on your hearing. The familiar pacing footsteps crept towards the bedroom. Goosebumps formed on your trembling naked skin as you curled up into a ball waiting for your captor to walk in. 

The door creaked open, you could only draw out his figure as the darkness shadowed over his features. Jackson’s breathing was heavy, likewise to an athlete’s aftermath of a marathon. His hand slid up the wall, his fingertips searched for the switch. 

“You almost got me killed tonight baby doll” Jackson spoke quietly, his tone filled with frustration and disappointment. 

Your eyes narrowed to him, mouth ajar opened as your heart pounded with anticipation. When the light snapped on, you let out a piercing scream. If you could sink into the wall, you would have. The muscles on your back were quickly turning a shade of bright red. 

Jackson smiled at you innocently, the lower half of his mouth painted a crimson red. His expensive grey suit ruined by the repercussions of human blood. As he closed the distance, he easily kicked off his newly polished shoes and slipped his jacket off to the carpet. You whimpered his name as he slowly crawled up to you on the bed, his piercing blue eyes never inching away from you once. He was the wolf and you were the lamb awaiting slaughter. 

“Let’s have a shower, get you all cleaned up” you suggested timidly, your breath hitching, It was motivated by desperation mixed with fear, your eyes darting over every inch of his crimson skin. 

“Shower later, need you now” he declared through a grumble with a gentle nod as his dirty hands wrapped around your ankles, swiftly pulling you down flat on the mattress. 

Jackson didn’t care that he was already permanently staining his sage bed sheets, or that his clothes were ruined, definitely not that he’d have to spend all of tomorrow morning cleaning the interior of his car. Most importantly, Jackson didn’t care how horrified you were right now. 

With your arms unwillingly raised above your head, your teary eyes watched Jackson fearfully. Under his still damp clothing, your bare thigh squirmed around. He rubbed his mouth in thought, slowly his metallic tasting lips brushed over yours like a soft breeze. Jackson pressed his lips up to your ear as he breathed in your sweet scent.

“Your daddy didn’t want to cooperate with me baby, now I’m covered in him” Jackson admitted shamelessly, a dark chuckle quickly followed. 

Impulsively, you thrashed underneath him, your restrained hands tried to claw at him but it was hopeless. The wicked smile on Jackson’s crimson lips was sinister as he pinned your wrists onto the mattress. Those baby blue eyes of his were full of darkness. Immediately your lips were wobbling, you could see the honesty as clear as day. 

“You’re lying!” You gasped out in denial, your fragile body being thrown into a wave of shock. 

“Unfortunately I am not, babydoll” Jackson sighed. 

It was fine, Jackson was never going to let you go anyways. But now he was going to miss out on a hefty paycheck. Oh well, you’d be able to make him feel better. You’ve succeeded at it every time so far, Jackson’s sure you’d be more than willing to keep up your efforts. 

Like a baby, you were blubbering underneath him, pleading him for mercy. It always got him painfully hard when you’d beg for your life. As if Jackson would ever dare to kill his favourite girl, no matter how badly you could act out of line. 

He was comforting you, coaching you to take in deep breaths and to clear your mind. As his red hands massaging your scalp, his needy hips humped against yours. After your cries had mellowed into whimpers, he moved his lips closer to yours. 

“Come on, taste him” he encouraged. The smell of bloodshed made you feel sick as your lips were a mere inch apart. 

“Jackson please!” you pleaded hopelessly, the nozzle to the waterworks twisted to full power. 

Menacefully, Jackson shook his head towards you slowly. With wide eyes and a trembling mouth, you mewled to him pathetically. Gently, his lips pressed against yours. 

“No, no… This is all you have left of him baby doll” he stated before deepening the kiss. 

It was human to react in pure disgust. Without forethought of the consequences, you bit onto his lower lip, with a force that pierced into his skin. The horror was the lack of reaction Jackson had initially. A dark laugh echoed up his chest, his lip still caught between your teeth. 

Suddenly, he smacked the side of your head, your latch snapped. Time slowed down momentarily, the ringing in your ears numbed your thoughts. The blood that spilled from his mouth painted polka dots onto your heated face. 

Blinking hard, you jolted underneath him, but Jackson held you down easily as you swore beneath him. “Don't fight me, you’re all worked up from having no control” Jackson spoke calmly, ending with a sigh. But when you didn’t obey his order, his string of patience snapped. “Are you listening to me!” Jackson roared as he backhanded your already stinging cheek. 

You laid stiff below him, like a ragdoll, his perfect babydoll with glistering doe eyes. 

The stinging in your eyes made you feel like they were on fire. The restraints on your wrists will show fresh bruising and cuts in the morning. The blows to your cheek will certainly leave a mark. Jackson huffed at your broken expression and stood on his knees on the mattress. His fingers fiddled to take off his bloodied shirt and undertop. 

“So fucking ungrateful” He hissed as the belt slipped out of the loops of his pants. 

You turned your head to the side as he hovered over you to wiggle out of his pants. When he was completely free of his clothing, he shuffled his lower body up to your face. Stroking his throbbing length over your lips, you dared to look back to him.  

“Go on then, put your mouth to better use. Fuck, you think I really want to hear you whining after what you got me into? I almost died for you. You know how many men I killed tonight!” he bellowed, roughly pressing his tips to your closed lips. 

Guilt struck over you, as if any of this was ever your fault. It was always so easy for him to break you down. Submitting to him, you shuffled up the bed. Looking up to him, your mouth slowly opened. 

“There’s my good girl” Jackson praised cruelly through a groan whilst your tongue swirled over his tip, a whine ran down his shaft.  

His bloody hand massaged your aching cheek whilst you took him in further and further with each bob. Holding onto the top of the bedframe, he crouched over you as he fucked your face thoughtlessly. The sounds of your gags were always music to his ears. 

Pulling his salvia coated cock out, he moved back down to hover over you. Jackson stroked his wet cock with his bloody hand, the moisture lubricated the dry blood and gradually painted his cock red. His hand wrapped around your throat as he tiled your face up. 

“You’re completely mine now, baby doll… No one will get in our way again” Jackson spoke softly as he pressed himself in your all too eager cunt. 

The smile was sinister, the sensation of how wet you were sent his nerves through the roof. You mewled out and scrunched your expression. But Jackson wasn’t taking it anymore. 

“Shut up before I fuck your ass” he threatened harshly, his eyes rolled back dramatically whilst burying his dick inside of you.

You followed his orders and remained silent. Rapidly, Jackson pounded his cock into your pussy. Accompanying that action by kissing you deeply. The stench and taste of him made your stomach curl over. His fingers circled over your clit, you whined out as you felt your body betray you once more.

“There you go” Jackson murmured, a wicked grin on his face as he observed the pleasure rise on your expression. “Remembering who you belong to” he groaned when he felt your velvet walls squeeze him.

Suddenly, his teeth sunk into your upper lip, drawing just as much blood as you did. You cried out, tugging at your restraints but didn’t dare to fight him. Jackson rubbed his face all over yours, making sure that both of your faces were covered in blood, inch by inch. He smiled at your pretty red face, his cock throbbing inside of your clenching walls. 

“Babydoll, did you know that red is the colour of love?” He asked quietly, smiling like a fool in love.

[asteroshearts]

My Type

Oh no! Nanami's wife is just Itadori's type!

Or the story of how, upon meeting Nanami's wife, Itadori just can't take his eyes off her.

Nanami x Reader

Tags: this story was referenced here, but can be read completely alone, she/her pronouns, discussions of body types, Itadori's a bit of a pervert here (but he doesn't actually see anything!! Nanami, however, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)), typical anime flashing

Hey Ken: How are you feeling?

You: Like shit My fever got worse after you left

Hey Ken: I'll be home soon. Please take ibuprofen, drink lots of water, and rest as much as you can. I'm finishing up now.

You: I just checked our cabinet We ran out of Bufferin UGHHHH I feel terrible I fucking told Daiki from accounting that he should go home if he was coughing but he said it was fine AND COUGHED IN MY FACE And now look at me

Hey Ken: We're out? I'll pick some up on my way home while I grab our other groceries. Please wait for me until then. Take a nap if you can. You're just going to get more exhausted thinking of the idiots in your office.

You: I looked online, delivery is going to take over an hour I'm getting dizzier I don't want to wait I'm going to go to the Matsukiyo near us to get it myself

Hey Ken: What?

Hey Ken: Don't go. I'll pick it up.

Hey Ken: Darling. Read my messages.

Hey Ken: Pick up the phone.

(10) Missed Calls

Several moments ago…

Itadori already thought that today got off to a weird start.

To begin with, it wasn't Ijichi in the driver's seat to pick him up today, but Nanamin. It also wasn't the Jujutsu Tech standard vehicle, but a nice, sleek, and expensive Porsche.

"W-Woah! Nanamin!" Itadori called then. Eyes wide and bright at the polished paint that glistened in the heavy sunlight. "Nice ride!" he said giddily, running his fingers across the aerodynamic doors. Popping his head up toward Nanami's window, he said, "This must've cost you a fortune!" And he thought that Gojo-sensei spent crazily.

"It was a gift," Nanami flatly said. The boy gaped at him like a fish. But who would just give away a car like this? They had to be really close — or maybe he had saved some rich guy and he thanked Nanamin by giving him a brand new car! The boy's eyes shone. Maybe one day he could get a nice gift like — "Get in." The doors unlocked.

"Hiya, Ijichi-san! Must be nice not driving for once, huh?" While marveling at the car's clean interior, he hopped into the back seat, feeling the leather under his hands and the cool blast of the AC hit his sweaty hair after being in the summer sun.

"Good morning, Itadori-kun," the dark-haired man said with a nervous smile. The car rumbled beneath them as Nanami turned the engine back on. "Nanami-san is surely giving me a nice change of pace — "

"Our duties will not change," Nanami stated, turning the wheel. "Ijichi-san is still required to do his job, as well as you, Itadori-kun. Don't get distracted." The pink-haired boy pouted in the backseat. "It just so happens that I have urgent errands to run after this, so time is of the essence."

Turning into an alleyway, Nanami smoothly hit the brakes and put the car into park. "Let's go."

Luckily for him, the curse was a low-level one mostly used for teaching Itadori the ropes, and the two of them managed to exorcise it in record time. For someone who was just thrust into the world of curses several weeks ago, he was doing well. As well as anyone could in his situation.

The boy was still a bumbling newbie, but he had a good head on his shoulders and was a strong opponent for most curses that they dealt with on a daily basis. Lips twitching into a frown, the blond thought that if Gojo didn't poison the youth's mind, surely Yuji would continue having a nice and mature head on his shoulders.

Nanami had to drop Ijichi off at his next assignment, but other than that, all he needed was to drop Itadori off at the college and then he could return to his sick wife. Paperwork still needed to be done, but luckily he could finish that at a later time. Unfortunately, last night you had a major headache and showed signs of an upcoming sickness this morning.

He had just barely convinced you to not do remote work and just take the day off to rest instead. However, as he checked on his messages with you, he found out that you were insisting on double — no, triple mask to go to the pharmacy yourself. All while you had a 37.5-degree fever.

He tried to call you once, thrice, and all of them were left for voicemail.

Cursing inwardly, Nanami leaned his head back on the headrest. Normally, the blond man was the arbiter of restraint and level-headed thinking, but all of that went out the door at the mere thought of his sickly wife dragging herself out in the street to get some medication. Why did you have to be so stubborn?

"My apologies, Itadori-kun." Nanami pushed up his glasses. "I need to take a detour before I drop you off at your dorm. I apologize for the inconvenience."

The boy blinked owlishly. "Oh that's alri — GH!"

Without another word, Nanami quickly turned left, jolting the teen to the side from the momentum, increasing the speed of his vehicle, and raced down the streets.

Within five minutes, Itadori felt like a dog left in the car as his "owner" raced into the nearest grocery store to grab medication, vegetables, and grains for the upcoming, proverbial storm. Even as the cashier tried their hardest to ignore the intense stare of the tall blond man before them, every second that ticked by as they scanned his purchase felt like hours.

As soon as he nearly threw his money on the tray and took all of the grocery bags under his toned arms, Nanami was off again, shifting into drive and ignoring the speed limit all the way back home.

Nanami could've nearly run into his apartment's chain-link garage doors if it had lifted any slower, allowing him access to his own underground parking before he landed in his designated parking spot within three seconds.

Racing out the car, he took all of the grocery bags over one muscular arm and was prepared to run off until he remembered he had a teen in the backseat.

"Itadori-kun," he said hurriedly. "Can you — " The man stopped himself short.

He originally planned to tell the boy to wait for him in the car, but caught sight of the boy's skin gleaming with sweat, reflecting one of the garage's low lights. Summer was brutal right now, with insane humidity that made Itadori's hair damp as if he had just taken a dunk in water. Even though the parking garage was cooler than it was outside, it was still unbearably hot, not to mention cruel, if he had forced the teen to just sit here and deal with it. Itadori had already waited in the hot car when he went out to grab groceries, and although he rolled the windows down, suddenly Nanami remembered all of the articles of puppies and toddlers dying in the back of cars during the summer.

Sighing, the man pushed his glasses up. "Behave yourself. Come with me."

"Ken?" Eyes wide, you held the door open. Keys were lifted up in the air in the man's hands, but you had beat him to the chase and opened the door before he managed to get the key in the keyhole. "Oh! I didn't know that you were bringing a guest." Stepping back quickly, you realized another person was standing behind your husband. "If I had known, I would've worn a surgeon mask!" Alert, you said. "Hold on, I'll go grab one right now — !"

"No need. We'll make this fast." He was about to take a step forward, but then realized that the student hadn't moved an inch ever since you opened the door. "Itadori-kun?"

As still as a statue, pink slowly rose from the boy's neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. He couldn't rip his gaze from you for even a second. Although your hair wasn't done and your face was covered, he could tell just how beautiful you were.

Furthermore, you looked just like the pin-up models he had in his room — you were just his type! Your little chemise barely ended at the middle of your thigh, and although everything important was covered up, it left little to the imagination with how the fabric hugged your waist and hips. As you held the door open for them and leaned forward, the loose triangle top of your nightgown was teasing him with the exposed curves and valleys of your chest.

You were too hot!

"Itadori-kun," Nanami repeated, irritated.

Way too hot for Nanamin!

"Nanamin! You didn't tell me that you were married!" Eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets, Itadori almost thought they had gotten the wrong apartment when you had just opened the door. While his mentor was an attractive man, it was like a mountain and a molehill to the teenager. Not to mention that this strict and serious ex-salaryman was hitched! To a babe no less!

Certainly, you didn't marry for personality!

He couldn't imagine what your daily life was like while Nanamin talked about doing the bare minimum and never smiled.

Raising an eyebrow, Nanami followed Itadori's stare to your state of dress. You weren't even wearing your indoor slippers, and you were absolutely breathtaking even if you had a dark clay mask over your face. He wasn't an idiot, and he could feel his blood vessels pumping harshly. Trying to remind himself with mantras of how Itadori was just a stupid, hormonal teenager, and you could dress how you wanted, and that he especially couldn't beat up Itadori. Pinching his nose bridge, the man couldn't even look at the boy. "My personal life and my work life are completely separate. I wouldn't anno — !"

"But you don't even wear a wedding ring!" Itadori insisted.

"Why would I wear my rings when my daily job involves fighting and getting messy?" Nanami rhetorically asked, stepping through your door with all the groceries in one go. "Wedding and engagement rings are investments, and I'd be damned if I lose my rings and be forced to inflate the wedding ring industry any more than I already have."

Grinning, you beamed at Itadori. Only you really know how seriously Nanami took the "three month's salary on rings" tradition, especially on his sorcerer's salary. "Now you know, Itadori-kun! If you catch him committing adultery while he's out without his ring, you'll shank him for me, right?" Placing both of your hands on your husband's waist, you laughed when you playfully tried to shake him. Of course, that didn't do much. Your man continued to stand there like a stone statue, as if you tried to rock a brick wall while he remained wholly unamused.

From your weak roughhousing, all that managed to do was drop your spaghetti strap from your shoulder. With your dress threatening to slip, Nanami sighed and quickly stood in front of you, blocking your body from Itadori's gaze. He carefully and slowly pulled your shoulder strap back up your body before you managed to flash the poor teen. When you looked up, his brown eyes met with yours.

Gently rubbing your bare shoulder with his large hand, he asked, "I thought you said you were going to Matsukiyo?"

"I was," you rasped out, voice raw from all the coughing you did. "But then I took one step outside and it was too damn hot." Laughing weakly, you said, "I slunk back like a vampire the second the humidity hit me."

The man sighed deeply, and his shoulders dropped in relief and exhaustion. While he ran around like a chicken with its head cut off from worry, he was glad that you ended up not going out after all.

"Why didn't you pick up my calls?" he said deeply, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear.

"I was making okayu with kombu," you explained. "Sorry," you said genuinely, "that's all I managed to make for our dinner today."

"I'm upset that you cooked in the first place," Nanami scolded. "You should be resting. I said I'd take care of it. Why were you in the kitchen when the hot fumes could make your fever even worse?" Turning away from his nagging, you pouted.

"I'm hungry though…" you mumbled, far too much like a spoiled child, and Nanami was sure, in some way, that you were spoiled, of his making too. He always prioritized you and let you have your way. "And I already ate the miyeok guk you made."

"You could've ordered delivery," the man countered.

"Nothing interested me there."

Inhaling deeply once more, Nanami tried to calm the upcoming headache he felt. There was no point in arguing with you, not when you were coughing and sick like this. "Stay here. I'm going to whip up a bowl of okayu to have with your medicine," the man ordered before he picked up a blanket you had draped over one of your couches and wrapped you in it like a burrito. When you opened your mouth, your husband only sternly repeated, "Stay."

Playfully rolling your eyes when he left to go to the kitchen, you puffed out your cheeks in mock irritation. Closing the door to your apartment so the AC couldn't escape anymore, you turned to the teen who was standing awkwardly in your home.

"Aw I'm sorry," you said, voice sounding like sandpaper again. "You know, Kento's kinda strict, but I assure you he's a good man," you said gently. "Thank you so much for taking care of him."

"M-Me?" Itadori sputtered. "I'm not the one taking care of him! He takes care of me! Um…" The boy grew demure when he realized he had no way to address you.

"Oh," you realized you didn't introduce yourself. "I apologize! I totally forgot! I know you since Ken talks about you and Ino all the time, but I didn't realize you didn't know me!"

Itadori gasped. "He talks about me?!"

"Of course! All good things!" you assured. "Even though Kento seems like a meanie, he's a genuine person and wouldn't exaggerate, so he wouldn't praise you unless he absolutely meant it." You knew that this was the teen that hosted Sukuna, the King of Curses. It was a heavy burden for someone who wasn't even an adult yet, and your heart grew heavy at the thought of this boy's fate.

"Before I forget…" Quickly, you ran to your bathroom and cleaned off your clay face mask before you returned with your bare face wet and a cloth Pompompurin headband keeping your hair out of the way. "I need to introduce myself."

Now Itadori was sure that you two were married with the way you introduced yourself nearly identically to your husband. With your back straight and shoulders squared, hands flat, and arms straight at your side, you closed your eyes and bowed.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Itadori-kun." You acquired your business card out of thin air and held it out for the boy. "My name is Nanami [Name], and I'm a senior project manager at Yurukawa Corp. If you or your friends ever get tired of exorcising curses and want to look into engineering, you can ask me!"

Huh?

It was too silent.

When you rose and looked up, you realized that your husband had suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Standing in between you and Itadori, your husband's stern expression could freeze hell over as he stared down at Itadori with a frown, arm outstretched and his hand held up — right where Itadori's eyes would've seen your cleavage when you bent over to bow.

"Itadori-kun."

"Y-Yes!"

"We are going. Now."

The car was completely silent the entire way to the dorm rooms. Quickly shifting the car into park, Itadori jumped at the sudden stop.

No one said a word. The entire ride felt like the air was heavy enough to drown in.

"Itadori-kun." Nanami's eyes were hidden by the reflection in his glasses.

