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welllpthisishappening · 6 years ago

Note

Well, in your honor, I made a donation to Mission Hope: Opioid Task Force and the ACLU. Granted one is a bit self-serving as you're already aware. Now, I am going to get baseball fic out of you, one way or another. What I'm asking is kinda more frenemies!Captain Charming with Sox!David and Yankee!Killian with Emma as baseball clueless sibling to David who kinda has no idea that the dude she's been talking to is her brother's rival. Kisse

You are fantastic! And this is fantastic! And here is some more baseball fic! Remember when these prompts were going to be, like, 2K? Yeah, they’re not. Here we have: not quite what you asked for, baseball rivals, my husband’s opinions on the Auburn athletic program, some in-depth discussion of whether or not win-loss records should affect a pitcher’s Cy Young chances (cough, cough Jacob deGrom) and SECRET DATING. The last one is probably the most important. I wrote this during the last Yankees-Sox series to distract myself from how depressing it was.

This is a continuation of The Let’s All Be Good People Prompt-a-Thon & Follower Giveaway and I’m taking prompts (and filling the ones I’ve got so far) through the end of the month. Also available on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

She honestly doesn’t mean for it to happen.

If there is a string of words that is the exact opposite of this is what Emma Swan meant to happen, then that is exactly what she would be because she absolutely, positively did not mean for this to happen.

The happening, as it is, is David pacing in front of the Yankees team hotel in Boston, something that might be actual steam coming out of his ears because he’s just realized his sister is dating his sworn baseball enemy.

His words.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, staring at her feet and Killian looks torn between slinging an arm around her shoulders and challenging David to a duel in the middle of the sidewalk.

The whole thing is absurd.

That’s a good word for it.

It’s absurd and ridiculous and literal years in the making. Emma takes a step back, David’s eyebrows flying into his hairline and Mary Margaret presses her lips together, presumably so she doesn’t actually dissolve into hysterics.

The situation feels a little hysterical.

And whatever sound David makes when Emma laces her fingers through Killian’s and she can just make out the scar under the pad of her thumb. He squeezes back.

“So, uh,” Emma says, doing her best to make her voice even and calm and Killian kisses the top of her hair. “This is a thing that’s happening.”“And has been,” Killian adds. “Ok, that’s not helping.” “I’m being honest, Swan.” “That’s still not helping.” “Has been?” Mary Margaret repeats. Emma nods, eyes flashing to David who, it appears, has evolved into marble at some point. “How long?” “Uh...awhile.” “You’ve go tot start at the beginning,” David mutters, but it sounds like a demand and a bit like a plea and they’re all wearing far too much team-branded clothing for any of this to feel like a legitimate conversation.

Killian kisses her hair again.

And, really, Emma’s not even entirely sure how it did begin because it wasn’t like they were friends.

Emma didn’t even really know him. She knew of him, heard David grouse about Jones’ power at the plate like he hadn’t used alliteration to describe some guy on a different team nearly every time she talked to him that spring. It was, of course, true, Killian Jones had ridiculous power at the plate, but Emma knew better than to agree and David hated him.

“He’s a threat to our Series chances, Em,” he’d shout, and Emma’s eyes would flicker towards Mary Margaret who’d just shrug in response because it was almost comforting to hear David repeat the same string of words twenty-two times every other day.

Emma never met him. She didn’t know anything about Killian Jones, all-SEC third baseman, except that he regularly hit over .300 and had a ridiculously strong arm on cross-field throws. David regularly yelled about that too.

But then something happened.

And she didn’t mean for that to happen either.

David hit Killian Jones.

He promises, still, always, forever, it wasn’t on purpose and Emma believes him, but she doesn't ever quite forget what it looked like to watch Killian crumple at the plate, the hiss of his pain echoing in between her ears. David barely makes it off the mound, the guilt of it all obvious on his shoulders because they take Killian away in an ambulance and there are murmurings about hospitals and broken hands and Emma’s never really sure who suggests they go visit him, but it’s probably Mary Margaret.

She’s that kind of person.

So they do. They get in Emma’s car and it’s definitely against team rules, but David can’t hold her gaze and she knows he’s got to apologize in person.

And that's how Emma Swan meets Killian Jones.

He’s only vaguely cognizant, something about painkillers and an attempt at a smirk that doesn’t even come close to hitting its mark. He grins at her the entire time they stand in that room, David running through apologies and promises that he’s so sorry and didn’t mean it and Killian hums distractedly.