"…Yes?" the boy squeaked out, pressing his index fingers together.

"Never ogle my wife again."

[stuckinthesun]

༝༚༝༚ Tic-Tac-Toe ༝༚༝༚ — Part Two

Part One

Black suit mod!Leon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nsfw mdni, drunk sex, p in v, semi-public sex, pet names, riding, spanking, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (please wrap it jfc)

wc: 2.8k

Ashley got dragged away from you again by another group of people just dying to know about her experience. You honestly felt bad for your friend and you would’ve stayed with her, but with how much you’ve drank you couldn’t trust your mouth right now.

So instead you decided to get some air.

The cool night air hit your face the moment you stepped out of the banquet hall, instantly making your head feel clearer.

Well, almost clear.

It seemed no matter how many glasses of champagne you drank, you couldn’t get Leon out of your head. How good he looked in that dark suit, the sound of his laugh, the feeling of his fingers trailing up your thigh.

God, you’re blushing just thinking about it!

Subconsciously you look down at your leg, at the unfinished game of tic-tac-toe still marking your skin. The one X he left on you stands out against all your markings, and you brush your fingers over it.

“Hey, there you are.” A deep voice startled you, making you jump and turn around.

Leon stood there with an easy smile and a half-empty glass of champagne. He looked the same as before, except his tie was loose and his cheeks were tinted pink with alcohol.

So sexy and disheveled, great.

You blink at him for a second as his words sink in, “Were you looking for me?”

The pink on his face deepens, “Well, I wanted to know if you were up for finishing our game of tic-tac-toe. Would hate to leave it unfinished on your leg.”

You look down at your leg again before smiling at him, “Well I hope you brought a pen because I left mine back inside.”

“I have one in my car,” He shrugs, looking out into the parking lot of the hall toward where you assume his car is.

“Mr. Kennedy,” You say dramatically, pretending to be scandalized, “Are you inviting me to your car? Alone? In the middle of a party while we’re both intoxicated?”

Leon lets out a surprised chuckle and you notice the color on his face deepen more, “You’re making it sound like high school.”

That makes you laugh before you shake your head and smile, “Alright well, as long as you don’t plan on driving, then I’d love to join you in your car for some leg tic-tac-toe.”

“I promise I won’t be driving,” Leon smiled back at you before nodding his head in the direction of his car.

“I’m surprised you were able to escape the vultures inside.” You joked as the both of you snuck away toward Leon’s car drunkenly.

The blonde smirked, “I’m damn good at my job, Miss. If I couldn’t escape a bunch of drunk old men, then I wouldn’t have been able to save your friend.”

“I guess you have a point,” You hum, noticing the nice car you’re approaching.

Leon pulls out a set of keys from his dress pants before unlocking the vehicle. Stepping up to the sleek black car, he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thank you,” You blushed slightly before slipping inside, and you made sure your dress was completely in the car before Leon carefully closed the door.

You looked around the interior of the car as Leon jogged around to the driver's side, it was fairly clean. So clean in fact, it made you wonder just how often Leon was away on those scary missions like the one to save your best friend.

The car door slamming shut brings you back to the moment and you look up to see Leon placing his champagne glass in the cup holder, “Oh my god, did you steal that?”

“No? I’ll probably take it back,” He shrugged, opening up the middle console and pulling out a pen, “Besides we know the President, it’ll be fine.”

“This is true,” You nod and shimmy yourself in your seat so you can once again prop your legs up in his lap. The stretch across the console was uncomfortable but you would make it work, “Alright Kennedy, enough chitchat. It’s game time.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re competitive?” Leon raised an eyebrow as he popped the cap off the pen and grabbed your leg.

The awkward angle made it difficult for him to see the game of tic-tac-toe, so you tried to shift yourself again, “I’ve always been competitive, you just didn’t see it before because we were so rudely interrup- huh?!”

You were cut off mid-sentence by Leon, apparently frustrated with the angle of your legs, leaning forward to wrap an arm around your waist, the other around your leg, and pull you to straddle his lap.

“That’s better,” Leon hummed, quickly marking your skin with another X before looking up at you with a smirk, “Your turn.”

You stare at him, completely caught off guard by his actions. He just continues to smirk at you, pushing the pen into your hand as he indicates toward the game of X’s and O’s.

A blush heats your skin as you feel his hands on your thighs, his fingers once again tangling in your tights and making your breath hitch.

“This okay?” Leon asked, voice teasing but you could tell the question was genuine. If you said you were uncomfortable and wanted to get off, you truly believe he would let you without a second thought.

This thought brings you reassurance for some reason and you smirk back at him, “Course, just need to get comfortable.”

Leon doesn’t get to reply before you’re sitting up a little, and pulling the skirt of your dress out from under you. Honestly, it had been uncomfortable, the fabric pulling tightly against your skin since Leon hadn’t bothered to adjust it before moving you. Now the skirt of your dress pools around your waist, and your warm center sits on his lap only covered by your panties and some string.

His grip on your thighs tightens, making his fingers tug at your tights and tearing them ever so slightly. Your smirk just deepens, “That’s better.”

Finally, you take your turn drawing an O right below his, successfully cutting him off. You hand the pen back to him with a triumphant smile.

“Don’t get too excited,” Leon says, quickly drawing an X across from his previous one.

“Why not? I’m obviously going to win.” You quickly take back the pen and make your move.

“Oh you think so, do you?” Leon’s marking your skin again, the drag of the pen almost hurts.

“Yeah, I do!” You cry out as you draw a messy O and look up at Leon who’s already looking at you with something close to wonder.

Then suddenly, he’s kissing you.

Leon’s hands grab the sides of your face and tug you closer, smashing your lips together. You kiss back without a second thought, dropping the pen in your hand to run your fingers through his hair, pulling him into you.

The kiss is desperate, it’s exactly how both of you have felt since the first time you met inside the banquet hall. His tongue runs along your bottom lip and you're quick to give him access, opening your mouth and moaning at the feeling of his tongue against yours.

Leon’s hands slide along your body, feeling every curve of your smooth skin. Your hands slide down his shoulders, pulling his suit jacket with you. Understanding, Leon sits up without breaking the kiss and quickly shrugs out of his coat.

Flinging the article of clothing to the back of the car, Leon leans back into his seat. His hands glide up your back, following along the teeth of the zipper until he finds the handle.

You feel him start to pull on the small piece of metal, exposing your upper back, before he pulls away from the kiss, “Is this okay?”

It’s the same question he asked before, except the teasing tone is replaced by a breathy grunt. Your answer is the same as before too, just instead of answering verbally, you nod frantically as you tug his tie off from around his neck.

You throw the piece of silk into the passenger seat as Leon finishes unzipping your dress, letting it hang loosely off your shoulders as he kisses your neck. A soft sigh passes between your lips and you tilt your head to the side to give him better access.

“Oh fuck,” You moan, rolling your hips down against his and feeling his bulge pressing against your barely concealed center.

“Fuck baby,” Leon groans, his head thumping back against the headrest, “Don’t roll your hips like that till I’m inside you.”

“Then hurry,” You whine, reaching between the two of you to start undoing his belt. The straps of your dress slip from your shoulders as you do so, exposing your bra to Leon.

As you make quick work of pulling the leather strap from the metal buckle, you feel his large hand cup your breast. You whine again and push your chest out so he can get a better feel, and you can’t help but close your eyes when he squeezes.

“God you’re really beautiful,” Leon whispers, leaning forward to press open-mouth kisses against your collarbone as you finally pull his belt free from his dress pants, “I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you. When I first brought Ashley back.”

That has you pausing. You open your eyes and lean away from him furrowing your eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yeah.” Leon nodded, looking at you with lust-filled eyes, “I didn’t say anything for obvious reasons.”

“You didn’t even know my name earlier,” You pointed out, frowning even more.

“Like I said before, you never told me your name!”

“Yeah, but why didn’t you ask anyone or I don’t know get your spy people to look it up?”

“First off, I’m not a spy.” Leon said chuckling and you just rolled your eyes, “And second, I wanted you to tell me your name.”

Your eyes widen as your chest fills with a sudden warmth. A line like that shouldn’t be all that romantic, and yet for some reason you’re blushing.

Throwing the belt next to the tie in the passenger seat, you grab the collar of Leon’s shirt and pull him into a kiss. It’s messy and heated, much like the first one, but it doesn’t last as long. You quickly pull back, leaning away from the agent as he tries to chase you for another one, and beg, “Please fuck me.”

Leon stops in his attempt at trying to capture your lips again and smirks, “I will, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

Suddenly your dress is over your head and being thrown into the back of the car. You shiver a little, at both the air on your skin and the feeling of being exposed, before you pull his vest off.

His hands glide along your thighs as he kisses your neck and collarbone, stopping at your ass and squeezing. You moan, unbuttoning his pants and untucking his dress shirt.

You feel his fingers lace in between the wide gaps in your tights, and you barely have a second to realize what he’s going to do before he pulls. A loud ripping sound fills the car as you feel Leon rip the crotch of your fishnets wide open.

“Been thinking about doing that all night.” Leon hums, pushing your panties to the side through the gap he made, exposing your dripping pussy.

You gasp, rolling your hips to push back against his hand and you feel him slip his middle finger inside of you, making you cry out, “Already so wet and I hadn’t even touched you yet.”

“Please Leon,” You beg, rocking back against the digit inside of you.

“Need to get out of these pants first.” Leon mumbles, bucking his hips up as if to remind you that his cock is still tucked inside his pants.

You nod, leaning your forehead against his as you look down and begin unbuttoning his slacks. His finger inside of you begins to thrust, curling up just right and rubbing against your G-spot. You let out a long moan, your fingers stuttering against his zipper, causing Leon to hiss and thrust up.

“Come on honey, pull me out so I can get inside this pussy.” Leon says, pushing another finger inside of you and making you see stars.

Quickly you pull Leon’s cock from his dress pants, him lifting his hips slightly so you can pull both the slacks and his underwear down his thighs a little. Once he was finally free from the restraints of his pants, you spit in your palm before wrapping it around his shaft and pumping.

Leon let out a surprised groan, his grip on your ass tightening and his fingers inside of you suddenly reaching deeper, “S-shit baby. Won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

“Then fucking fuck me,” You huff breathlessly, impatient and so turned on.

A loud smack sound rings out, followed by a burning pain on your right asscheek that makes you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Leon spanked you. Leon just fucking spanked you and you moaned.

Leon looks at you with amusement, “You’re the one who wrapped your hand around my dick instead of your cunt.”

“I can’t exactly get your dick inside me with your fingers in the way,” You glare at him, squeezing the base of his cock just to see his face pinch in pleasure.

“Fine,” Leon grits, removing his fingers from inside you and pulling your hips to align better with his. Your hand fell away from his cock and you quickly gripped the back of the seat as Leon pushed himself inside of you without warning.

Both of you cried out, you louder than him, as he bottomed out, seating himself fully inside of you. Neither of you moved, you trying to adjust to the size of him, and him trying not to cum instantly at the feeling of your warm, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around him.

“There, that better?” Leon asked after a moment of silence and all you could do was nod. You felt his hands on your thighs again, rubbing up and down, every once in a while pulling at the fishnets and letting them snap back against your skin, “Yeah? Then why don’t you try moving those hips for me like you did earlier.”

Slowly you begin to roll your hips around his cock buried inside of you. Leon’s hands instantly stop to rest on the juncture between your hips and thighs, fingers squeezing into the meat of your skin and encouraging your movements, “Fuck there you go, good girl.”

The stimulation and the praise make you moan and ride him faster, your hands move to grip his shoulders as you begin bouncing a little. Leon curses and thrusts up into you, somehow reaching deeper and pushing against your cervix.

“Holy shit,” You moan when Leon pushes a hand between you and begins rubbing your clit, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he presses kisses to your jaw, “Leon, I’m gonna- fuck I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum baby, cum on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.” Leon groans against your skin, his fingers moving faster against your clit and his hips thrusting up harder.

With a shout of the agent's name, you came, hard, your body tightening up and shaking from the amount of pleasure you felt. Leon fucked you through it, trying not to cum until he could pull out, but the feeling of your walls clamping around him was too much and he was tipping over the edge right with you.

You felt Leon’s hot cum spill inside of you, filling you up and causing another wave of pleasure to shoot through your body. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer and the two of you sat there together as you came down from your highs.

After a moment you pull away from the embrace and look at the man beneath you. Leon’s blue eyes were hazy as he stared at you and puckered his lips, asking for a kiss. You giggled and gave him one, hand sliding up his neck and cupping his cheeks.

“I have a hotel not too far from here if you want to get cleaned up,” Leon mumbled into the kiss.

You smirked, “You have an entire hotel? What exactly do they pay you?”

“I have a hotel room, smart ass.” Leon huffed, rolling his eyes and pulling away from you.

A chuckle escapes you, “Yeah I’ll go to your hotel room with you, on one condition.”

“Oh?” Leon raises an eyebrow, his hands resting on your thighs, “And what’s that?”

“We actually finish this game of tic-tac-toe.”

Taglist : @cassiecasluciluce @ymrai @admirxation @chessysourcandy @cinnamonminni @uriynne @rottenrosethorns

I did it guys I finally finished it!!! Hope it was worth the wait😭

[muntitled]

Eunseok's Restraint

Bodyguard!Eunseok x Fem!Reader

Summary: Seducing the man hired to protect and serve

Warnings: Language, Violence, Organized Crime, Smut +18 (Minors DNI)

A/N: Do not read this it's not good. I just needed him out of my head

A door slamming shut in the distant driveway underneath your window rouses you from a disturbing dream. A dream you're all too happy waking up from. This had been odd because you had never stayed up past the tenth hour and as a result, have never had a sleepover with any of your past adolescent friends.

You fell asleep when your father conducted his shady goings on like a good little girl because that is what was expected of you. And if there was but one thing that you knew, it is how to be good.

As of recently, however, your usual, robotic if not, blind obedience was thawing slowly and it only takes one single solitary evening for that clean pure streak to become poisoned with an inky blackness.

But something in you was screaming with molten excitement because he was back…

"Just one peek," You're not entirely sure who you're trying to reassure. You certainly had no friends and you couldn't have been talking to any of your stuffed animals, you had put them to bed long ago.

You ought to be in bed yourself- but your mindless feet drag you out of bed. You're aware enough to slot them into the pink, fuzzy slippers but that is where your sensibility stops. You trot across the carpet, as silent as a lamb, stepping into the sliver of moonlight shining in through the window.

The window.

It was an ancient, ghastly thing, much like the rest of your home. Your room was the only architectural exception with its pastel interiors and soft finishes. The rest of the ostentatious manor belonged solely to your father. Ivy clung to the building like a sickness, crawling up the foundations of your window. It is against those windows where you now sit perched like a bird, watching the beasts that prowled down below. You watch with bated breath as those neatly arranged cars snake down the gravel pathway, circling around the fountain and stopping at the myriad steps. You're not too hidden and perhaps you should be, but every sliver of rationality left, disappears as soon as he uncovers himself from within the jet black luxury car.

It all happens in slow motion, really. Your breathing stammers with unfamiliar lust, steaming up the pane as you watch Eunseok, one of your father's fiercely loyal workers, readjust the lapels of his dark blue suit. He looks impeccably dressed, actually, along with that stone cold visage that only adds to his ‘brooding, emotionless bodyguard, exterior. He's so finely dressed, in fact, that you suspect it had been terrifyingly easy to blend in with the normal working class in his outfit. Absolutely nothing about his countenance alluded to all the blood he'd voluntarily spilled for your father and that's the problem.

At least Sungchan beside him had the decency of appearing like the common criminal he was. Something in his pitch-black suit and that garish display of jewellery pieces just screams 'illegal activity.’

Not Eunseok though.

As if feeling somehow that he was being watched, Eunseok’s eyes flit to the highest level of the piss-rich manor as if compelled by some other worldly force. You suppose this is why your dad had hired him. His senses had to have been immaculate to catch you watching him from up high.

His eyes however, do not react as he watches you watching him from up there, your night gown clinging to your shoulder by a single silk thread and sheer fucking will. A low whistle rips through Sungchan’s mouth and just like that, the spell is broken.

"Quit it," Eunseok says, breaking eye contact to stare straight ahead at the manor instead. "Quit thinking about fucking his daughter."

Eunseok could feel Sungchan's eye roll as he whined "Since when did you become so fucking boring?"

"Since our entire lives depended on completing a job without our dicks getting in the way." Eunseok locks the car door with the tinted windows before continuing towards the manor, Sungchan walks in stride.

It is only when the men disappear inside the building when you realise you were straining your neck immeasurably, just to catch one fleeting glance.

You're never usually so easily coaxed out of the confines of your quarters but this is an exception. The corridor is dark and deserted when you creep out, your fuzzy slippers muted along the floor. The end of the corridor opens to a mezzanine flooded with a rectangle of golden artificial light and you quicken your steps. Your stomach already set alight with the inevitability of seeing him again. And him seeing you.

"I hope he didn't give you too much trouble," the voices in the downstairs living room travel towards you while you're still clinging to the darkness of the corridor like the ivy outside. You’re smart enough to cling to the mahogany bars of the mezzanine, overlooking the scene below like a hopeless voyeur.

Even now you could tell you'd probably get eaten alive if you were to get caught. Such talk of unsavoury business is no place for any dignified lady. All machismo and grit rising from the stems of celebratory whiskey glasses. You creep closer.

"No trouble at all," Eunseok speaks up but Sungchan is quick to interrupt, "-Although there was just a disgustingly wayward spray of blood that I rather not have had to deal with. I've got blood on my cufflinks and It's just not-"

"He's joking, Sir... of course" Eunseok adds with a quickness, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth to stop you from laughing involuntarily. It is that one movement that illuminates your frame right in Eunseok's line of vision. He watches you from above your father's head as you skulk, quite effectively in the shadows. His eye sparkles in the knowledge that he had made you laugh and your presence alone, albeit unseen, charges the room with something new.

Your father remains quiet for one suspicious moment before murmuring a low yet audible, "Of course," before veering off on his very own tangent.

From atop the mezzanine, you could see every part of the man in your father had hired to protect you. And he was damn good at his job if he was able to spot you so embarrassingly quickly.

None of the other men in the room had any inclination of your presence and that only fuelled your hunger and your confidence. A dangerous combination for a woman indeed. Your hand is already dipping between your legs the second conversation resumes. The shadows are a thin and inconsolable veil but a veil nonetheless. No one that wasn't looking for you would ever see you. Sungchan was engaged in a mind-numbing conversation with your father and as luck would have it, Eunseok seemed to have been the only soul keeping an eye out. So you decide to put on a show.

His breath quite literally hitches in the back of his throat when you lift the hem of your nightgown, up. Ever so slowly lending a patch of skin to the chandelier's warm glow. He watches your hands disappear under your pink cotton shorts with wretched anticipation. His swallows thickly, attempting to nod along to what your father was saying especially because a part of him knew the risk that came with entertaining your disobedience.

The threat of getting shot in the head for ogling his boss's kid, whom he swore to protect, doesn't seem all that daunting as Eunseok let's his gaze drift once again to the balcony above.

Eunseok only catches what the light allows and that's significantly less than what he wants, what he deserves. Your cotton panties are a fleeting, quick sight and he fights the groan off honourably, that wishes to slither through.

"I hope his exit was not too cruel, the old dog." Eunseok does not initially register your father's words, his eyes are piercing into your visage, watching every flit of emotion as you rub yourself through the fabric of your panties. He's bursting with the need to help you, to pull you against him and show you how it should be done. He needs you so bad.

"He did not suffer in his final moments?” Your father asks, stealing Eunseok's gaze from you once again. “I'm sure his wife will be glad to hear this."

Eunseok veers his eye from off of your frame, blinking as if reminding himself of the other people present. "We used the silencer.” Eunseok replies robotically.

Sungchan laughs knowingly from beside him. "-like a virgin in church-OOMPH!" Sungchan could not save his ribs from Eunseok's elbow in time.

As quick as the lighting, your back is once again plastered to the corridor away from the light and any prying eyes. You didn't need to use your eyes to know Eunseok had socked Sungchan in the ribs and you nearly laughed once again. "Jesus Christ, it was only a little metaphor!" Sungchan grumbles.

Your father is quick to excuse their antics for the blatant waste of his precious time that it was. He waves a hand dismissively as he says, "Your work is highly revered and will not go unrewarded, gentlemen. For now, you may retire to the west wing for the evening. We are expecting a storm, driving through the countryside is far more treacherous under these conditions." Your heart accelerates with your father's announcement and you feebly peek from around the concrete corner. Eunseok is already looking at you, and what you find in his eyes strips you of your confidence. His eyes are locked within a promise, drowning in the surety that something, beyond the tempest, was definitely a foot. "We appreciate the hospitality sir," Tan mutters under his breath as he watches you sink into the shadows once more.

When you make it back into your room, you leave the door ajar.

If, by some miracle invoked by an ancient power, you had gotten Sungchan to divulge even the tiniest of details about his partner, he'd tell you that, quiet as he may appear, Eunseok was a fucking whore and that it is of paramount importance that you not pursue him in the slightest. Still, it sets your heart aflame when your bedroom door creaks wider only an hour later and your arms grip the stuffy impossibly tighter.

You're tucked away in bed when you hear a voice speak up behind you, "You should be asleep," His words seem to pierce and excite you. A torrid combination as you peer aimlessly ahead. Your mattress feels weightless beneath you, and every particle in the air only seems to be so completely electrified.

It was interesting that he had maintained such a respectable distance. Everything you knew about the man your father had hired was limited but one thing that remained undeniable was Eunseok's restraint. He was restraining himself quite well.

You sit up to face him, your head haloed by your pillows and stuffed animals like a princess. Eunseok's cock all but twitches at the sight of you. Eunseok hates to admit that he had been nursing a boner ever since your little show on the mezzanine and it made his blood boil. He hated to feel 13 again, with no restraint on his hormonal adolescent hormones.

Even now, under the darkness of your room, shrouded in nothing but moonlight, Eunseok sees everything.

Your nightgown has shifted over the course of your tossing and turning and a nipple peeks out from the gown. His voice is gruff as he whispers, "Spread your legs for me. Spread them like you did before." His cock rages against his pyjama bottoms, begging to see the action he had commanded of you.

"All I could do is scream,” you say instead, always preferring to piss him off even in your most fire moments, “and my father would have a bullet through your skull the very second anyone laid their eyes on you,"

"I'm well aware of that, yes," His voice is laced with monotony and he looks completely inviting as he slams his head back against the wall adjacent to your bed. His lips quirks up ever so slightly as his hand lazily rubs over his hard and aching bulge. "Do you know what else I'm aware of, Dove?"

"What?"

"If you truly wanted me dead, I'd be a heap of blood on guts on this pretty little floor already.” He whispers once again, “Pull the sheets down and open your fucking legs."

His command triggers the obedience lodged in the confines of your brain like a switch. You shift and glide over the soft covers as you watch him across from you. Despite the warmth in your cheeks, you humph and open your legs tentatively for him, the cold air crawling up your heated thighs.

"Good,” he says, “Very good," delirium was fueling his every breath and it only causes the throbbing in between your legs to intensify. You whimper unintentionally but the sound causes his eye to snap up to you.

"Do you need instructions, Dove?”

The most you can manage is a broken, pathetic whimper once more as your hand slides over the swell of your breast to tweak your exposed nipple. A rush slams through your body causing you to clamp your legs shut, much to Eunseok's chagrin. He's so desperate to watch you fuck yourself, so undeniably desperate to just fucking cum and you're still making it completely difficult.

Eunseok's cold eyes snap away from your breast up to your face and you freeze in the snow storm of his glare, “You're not stupid, are you? Listening shouldn't be this fucking difficult-" Eunseok is quick to restrain his frustrations once more, when he notices the slight tension in your shoulders and your wide sad eyes in the wake of his degradation.

"I'm…” Eunseok sighs loudly “Sorry," he says so painfully, monotonously it almost makes you smile. Abandoning his post against the wall, Eunseok trudges to the foot of the bed. A war wages within his emotions and you see it in his face, but the right side (or wrong side) wins as he lowers himself at your feet.

A rough calloused hand finds your soft, supple skin, electing a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It's almost magnetic, the way his large hand travels up and down your leg. "I just need you to do something for me. Can you manage that, Dove?" You nod meekly, and the sight of it only makes Eunseok's cock ache even more.

He hadn't thought it possible to want something this bad, to want to feel anyone this bad. Whenever his need arose, he fucked whomever he wanted to at that very moment, but you had introduced a new set of rules. It seemed sacrilegious to pounce on you like he had done with so many other girls. You seemed so incredibly fragile. So breakable.

"Open these legs for me,” he wiggles your toe causing you to let out a quiet giggle, “Just a little? It'd make me so, so fucking happy. " He presses a soft kiss to your steepled knee and the brush of his soft lips on your skin causes a small moan out of you. The bed dips and the covers shift as you move your feet to accommodate your opening legs. "So good, you're doing so good for me, Sweetheart,"

He shifts in unprecedented anticipation and soon, both his hands find your knees to help coax you open. He breathes in deeply at the sight of your drenched cotton panties. "I'm going to help you just a little. Is that alright?"

"I'd really like that." Your voice is high pitched and small, drenched with the thickness of being caught in the height of subspace and all Eunseok can do is marvel at it all.

"Of course, baby," He delivers soft, ticklish kisses along your thigh as his hands hook into the sides of your underwear and he drags them slowly down, against his animalistic and torrid will. "You're so fucking gorgeous." He melts against your legs and his reaction elicits a wave of butterflies.

"You're so fucking perfect, 'know that?" He asks, still spraying kisses over your leg as he discards your panties into the pockets of his pyjama pants. "But you need to do something else for me alright? I need you to-" Eunseok inhales sharply instead of finishing his sentence.

Your hands had operated with a mind of their own, one hand parting your swollen lips while the other rubs lightly over along your clit. Your head is thrown back at the overwhelming rush of ecstasy that flows through your body and you're only spurred by his heated gaze.

"You're not such an innocent little girl, are you?" His thick vibrato sets your skin alight with need and you moan rather loudly into the night air. "Say it," Eunseok taunts. "Say 'yes daddy, I've always been a little slut for you,'” he was testing you.

Your legs cramp with grating tension and your other hand finds your nipple once more. Your gaze is firmly locked on Eunseok who watches you while seated at the foot of your bed with absolute focus.

"Say it!" He barks and the words slowly mesh out of you like a spewing waterfall.

"I've always been…” you squeeze your eyes shut, letting an unprecedented wave of shame intermix with your arousal, “I've always been a slut."

“For who?” Eunseok's voice is sharp.

“For you.” Your voice is quivering.

“For me who?”

“You, Daddy-”

Eunseok’s restraint drains so completely he wonders of it had even really been there as he grips your ankle and violently pulls you underneath him.

"My good little slut,” he whispers as he makes quick work to replace your flimsy hand on your breast with his strong one. Your backarches as Eunseok hovers above you, as if unconsciously giving your entire body to him. “My little fucking whore. Does that feel good baby?”

All you're able to do is nod with your eyes squeezed shut as Eunseok's hands, which are much more experienced and much more reassuring, tweak your nipples in a way that actually has you gasping into the air.

Through the haze of your delirium, you stop his movements. You guide his hand downwards, to wear he’s needed most.

Once Eunseok's cold calloused fingers make contact with your weeping cunt you immediately detach your hand from his, urging him to make magic out of you.

Your hands could never accomplish what he can and you're immediately shot into hyperspace once Eunseok gets the message and begins to rub your cunt at snail's pace.

,”You're so good you know that?” He flies his gaze from his hand in between your legs to your blissed out face and he plants a kiss to the side of your head as if trying to distract you from his fingers sliding into your cunt.

“Fuck, you know you're making Daddy need you, right? He needs you really badly,” His praise is god and it's all that guides you to your inevitable orgasm. Eunseok's lips against your ear while his index and middle finger fuck you open has you fighting the urge to scream into the night air.

“Your fingers couldn't make you feel good like Daddy's can-” it wasn't a question, you don't think. Thinking proves to be exceedingly difficult as you lift your hips to meet his thrusts while his thumb plays with your clit. All this control from one hand is so fucking impressive to you. Watching him strum you like an instrument as if he were in charge of your entire body has you nearing your edge quicker and quicker.

Eunseok begins to rub furiously at your pussy and you fight to keep your eyes on him. In his billowy shirt and sporting an impressive bulge-his eyes wide and showering you with all the attention, it proves to be far too much."C-Can I-"

"Cum for me, Dove. Cum all over my fingers, baby." And your orgasm is quite literally ripped out of the skies. Your legs quake and your voice quivers as you are flung over the edge. His reassuring murmurs and soft affirmations guide you through it all.You slump against your pillows, basking in the afterglow as you watch the millions of thoughts swim through Eunseok's head.

[neptuneiris]

could you pretend to be in love? (03/10)

The Complicity

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: the time has finally come and you together with Aemond pretend the relationship taking into account the aspects of the previous contract.

word count: 7.1k

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God, I had so much fun writing this and absolutely loved it. hope you enjoy it too, I loved it and will look forward to your opinions. there is still much more to come, so look forward for it🤭

thank you for reading and enjoy!❤

It takes no time at all to see Aemond's car pull up in front of your house.

Pursing your lips and you already feel the nerves tensing your body. You adjust the strap of your backpack on your shoulder and say goodbye to your father, then leave your house and head towards the car.

Aemond has already rolled down the passenger seat window and keeps a small grin on his lips as he watches you, but you deliberately ignore him and especially that grin on his face.

But what you don't ignore is his car. It's too modern and expensive, exactly what you would expect from him. Besides it's his style, black and extremely clean. And when you get in and settle into the seat, the interior smells like him, rich, masculine and nice.

"Hey," you say to him, as you close the door and fasten your seat belt.

"Hey," he returns your greeting, watching you intently, "How are you?"

You frown, slightly confused by his question.

"I'm good," you say nonchalantly, "You?"

"All good, yes," he nods, letting his hand rest on the steering wheel. Then he watches you carefully, now with some hesitation, "Are you ready?"

"Hmm... yeah, I guess," you reply, nervous and hesitant, trying to appear normal, as you absently place your backpack on your lap, "Just..." you watch him pleadingly, reminding him, "When you're going to do something, you know... in front of everyone, let me know."

He puts back his soft smile, starting the car.

"Yes, ma'am."

The car starts up, an awkward silence developing in the air, where at first you both look for something to say to break the silence, but eventually you become immersed in your own thoughts.

And you at all times try to control your nerves and prepare yourself more mentally for everything that is coming today... and also for the next almost five months.

The music on the radio eases that slight tension between the two of you but when you least expect it, Aemond arrives and parks in the school parking lot, which is flooding with students.

"Thanks for the ride," you say, unbuckling your belt and he gives you a soft look.

"It's nothing, don't worry," he replies calmly.

You exhale deeply, peering through the windows of his car at the students outside, immersed in their groups of friends or their own worlds. But you know that soon enough all the attention will fall on you and him, so you continue to fight it, the nerves.

"So..." you return your gaze to him, attentive, "What exactly are we going to do now?"

"We just have to walk to the building together," he points to you as if it's the simplest thing in the world, which it is, but now you're both a 'couple', "We'll hold hands, I can walk you to your locker, we'll play a little, and then we'll head to our classes. Nothing more."

As simple as it sounds in his words, the prospect of performing as a couple in public makes you feel a mixture of nerves and anxiety. But you don't really have a choice so you just nod and go back to watching everyone out there one last time.

When you suddenly feel his warm hand place on top of yours, an unexpected gesture that surprises you and makes you focus on him again.

"Hey, I'm with you, okay?" he says softly, "You're not alone. And I promise you that everything will be fine, nothing bad is going to happen," he assures you, "You just need to relax, let yourself go and follow my lead. That way it will be easier, I assure you."

He tells you as his gaze conveys a sense of trust and understanding, wanting to reassure you in the midst of your nerves, reassuring you that everything will be okay, supporting you.

And even though you still feel a little nervous, with the assurance he conveys in every thing he says and every gesture, you decide to trust his words, managing to comfort you just enough.

Then he gives you a few more seconds, understanding that you should feel completely calm and finally you put the strap of your backpack on your shoulder, deciding that you want to get started and also get this over with once and for all.

"Ready?" he asks you with his reassuring look.

You nod, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves.

"Yeah, I'm good."

He nods too and finally you both get out of the car. And as soon as the two of you step foot outside, a few glances land on you and Aemond.

You wait for him to circle the car and once at your side, without hesitation your fingers intertwine with his, where as you watch his face, you find that assurance he seeks to convey to you, assuring you that everything will be okay.

And together, you begin to walk towards the main school building.

Aemond's presence at your side offers you comfort as you see hoy everyone looks at you, looks of surprise and curiosity, all watching you both attentively.

And at the same time you see how among the same groups of boys and girls talk to each other, seeming to wonder about seeing the two of you together.

At this, as you advance, you swallow hard and try to control your nervous look and keep your composure, also the slight fear you feel inside you and your heart that beats strongly, aware that every step you take is closely followed by the looks of everyone.

And as you feel the slight squeeze Aemond gives your hand with his, he gives you that small comfort amidst all the stares and emotions that invade you and you internally thank him for his gesture.

So you decide to concentrate on the comforting touch of his hand intertwined with yours, reminding you that you are not alone and you follow his lead, remembering his words from the beginning.

He, in comparison to you, seems serene and confident in all of this.

And despite the discomfort you felt with him at first and wanting to run away from him, now his presence begins to be comforting and you feel that you will panic if he leaves your side now.

And with every step you both take, you seem to attract more stares, as if you are a magnet for attention. There seems to be no end to the amount of curious stares on both of you, and that feeling increases more as you both walk deeper into the bustling hallways of the school.

You just hear the constant buzz of conversations and the attention focused on both of you becomes even more apparent. But regardless, you follow Aemond's lead, letting him guide you through all this overwhelming attention.

Eventually you both reach your locker and he stays by your side, as you begin to grab the books you will need today and people continue to watch you.

"It's a good start," Aemond says next to you, leaning toward you just so you can hear him.

"Only if you like the attention," you mention.

"Please, it's not so bad either," he says and leans closer to you, where with delicate gesture he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, watching you intently, beginning to act on the plan.

His movement catches you a little off guard, but you play along. You lean your body towards him, trying to keep a relaxed face and put a discreet smile.

"The whole school is watching us."

"Exactly what we wanted or not?" he says to then drop a kiss on your forehead that also takes you by surprise but you continue to skillfully feign, "And you're doing great."

A real genuine smile settles on your lips and you continue to organize your backpack as Aemond takes one of your hands and begins to trace it with his fingertips, then absentmindedly and also discreetly observes around him.

It is true that everyone is watching you both, but what catches his attention is seeing his ex-girlfriend, Alys, in this same hallway with her group of friends also watching.

You can't read much of his gaze, as he focuses back on you, especially when you finally close your locker door and give him your full attention, as he places a small smile on his lips.

He pulls you into his body as he leans against the back lockers, hugging you and placing you between his legs, and you let him, as obviously everyone is watching you at that moment.

"I'm going to kiss you now, okay?"

He whispers into your face and you open your mouth to speak, instantly lifting your face up to him to watch him, but when you least expect it, he is already kissing you.

You stifle a slight gasp in the middle of the kiss, feeling one of Aemond's hands gently caress your cheek and the other he keeps it on your waist, pulling you closer to him in a gentle way, as he presses his lips against yours gently and carefully, almost adoringly.

His lips feel soft and warm, so you kiss him back as best you can, closing your eyes and letting your hands rest on his chest.

Thankfully there's no movement and it's just pressing lips against lips, but the kiss is prolonged, Aemond more than anything else wanting to make sure everyone sees.

And when you both pull apart, he keeps his smile and his hands on your body as you try to disguise the surprise and daze.

"I'll see you at break," he says, letting go of your body slowly.

"Sure," you nod and smile, aware that more people are watching.

"Everything will be fine and if anything happens, text me," he tells you softly before separating you from his body and you nod again, feeling grateful again.

He leaves one last kiss on your forehead before he walks away, giving you one last comforting look. You watch as he walks away down the hallway, heading to his first class, just as the bell rings throughout the school.

So now feeling all eyes on you, you too quickly head towards your first class too.

And from that moment on, everything explodes.

The only topic of conversation going around the school is how the hottest and most popular guy in the whole school, Aemond Targaryen, is dating you, a girl not entirely... known.

You also hear how he and Alys' breakup is briefly mentioned, they also talk about how she cheated on him and that's when you come in... you and this unexpected news of the two of you dating.

It's clear that no one was expecting it, so there are a lot of questions as well. And eventually, the questioning begins.

"Y/N?" asks Aegon, confused, watching his younger brother intently, "And who is Y/N? I've never heard of her."

"Aegon, that doesn't matter," interjects Helaena, watching him grimly.

"She's my girlfriend," Aemond declares with a firm tone as he puts away some books in his locker.

"What matters is why you never told us anything... until now that the whole school knows too," Helaena says, confused, "We didn't even know you were interested in anyone after—

"That crazy of Alys," Aegon interrupts, not even bothering to lower the tone of his voice, also looking at Aemond with confusion.

Aemond looks up from his locker, noting back the questioning looks from his brother and sister.

"The thing with Alys is over," he says nonchalantly, "We both ended badly, she got satisfaction from it, I moved on and now I met someone new, what's wrong with that?"

Helaena exchanges a glance with Aegon and crosses her arms over her chest.

"No Aem, there's nothing wrong with it," she clarifies to him in a soft tone, "But at least you could have told us before the whole school found out."

"Yeah," Aegon says beside her, supporting her in her words, "And you never mentioned her," he says still with his confused face and tone, "Why?"

Aemond exhales deeply, feeling the pressure of they stares and questions, trying to keep his face composed.

"I've known her for a while."

He begins to say, clearly lying but trying to hear himself sound as convincing as possible, understanding that he must later tell Y/N about this if they and anyone else ask her the same question.

"She's in almost all the same classes as me. We did some projects together, started talking, hanging out a few times and well... things happened really fast. Even I didn't expect it, neither did she and it just happened, you know?"

Aegon watches him curiously, while Helaena examines him with full attention.

"And mom knows?"

"No, she doesn't," he says instantly, attentive and alert, "And listen, please don't tell her anything yet."

"Why not?" Aegon says confused, "She is your girlfriend and she should know her, no?"

"Yes, but we've just started dating and I want to give her a little more time until she's ready," he says in a soft, almost pleading tone, watching them both carefully, "I don't want to rush things more than they've already been rushed, so please.... let me tell mom when I've talked to Y/N."

Both are silent for a few seconds, where again the two exchange glances, and then Aegon nods in his direction with a more disinterested and more typical Aegon look. And Helaena, after analyzing his words, nods as well.

"Fine but be sure to tell her soon. You know how mom is with this sort of thing and if you let too much time pass, she'll be upset with you."

"Yes, I will, I promise."

Again silence engulfs the three of them and after a few seconds, Aegon breaks the silence with a smile.

"Well, now I want to meet my little brother's new girlfriend."

"Me too," nods Helaena, "Even without knowing her I already like her better than the witch."

Aegon lets out a laugh and Aemond just rolls his eye with an amused look.

"I'll try to talk to her if I see her," Helaena adds.

Shit.

Aemond thinks instantly.

"Fine but don't ask her too many questions, don't harass her and I'll find out if you tell her about my embarrassing stories," he warns her, "Same goes for you," he points to Aegon as well.

"Easy," he tells him confused, raising his hands in surrender, "I just want to meet my sister-in-law."

"Yes but watch that mouth," he warns him once more, "I'll see you later."

He closes his locker, the three of them say goodbye and he heads off to his next class, leaving behind his siblings and the growing curiosity that hasn't stopped from the other students in the hallway.