“What did you say your name was?” he asks, and Emma has to blink, approximately, seventeen times to make sure he’s actually talking to her.

His voice is kind of slurred.

She assumes there’s morphine involved.

“Emma,” she repeats. Mary Margaret’s got a look on her face. Emma wishes she wouldn’t. “My name is Emma Swan.” “Swan.” “That’s what I said.” “But your angry brother’s name is Nolan.” “Ok, I’m not angry,” David argues, but Mary Margaret actually shushes him and Emma takes a cautious step towards the hospital bed. Killian arches an eyebrow. He tries, at least.

“You’re not entirely coherent, right now, are you?”He shakes his head. “I’m perfectly coherent. And perceptive. Why the different last names?” “Adopted.” “Ah.” “That’s it?” “Were you looking for more of a reaction?” “Maybe not while you’re high on Vicodin.” “Morphine,” Killian corrects, but that word doesn’t sound much like a word either and Emma wishes she weren’t so charmed by this. “Only the good stuff here.” “Seems to be a matter of opinion, doesn’t it?”

He’s closed his eyes at some point, but Emma swears she can still feel him looking at her and Mary Margaret is actively trying to get David to leave. They brought Killian flowers. And a card. The whole thing is absolutely absurd. “Do you have a lot of opinions on how my recovery should go, Swan?” Killian drawls.

She resists the urge to swat at him. She’s pretty positive his hand is actually broken. “None,” Emma promises. “At all.”“That’s disappointing.” He’s high on painkillers. His eyes are still closed. He has no idea who she is. He probably thinks she’s some kind of baseball angel.

That’s actually almost kind of romantic.

Maybe Emma’s the one who’s suffering from too much morphine.

“Is it?” she asks, not sure why she’s prolonging this conversation. He hit a double earlier in the game though, and the whole thing did something absurd to her heart and possibly the way her brain worked and he was a really good baseball player.

David thought so. And David wouldn’t lie.

Killian hums, scrunching the pillow under his head when he nods. “Decidedly.”“If this is supposed to be charming it’s--” “--Don’t bother trying to tell me you’re not charmed, Swan, I absolutely know it’s working.” “You can’t even open your eyes.” “That’s because I’m exhausted and your brother tried to kill me.”

“Hey, c’mon, that’s not true at all,” David cries, but he’s got one foot already out the door and Mary Margaret is actually tugging on his shirt.

“It’s a little true,” Killian mumbles. “What do you think, love? You think he was actively trying to kill me or just make sure Auburn wins a conference title this season?”“You’ve covered the gamut of nicknames, haven’t you?” Emma asks, and his eyes snap open like they’re on a lever. They’re distractingly blue. She assumes they look very good while he’s wearing a Vanderbilt uniform.

She assumes he looks very good while wearing a Vanderbilt uniform.

And like...anything.

“Hit for the cycle,” Killian mutters. She can’t quite stop her answering laugh. He looks like he just hit a grand slam every time he got up to bat.

“You think you’re far funnier than you actually are.”

He hums again, smile a bit easier and almost kind of natural and Emma’s eyes widen when she glances over her shoulder at Mary Margaret. Who appears to be trying to communicate with her telepathically. It almost, kind of works.

“I think you think I’m funny, Swan,” Killian challenges. “And I think your brother would like to leave this hospital as soon as possible.”“You’re a goddamn mind reader, Jones,” David mutters.

Emma rolls her eyes. “David, give the guy a break. He’s hopped up on morphine and--”

“--Endorphins,” Killian cuts in.

“What? That doesn’t even make any sense.”“Endorphins. Because you’re rather distracting, you know that, Swan? And your eyes are going to get stuck that way.” She doesn’t argue – possibly because she’s lost control of the situation entirely and possibly because she’s still being stupid charmed by it and it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But then Emma’s groaning and mumbling a string of curses under her breath and she's certain, under pain of death, or hit by a pitch, that Killian's eyes actually flash when he realizes what she’s doing.

There’s a pen on the table next to his bed, a piece of garbage notepad that barely holds together when she yanks it out of the drawer. “Not exactly the Ritz Carlton is it,?” Emma asks.

“I’d hardly expect that from your area hospital when your school's mascot is some god awful cartoon tiger and occasionally an eagle,” he says. “Make up your mind.”“What even is a Commodore?” “It’s a military rank.” “That’s not a mascot.” “Only because you lot are hoarding all of them.” Emma laughs again. She wishes he would stop making her do that. He doesn’t. For years. Because she, for reasons she never entirely understands, writes her name and number on that piece of garbage notepad and at some point she almost, kind of considers Killian Jones, first-round draft pick by the New York Yankees, a friend.