Certainly the news of his new relationship spreads quickly throughout the school, creating a buzz of gossip among all the hallways, because when he met with his friends, they too question him about the unexpected news.

The same goes for you, that even though you have no friends, or at least not close ones, when you are in the library, someone unexpectedly question you about your... 'boyfriend'.

"So...

A voice begins to speak in your direction and you look up, meeting Alysanne Blackwood, a classmate just as introverted and quiet as you, sitting at the other end of the huge table you're sitting at.

"Who knew you liked rich, popular boys," she says with a small smile.

"Oh... hi Alysanne," you say, putting a small smile, discreetly ignoring her comment.

That doesn't stop her, however, as she rises from her seat and takes her place in front of you, completely commanding your attention with her energetic presence.

"The truth is, I never imagined seeing you with someone like Aemond, "she says, evidently trying to start a conversation on the subject, "I never even saw you two talking together before."

And there you start to feel the knot of nerves in your stomach as you try to find the right words to explain the unexpected situation.

"The truth is, it was all very... discreet and... unexpected," you say, starting to think fast to come up with something convincing.

"And I bet Alys freaked out," she say with an amused smile, "God, I would have paid to see her face. She obviously wouldn't expect to see her ex with you."

You cocked your head to the side, watching her with curiosity and some confusion.

"Don't get me wrong, it's obvious that you and I are similar but a different type of girls like Alys," she explains, "So of course she must have been furious."

"Oh, um... I really don't know," you reply with a shrug. "I didn't notice if she saw us when the whole school did."

"Oh believe me," she says without wiping off her smile, "She did see you and she's furious," she assures you, "And that's okay because she deserves it. I can't stand her and I can't stand her stupid group of pretty girls who don't have a single neuron in their brains."

Alysanne, with her playful smile, seems to enjoy the awkwardness you find yourself in, so she leans a little closer to you, as if sharing a secret.

"Anyway, how do you feel about it? With Aemond, I mean," she asks, changing the tone of the conversation.

"Oh, well... he's different, I guess," you admit, searching for the right words, "I didn't know him much before this, but he's kind, funny, and.... yeah, different."

God, this is harder than I thought.

Talking about Aemond in this way is not entirely untrue, as he is nice and a little funny, but only a little. But still, you don't really know him and you think that's what you both need, to get to know each other better.

And that way, maybe this won't cost you too much.

"Well, at least you're not hating it. Although, truth be told, I think it's refreshing to see you dating someone outside of your comfort zone. And I'm also saying this from my own experience, it's... rewarding."

You watch her more interested than before, a little surprised.

"You have a boyfriend now?"

"Nah, it's been a while since we broke up," he says with a disinterested gesture, "But that's what he left me with and I hope you enjoy it, just don't be afraid."

She tells you and that particularly gets your attention more.

"And by the way, if you need advice on how to deal with girls like Alys, you know where to find me," she adds with a soft laugh.

Despite the strange situation and the fact that your talking about your 'relationship', when it's not even real, her words make you feel something and you realize that the conversation with her has become more enjoyable.

And you also realize that maybe you are not so alone in this unexpected moment of your school life.

So classes go by normally, you don't really see Aemond much, except in the hallways and when lunchtime comes, you take a seat alone at one of the cafeteria tables and turn your back on all the piercing stares.

"Hey, babe."

You raise your gaze and Aemond has a radiant smile on his face, turning animatedly toward you.

You place your best smile towards him, especially since there are still many pairs of eyes watching you, especially the eyes of Alys and her entire group of friends, who haven't stopped watching you as if they were going to kill you with their gaze since you arrived.

Aemond leaves a soft kiss on your forehead and takes a seat next to you, creating a space of privacy between the two of you, making sure no one else hears what he will say.

"How have you been?" you ask him, popping a strawberry into your mouth.

"Great. Everything is going perfectly, everyone is believing us and I hear Alys is furious and dead jealous," he says, with his little smile, "I've played her same game and now she knows how it feels. And the next few weeks will only get even better."

"As long as you keep me out of it, it's fine," you decide to joke, focusing on your food.

And when he answers your silence, you look back at him and he's watching you with a seriousness that isn't quite true. You let out a small laugh and he taps his shoulder lightly with yours, smiling.

"What are you talking about?" he asks you playfully, "Of course you'll be in for it."

You both share a brief complicit chuckle and he takes a strawberry from your bowl and savors it with a satisfied expression, then gives you a playful look.

"I'm actually enjoying this more than I thought I would. We seem to have caused a little of a commotion here," he says, averting his gaze to the bustle of the cafeteria.

"A little commotion?" you repeat, incredulous, "I think more like a big commotion, Aemond."

"Oh, and also..." he begins to say, more serious and in a lower tone, leaning towards you, "Aegon and Hel have already asked me some questions," he says, catching your full attention, "So if they try to talk to you, just say that we met and started talking in class. Also, that everything between us happened very fast and we decided to be discreet, nothing more."

And even though it's nothing difficult or anything out of this world, you can't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the sudden complexity of the situation. You also can't help the nerves in you.

Being part of all these lies and still having to create more lies, that's what makes you uneasy and you feel that in the moment you will ruin everything. And Aemond seems to read your thoughts, noticing your slightly worried expression.

"I know that they can be a bit nosy, I know that and I'm sorry. But it would have been too risky to tell them the truth and—

"No, no, it's not that, Aemond," you interrupt him instantly, "I just feel nervous and a little... scared," you confess, "I feel like I'll ruin everything if your sister or brother talk to me, because of the nerves, but I'm sure I can handle it."

"Yes, of course," he nods, nonchalant and speaking to you in a soft tone, taking one of your hands to entwine with his, "Just... if they ask you something specific, wing it, but keep the story general. I know you'll be able to do it."

You nod in his direction, his soft, comforting gaze making you feel better and more capable of being able to handle this. When you remember an also very important point.

"And you asked them not to say anything to your family?"

"Oh yeah, that too, yeah," he nods, "Don't worry, it wasn't hard. So we're good with that."

"Good," you say relieved.

You don't let go of his hand and go back to focusing on your food, while he stands next to you and watches you silently, saying absolutely nothing, watching you with a soft, calm gaze and trying to transmit that love just by watching you.

And his gaze on you while you eat starts to make you feel uneasy, so you watch him and put on a small nervous smile, not understanding the way he is looking at you.

Actually you do know but just like him, you have to play.

"What?"

Aemond lifts both corners of his lips a little higher.

"Everyone is looking at us," he says expectantly, in a low, soft voice, glancing around for a second to refocus on you.

And you roll your eyes playfully.

"I told you not to abuse that."

"But you said at extremely necessary times and right now seems like an extremely necessary time to me... love."

And there it is again, those nicknames that make you feel weird and Aemond enjoys watching you shiver at those words, smiling playfully.

"And I think it's only fair that now you're the one kissing me."

"You know, I'm already regretting this."

"I'm waiting," he says expectantly, never taking his eyes off you attentively for a second.

And you roll your eyes again and then lean into him with no choice and leave a soft kiss on his lips, in front of everyone, which he reciprocates instantly, only increasing his smile even more when you pull away from him.

"Thank you, love."

"Please," you look at him pleadingly, "Stop saying that."

He lets out a small laugh.

"Whatever you say, love."

You stare at him for a second and then he goes back to stealing one of your strawberries.

"By the way, wouldn't you rather go to lunch with my friends?" he points to the table of his friends who also belong to the lacrosse team, "They've also asked me about us. And I think having lunch with them, will make it all more believable."

You let out a long breath.

"It doesn't have to be now," he hasten to say.

"No, no, it's fine," you assure him, "I think it will make the relationship more believable too."

"Okay, but we have to stay here, at least for this day," he says, enjoying all the attention and you don't fight it, "Oh, and before I forget this, I have a match on Friday."

Oh no.

So soon?

You can't help but think, watching him completely intently.

"Really?" you ask starting to feel nervous and you don't even know why.

"Yeah, obviously you have to go and support me, shout my name, some cheers and all that," he says visibly excited, "The whole school is attending, so Alys will be there too," he says quietly.

"You also want me to wear a T-shirt with your last name on it and carry signs with your name on it like in the movies?"

He lets out a laugh.

"I'd actually love to see that," he says more excited than before.

"Aemond, I-I really don't know how to act at that kind of thing. I don't even know if I'll do it right...and if it looks too forced?"

And then there he again takes advantage of everyone watching you to place his hand over yours.

"Listen, there's no right or wrong way to do it. Just be yourself. There are no exaggerated expectations and it's not about impressing anyone, least of all me. I just want you to be there and let's have a good time together. Also at the party."

"Wait, what?" you inquire, "There's going to be a party after the game?"

"Hmm," he nods, "At my friend's house, you know...for celebration when we win."

"And if you don't win?"

"Even so, the party will be held," he says with a shrug, "A way to lift our spirits and better prepare us for the next game."

Of course, typical.

"And if I don't go to the party?" you try to persuade him with a worried expression.

"Y/N," he tells you with a serious look, "Remember our contract?"

"You're seriously bringing that to this?" you reproach him.

"Yes because it's in the contract," he tells you with a playful look, making it clear that he won't let you get off that easy.

And you sigh with resignation.

"But I don't think—

"Come on, Y/N. It'll be fun," he tries to encourage you, "And if at any point you feel uncomfortable, I promise we'll leave. What do you say? Sounds good?"

And even with the discomfort through your body, you nod, since you know there's no way around it.

"Fine," you murmur.

Aemond nods with a small smile.

"I'm sure it'll be fun, you'll see."

The rest of the week is spent with the stares and whispers intensifying whenever you and Aemond are seen together in the hallways or anywhere in the school.

Even the stares are not discreet, boys and girls stop in their conversations to stare at you as you walk by and when you move on to your respective classes, the attention seems to follow you, also in the cafeteria, when you and Aemond enjoy your lunches together, everyone stares at you.

It becomes annoying and also overwhelming for you, as you not only deal with the stares of all the students, but you especially deal with the stares of Alys Rivers and that of all her friends.

They are like hawks looking to melt the back of your head with every death stare. You feel like you're the prey and you don't doubt that they must surely say horrible things about you.

But honestly, Aemond has somehow helped you endure it.

In the cafeteria you are not alone, as you follow his idea of sitting at the table with him and his friends, who turn out to be very nice and funny, so their occurrences make you feel more comfortable during the whole break and lunch, forgetting for a moment about the stares and whispers.

Also Aemond never takes his hands off you, wanting to hug you and hold your hand all the time, wanting to make the relationship look as genuine as possible, this also distracting you.

And in those moments you just realize how you really hate being the center of attention, especially since the school seems to be watching your every move.

And you and Aemond couldn't agree more on the huge commotion you both have caused.

When the weekend finally arrives just as quickly as the day the match will take place, where you immediately decide to ask Alysanne for help getting ready, since you don't have a clue how to do it and make it look good.

Your dad is still at work, so you and Alysanne in your room make as much noise as you want, while she picks out your makeup and you put on some black jeans and the dark blue with white team shirt you borrowed from Aemond with his last name and player number printed on it.

And Alysanne, in her friendly and honest spirit, is excited to help.

"It looks great on you," she comments as she watches you adjust your shirt so it's not baggy, "Although I honestly don't understand why people like to attend these types of games. It's too boring for me."

"Yeah, for me too, but nothing I wouldn't do for Aemond," you mention like the girlfriend in love you supposedly are with him.

"Now come here."

You take a seat and she stands up, instantly helping you place Aemond's initials with blue paint on each of your cheeks, AT, while you finish touching up the rest of your makeup and also your hairstyle.

And when you're both done, Alysanne has something else for you.

"Now you're missing this," she announces, taking from her backpack something.

And when she holds it out to you, you confusedly take a cheerleader pom-pom.

"And what's this for?"

"What do you mean, what for? To support your boyfriend, obviously," she says incredulously, "I have one too," she announces proudly, taking another from her backpack.

"And where did you get them?" you ask inspecting it in your hand.

"I stole them from a girl who's on the cheerleading squad. I don't like her so I said, why not?"

You look at her still confused for a few moments, especially after that statement, but you decide not to give the matter any more thought and focus on what really matters, which in fact is already too much for your head.

So ready, you observe yourself in the mirror.

"I look like an idiot," you say as you look at yourself, "I've never done this before."

Alysanne laughs softly.

"Oh, dear, that's because you're an idiot in love. And also because it's the things love makes you do."

But you're not really in love with Aemond and that makes this whole thing even harder.

And that not being enough, she teaches you some pom-pom waving moves and suggests some simple cheers to cheer on the team and Aemond more than anything else. And even though you shouldn't, you can't help yourself and take a good few minutes practicing all that.

And finally you both leave your house in the direction of the school.

You've never been to one of these games before either, so when you and Alysanne arrive, the lacrosse field is full of energy and excitement as you both find seats in the stands.

The truth is you know absolutely nothing about how lacrosse works, it was never something you were interested in but if Aemond is now your 'boyfriend', you know you'll have to pay attention.

So in the meantime you do what everyone else does, like clapping and... nothing else.

"Girl, what are you doing? You're supposed to be cheering for your boyfriend!"

Alysanne yells at you above all the other yelling, shaking her own cheerleading pom-pom with the moves she taught you earlier.

"I know but I feel... embarrassed," you confess, "I've never done this. Besides... they haven't stopped staring at me since I got here."

"Who?" she asks you confused and attentive.

You point discreetly behind you and Alys along with her group of friends are a few seats over from where you stand with Alysanne, who snorts in amusement.

"Please, do they really intimidate you?"

"No," you lie a little, shrugging, "I just don't like that they're looking at me like they're going to kill me at every turn."

When you arrived they all inspected you from head to toe with questioning, mocking and expectant looks, which ended up destroying your confidence.

But Alysanne nudges you lightly and snorts derisively.

"Ignore them. They are not important. What's important is over there," she points her index finger at the lacrosse field, pointing at Aemond, "You're here to support him, not worry about poisonous snakes. So let's start yelling and supporting your boyfriend with the cheers I taught you, got it?"

You let out a sigh and finally nod with a resigned gesture.

You force yourself to concentrate as much as you can on the match, you also tell yourself that you're here to support Aemond and not to deal with the stares from his ex-girlfriend and her whole group of friends.

As well as you push away the idea in your mind that you feel weird and uncomfortable with that if you shout Aemond's name, everyone will notice and see you.

And you immerse yourself along with Alysanne and everyone else at the game in the charged atmosphere of anticipation and the screams of the crowd mingling with the air.

The whistle blows, marking the start of the match and Aemond and his team are in action as well as the opposing team, all moving nimbly around the field.

The game is fast and dynamic, you don't understand but you watch as Aemond stands out on the field, showing his skill. He and his team perform coordinated movements, well-executed strategies and impressive resistance against the opposing team.

And without paying any more attention to Alys gaze, you immerse yourself in the atmosphere of the game, clap and cheer along with Alysanne.

She encourages you to shout his name and that's what you do. You follow Aemond's every move intently, cheering with enthusiasm, jumping in place along with Alysanne, waving the stolen pom-pom along with her and shouting with fervor.

You feel more of Alys and her friends' gaze behind you, but you ignore it completely and concentrate on the game.

And as the game progresses, Aemond begins to notice your animated efforts from a distance. You can't see his face because of his protective helmet but he smiles when he sees you jumping, waving the pom-pom and shouting his name.

Your choice to wear his shirt with his last name and number, his initials painted on your cheeks, and the cheerleader pom-pom, all don't go unnoticed by him. He's honestly flattered and grateful that you actually did it.

And you and Alysanne keep cheering, both of you fully immersing yourselves in the intense and competitive atmosphere.

You don't know how much time passes until finally the referee blows the whistle. And since you don't understand lacrosse at all and had to pretend you knew what was going on, you just know they've won.

Thunderous applause and cheers break out in the crowd, and Aemond and his teammates celebrate on the field.

Alysanne gives you a friendly nudge as you both make your way to the corner of the field where the players are standing. And Aemond, instantly looking for you among all the people, when he finds you, with an expression of triumph trots over to you.

His gaze sweeps over you from head to toe, his smile engulfing you, as he removes his helmet and you smile and clap in his direction.

"You've won!" you exclaim happily.

He doesn't take off his smile and hugs you tightly, to which you reciprocate, trying to get that 'love' in front of everyone like in the movies of the couple of a boy captain of the team and the cheerleader girl.

You're not a cheerleader with a stolen pom-pom in hand but it's something like that.

"You look amazing," he says in your ear.

You let out a nervous laugh, as you both pull apart and Aemond, subtly seeing that everyone is watching you, keeps his hand on your waist, leans in and leaves a soft kiss on your lips, sealing the victory.

Obviously you can't blame him since everyone is watching and you place your hand on his cheek, reciprocating his kiss as everyone around you continues to celebrate in the stands and on the lacrosse field.

Once you both separate, you just notice more how everyone is watching you and you can't help but be a little embarrassed by this, feeling too many stares on you which in comparison, Aemond doesn't mind at all.

He tells you he's going to go change and talk to his coach, you nod, he leaves a soft kiss on your forehead and trots off back to the field with his teammates and you're left alone.

You hug yourself and look around briefly, then walk over to Alysanne, feeling a little overwhelmed.

And God, maybe this is costing you more than you imagined.

"You were fantastic, everyone was looking at us," Aemond says excitedly, driving, "And your outfit just made it all the more believable."

"Yeah," you let out a small laugh, "Alys and her whole group of friends kept judging me. But this just further confirms to us the fact that this is working."

He lets out a sigh.

"Alys has always been like that, she always has to judge someone to feel superior. She even did it with me during the time we were dating too."

He says with a disinterested tone and you look at him slightly surprised, not expecting to hear that.

"But if she makes you more uncomfortable to the point that you can't even stand it anymore, please tell me," he tells you more seriously, "She'll be at the party too and I don't plan to leave you alone but I'm telling you... you know, so you won't be surprised."

"I'm sure I can handle it, but yeah, I'll tell you," you tell him softly, nodding.

"Good," he nods too, not taking his eye off the road.

Right now he's driving to his friend's house where the party will be. You invited Alysanne and offered her to come along with you and Aemond, but she told you she's not a fan of parties and in fact she's had enough of the game.

So she ordered an Uber and went home. And you don't blame her. As much as you would have loved for her to have come to help you survive the party, she already helped you a lot before and after the game.

"So you understood the game?"

He asks you, summing up the game conversation, with a smirk. And you let out a snort with a mocking, incredulous look.

"No," you confess, "I don't really know anything about sports. I just know that on that play of yours in the second half it was awesome because everyone was talking about it," you let him know.

He lets out a laugh.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you."

"I just know you were great. I don't know exactly what you were great at but you were great," you say sincerely, "And I was great too, as much as I hate it, but did you see my animated cheer?"

"Yeah, it was amazing," he says just as honestly as you, only more enthusiastic, "But there was something missing from your whole outfit."

You frown.

"What?"

"The sign with my name on it like in the movies," he says and you snort again, as he laughs, "I would have loved to see that."

"One step at a time, Captain. It was already too much for me to fulfill my role as a cheerleader girlfriend supporting her boyfriend."

"I really enjoyed it," he says, watching you for a moment with complicity.

"As long as there aren't any more games so soon, I think I can handle it."

"And what about the parties?" he teases you.

"Let's correct the contract, because I think I'm only going to accompany you to one party per month. So that will be five parties total during the whole farse, but with this one that makes four."

"Oh yeah? Then I think I'm only going to drive you to school once a month, so that will be five rides total during the whole farse, but since three days have already passed where I've done you the favor, now you only have two left."

"That's not fair!"

"Oh I think it's more than fair."

You both sink into soft laughter and the conversation between the two during the ride is light, talking about the match and the farce more than anything else.

Until finally Aemond arrives in the neighborhood where his friend's house is located and soon enough he parks near the house, where from this distance you hear the music and also see other cars parking and boys along with girls walking down the street heading towards the party.

You let out a sigh as you anticipate all the people already inside the house and how the party must be, as you and Aemond unbuckle your seatbelts.