A good friend.

Not, like, her best friend, or some guy who is maybe an almost what if because that’s absolutely, positively not how she operates. But, like, a guy. A good guy friend.

They talk. They text. He, sometimes, calls her when the team flight is delayed and maybe more often during Spring Training that year because “it’s a contract year, love” and he’s admittedly a little nervous and Emma promises “you’ll hit a hundred RBIs.”He tells her RBI shouldn’t have a plural.

“It’s already a multiple, Swan,” Killian laughs, stretched out in a bed that’s almost comically small for him and she makes a mental note to critique the Yankees for their less-than-impressive facilities in Tampa. “You add that extra ‘s’ and it’s what? Runs batted ins. That’s not even English.”“You don’t have a degree,” Emma points out. “You don't get an opinion on this.” “That doesn’t mean I don’t understand the English language, love.” She rolls her eyes, but mostly so she can better ignore that little jolt her heart gets every time he calls her that and David has no idea. Killian’s not his friend. “ESPN uses RBIs in its stories,” Emma counters. “I don’t care what the right grammar is. If the Worldwide Leader is doing it, then--” “--Who is calling them that?” “Should they not be?” “Not when they don’t think we have a chance of winning the Division.”

“That’s because you don't,” Emma smiles, mostly so she can get him to make that face, a mix of disgust and a century’s-old rivalry that involves curses and benches clearing brawls and, now, maybe a few familial issues. “And when do you even find the time to watch ESPN?”

“When do you find the time to read articles about the state of the American League?”“Just the AL East.” “Ah, of course.” “I’ve got a vested interest, you see.” Killian blinks, all blue and hopeful and they are friends. Friends. Friends. David would kill him. He’d hit him again. The bullpens would join the inevitable fight. She’s got every New York-Boston series circled on her calendar already.

“That so?” Killian asks, an almost impressive effort at normal. His voice cracks slightly though and it seems to time up perfectly with whatever Emma’s pulse is doing. Possibly trying to beat its way out of her body.

That’d probably make the FaceTime call weird.

“Well, it’d be easier if you signed with the Yankees again,” Emma reasons. “I’d hate to have to schedule these phone calls when I’ve got to worry about time zones as well.”“Wouldn't be right to inconvenience you like that, love. Plus, you know, pinstripes, very slimming.” She laughs, a breath of normal and friendship and she’s never hated either word more in her life. “Make sure you mention that to your agent, ok? And maybe the ridiculous on base you’ve got this spring.” “That’s just training, Swan. We played a college team this afternoon.” “Still. Hitting is hitting. And college teams can be good. You know, winning World Series and impressive victories in Omaha and all that.” “There’s no need to rub it in.” Emma grins, a flush of something shooting down her spine that feels suspiciously like several words she’d like to avoid and never expected. Someone calls Killian’s name, his head jerking towards the open doorway and he’s nodding and agreeing to dinner and film sessions and maybe some time in the cage.

Because it’s a contract year.

It’s an important year.

“I’ve got to go love,” Killian says, and she’s not counting endearments. She’s not. She’s noticing them. In passing.

There is no obsession. There is only friendship.

Emma nods. “Yeah, of course. But you know you can do damage to your rotator cuff if you hit in automated settings too often. ESPN mentioned that too.”“I’ll keep that in mind. Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you after you guys wreck another local college team.”“Deal.”

The Yankees open the season as the Wild Card favorites, Boston’s the favorite to win the Division and third to win the entire goddamn World Series and Emma texts both her brother and Killian after every single one of their games.

“Because we’re friends,” Emma explains. Elsa tilts her head, a silent objection that’s almost louder than any words she could actually say, sitting cross-legged on her couch in Toronto and Emma’s only there for the weekend, a visit because she hadn’t been in awhile and maybe the Yankees are in town that weekend, but it doesn’t really matter and--

“You want to kiss him,” Elsa says.

“That’s not true.”

“Yuh huh.”“Don’t do that. You sound like Mary Margaret.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Emma admits. “And this is not like that. We’re...I mean David plays for the Red Sox, you think I can just…”

Elsa’s eyes widen to an almost comical size when Emma trails off and he texted her the day before – tickets waiting at Rogers if you want ‘em, Swan. It might have been the only thing she’d thought of in the last twenty-four hours. She should probably apologize to Elsa at some point.