"Well, are you ready?" he watches you slightly expectantly and with a soft look.

"Promise you really won't leave me alone," you urge him once again, serious.

"I promise," he says honestly, making pinky promise with you, "But here we must be together and I mean really together. Pretend we're crazy about each other. Remember, in places like these, a couple never stops being all over each other, so we have to pretend and pretend real good."

You swallow hard and he gives you a reassuring look, while you take a few seconds and finally nod. You place a softer face and lightly bite the inside of your cheek.

"Yeah, okay, I get it," you say softly, licking your lips.

"I'm not going to leave you alone. I'm going to be with you always," he assures you one last time before getting out of the car.

And you let out a heavy sigh, you get out of the car as well.

The pretending isn't over yet and this time, you're sure you and Aemond are going to take it to the next level. And it's still a lot to process but reluctantly and because you signed a contract, you enter the party together with him.

taglist:

@melsunshine @at-a-rax-ia @jxdegodfrey @ttkttt @yentroucnagol @kate-to-the-ki @iamavailablesstuff @bluerskiees @urmomsgirlfriend1 @toodlesxcuddles @rosie-posie08 @iloveallmyboys @bellaisasleep @deliaseastar @cupcakesminicakescupcakes

[fandomwritingbit]

William afton x (fem)reader - scarf

Warnings: smut basically just Will wanking. Dark themes - pervert William, inappropriate relationship. The unfortunate use of a good scarf.

Notes: minimal plot, I wrote this on the train, its barely proofread lmao

"See you later, Mr Emily!" you call over your shoulder, half slinging your jacket and handbag on your arm. It's been a long day, and you were much too eager to get out of this place, making you forget the scarf you'd worn this morning, that hung on a hook shared by some of the staff. It was a thin silky fabric, a gift from a friend and you've worn it pretty much every day since.

"Monday, y/n?" A voice calls after you, stopping you from slipping away out the fire door. You turn to see your other boss, clearly on his way out for a fag, cigarette in hand and all.

"Yeah. No worries. See ya, Mr Afton." You smile politely, hating to be reminded of the extra shift you'd picked up. Then finally making it outside, ready for at least several hours of sleep.

~

Yeah, you will see him on Monday, where hopefully you'll wear that cheeky little skirt again, Afton thought to himself, smirking. It really had been a pleasure to see you on your hands and knees cleaning up something some trainee had dropped, it left very little to his imagination and that could be a dangerous enough tool on its own. You were fast becoming his favourite thing to see rushing around the restaurant, but he hadn't quite worked on cornering you yet.

He was about to follow your path outside and spark up, but glancing to the left, he saw your forgotten article. Now, what had he done to deserve this? He couldn't help himself from grinning wide, fuck the smoke, he had a better idea. Snatching the scarf from the peg he struggled with the impulse to press it to his nose. Restraint, William, he reminded himself. But that had never been his strong suit.

With it in hand, he left through the fire door, scanning the empty car park, left for his car and Henry's, somewhat appropriately at opposite ends. Henry's right under a light, his in a pitch-black corner which just couldn't be better for what he was about to do. Tucking the now undesired cigarette behind his ear, he slipped in his car, locked the doors, and waited for the interior light to turn itself off.

It was then in the complete dark that he inhaled the scent of you on this scarf, pressing it to his face as his head leant back against the seat rest, sneering into the fabric. The smell of you drove him wild, God he'd been wasting time not calling you into his office and seeing what kind of knickers you had on under that fucking skirt. Holy shit.

Dirty thoughts materialised in his head and with a grunt he unfastened his belt, pulled down his fly and took his cock out. It had been a surprising fair while since he had last done this and in consequence, he found himself impatient. Breathing in your smell, he could almost taste you. You sweet, pretty little thing, you probably had no idea how just the small 'how are you's had driven him to stroking his cock with your scarf in his face like some kind of creep. Feeling himself close, his pace was rough with himself. God he was a fucking pervert, but he didn't feel the guilt he should, he'll he celebrated it because he knew he had a talent for making cute pieces like you into perverts too.

It was easy to imagine you on top of him, his hand on your throat, moving your body just how he wanted it. You clawing at him. He could make you scream, hate him and thank him all at the same time.

Pulling your scarf from his face, he bucked into his hand, biting the inside of his cheek to muffle the groan of him falling over the edge. He hadn't thought to get a tissue or something to the liking and shoved your garment into his lap to collect his release.

His head hit the headrest again, a half-smirk half-scowl on his face. He chuckled, well, you certainly weren't getting this back now.

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 23 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley realizes there's some good news and some bad news. The good news is he's deeply in love with his wife who likes to be adventurous in the bedroom. And the bad news from the mechanic? He'd actually rather not mention that to you.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, anal play, anal sex, fluff, mentions of mission details

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

"Bradley! What did you do?!"

Your shitty little car's center console was loose, propped up by Bradley's booted foot like it was on a hinge. If he moved his foot up, the whole thing went with it. "I didn't do anything," he replied, removing his foot and letting the large piece of your car interior settle back down like he was completely innocent here. 

You reached up from his lap and moved the console with your hands, and you gasped at the result. "You destroyed it!" Then you lifted it up higher and turned back to him with flashing eyes. "I can see the ground through the gigantic hole in my car!"

He winced. If you were upset when your car ended up in the shop last year while he was using it, you'd almost certainly be even more pissed off because of this. "I'll take it to my mechanic on Monday. He fixed it for you last time."

You nodded with some uncertainty, but you wrapped him up in your arms and kissed him. "Yeah... he fixed it last time. I'm just happy you're home. I made Marry Me Rooster and birthday cake for you." Bradley was practically panting at the feel of your fingers pushing back through his hair again. "And we can relax all day tomorrow." 

For the first time in a week, he felt calm and sated. The adrenaline rush had finally worn off a bit, and right now he was exhausted. It was nearly midnight. His birthday was almost over. But if you wanted him to eat dinner and have cake with you at one in the morning, he would. 

"Let's go home," he whispered. With one more kiss, you opened the back door and climbed off of his lap. When Bradley went to follow suit, he hit his head on the door frame and nearly landed on his face. "Fuck," he grunted, rubbing the top of his head. Great. Your car was poised and ready for revenge. He was going to offer to drive just in case there was something truly wrong with the thing, but he was a little afraid. He asked anyway. "You want me to drive?"

You just gave him a look. "I think you've done enough, Roo. And even though I love you, my car does not."

"That's fair." He kissed your forehead and yawned as he walked around to the passenger side. The engine started up for you without any issue, but it took you and him both pulling on the shifter to get it into reverse. And then your car made a horrible loud noise as you backed out of the parking spot. 

Bradley had a very bad feeling about this.

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

It took you twice as long to get home as it should have. Your car sounded like it was begging for mercy every time you so much as tapped the gas pedal. It was a strage, loud whirring sound, and Bradley was looking at you with big, innocent baby cow eyes. 

There was a gap between the center console and the floor of your car, and you wondered how on earth he managed to push on it hard enough to rip it clean off like that. It was almost comical. You husband was huge, and he'd apparently put all of his size into fucking you just right. 

You laughed as you pulled into the driveway next to the Bronco. "So you're not too mad?" he asked quietly as he helped you push the shifter again.

"I'm not mad," you promised. "Your mechanic can fix it next week. We'll just need to share the one car until then."

Bradley leaned in to kiss you and said, "I will take care of it, Sweetheart." 

Once you made it to the front door, his lips were all over your neck as you tried to unlock it. He was being sweet and soft now even though you were sure he could tell you were flustered with need again. Even the rough fabric of his duffel rubbing against your leg was almost too much. "I love you," he murmured against your earlobe as you finally pushed the door open. But you could tell he was tired, and you weren't the only one who was excited to see him. 

Tramp came bounding out onto the porch, whimpering and whining as Bradley knelt and got his face licked. "Yeah, I missed you, too," he told the dog as he carried him inside. "Did you have fun with mommy?" Tramp kept running to his leash and begging, but Bradley said, "I'm not taking you for a walk in the middle of the night. We can go tomorrow."

"Are you hungry?" you asked, feeling a little silly for getting yourself so excited to feed your husband when it was so late. But you made a huge batch of Marry Me Rooster, and of course he insisted he wanted his birthday meal. 

"I'm always hungry for this and for you," he said, pulling you onto his lap at the dining room table. He took a bite of chicken and grunted softly, and you leaned in to kiss along his cheekbone as he chewed. He had dark circles under his eyes, and you knew he was going to need to rest tomorrow.

"You want to tell me about your super secret special mission?" you asked him while he ate. He took a few more bites and set his fork down with a sigh before he answered. 

His voice was careful as he said, "I really can't say much, even to you."

Your eyebrows shot up and your hands shook a little as you played with his hair. "Was it successful?"

"Yes," he replied immediately, which took the chill out of your body. "We had to... aid in hostage retrieval."

"Oh my god," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his chest and snuggling against him. You knew better than to ask for any more details than that. If the stakes were that high, no wonder he came back a bit of a needy mess. You could just imagine him on the aircraft carrier after completing his flight, adrenaline thrumming through his body. You rubbed your hand along his side as he finished the rest of the food on his plate.

"Thanks for my birthday dinner."

You smiled at him. "I'm just happy you're home. Do you want to save the cake and your present for tomorrow?"

"Please." His voice was soft, and his eyes closed against the feel of your fingers. You led him to the bedroom, taking the time to dig his toothbrush out of his duffle so he could get ready for bed. His new notebook was in there as well, and you flipped through it to see that he'd filled about a third of it up with his writing. But you could save that for later. 

You pulled your dress over your head and tossed it in the hamper as Bradley walked back into the bedroom from the bathroom. "Ready for bed?" you asked, standing there completely naked. He just examined every inch of you, his eyes taking you in. It never really occurred to you to be self conscious around him, and when he brought his hand up to rub his cock through his boxer briefs, your lips parted on a soft sound. 

He slowly raised his left hand which was hanging at his side, and as soon as he pointed at the bed, you were in it. Bradley stepped out of his underwear and left them in the middle of the floor, his hand wrapped around his cock as he climbed right on top of you. "Yeah?" he rasped with a grin. You supposed even through his exhaustion, he still had a little left in the tank for you, and you couldn't help but smile up at him. 

"Yes." You spread your legs wide, and he buried himself inside you, uncaring that he'd filled you up barely two hours ago and left you a mess. He was doing it again, and he was doing it oh so well.  

"Missed you," he whispered, the snap of his hips making you moan. "Missed our bed and your body and your pretty face." You watched as he took his silicone ring off and tossed it aside while he fucked you. Then his lips dipped down to your breasts before they found his wedding band where it rested against the front of your neck on your chain. 

He fucked you until he came, kissing and licking the ring, bucking his cum deeper inside you with his eyes closed. You rolled him onto his back and sat up with him still buried deep. He was all soft smiles and comically boneless limbs beneath you as he stroked your thighs. "Can I have my ring?"

You reached for the clasp of your chain and slid it past your pretty charms. Then you secured your necklace once more before reaching for his left hand. You slipped it on his finger and kissed him there as he caressed your cheek. But his eyes were already closed, and he was sound asleep by the time you went to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

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

When Bradley opened his eyes, his stomach was growling so loudly, he thought that might have been what woke him up. He was so damn comfortable, finally back in his own bedroom. "Baby Girl?" he rasped, wanting to just go back to sleep, but needing you with him. 

Then he noticed the absolutely delicious smell coming from the kitchen and groaned. His stomach was growling so much, it hurt as he climbed out of bed and stretched. He found you a moment later cooking pancakes and bacon while sipping some coffee in his old UVA shirt. Tramp was on the floor begging his little heart out. When you saw Bradley you smiled, and he wrapped himself around you from behind, enveloping you in his arms. He could tell you were still fresh from your shower, and Bradley couldn't get enough.

"Are you hungry?" you whispered as he kissed along your neck. 

"Starving," he replied, stomach growling loudly. "And I missed you in bed."

You rubbed yourself back gently against his naked body as you said, "You can rest and eat all day today. We've got nothing planned. I thought I'd feed you breakfast and let you take a long shower and then a nap."

He sighed next to your ear, feeling completely relaxed. This was all he really needed right now. You and he had worked on every little detail of your marriage until you were on the same page about what was important. The successful completion of Operation Loophole had him feeling pretty good about going back to base tomorrow. But today, the only thing he wanted was you. 

You sat perched on his thigh as you finished your coffee while he ate. "What did I miss here while I was gone?"

"Just Jake almost fucking things up completely," you replied, biting into a piece of toast. "Oh, and I'm trying to get Bob to move in with Maria."

"The fuck?" he asked with a laugh. "As in, Bob would move into your old bedroom?"

"Yep."

"Sweetheart. Your old bedroom? We did some fucking  nasty stuff in there together."

You erupted into laughter. "He doesn't need to know that."

Bradley looked at you like you had two heads. "I'm sure he already does."

"Poor Bob." You kissed his cheek and whispered, "Do you want some birthday cake for dessert?"

"I get dessert after breakfast?" he asked, somehow perking up even more over this perfect homecoming.

"You get whatever you want for your thirty seventh birthday," you replied as you stood and headed for the kitchen, letting Bradley see a peek of your gorgeous ass beneath his shirt. And in that instant, it was the only thing he wanted. He groaned and let his head tip back. 

"Fuck." His heart was beating a little faster as he thought about tasting you there, touching you and fucking you there. You'd let him put his mouth anywhere he wanted last year on his birthday, and during your honeymoon, he'd enjoyed that particular part of your body again. But his cock was twitching, and now he was kind of mad you'd just proverbially offered up anything his horny heart desired. Because he was going to have to ask you for it. 

There was no way you didn't notice he was half hard when you walked back in holding a confetti cake with your other hand behind your back. "Oh. My favorite. Thanks." His voice was bland as you set it down in front of him before pulling a lemon cake from behind your back. 

"I was just messing with you with the confetti cake," you said with a laugh, bouncing back into the kitchen again. This time Bradley landed a little smack on your ass that left you giggling and looking at him over your shoulder in surprise. "I said the confetti cake was a joke, Roo," you told him with a wink.

This time when you came back, you had one single birthday candle and a lighter along with two forks. As you stuck the candle in the lemon cake and lit it, he asked, "Are you going to sing to me?"

"Of course," you whispered, kissing his cheek before settling on his thigh, your hip grazing his cock. Then you proceeded to wrap your arms around his neck, licking and kissing along his scars as you sang to him like you were Marilyn Monroe and he was JFK. You were giggling and enjoying yourself, and it shouldn't have been as hot as it was, but Bradley hoisted you up to straddle both of his legs as you finished singing.

You gave him a little squeak as you settled against his cock, and he got his mouth on yours right away. He ran his hand up under your shirt to where your Rooster tattoo was and caressed you there, but he was cupping your ass with his other hand. "Roo," you moaned into his mouth as he teased both of your holes. "You're still all keyed up, Daddy?"

"A little," he told you, surprised to find that he was again. He blew out his birthday candle which had burned almost all the way down, while he kept his fingers on you. 

"You want your cake or your present?" you asked softly. 

"Aren't you my present?" 

You smirked. "I got you something else, too."

"I want it."

When you climbed off his lap, Bradley reached for you, but you were already walking toward the bedroom. "Take a shower, Roo. I'll get it ready for you."

So Bradley stood under the stream of water, first cold and then hot. He was afraid to touch himself too much, because he really needed you. And his curiosity was piqued. What did you get for him? And why did you need to get it ready? 

Oh. He had asked you for another calendar. Another sexy pinup calendar featuring you, you and you. "Shit," he grunted, running his hands through his hair to make sure all the conditioner was out before turning off the water. He barely dried himself off before charging back into the bedroom. He was about to call for you when you popped up behind him and put your hands over his eyes. 

"Close them," you commanded. "And no peeking."  

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, going slightly crazy at your touch. You let go of his face, and he kept his eyes closed as you guided him by his shoulders until he was pretty sure he was standing in the bedroom doorway looking out into the hallway. Then you placed something in his hands.

He heard you cackle as you let go of him and said, "Okay, you can open your eyes and unwrap your gift, but don't turn around. 

Bradley had the pretty red and yellow wrapping paper off in a flash, and it fell near his feet as he moaned. He read the cover out loud. "The Bronco and Baby Girl." Oh fuck. He'd never make it through this thing. 

"Okay, now open it to January," you called out from behind him. He did, and it was a photo of you laying on the hood of the Bronco in the red bikini from the honeymoon. "Do you like it?"

"I fucking love it," he promised, his eyes roaming the high quality photograph. You looked like a real model, there was no doubt about that. "It's stunning."

You laughed and said, "Now look at February." He flipped the page and moaned at the sight of you sitting in the driver's seat wearing your skimpy red lingerie. "Now tell me which month you like better."

He flipped back and forth between the two before ultimately saying, "February. And it's a fucking shame it doesn't have thirty one days, honestly."

Your laughter filled the room and made him smile as he looked at March. You were wearing his aviators and little else. "You still like February?"

"Shit. I might like March the best now."

"How about April?" you asked, and Bradley was having a lot of fun with this game. 

"Oh, that's nice," he remarked at the photo of you bent over his tailgate. He was currently having an existential crisis over your ass, and this wasn't helping. 

"Why don't you keep going until you get to your favorite one, and then you can turn around."

"Alright," Bradley said, clearing his throat as he turned to May, which was one of you wearing the little dress you had on when you picked him up last night. You were laying on the backseat, and your tits looked like they were going to come free from the fabric. 

But when he turned to June, you were topless. You were sitting in the back on the tailgate with your hands tucked behind your head wearing nothing but the shortest denim cutoffs he'd ever seen. You were facing the side with your upper body turned toward the camera. Your back was arched, your tits were jutting out, and your nipples were hard. The photo also somehow captured the perfect shape of your ass, and it was quite possibly the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his life. 

"June," he announced. "It's June, Baby Girl. It's my favorite one." And when he turned around, you were on the bed posed exactly like you were in the calendar, but you were smirking. Because you knew him. You knew he'd stop on June. You knew he'd fucking short circuit over that particular one. And now it was right in front of him in real life. 

He tossed his calendar carefully onto the dresser as he inched forward, looking at you in those denim shorts at every angle as you bit your lip. "I knew you'd pick June," you whispered, and he leaned in to kiss your shoulder. Then he ran his palm down along your spine until his hand was on your ass. 

"You know me so well," he rasped, climbing onto the bed with you. "Thanks for my calendar." He licked your right nipple before pulling your left one between his lips and sucking gently. You whined his name, and your hands were immediately in his hair. 

"You're welcome," you gasped your hips rolling as he cupped your pussy gently through your shorts. He worked the button open and unzipped them as he kissed his way up to your neck, and you asked him, "Any special requests, birthday boy?"

But you knew. Somehow you fucking knew. You got on your hands and knees facing the headboard and wiggled your ass at him until he pulled your shorts down and helped you out of them. And then that was it. You were bare for him. He ran his hands up your soft thighs and up along your butt. He kissed you all over before he got on his knees and leaned his body over yours until his lips were right next to your ear.

"I do have a request."

He felt you shiver as he bucked involuntarily against your core. "Tell me." 

You turned your head to look at him. His voice was a harsh whisper. "I want your ass, Baby Girl."

You moaned and rolled your hips back against him, nearly sending him through the roof. "What do you want to do?"

He kissed your cheek and tried to take a deep breath. "I want to do anything that you want to do. And if you don't want to do anything, then that's fine, too." He was panting as he kissed along your shoulder and your back, unable to stop himself from pressing against you over and over.

"Do you want to fuck me in the ass, Roo?" you asked so sweetly, he thought he was going to black out. "Because if so, you need to get the lube from the nightstand. And you need to go very slow. And you need to stop if I tell you it hurts."

"Holy fucking hell," he groaned, wrapping his arms around you and caressing your tits and your belly. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

He practically fell off the bed in his excitement. Other than using your toys, you and he had never done this together or separately, but he was ready to go. You didn't even look hesitant as you folded your arms on the pillow and let your head come to rest as you spread your legs a little wider. "It's like your birthday tradition now," you said with a little laugh as he dug around for the lube. 

"Wonder what you'll let me have next year," he asked, kissing your lips before climbing back on the bed with the small tube. He needed to calm down, so he angled himself to get at your pussy with his mouth from behind. Within seconds, he had you gasping for him, and his mustache was soaking wet. He licked you up and down, swirling his tongue around one hole before slowly dragging it to the other. Your hips were held firmly in his hands as you rolled back against him for more pressure, crying out when you let you have it only on his terms. 

"Bradley!" you whined. 

"Shh," he whispered, licking along your pussy with a grin. "On your birthday, you can have whatever you want."

You were going to be tight. Even as he painted you up with your own wetness, and worked the tip of his thumb into your asshole, watching the stretch with fascination as you groaned his name, he could tell. He grunted as he flipped open the lube and coated his cock with it, never taking his lips off you.

"I'm so close," you moaned, pressing yourself back against his mouth as he played with your clit. And when you eventually came for him, he brought his slick hand up and worked his thumb a little deeper this time. 

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, kissing your lower back and pausing. 

"No. Keep going."

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

It took Bradley a while even though you were relaxed from your orgasm. It didn't hurt, but you needed him to go slow so you could be sure of this new sensation. First his thumb. Then his cock. 

"Oh my god," you whined, your eyes squeezed shut at just how full you were. You could feel the cool drizzle of lube hitting your body before your husband's hands returned to your hips in the gentlest caress. The stretch was almost too much as he moaned and whispered your name behind you over and over again. "Go slow," you reminded him when his thrusts started coming faster, and he took care of everything you needed.

Bradley's words were becoming unintelligible. He said something about his birthday before he told you he loved you. The soft glide from the extra lubrication was aided as you flattened your back out, and then Bradley gasped, "It feels so good. Too fucking good."

When he pushed a little deeper, you grunted, ready to tell him that was far enough. But you didn't need to worry. You could feel him slowly easing back out of you until that foreign feeling of being filled to the brim eased up and then vanished. Bradley yanked your body up so you were standing on your knees in front of him. His sweaty forehead came to rest on your shoulder as he panted and vigorously jerked off, his hand working along his cock between your body and his. 

"Sweetheart," he moaned as he coated up your back and butt with his cum. "Fuck. Fuck!" He felt him run his hand through the sticky mess before he wrapped his big arms around to the front of you.

"Did you like that?"

He took a few deep breaths before his lips and mustache were tickling your ear. "I love everything we do together. I love you."

You felt warm all over from his words and his body, and he held you tight for a long time just like that as he caught his breath. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, slipping off the bed and pulling you carefully with him. You didn't feel sore, exactly. You were just more aware of everything as you moved slowly. 

"No," you promised, shaking your head at him. He helped you pull on his UVA shirt before he carried you back to the kitchen. "I'm just a little tired. You wear me out more than my toys do."

He laughed as he set you down and took the leftover Marry Me Rooster out of the refrigerator. "I feel like your butt is for special occasions?"

Now you were laughing. "Like your birthday?" 

"Yeah. Like my birthday. Now let's eat together and have my cake and take a bath. Then maybe you can replicate the rest of the calendar photo poses for me to see in person?"

"Oh. You really liked that."

"I really liked that."

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

Bradley held you against his chest in the bathtub. It was late now, and the bathroom was lit by one single candle in the darkness as he sang to you. He was relaxed, soothed by the feel of your hand on his thigh, and when you turned and smiled up at him, he kissed you. 

"Don't forget, my parents are coming in a few days."

He'd already forgotten. The special mission and then coming home to you had clouded his brain and made him a little shortsighted, but not in a bad way. He loved your parents. "Right," he said with a nod. "Sounds good."

"And we'll have to leave earlier tomorrow morning so you can follow me to the mechanic."

He'd forgotten about that, too. Fuck. Your car was your favorite possession. Bradley truly did not understand the appeal, but you'd had the stupid thing forever. "Sure," he grunted, already nervous again. You nuzzled his cheek and then stood in front of him, and he leaned in to kiss along your ass while you giggled. 

Today had been perfect. Last night, too. Other than breaking your car, Bradley was just happy to be home. It didn't really matter to him that you'd given him a little birthday celebration and agreed to try something new in bed, being with you was the most important thing. You and he had spent a lot of time apart over the past year and a half, and he was hoping that the successful mission might help shape the trajectory of his career to make things a little easier in that regard. Especially if you did get pregnant on your own, or if a conversation about alternative options took place in the future.

Bradley eventually fell asleep with you draped across his chest. He read to you from his new notebook, but he skipped the pages about his dream where you were pregnant. It felt like too much for tonight. He turned the light off, and your hand found his tattoo like it was a magnet for you. Even though he was exhausted, his mind was swirling as he tried to fall asleep. 

Monday morning was a rush to get out of the house on time, and when you started your little piece of shit car on the driveway, it made such a distressing sound, Bradley almost insisted you get it towed instead. But you backed it out onto the road, and he followed you to his mechanic. 

"I'm scared," you told him when you dropped the keys off at the front desk. "It sounds really sick this time." He had to kiss away the crease along your brow.

"Let's just play it by ear," he told you, taking your hand and leading you back to the Bronco. He patted your ass in your uniform pants as you climbed in, and he buckled your seatbelt. "How are you feeling today anyway?" he asked with a smirk that you kissed off his face. 

"If you're referring to my butt, I'm a little sore," you told him, running your fingers along his scars. "But I'll be interested in the next special occasion." He climbed in with you and gave you sloppy kisses as you laughed. "Roo! We'll be late for work. I have a meeting with Bickel at nine."

"Aww, you can be late. Just tell him we were talking about your ass."

"Bradley," you snorted. "I will not."

He kissed you one more time before climbing off of you and closing the door. The drive to base was short, and you held his hand the whole way. He had to keep turning the radio volume up as you sang along badly, but you just kept getting louder with it. 

"You're a nightmare," he informed you when he parked and killed the engine. "And god, I fucking love you so much." The way you kissed him made him want to put the key back in the ignition and drive you home to bed. Your hand was just about on his cock in his khakis when you pulled away. 

"Gotta run!" He watched you stroll off toward the side entrance, waving at him coyly over your shoulder as he adjusted himself and headed for the locker room. 

Bradley's day was going great. He was happy to see Nat, and he was looking forward to having lunch with you if you could get away from your lab. But when he checked his phone around noon as he walked to the cafeteria, he had a new voicemail from the mechanic. He could see you in line for your burrito bowl as you chatted with Bob. He could practically hear you laughing as he played the message and cringed.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw, give me a call back. The car is totaled."

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

Oop. I can see the tears flowing already. Fix this, Bradley. Parents are visiting soon. So many things are happening soon. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 24

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[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me;

chapter two: can i be close to you?

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist | previous chapter

——

Those first few days pass in a blur.

You wake, often in Steve’s arms, your bodies coming together like moths to a flame. Like magnets. Neither of you says anything on the matter, merely brushing it off as the typical nature of your friendship.

He readies for the day, you watch him dress and go, and you take it upon yourself to clean up around the cabin in the woods. It’s odd, being that it’s the first time in a few years you have responsibilities like this. If you can call them that. Really, you only want to feel like you’re contributing something to the place you’re currently staying at.

Steve’s been kind enough to uproot his life for you, so it’s the least you can do. And when he comes home later in the evening, he cooks and you sit on the kitchen countertops, talking to him about his day. Soaking up the fact you can spend all this time with him now, without the societal pressures, parties, and social events to weigh you down.

About a week in you decide you want to contribute something. A fact which Steve laughs at, reminding you, “If you’ve forgotten, I want you here. Don’t feel like you need to do that.”

Both of you walk side by side on the sidewalk, him in a sweater and jeans, and you in a pair of newly purchased jeans and a dark knitted sweater. Wind prickles against your cheeks, the puffer vest you’re wearing doing very little to block out the cold. Leaves crunch as you walk, dancing along the streets as people pass on by, kicking them up as they go.

The Hideout comes into view, dim lighting highlighting the ‘Now Hiring’ posted hanging in one of the windows. “It’s like the universe is sending me a sign!” You giggle brightly, hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist like a bracelet, dragging him into the restaurant behind you.

It’s different than you remember. Still that darker interior — all wooden floors, wooden bar, wooden walls. Against the side wall is a sprawling bar top, with steel stools full of patrons sipping on drinks. There are some bent low in conversation, others looking like they’re on first dates, all blushing cheeks and bashful smiles. Others are cheering, wearing jerseys of whatever team they support, likely coming home from a football game.

The dining area is different than you remember too. Wooden chairs around wooden tables, beautiful lighting hanging from above, the room cast in an ethereal glow. From where you're standing you can see families and couples, friend groups and bachelorette celebrations occupying the spaces. Smiling servers and wait staff weave in and out of the aisles, before your gaze swivels to the hostess at the front booth, asking how many in your party.

“Two, please!” you say, leaning into Steve’s shoulder excitedly, giving his hand a squeeze as the woman leads you toward a table near the back of the restaurant, your mind still whirling a bit at how successful Eddie’s place has become. Once seated, you whisper, “This restaurant is insane. Can’t believe this is the same bar.”

Steve nods. “He really did a great job with the place —”

“Says the guy who put together a good chunk of the furniture here,” Eddie teases, placing menus on the table in front of you both. “Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d still be holed up in the love shack. Rob's going crazy.”

“I could only take off a few days for the wedding,” Steve reminds him, shoving the older man lightly. “We’re seeing her tomorrow, if you must know.”

“Good, because she’s been parked on my couch the past few nights and Abi and I haven’t had any alone time,” Eddie says with a grumble, but you know there’s no malice there. “Get whatever you want — it’s on the house. My ‘welcome back to Hawkins treat.’”

Eddie moves to leave, but you stop him with a hasty, “The door. It says you’re hiring.”

The man in question turns back around, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes travel up and down your form, a question burgeoning in his gaze, “Yeah, I’m in need of waitresses for the busy season. You keep your tips. Why? Do you need a job?”

You swallow. “I don’t want to mooch off of Steve the whole time I’m here. And I don’t really know what I want to do long term, but I figure I need money to do anything. So…yeah?”

“Then you’re hired.”

Steve grins, but you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want you to just give me a job. I want an interview, just like anyone else.”

“Okay…” Eddie glances Steve’s way briefly. His best friend only shrugs. “Do you have any customer service experience?”

“I worked at a clothing store in Starcourt?” Before it burned down, obviously.

“How long was that for?” Eddie asks, pulling out a free chair and settling in front of you.

“Few months,” you tell him, and then blurt out, “I also babysat for the Sinclair’s for a bit!”

“You babysat the younger Sinclair?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little quieter this time, not quite sure what he’s getting at.

Erica had been nothing but lovely to you in all the time you babysat her; if not quite a bit sarcastic and oftentimes blunt, but given you’ve spent years in the company of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, it was never anything you couldn’t handle.

“And survived?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods rapidly. “She —”

“Quiet, she’s interviewing.” Eddie raises a hand to silence Steve.

“I…survived…” Your words are quiet, and Eddie leans backward against the frame of the chair, contemplative.

“Abi makes the schedule on Sunday usually.” Tomorrow, then. “I’ll ask her to put you on for Monday, and then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You swallow, a little miffed, brows knit high on your forehead. “That’s…that’s great. Yeah. Monday is good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and ruffles Steve’s hair, grinning at a server that passes by as he shoves his chair back into place with a loud screech against wooden floors. And then he’s off, leaving you to stare across the table at Steve, trying to hide the smile that creeps along your lips at the realization of what just happened seconds ago.

“So…” Steve takes a sip of his drink, grinning ruefully, “that happened. How are you feeling? First job in a few years, yeah?”

“I…I have a job.” Steve bursts out laughing as you nearly topple over the table in pursuit of wrapping your arms around his next. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding a hand over the small of your back, grinning into your cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Think we should order a bottle of wine and celebrate a bit?”

That’s exactly what you end up doing.

——

In the mornings, you and Steve share coffee and breakfast. You’ll take turns cooking. Some days he’ll wake you with coffee in bed, Garfield lounging across your thighs. Others, he’ll stumble into the kitchen, eyes bleary and in search of the coffee pot, while chocolate pancakes cook on the stove.

Those mornings are your favorites, because you’ll often hear him murmuring to himself how much he loves you — and you try to deflect that feeling that crawls up from deep within you, the part of you that craves for him to mean it in the sense that he’s in love with you.

Later, he parts for work and you ready yourself for shifts at Eddie’s restaurant. Which is a learning curve, to say the least. Abi, Eddie’s soon-to-be wife, only laughs as you drop another plate filled with water cups in the back, landing on your butt in the process. A huff pours out of you, just as some of the cooks grin your way, offering condolences for your likely bruised tailbone, and Eddie’s head pops into view, all the dark curls that resist staying put in an elastic spilling around his face. He’s grinning but you’re frustrated, on day seven of utterly making a mess of things.

“It’s really not that bad,” Abi reassures you later that afternoon, your apron draped over your shoulder, punched out for the day. There’s a glass of wine in front of you, but you haven’t really had any of it. “It takes time. You’ll get it.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And yet it is. For years you’ve lived a life of luxury, shuttered away from society. Work was some lofty idea, left behind after you fled Hawkins. You want to pick up on things, want to be good at them, to make Steve proud. Yet you still struggle, still find yourself doubting your capabilities, wondering what it is Eddie saw in you when he hired you.

That night, Steve and you sit around the coffee table in his living room. You’re wearing a pair of cozy sweatpants and an equally comfortable hoodie and he’s there in that yellow sweater of his you told him to never get rid of. The one that has some holes in it now around the edges, but looks great on him all the same. A puzzle rests on the table in front of you both, the pieces scattered all around the wooden surface. Garfield snoozes on Steve’s lap, curled up onto a tight ball, his purring mixing with the crackling of the burning fire mere feet away.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, sipping at the beer on a coaster in front of him. The label is long scratched off, condensation dribbling down in little rivulets against the glass. Confusion pricking, your head tips to the side. “Eddie says you’re doing well at the Hideout.”

“He’s lying to you,” you deadpan, pushing another edge piece into place. “I’m struggling. But Abi says it just takes time. It’s definitely not like working at my old clothing store over at Starcourt.”

An edge of darkness flitters across Steve’s features at the mere mention. It shudders and ripples in the spaces between the two of you. Neither really talks about it all that much, especially now that he and you both had been in extensive therapy for it. And even then, the remembrance stings a bit. The reminder of what that day meant for your friend group. Hadn't then at all really to your detriments, when everything happened as it had. Instead you’d both pushed it away and hopped into Steve’s car some days later, with nothing but a map and some money pooled between the two of you.

But it had been enough. It had been everything. The road. The warmth of summer. The escape. The boy.

Steve’s not a boy now. Hasn’t been for a while, you realize, sitting there and peering into those hazel eyes that almost look like molten honey when the fire dances within their swirling depths. Your fingers reach over and twine with his. Just as they have countless other times, just as they always do. Seeking him. Craving the nearness of him. Comforting him, but also yourself.

A cheek of his twitches. Curls a bit with the softest of smiles. Steve Harrington’s smiles are your favorite. Have always been. They’re the kind that a picture can’t capture, an artist can’t form the likeness of. The only way to contain them is to see them, to bottle them up, to store them away in your heart. Sometimes, when you were younger, you imagined they were special. Meant only for you.

Still do now, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Nothing is quite like working at Starcourt,” he teases, diverting to humor. You wince a bit at it, fingers around his twitching lightly. “Not everyday someone gets possessed, and you get abducted by Russians, huh? Bet the Hideout will feel like a walk in the park soon in comparison.”

“I hope so,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “I just don’t want to sit around while I’m staying here. Maybe I’ll…start saving up for my own place? For the time being, at least.”

“Or you could just stay here,” Steve says evenly, free hand stroking over Garfield’s fuzzy head, “I did say you could stay as long as you like. I didn’t just say that to say it. I like having you here. It feels…normal. It feels good. Really good.”

There’s a little rasp to his voice. A brokenness that clings to the edges of his speech. Your fingers tighten further, crawling up onto your knees to settle down at his side, shoulder bumping his as you reach over to place another puzzle piece down in the proper position. He leans his head against your shoulder, forehead shaking back and forth against the fabric of your clothing, and you just know he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

“Okay, okay. But the moment you get sick of me I’m giving you permission to kick me out —”

“Won’t happen,” he assures you, chuckling a bit.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, I’ve known you for years already. You clean up after yourself. You’re crazy loud, but we match each other in that, so it’s fine. You’re not bad to share a bed with — although you go all starfish on me in your sleep —”

“I do not!” you exclaim shrilly, cheeks burning up at the notion.

“You do,” he laughs, dragging you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders, “woke up with your drool on my chest the other day.”

“Yeah, because you’re a human furnace!”

“Doesn’t seem like you mind, seeing as you end up on top of m —” He pauses, the puzzle piece you playfully threw at him bouncing off of his cheek and onto the floor with a clatter. Garfield scampers off to eat, likely rolling his eyes at your antics as he goes, the sound of his collar bell jingling drowning out the silence in the room. “You just threw a puzzle piece at me.”

“I did just throw a puzzle piece at you,” you repeat slowly, bursting out into loud, shrieking laughter as Steve rolls you over onto the blankets scattered beneath him on the floor, body caging yours in place.

His fingers twitch along your sides, your body writhing and rolling beneath him, a frantic jostle of your stomach that has his face crashing into your shoulder, his smile warm against the skin of your collarbone.

You’re children again, you think, as your fingers slip under his sweater and pinch at his sides, earning a loud howl from the man. “Geez, not the pinchy fingers.”

“Mercy?”

“Mercy,” he pleads, his fingers pinning your hands at your sides, chest rising and falling rapidly in a direct mirror to your own.

“You look different from this angle.”

As in, your blood heats with it. Heart clangs at the proximity of your hips in relation to his. The way your mind itches and races to know what he’d feel like if he lowered himself a bit, the cradle of your thighs a home to him. He’s breathing heavy, his laughter joyful on your ears, eyes dark as they clash with yours.

“Different how?”

“Not a bad ‘different.’”

Not at all. He looks older now — is older now. His clothes fit differently now. He’s always been fit from basketball and baseball throughout the years. But he fills out his shirts and sweaters differently now. His chest broader, the stitching on his sweater hugging his biceps as they ripple around you — as you’ve seen them in the days since you’ve come back to Hawkins. Working as a carpenter seems to have had its benefits, and you try to not dwell on the fact you’re reaping them now.

His hazel eyes slide over your form searchingly. His chest still rising and falling as your fingers pinch in the yellow sleeve of his sweater, pulling at a thread that spills free from a stitched seam. The sudden shift of your form has your back flaring, right in the middle of your shoulder blades, a wince crossing your features before you can mask it. Worriedly, Steve rolls over onto his side, asking, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No. Never. “No. Just…not used to carrying as much as I have the past few days, it seems. Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating remark. Sits up against the couch so his back is against it and pats the ground between his thighs. “Come here.”

“What…?”

“Come here,” he repeats, a little impatiently.

You return his eye roll with one of your own, clambering up and off the ground and into the space between his thighs. There’s little time to worry about the proximity of your spine to the muscular wall of his chest before his fingers are pressing into the curves of your shoulders, rubbing at the tensely corded muscles there.

It’s easy to relax like this. Can’t really think of a time when you last felt so relaxed. Usually you’re under the judgemental stares of dozens of eyes. Those who think they know you, understand you, and yet don’t. Defined by a name you had no name of being born to. It was only by circumstance. But you’ve always felt like yourself around Steve. No need to put on airs, to hold yourself to a certain standard, to lift your head a certain way or say all the right things.