“It’s ridiculous that you think you can’t,” Elsa says evenly. “You know that, right? This is not some baseball Romeo and Juliet.”“I’d really it rather wasn’t, honestly.”

“Then we should probably go to the game, don’t you think?”

Emma nods before she can think better of it. And Killian goes two-for-five in another Yankee victory, someone in a team-branded polo finding them after the final out because they’re sitting in special seats or something that doesn’t sound quite so lame and Elsa actually giggles when they’re told Mr. Jones hopes you’ll wait outside the team exit for him.

“That’s the fanciest sentence I’ve ever heard,” Elsa mutters, nudging Emma in the side like she wasn’t also there. She’s having some trouble hearing over the ringing in her ears anyway. “How come David doesn't ever invite us to the team exit?”“There are probably rules,” Emma reasons.

“And your brother doesn’t want to date you.”“The opinions just get more and more pointed, don’t they?” Elsa simply smiles in response. And it takes some time, sitting in incredibly plush chairs with the Blue Jays emblem stitched into the back and Emma really doesn’t mean for her breath to actually hitch when Killian walks into the room.

He beams at her.

“Huh,” Elsa says. “So that’s what that looks like.”Emma glares at her, but it’s pointless because she’s already introducing herself and thanking Killian for the tickets and telling him helooked good out there today like she’s ever cared about sports in her entire life.

“Thanks,” Killian says, distracted and quick, like he’s trying to rush over the letters to make sure the conversation doesn’t have a chance to linger in that room for too long. His eyes keep darting to Emma, tongue flashing between his lips which is absolutely distracting and, at some point, she should really figure out how endorphins works.

She figures they probably shouldn’t make her feel like her head is spinning.

She’s not a scientist.

“Good seats?” Killian asks. Emma blinks. And laughs. “Ok, I know they were good seats. I...that’s common courtesy, Swan.”��Yuh huh.” “It is. You catch any foul balls?” “We were in a suite.” He blushes, running a hand through his hair and Elsa makes a noise that’s both judgmental and a little unfair, all things considered. Emma wonders if the endorphins in her body will do her a real solid and make sure she melts into the floor.

“That’s a very good point,” Killian admits. Elsa’s eyes are like tiny, little pinballs, bouncing and appraising and Emma rocks forward because she wants to walk forward and, maybe, make out with Killian Jones, third baseman for the New York Yankees, but her brother is still on the opposite side of the baseball spectrum and there are rules and regulations and probably contract issues because that’s how it always works.

He’s probably dating someone in New York anyway.

He’s a catch.

Or so Mary Margaret would say.

Emma bites her lip.

“So, uh…” Elsa starts. “I’ve got a ton of work that I was ignoring today--”“--It’s Sunday afternoon,” Emma interrupts, but her jaw feels like it actually snaps in half and Elsa is way better at glaring than she is.

“Yup, and I’ve got a lot of work that I didn’t do. But would you look at that, you’re kind of on vacation! Isn’t that weird? Weird. It’s weird.”“Weird.” “Exactly. So, I’m going to go and…” She waves her hands through the air, the threat of a far-too-confident smile tugging at the ends of her lips. “I’m going to leave you guys….to it. Where’s that fancy team person? Can they make sure I don’t get yelled at by security?” “Or arrested by mounties,” Emma adds. “That’s not how Canada works. Thanks again for the tickets, Killian. It’s a very long game.” “Yeah, that’s kind of baseball’s schtick,” Killian mutters. He’s still staring at Emma.

The team person appears suddenly, like she’s been summoned there by the sheer force of Elsa’s almost too obvious will, and Emma can’t remember the last time she took a deep breath.

It’s only kind of uncomfortable – especially when Killian moves first and his fingers are rough when they brush over the back of her wrist.

“You need, like, a manicure or something,” Emma mumbles, drawing a scoff out of him and a groan out of her and that is the last thing she expected to say.

“I’m not sure that would really help, actually.”“Don’t you wear baseball gloves?” “Not all the time.” “Rebel.” He nods, and it’s like the world gives them a second to catch their breath and figure out what’s happening and it’s all impossibly slow and far too fast and Emma sighs against his mouth when he kisses her. Or she kisses him.

It honestly does not matter.

Because she’s been thinking about this for far longer than she’d ever be willing to admit and he’s as good as it as she figured he would be, or maybe the other way around because he kind of groans against her mouth when her fingers find the back of his hair and oxygen is pointless anyway.

They’re an out-of-breath mess by the time they finally break apart, eyes wide and shoulders heaving and Emma isn’t entirely sure when they decided to occupy the same few inches of spaces, but her right foot is on top of his left.

Killian doesn’t seem to mind.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that forever,” he whispers, and Emma wonders if anyone has ever survived after their whole soul has kind of just imploded in a fit of happiness and finally.

“Are you kidding me?”Killian makes a noise in the affirmative, another quick brush of lips over hers and they’ve probably scandalized the team worker. “I’ve got some very fond memories of a flower-bearing deity who refused to believe I was as funny as I absolutely am.” “Oh, my God.” “You think I’m funny, Swan, I know you do.” “Your ego knows no bounds.” “It’s a contract year, I’m just trying to prove my worth to the franchise.”

Emma presses up on her toes, the nerves in his voice almost reaching out and slapping her or inadvertently hitting her in the batter’s box and that, at least, is kind of cyclical. She’s not sure when she’s become the positive one, but Mary Margaret will probably appreciate not having to bear the brunt of it all anymore.

“No need,” Emma mumbles, mostly against his mouth and the words get a bit jumbled when Killian’s hand finds its way under the hem of her shirt. “But, like, really since the morphine incident? You were super high.”“And still had eyes, strange as that may seem.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian echoes. “I like you. I was trying to show off today.” “I mean, it kind of worked. You want me to write like a letter of recommendation to Brian Cashman or something?”

His laugh is loud and easy and Emma tries to make sure it imprints itself on her memory. And she’s so goddamn happy that they’re as good at making out in visiting team’s facilities as she hoped that she almost forgets her brother is going to kill her because she’s dating the enemy. And he’s really good at hitting baseballs.

That is, of course, before the August series in Boston and the Yankees are three games out of first and the whole thing is as chaotic as it is exciting and Emma can’t stop fidgeting in the family box at Fenway.

“What’s going on with you?” Mary Margaret asks. She’s got head-to-toe red on, David’s number painted on her face like the entire city of Boston isn’t almost painfully aware how in love they are, and Emma’s surprised she didn’t make a sign.

The series is that important.

Killian’s on a six-game hitting streak.

Emma’s not supposed to know that. And no one is supposed to know she went to New York three weeks ago. There was kissing. Like. Just a copious amount of kissing.

Maybe that can happen again after the game.

She wonders how quickly she can get away from her brother. And out of this Red Sox gear.

“What is that?”

Emma jerks her head up, and she didn’t even realize she was doing it. That should be the subheadline of her life at this point. It’s not really anything – she keeps telling herself, has to remind herself almost daily because it’s absurd and sentimental but he’d driven in five runs during that game in New York three weeks before and his bed was absurdly comfortable and Emma made some crack about getting the bonus just to keep this mattress and Killian had kissed her silent; before asking, with slightly hooded eyes in a voice that she certainly still wasn’t thinking about, if she’d maybe, possibly, consider wearing the ring he always kept around his neck. Even during the season. ESPN had tried to do a feature on it.

Killian wouldn’t talk about it.

“It was, uh….it was my brother’s,” he explained, and Emma was going to do permanent damage to her lip from biting it. It didn’t make much of a difference. She cried anyway.

And she’d known about Liam, had heard the stories and the goddamn tragedy of it all, but she’d never seen Killian without that ring on a chain around his neck and it was probably only a matter of time before the New York tabs realized it.

“For good luck,” he said. He smiled. Emma kept crying. And kissed him. He hit a triple the next day. She kind of figured that was for her too.

She’d started tugging on it, though, unconsciously or subconsciously and the specifics of it don't matter, especially in the family suite at Fenway with Mary Margaret doing her best impersonation of a relationship-scouting hawk.

“Emma,” she says. “What is that?”“Nothing.” “You’re going to want to try that again if you want me to believe you.” “It’s nothing.” Mary Margaret shakes her head, gaze falling on the ring that’s now hanging over Emma’s shirt and this is a disaster. David hasn’t even thrown the first pitch yesterday – that’s a very strange sentence she’s not certain she’ll ever understand, and just the day before he was complaining about Killian’s hitting streak while Emma was texting Killian updates about it under the table in the apartment in Back Bay.

“It’s not,” Emma continues, but talking is only making it worse and Fenway gets impossibly loud during Yankees series.

“It looks new.”“It’s not.” Emma grits her teeth when she realizes what she’s said and she’s given Mary Margaret fuel - fed the eagle as it were. They’ve missed the entire first at bat already. “Did he strike him out on three pitches?” Emma asks, the pride practically radiating through the suite. Someone’s already humming Sweet Caroline under their breath.