He’s only ever wanted the fullest version of yourself. Probably has been one of the only people to ever understand you in the way you wished others did as well. For years you wondered if people knew you, really knew you, they wouldn’t like what they saw. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man? You realize you don’t even care. Throw away the rest of the world, and leave Steve behind, and you’d have everything you ever wanted.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, thumb swiping along the top of your spine, right at the dip below your skull, before swiping in an arch along each curve of your shoulders. “I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-no,” you sigh, languid against his frame. “Although, I’m feeling mildly jealous of all those who may have benefited from a massage by Steve Harrington.”

A chuckle rumbles against your back. “Only you, really. In case you forgot, Eddie got me a cat to keep me company.”

A part of you, a very selfish part, rejoices inwardly over his confession. A little victory dance, sending giddy sparks throughout your bloodstream. That giddiness burns molten as Steve pushes the neck of your oversized hoodie down a bit, fingers wrapping around the fullness of your shoulder, tips of them dipping below your collarbone.

It’s a not at all sensual touch — and yet it has heat pooling between your thighs, has you biting back a quiet moan that inches up your throat, reminding you of the mere fact that it’s been a couple of years since being with anyone sexually coupled with the fact you’ve spent the past few days pressed up against the only one you’ve ever been in love with at night.

That’s all it is. The only thing that has you melting further against him, humming pleasantly as elusive sleep tugs you closer and closer into its comforting embrace. After a while, you’re not sure how long really, Steve’s arms start to slide around your waist, his chin against your shoulder, the sound of his comforting breathing a welcoming metronome against your ear. Your fingers reach up and slide into the holes of his sweater, brushing along the dark hairs you know line his forearms, lulling you and him into further rest. To anyone else, you know what the scene looks like: two people, intimately knowing one another, cuddling. Broken away from the rest of the world and into one of their own. To you, you know it’s another normal afternoon with the man.

And yet, your eyes lock with the dying embers crackling in the fireplace, wondering if it could ever be different. If only one of you were brave enough to broach the conversation, to see if the feelings are reciprocated, if now is finally the time to take a chance. A leap. To dare to dream a little. A silly, childhood dream that seems so insurmountable. Still, you crave it more than anything else.

You breathe in deeply, Steve’s arms tightening around your waist. His heavy, rhythmic breathing lets you know he’s fallen asleep now. Your fingers stroke along his arm again, a comfort to him but also you, and you finally close your eyes.

You rest, that question in your mind dying with the firelight.

——

“Monster Mash” blares from a speaker somewhere in the distance. Drowns out the chatter of those downstairs as you put on the finishing touches of yours, El’s and Max’s Halloween costume.

“Wednesday Addams again?” Max muses, pointing to the costume you managed to put together in a couple of hours, not knowing until the last minute you were going to a party to begin with. You’d also been Wednesday the last time you’d been living in Hawkins for the holiday.

You’re presently smudging red lines near the bottom of her jaw, adding little droplets of blood when and where needed. El is beside her, looking very much like a mummy.

“Hey?” Steve appears in the doorway. The hottest Danny Zuko you’d ever seen. You’d never admit that, though. “I don’t mean to interrupt but, uh —”

“Just finishing up,” you tell him softly, smiling appreciatively at the way his eyes roam your form swathed in black, “we’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve smiles and jogs down the stairs, leaving you standing in the bathroom once more with the girls, chewing on your bottom lip and likely smudging the dark lipstick you’d slapped on.

“I guess some things never change,” Max adds, beaming mischievously when your fingers stutter over her jaw, “still pining over Harrington.”

“I do not pine!”

“You pine,” Max giggles, blue eyes sparkling in her mirth as they glances to El for support, “She pines, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” El mutters, a bit more shyly than her best friend, “you pine.”

“Well I didn’t take Max Mayfield and El Hopper to be gossips,” you snark, dabbing a little red lipstick on Max’s pouty lips, voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It’s been, what? Almost ten years of you pining after him?” Max wiggles her shoulders, smirking when you glare at her.

“You were practically an infant then,” you balk, cheeks burning along with your chest, “not even in Hawkins.”

“Yeah…but…” El begins, tucking a hair behind her ears, “it’s kind of…obvious?”

“You two are lucky you’re my favorites of the children.” Though now, with them graduating this year, it feels weird to call them that.

“He pines too,” Max adds. “Right?”

El grins. “Definitely.”

“Is that so…?” You grin, a little rueful, hope blooming in your chest. “Tell me m —”

“Well look at this little band of creepy folk,” Argyle drawls from the doorway, shiny hair falling down around him in a halo, his Michael Myers mask dangling from his hand. “Don’t wanna interrupt this little gathering, but you know…”

——

As the Halloween buzz dies down around work and town, the frigid streets become full of the changing seasons. Leaves fall everywhere you go. Bursts of orange, yellow, red and gold swirl around busy side streets, packed with those investigating local farmer’s markets and slipping in and out of family owned businesses to purchase gifts to get ahead of the holiday season.

The Hideout becomes busier in those weeks. Countless patrons fill your stations, back screaming and head spinning by the time you end your shifts. That day in particular, you stand behind the bar with Abi, chugging down a glass of water she poured you before stripping your apron from around your hips.

“Did well in tips, it looks like,” she points out, gesturing to the wad of cash you promptly stuff into the pocket of your jeans. “Told you you’d get better.”

It also helps that you had multiple larger parties that evening, all of which were more than happy to pay a little extra once they’d gotten a second and third round of beer in them. Though you didn’t really appreciate the way one in particular had slipped his phone number, writing ‘for a good time call.’ You’d chucked that into the garbage with a huff, making sure to toss a wide grin over your shoulder as they later slipped out of the restaurant and he waggled his fingers near his ear in the shape of a telephone, as though you were going to run home and reach out.

“I told Steve I was going to make us dinner since he’s working late on a job, so I’m going to head out.” You huff out a breath, staring up at the clock that reads seven. “Though I think I’m going to need to grab caffeine. I don’t think I sat down once today.”

“Get out of here!” Eddie shouts, sneaking over to loop an arm around Abi’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Something like longing bubbles up in your stomach at the sight, the craving for what they have simmering with it. “Or else you’re fired. You’ve worked late every day this week. If you get sick, that’s on you.”

“Fine!” Your hands wave in front of you in defeat, waving to the two of them as you slip out the front doors of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

At this time of evening, those wandering the streets are quieter. Bags full of goodies from their excursions. You tug your jacket tighter to yourself as you slip on by, waving to those who have started to become normal faces once more over the weeks in Hawkins. They wave back, grinning like they used to. Greeting you like you hadn’t been gone for three years.

It's strange to think of being gone now.

Strange to think of leaving again.

You find you don’t want to leave again.

And fortunately, no one from home has tried to make an effort to bring you back to the city kicking and screaming. Part of that is by design — leaving no way for them to contact you in the first place. No one knows you’re staying with Steve. No one really even knows where Steve is these days, given he’s not been in contact with his family since they left in 1986 as it is.

You want to keep it that way.

Smiling to yourself, you slip in through the front door of Hawkin’s Brew, a little family run coffee shop that sits a few doors down from your job, smelling like cinnamon and spices, and the freshly brewed coffee you can see percolating over the countertop.

A new barista lifts her head up over the counter. All wavy blonde hair that reminds you of a mermaid and sparkling green eyes around a pair of thick lashes anyone would die for. Gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous and you definitely would have remembered her face if she’d been there before.

“Hiya!” she greets, beaming widely, revealing a glowing set of white teeth that flash in your vision. “You look confused. My mom, Mary Jo, is usually here with my dad. But mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’d finished up at the preschool, so I’m here to help. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Lucy!”

You offer your name and a soft ‘hi,’ still a little startled by the exuberant greeting. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. Sorry to hear about Mary Jo. I hope she starts to feel better soon.”

Lucy leans her elbow against the counter, and you can’t help but admire the cream colored chunky knit sweater she’s wearing with a flowing skirt to finish off the look. It looks effortless on her.

“What can I get you today?”

“A hot coffee, cream two sugars please,” you tell her, and she gets to work behind the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s truck he uses for work, the back full of leftover lumber.

“Oh, Steve’s here?” Lucy says, sounding a little faraway. Contrast to the ball of excitement she’s been since you walked in. “You know, he’s a confusing one, that guy.”

“Is he?” You laugh, watching as he rummages around his front passenger seat.

“Ever since the earthquake, he’s been giving up so much of himself. Charity, taking up the basketball team at the high school, helping out around town. Did you know he helped my parents build a shed last summer? By hand?” Her voice trails off, and that smile of hers grows once more, like she’s stuck in a far off memory. “And he’s handsome. Single. Yet he doesn’t date. Not really. It’s so…strange? But whoever he marries — they’re gonna be a lucky one.”

“Yeah…” Your brows furrow at her words.

Steve, your Steve, is something of a hero to these people. He’s your hero too, but it twinges in your chest hearing it from someone else. For so long he’d been yours, but now, it seems, he’s needed around here. Admired. Loved. And you’ve missed so much of it in running away. Time you’ll never get back.

He’s changed. You just never realized how much. An ache builds in your heart, wondering if maybe you’re too different now from who you both were years ago.

The man in question hops out of the vehicle, fingers carding through his hair as he gazes into the coffee shop, immediately lighting up when he sees you.

“Do you know him?” Lucy asks, voice raising in pitch as she hands you your coffee and you toss your bills onto the counter.

“Yeah,” you say, sipping at the coffee, “he’s been my best friend for years. I’m staying with him for the time being, actually.”

“Oh!” Lucy perks up, chewing her bottom lip. “So you’re the one he’s so —”

As your mouth opens to ask what Lucy means, Steve walks in. He immediately commands the attention of the shop, both yours and Lucy’s stares drawn to him as he slides an arm around your waist and tugs you against his side, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I was going to grab you some coffee,” he says, fingers squeezing a bit at your side. He notices Lucy then. “Hey, Luce.”

Luce.

Familiar.

Jealousy burns. You try to tamper it down, to pretend the unspoken words between them don’t matter to you. But there are a thousand new questions that burn in your mind, with no words or standing to ask them.

Lucy waves in greeting, those pretty green eyes of hers glimmering in the moonlight spilling in through the front windows of the shop. “Always good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he agrees, head lowering closer to yours as he then asks, “Ready to head out?”

He’s leading you to the door, and you spare a glance over your shoulder to the woman you’ve just met moments ago. There’s a look you can’t quite place on her features, a furrow of her brows, a slight downturn to her softly parted lips.

You wave your goodbye, and try to push all of whatever that might have been into the depths of your mind.

——

Steve tosses and turns behind you. A fitful rest that has you rolling over onto your side, fingers brushing along the clenched planes of his cheeks. You can practically hear his molars smashing against one another, can feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest as your fingers splay against his sternum.

At the touch, his face softens in the slightest. A low moan pours from him, a whine of ‘no, don’t’ cleaving your heart right down the middle.

“Steve?” It’s a whisper. A plea for him to come back to you in the waking world. He reaches out in his sleep and clutches at your tee shirt, clutching the fabric tight. Another whine. A whimper of a cry. “Steve, I’m here. I’m here.”

Sweat pools along his skin, despite the chill in the air. The tips of your fingers press to his forehead, running along the wrinkles forming high up on the skin there. His name is a whisper over and over again on your lips, a soft beckoning into wherever his dreams have taken him — a tether for him to grip onto, if only so you can reel him back in.

You’re no stranger to nightmares. They plague you, too. Dark, weaving things that sneak into your mind at night, tendrils clinging to the innermost workings of your mind. That day at the mall, watching as that monster loomed, dark and imposing in a colorful explosion of light. Billy, being ripped into over and over again. The spray of black blood, the cries of Max. The moments that came after, where Steve practically demanded an EMT to look over your ribs, despite the fact there was nothing one could do if they were broken anyway. And then there had been those images on the news — of classmates fallen to Vecna. Memories of the splintered down, the gaping holes in the earth, the spaces where many had disappeared into. Endless faces of the lost, declared dead or missing.

So much turmoil. More than some kids and teenagers were ever meant to see in a lifetime.

“Let go!” Steve shouts into the night, rolling over again so his back faces you.

“Steve,” you whisper, running a hand along his spine, “it’s me. Come back to me. I’m here.”

He rolls over again and his eyes open, locking on your features. Broad palms come up to cup your face, forehead descending upon yours. He mutters your name a little brokenly, moving to press his head into the space beneath your chin, arms looping low around your waist.

“I’m here, Steve,” you remind him.

There for one another, as you’ve always been.

In a world where people come and go, where you can’t rely on anyone, he is your rock and you are his.

“Shhh.” Your fingers thread into his hair, smoothing the messiness left in the wake of his endless tossing and turning. His breathing tapers off. Slows. Starts to deepen. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

But you fear the day he may no longer need you.

——

Steve’s…liked by most. Sought after. Desired. He’s popular, in a way that you’ll never be. With his friends, with his teachers, with women. Though he was your first kiss, you’re not even delusional enough to believe he’s only saving his lips for you.

He doesn’t do relationships often. He goes on dates and you watch him from afar. Can see the glow of his bedroom window, the hurt that burns like a knife when he sneaks a girl in while his parents are gone. Your curtains always shut when they kiss, when things start to feel like a betrayal to the foolish unrequited feelings you harbor.

It becomes a thing. Wishing and wanting your best friend as he loves everyone else around you.

Luckily, they’re always short dalliances. Flings. Dates that lead nowhere. And even though it hurts, there’s some comfort in the fact these things never last long.

That is, until Nancy Wheeler steps in. And you make yourself scarce. She’s smart and lovely and beautiful. She’s everything you could ever want for Steve — and she’s not you.

Just like everyone else he sneaks into his bedroom.

Because why would Steve Harrington ever look your way like he does theirs?

And therein lies the problem.

——

A month. You’ve been in town nearly a month and things are more or less exactly as they’ve always been. Platonic and full of yearning. At least, on his part. He’s not quite sure what to make of your feelings lately — and he’s never been one to push the envelope with you.

He needs a sign. A sign from up above or something just to show him that all his efforts have not been in vain.

It comes that afternoon. Sweat pools along his chest and stomach. Along his back as it ripples with each swing of the ax, splitting piece of wood after piece of wood. The plaid shirt he wears is long unbuttoned, stomach fully on display as he pauses a moment to reach down and sip some of his water set on a wooden stool nearby.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

He’s so caught up in the monotony of the task, the methodical way he swings down and splits the wood, that he fails to hear your arrival. Only notices your form out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a tree.

Or, at least, it looks like you think you’re hidden.

He can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers covering your heart, like you’re terrified he’ll hear it. The boots on your feet are pinched tight together, likely having stopped abruptly once you noticed you could potentially be caught.

And there’s that bottom lip of yours, tucked between your teeth. Biting back any noises that might slip out.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail along his abdomen. How they linger on the newer muscles there, hewn by countless hours spent working as a carpenter. You look downright guilty — like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

He adores it.

“I don’t mind if I have an audience, you know?” He muses, grin growing wider as you stumble a bit in the leafy pile at your feet.

His amusement grows as you tilt your head up to the sky, as if searching for something. Unfortunately for you, it’s a cloudy day, and there is nothing to see up above other than an endless gray sea.

“Steve…” you warn, still not meeting his eyes.

You’ve always been endearing. Sweet, in a way he finds adorable. And this sudden shyness when you’re typically so sure? It reminds him of those moments when he first kissed you, all those years ago. Your heart was like a hummingbird’s wings against his chest that evening, fingers trembling against him, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Here,” he chuckles, walking over to curl a hand around your wrist and putting you out of your misery. He walks you over to where he’s splitting wood, “wanna try?”

“I mean, sure. How hard could it be?” you tease, back stiffening as he slips in behind you, sweat-slicked skin pressing against the curve of your spine before relaxing into him.

He’s already placed a new log on the block, the rest of his split pieces lying on a rack near the side of his home. Wide palms come to wrap around your hands, sliding them into place on the handle of the ax. One near the top for grip, another near the bottom for powering through the stroke. “Grip it nice and tight. Both hands.”

“Okay, like this?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him, and his breath immediately hitches. Throat cleaning, he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze and steps back a little.

“Spread your legs a little. Shoulder width apart. Yeah — just like that.”

You’re a little sheepish as he steps over to the side, trying to put enough distance between you and him to feel safe enough. A cold breath puffs out of his lungs, the cloud billowing in the air before him as you glance down at where your hands are firmly grasping the handle, deep breaths to center yourself echoing in the forest.

“Now you’re going to pick a point on the wood and focus on it, raise the ax and strike through, focusing on that spot.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you nervously murmur, doing exactly as he instructed, the ax rising above your head.

As you swing downward, the ax wedges into the wood, and you stumble to the ground, kicking up leaves as your bottom slams against the forest floor. Steve stumbles forward to check if you’re okay, but when your sides start trembling with uncontrollable laughter, his face breaks out into a grin.

He loves you, and he aches with it. More — now that you’re living with him.

“Guess you don’t want me helping you on any jobs, huh?”

A couple days later, however, you do exactly that.

Mr. Gerry Jones is an older man in town, and in desperate need of a new paint job for his living room before he tries to sell his home. Steve agreed to help weeks ago, and when his partner comes down with the flu, decides to ask you if you want to come along. He finds you laying on the couch that morning with a book, and he hardly expects you to say yes with the amount of hours you’ve been working at the Hideout, but you quickly jump to attention with a nearly shouted ‘yes.’

Now you sit beside him on the floor, admiring the freshly painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before starting the next one. You’re wearing a pair of overalls, a ratty old tee shirt tied up beneath, revealing the curve of your side, a patch of skin that Steve’s been trying to not stare at for the past few hours.

His heart clenches as your head tips over your shoulder, a little splatter of olive colored paint across your cheek. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and wipes it away, warming as you lean a bit into his touch.

Neither of you dares to acknowledge the tension burning in the room. The way it feels like time seems to slow to a halt when you’re there, shuffling up onto your feet, moving over to the next wall. Steve only talks. Begins prattling on about anything and everything, trying to keep himself distracted from the feeling swirling in his gut — the desire that has only grown every day to see what might happen if he just dared to try. To close the gap between your lips and put to bed all the questions.

But he doesn’t. Instead he gazes ahead, mouth dropping open when he asks about what your relationship with Clark was like — in what feels like an attempt to torture himself — and you utter that you’d never really done anything with him.

“Or anyone…for that matter,” you add slowly, your bottom lip pushing between your teeth, voice a little quiet.

“Like…?”

“I’m not a virgin, Steve,” you bark out, eyes rolling a bit in your skull. “But I’ve really only been with one guy. And it wasn’t even good or anything.”

“You’re joking.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just…”

“Shocked at how pathetic I am?” you drawl, taking a step backward. Away from him.

“No — I just —”

“It’s not like the movies either. All of the explosions and fireworks.” You frown, and Steve grimaces at your words. At the sadness lining your features. “I just — I don’t know. It wasn’t like how you’d always talked about it. We barely even kissed during it and I didn’t…”

“Honey…” he sighs, taking a step forward. “Clearly, he wasn’t the right guy. The right guy would have made it extra special, because you’re special, and definitely would have made sure you finished before he did. And I’m sorry but he didn’t deserve you, because you deserve all the explosions and fireworks.”

“Yeah?” You sound so hopeful, eyes a little narrowed, mouth parting softly.

“I mean…hypothetically…” he steps a little closer.

He catches your slow swallow. The way your chest heaves on a breath, eyes trailing his form. Heat burns in the atmosphere as your eyes narrow a bit, staring at him like you had in the woods. Appreciatively, and not at all like a friend. How long had he missed those looks? How long had he not noticed the slow simmering desire beneath the surface? Suddenly he’s back in that closet and a teenager again, only now instead of your jean shorts, his finger curls into the pocket of your overalls, chest brushing yours. Cornered, your back bumps against the presently dry wall behind you.

“If it were me —” He stops. Thinks better of it.

“N-no,” you splutter out, voice a rasp, breath puffing, “go on. Hypothetically, obviously.”

“Well, for starters, I’d start by getting down on my kne —”

“Hey, kids!” Mr. Jones calls into the room, and you both jump like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “Could one of you help me sort through some boxes? I don’t want to be a bother, but my back just isn’t what it was, you know?”

You throw a hand up in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Steve inwardly groans, his jeans suddenly a little too tight at what he’d been imagining doing to you only moments before — what he’d been imagining doing to you for years, if he was being honest.

You glance away, rushing over to Gerry, embarrassment rolling off your form.

And you’re gone, following the older man from where he came.

Conversation…over.

——

The window next door glows with lamplight. It’s after the earthquake that you see it. The earthquake that has you hiding in the doorway, holding onto the frame as the earth shudders and groans beneath you, pictures of your family now shattered frames scattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You grab a few things. Bandages, clothes, some water bottles. You can’t really tell how many people are over there, so you grab a pack. And when you ring the doorbell and Robin answers, looking stricken and covered in an inch of dirt, your heart groans too, because the look on her face is grim.

Steve throws his arms around you when you enter his bedroom, a whisper of, “You’re safe,” against your head. Reverently. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure what he would find when he came back.

Your hands slide up and along his back, his body jolting at the contact, your fingers coming back a little stained with what looks to be fresh blood. “Steve, you’re hurt. I brought bandages.”

“He’s worse,” Steve utters through gritted teeth, “take care of him first.”

And there on the bed is Eddie Munson, with Nancy Wheeler there to rest a cloth against his head, whispering to the man under her breath. Soothing him, soothing those wrinkles that line his forehead — deep set in his pain.

With Nancy’s help, you get to work. Trying to cut him out of his clothes, careful to not agitate the wounds any further, apologizing for every whimper. Every broken sob of the man who fought to save a town that would have killed him on their own had they been given the change.

And later, after you’ve scrubbed your arms raw to try and rid yourself of the remnants of Eddie’s blood, Steve slides in beside you in the bathroom. Curls a hand around your head and tugs you against him, kissing your temple. Whispering something against your skull that you can’t quite make out. Steve’s not religious, but you swear he thanks someone for keeping you safe.

“You’re next,” you mutter, wiggling out of his hold, peering up at the dirty face of the man you love. “Strip.”

“See, in a different context, those words coming from your lips —”

“I’m not joking,” you sing-song, tugging at the bloodied shirt he’s wearing. “Off with it.”

“I can’t,” he winces.

“You’re getting modest with me now? I’ve seen you half naked more times —”

“I think it’s a little stuck,” he groans, turning around and peeling off the outer jacket. It falls to the ground and you can see what he’s talking about. The injuries, freshly reopened, cling to the fabric like a second skin.

You whistle on an exhale, and he laughs darkly. “It’s not so bad. Just looks like one area got a little angry. If you get in the shower, I can run a little water on it to loosen it up.” You lift the edge of his shirt a bit, noting the swath of bandages around his waist. “Who did these? They look pretty good.”

“Nancy.”

“Good,” you say, a little softly, “now into the shower, Harrington.”

You’re trying. Trying to make light of a terrible night. But you can see the pain in his form that runs deeper than the scratches on the surface. Can see it in the tension on his form as he slips out of his jeans and climbs into the tub with nothing but a pair of boxers.

Neither of you speaks for a while. As you turn on the water and try to soak his shirt. As you eventually peel the shirt away and whisper you’re sorry over and over when he hisses and bites back against the pain. Nor as you run a damp towel over the wounds to clean them, careful to not agitate his mangled flesh further.

But then you hear it. The sniffle. The shudder of breath.

“Steve,” you whisper, threading your fingers in his hair, feeling him tremble against your touch, “what happened tonight?”

He cries. Folds his face into his hands and cries.

You toss the cloth aside and climb in to hold him, because you’ve known physical pain, but this pain hits differently. Twists in you like a knife. You can handle your own pain, but seeing Steve break, seeing your hero crumble, is a pain that cuts to your marrow. Shatters and scatters your heart into a million pieces.

But you have to stay strong.

For him. For all the times he’s done the same for you.

He clings to you, fingers fisted into your shirt, and you don’t let go.

——

You don’t talk about that moment in Mr. Jones’ home. Neither of you bring it up for days. And yet — it’s all you can think about. The way he looked your way, the timbre of his words, the way heat had crawled up your spine. How it also pooled low, throbbed in your core in a way that was unfamiliar to you.

Was this passion? Desire? Lust? All feelings that seem so foreign, and yet you don’t fear them. You just ponder the new questions that arise. The curiosity of what this might mean — if it could lead to more.

On that particular day, both of you were off of work. Decided with Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, it was about time you went pumpkin picking. Pumpkin picking turned into a whole day event, where you and Steve took turns arguing over which pumpkins were suitable for the front of his porch, and which were suitable for decoration for the potluck gathering with some friends that upcoming weekend.

And after spending half the day drinking warm apple cider, sharing donuts on a hayride while bundled up in comfortable clothing, and racing each other through a corn maze, you’d decided the last thing on your itinerary for the “full Hawkin’s experience” was to carve pumpkins.

“In case you didn’t know,” Steve jokes, his knife poking out a hole for an eye in his pumpkin, “Halloween was a few weeks ago.”

“So what? We were busy and didn’t get to do this sooner,” you bemoan, cutting open the top of yours and moving to stick your hand inside.

“You’re just going in like that — bare hand and all?”

“What’s a little guts, Steve?”

“It’s gross,” he says plainly, eyes narrowing, “and messy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of mess?” Your tongue pushes out between your lips as you get to work, pulling out handful after handful of pumpkin guts into the garbage pail you set up beside the table the two of you worked on.

“I happen to not mind a little mess,” he teases, coming to stand over your shoulder, the heat of his chest at your back. “What are you making?”

“A Garfield pumpkin,” you tell him, scooping more of the inside out into a trash can. “I happen to be quite fond of your kitten. Maybe more than you.”

“Really?” he asks playfully, stepping a little closer to hook his chin over your shoulder.

“Are you jealous?” you muse, circling around.

Like this, your chests nearly brush, his palms come up to rest beside your hips, caging you in against the table. Heat pools low again at the look on his face. The firm line of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the round depths of his hazel eyes. There’s a look in them you can’t quite place — a look you’ve never seen in Steve’s eyes, or anyone’s for that matter. But you know you like it, thighs bumping a bit off of the table as you crawl up onto it, legs swinging beneath you.

Fingers come up to curve along your cheek, Steve’s thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a pinky. Delicately, like you’re precious. Like you might break. “You got a little something on your face.”

“Oh,” you whisper out, swallowing as he leans in closer, as his hips slide into the space between yours. “Steve…”

He steps closer once more. Hips brushing against the cradle of yours. There’s a heat from him that seeps into you. Grows as his forehead rests against yours and you both breathe in the same space, neither of you speaking, because there’s nothing this moment requires other than a nearness. His nose glides down the side of yours, one hand of his coming to curl around your hip, squeezing the curve of it. Your mind screams at you he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps because you want it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You’re thinking you want to erase the space between the two of you. You’re thinking there’s a chance this doesn’t quite mean to him what this means to you. You’re thinking that you’re scared to allow Steve to see inside the part of you that you’ve kept from him all these years. But you’re also thinking if you’re going to play with fire, there’s a knowing chance you may get burned.

“I’m thinking…” you exhale, chest pushing further into his as your back arches a bit, propping yourself up onto your hands. Only, as soon as you do so, pain flares in the center of your palm, gasping breath coming out with a, “Shit!”

Steve’s there in a flash, fingers curling around your offended wrist that you show him. Blood pools up from the wound, the bloodied knife skittering beside it onto the forest floor when he shoves it out of the way. You hadn’t even remembered it was there, too caught up in the moment.

“Honey…” he sighs, thumb brushing along the curve of your wrist, glancing down at the cut, “let’s get you inside. You might need stitches.”

“No hospital,” you tell him, pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, “you’ve patched enough people up. This should be a walk in the park, right?”

“Yeah but this is you,” he says, and before you can ask him what he means by that, he’s helping you off of the table and steadying you when you land on the leaves below.

The bathroom is dimly lit by this time of day, even with Steve flicking the light on as soon as you enter. The edge of the tub is cool against your leggings, chilling your skin even through the fabric, as Steve rummages around in his cabinets for a first aid kid. And then he gets to work, sitting across from you on the toilet seat, making sure to irrigate your wound before dressing it.

“Not deep,” he says finally, inspecting the shallow cut that slices the center of your palm, “gonna disinfect it.”

A hiss pours from you as he does, pain flaring in the wound. Your free hand whips out to clutch at his pant leg, pinching the denim tight in your fingertips until the burning ebbs into a throbbing sting that beats in tandem with your heart.

“What did you mean before?” you ask as he starts to dress the wound, winding a bandage around and around your palm. “The whole ‘but this is you.’”

Steve pulls out a piece of medical tape and presses it to the end of the wrapping around your palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of your wrist. “I can handle my pain, but I could never handle yours.”

You swallow, because you understand. You know first hand what he means — have experienced it yourself. Watching the man you love throw himself into harm's way and injure himself in the process. Having to mend his wounds, to see him hurting without a way to stop it, when all you wanted was to ease the pain.

“There you go,” he whispers, fingertips teasing along yours, before letting your hand fall back against your thigh. “No more pumpkin carving for you.”

“Thank you.” Your lip twitches as you climb off the lip of the bathtub, following him down the stairs.

“Steve, back there, I…”

“Come on, let me cook us dinner.” He pauses, stopping himself once you both realize you speak at the same time. “Wait — what were you going to say?”

You swallow thickly, the nervousness choking your words and drying them in your throat where they live and die instantaneously.

Not the time.

“N-nothing.”

——

“Don’t think I didn’t see how the two of you walked in together.” Robin twirls her drink around in front of her, brows arching as a smirk creeps along her features.

You sip your red wine, smiling to yourself over the rim. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Although you do. You arrived at Jonathan and Nancy’s new home with a freshly baked apple pie in hand, and Steve’s hand against your lower back, keeping you close to him. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed, the evidence apparent in the look Robin was sending your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucy struggling to open a wine bottle in the kitchen, and excuse yourself from Robin’s side to greet the woman. She’s beautiful today, in a pair of black jeans, and a brick red sweater. Effortless again, with endless wavy hair and those glowing eyes of hers.

“Here — let me,” you offer, helping her to get the cork out of the bottle.

Once it’s open, you pour the two of you new glasses of wine and clink your glass with her’s, peering out over the kitchen island to take in the sights around you.

Nancy and Jonathan went all out. They lined up multiple tables around the kitchen, making room for friends and family alike. Their parents sit at one table, while Steve, Robin, Eddie, Abi and Argyle talk amongst themselves. Holiday music filters in through the radio, as Nancy and Jonathan carve into the giant turkey resting against the table covered in Thanksgiving themed plate wear.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had a holiday like this. This is warm and inviting. Back in the city your parents would rent out restaurants and have wait staff take care of your evening. You’d always resented the thought that, while you spent time in a cold environment under the guise of “Thanksgiving,” those employees missed out on time they could spend with their own loved ones.

And when Steve looks over, you almost feel like you could fit in here. Almost allow yourself to dream big — to imagine a world where when he lifted his hand and waved as he is now, it would be full of love, full of the newness of relationship.

“So you and Steve…?” you can’t help but to ask, turning so your back rests against the kitchen counter, offering Lucy a soft smile.

She returns it a little tightly. “We…dated for a bit.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t expecting that. Had witnessed a little something passing along their features when you’d bumped into her weeks ago, but never thought to chalk it up to them dating. On paper it makes sense. She’s a teacher, they work together, she’s gorgeous, vibrant, bubbly, interesting. She’s here. She’s been here. And she belongs here.

And you — you don’t know what you’re doing most days. You’re living with Steve, but for how long? You want to stay, or think you want to, but what does that entail? There’s also the lingering doubt. The fear that you don’t quite belong as you once did. Can see it in the looks from people as you pass. Those who haven’t seen you in years now regard you as a stranger.

“Yeah, we’d gone on a few dates. He was always such a gentleman…but it just…” she exhales, and you watch as her eyes trail his form, “he always seemed kind of…detached? He didn’t want to commit. Sometimes we’d be spending time together and he just…didn’t seem all there? But it all made sense when I saw you two at the coffee shop that one day.”

“What?” you splutter, red wine dribbling down your chin at the suddenness.

“He lit up when he saw you. I’d never seen him look at me that way,” she admits softly, sipping her own wine. “I kind of wanted to hate you for it, but you were so nice and he deserves to be happy.”

“Oh — we’re not — it’s not —”

“Not yet,” she teases, giving you a little eye roll. “He’s happy. And he’s present. Both are things that have changed within him since you’ve been here. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.”

Her words settle within you as you later join Steve at the dinner table, leaning into his shoulder as he scoops your requested dinner options onto your plate. They linger even as the kids arrive for dessert and the group ends up playing endless card games, laughter lyrical and swirling around the room, growing louder as the drinks continue to pour into awaiting cups.

And later, as you sit on Steve’s couch in no more than a pair of leggings, a comfy hoodie, and knitted socks you ponder Lucy’s words again while a fire crackles in the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, fingers kneading into the arch of your foot, your head against the armrest, eyes closed in contentment.

“Lucy is really pretty…”

“She is,” Steve agrees, his fingers pushing in again, drawing a deep sigh from within you.

“She works with kids, she’s bubbly, she’s established. All things that you’d normally go for.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just…I’m — I guess I'm trying to figure out why you two didn’t work out then.”

Steve pauses in his ministrations, shifting a bit on the couch to look at you. “Honey…you know why.”

“No,” you retort, feeling anxiety bubble up within you, “I really don’t.”

“There’s always been someone else.”

“I’m not understanding…”

With a sigh, Steve scoots closer. Tugs you up and onto his lap to get you even closer, your knees thumping onto the couch cushion at each side of his hips. He grips your hips and stares up into your eyes. There’s an unspoken question. A whisper behind his stare. Begs for you to look deeper, to see him, to see his heart.

“No.” You shake your head, anger welling. Replacing that anxiety. “I’ve looked at you my whole life and you never noticed. Now? Now you decide you —”

“It’s always been.” His strangled voice breaks your heart.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? All this time, all these years —”

“I tried,” he interjects, fingers winding tighter around your hips.

“When?”

“First time I visited you after you moved away.” He sounds somber. Heartbroken in a way that’s foreign to you. “You’d gone inside and your dad and I had a drink out back. Remember?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, fingers running along the hair at his temple. He gives you a little squeeze, forehead resting against yours.

“He…I told him about my feelings for you. And he…well, he wasn’t supportive.” He exhales a wobbly breath. “He had his points. I had no money. He was right about that. I worked at a dead end job and was going nowhere. I had nothing to offer you. He…painted a picture of us in a few years from now. Asked me how I’d be able to keep you happy…keep our family happy. And I thought maybe he was right.”

“Bullshit. Everything he said to you is bullshit,” you snap, climbing off of his lap. “I never wanted any of that. If I had you, Steve, then I would have everything.”

“I know that,” he cries, jumping to his own feet, looping an arm around your hips. “I know that now. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and you fit here. With me in my life. I want to stop wasting time pretending you’re just my best friend because that’s all I ever thought you could be. I want you here. I want you in my bed every morning and night, I want to touch you and, I don’t know, hold you while we cook dinner together. I want to kiss you just because I can. I want to hold your hand. I want all of that.”

He tugs you close, your chests thumping. His heart throbs against your sternum and you raise a palm to settle there, to push him back, but you find you can’t. He sucks the air out of the room when he’s that close — when his mouth is mere centimeters from yours, and all you want is to close the distance.

“I never felt good enough for you,” he breathes against your lips, his breath a shaky exhale. Lips graze against lips, your fingers slide up further, along his chest, over the curve of his neck, the slope of his jaw.

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Steve,” you whisper back, forehead nuzzling forehead. “I don't need all the money. I don’t want fancy dinners or cars, I don’t need the newest clothes, shoes, pocketbooks. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He slides a palm up against your cheek. A thumb draws a soft line across the curve of your jaw. “And now? What do you want right now?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

��—

sorry about the delay. i’ve basically been sick since july, and wasn’t planning on having so many of my ‘bad’ days the past couple of weeks. the next chapter will be long, and i mean long. can’t wait to hear about what you think about this one! likes, comments, reblogs — all of that is such an encouragement to creators and means the world, so please consider 🤍

[abbyscoffeee]

Car girl! Abby head cannons

Car girl! abby that saved up all her money to buy a blacked out charger srt hellcat.

Car girl! Abby, who is constantly cleaning her car, every chance she gets she’s waxing the outside, making sure the rims are shiny and the interior is clean. It’s gotten to the point where you bought her a handheld vacuum that she keeps in the backseat.

Car girl! Abby, who pulls up to your house with a shit eating grin and music blasting from the new speakers she just put in.

Car girl! Abby, who tried to teach you how to drive stick, ends up teasingly telling you, you can never drive her car again because you kept letting the clutch off too early and making the car jerk.

Car girl! Abby, who's always asking you to come over to help her work on her car.

Car girl! Abby that has a strict no eating in the car rule.

Car girl! Abby that only got Facebook, so she could use fb market place to look at old cars she wants.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

No name (taking suggestions) for this yet but yeah @syoddeye got me into Nikolai so... here's this. It's way longer than I originally planned but here we are. There will be more at some point but my fingers were just itching to write this out rn so unedited as well...

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind i guess,

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must of seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in a car to a client's.

Marcus hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse with an automatic front door.

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The front room was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box.

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. The door inside clicked. You went inside.

It was nice. Expensive but not tacky like other homes you've been too. The kind of furniture you'd seen in interior design magazines and auctions, solid wood things made by designers with names you could never properly pronounce. There were soviet era antiques scattered about as decor. The first floor was open with a kitchen and dining area to the side and the rest of the room being a living area. There were stairs to the side leading up to where you guessed was the bedroom.

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand.

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ash tray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago.

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one. He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you all night. Make it worth it."

He leaned back, grabbing a remote and turning on the tv. A hockey game roared on the tv.

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?"

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair.

"Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off.

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine.

His bedroom was dark. Wine colored walls with thick, velvet blackout curtains covering the windows. The bed was large with silk sheets and a down comforter.

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scrapping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain.

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

The snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. "There we go, Kotenok."

He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your crevix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting roughly. Your face dragged against the sheets.

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name.

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out.

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned, shuddering hard. "Cum on my cock or shut up."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you up. Your back rested against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling.

"Say my name," He barked.

"Kolya...please...Kolya. I..."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it."

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to hold you up any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles.

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the hilt, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth."

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected.

You woke up sore, dried cum and bite marks covering your body.

"You shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the door and locking it from the outside.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kind of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place.

There was towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table.

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of tea still steaming and full.

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls.

"Good girl." He pulled his hand and away and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll ask for you again."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much.

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off. For the first time more scared to leave than to stay.

[copperbadge]

[ID: Two photos; left, the interior of a small storage unit with corrugated metal walls and a cement floor; right, a toilet bowl with blue water in it.]

Normally I would not post a photograph of a toilet but I'm pretty proud of that one. I hate cleaning toilets more than just about anything, and while I do maintenance cleaning regularly, I did a deep-clean with like, CLR and my steam cleaner and some extremely gloved elbow grease. (The dark spot in the bottom is rust, not dirt -- I need to get it replaced, but that's a Whole Process.)

I've had some issues with mold growing in a ring around the toilet (yes, I googled and no, I don't have diabetes, promise) so once I got the mold fully off, I looked up how to either kill it or keep it at bay, and it turns out there are things you can add to your tank to keep bacteria and mold down. Unfortunately they do turn the water that institutional shade of blue, but it's better than what was there before.

And while I was out this morning picking up the tank cleaner, I ran over to the new storage space and got it set up -- learned how to get into the building, made sure the space was clean, and got the lock installed. Next step is to coordinate a time to load up the car and drive over there (probably...probably more than one trip) but life is hectic so that's waiting for next week.

Now that I've conquered the toilet, the plan for tomorrow is to continue with the bathtub. Both the toilet and the tub are also getting a coating of household wax, which hopefully will either keep the grime down or at the very least allow it to wash off a little easier.