“He’s in some kind of zone,” Mary Margaret says. “Was sitting on the couch yesterday after you left, honest to God, practicing his grip on his cutter.”“That’s insane.” “Nah, that’s a series against the Yankees when the pennant’s on the line.” “It’s August.” “On the line,” Mary Margaret repeats, emphasizing every word and Emma can’t get her response out because the boos are that distracting. She’s a little disappointed it’s an away game because that means there are no pinstripes and Killian Jones looks unfairly good in pinstripes, but Emma figures that’s honestly for the best.

Mary Margaret has evolved into some kind of basset hound anyway – sniffing out lies and deflections and however endorphins work. Emma ignores the weight of her stare, pulling her lips behind her teeth and David throws a strike on the first pitch.

“Practiced the hold on that cutter all night,” Mary Margaret mutters.

“It’s not like he doesn’t know who he’s pitching against.”“Ah, that’s not exactly what it is.” Ball one. And two. And Killian steps out of the box, David’s shoulders going obviously tight when he calls time. Emma’s lungs are on fire.

She hopes the endorphins can fix that eventually.

“I don’t understand,” Emma admits, and strike two is swinging and definitely outside and she knows Killian’s frustrated as much as she knows David is overjoyed.

The boos get louder.

“It’s a Yankees-Sox series,” Mary Margaret shrugs. “Us and them. And, I mean, you know that history.”

“Between franchises?”“Between David and Killian Jones.” Emma’s pretty impressed her legs don’t actually buckle but she does have to brace her hands on the glass in front of her, and she’s not sure if she imagines Mary Margaret’s gasp or not. Killian flys out. David fist pumps.

The whole thing is epically absurd.

“What does that mean?” Emma asks, as the next Yankee hitter lines out to short and it’s a quick inning and she should probably be happier about that. She probably shouldn’t have come to the game at all. “Like baseball enemies?”“Of course not.” “Because that’s even more ridiculous than practicing a hold on a cutter David learned when he was eleven and--” “--Emma, oh, my God, seriously, what is going on with you? And don’t say anything, you’re like...shaking.”

She is. Her whole body is vibrating, nervous energy and excited energy and she’d suggested dinner at a restaurant near the Yankees hotel so she could get to the Yankees hotel easier and she wanted both teams to win.

That was impossible.

God, they should have told David already.

“What are you talking about?” Emma challenges. The Red Sox already have someone on second. “What do you mean David and Killian have a thing.”Mary Margaret’s eyebrows defy gravity. “Killian?”“That’s not weird. We know him. We met him. We brought him flowers!” “Like...six years ago.” “And?” “And, nothing, I guess. Just, you know, David’s a pitcher and Killian’s a great hitter and Vandy did win the SEC when he came back that year and then he got drafted ahead of David--” “Because the Yankees didn't need a pitcher. David would have raged if he got drafted by New York.” “That’s not necessarily true.” “Would you like to try again?” Emma asks, and she has to shout the question over the cheers and they’re winning. Or the Red Sox are winning. She’s not sure where her baseball allegiances lie anymore. That’s definitely the most ridiculous sentence she’s ever thought.

“Ok, ok, ok,” Mary Margaret says. “So maybe David’s unfairly biased against New York teams, but you know him and Jones...they’ve always kind of...just toyed with each other. And he feels bad about hitting him still, but that was years ago and now they’re in the same Division again and, you know, this series is important.”Emma doesn’t respond. She does not trust herself to.

So she takes advantage of complimentary food and drink and the general hospitality of the family suite at Fenway and she digs her nails into her palms so she doesn’t cheer when Killian hits a three-run homer in the top of the eighth to give New York the lead.

The hit streak sits at seven games.

And the Red Sox lose the series opener.

“Can you believe I end up with a no-decision now?” David grouses, hours and post-game press conferences later and he’s already ripped apart the pre-meal bread like it’s the reason people still care about win-loss records.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Mary Margaret says. It’s not the first time. It will not be the last time.

“Still a Cy Young contender,” Emma adds.

David’s going to get arrested for his attack on the entire bread industry. “It’s not about individual awards, Em. It’s about this series and holding our lead and--”“--The race for the pennant.” “Yeah, exactly that. And making sure they’re as far away any sort of trophy as possible. God, you know how obnoxious Jones would be as a World Series champion? Totally insufferable. Perfect for New York of course, but just...that can’t...God, he’s so good at the plate, you think he won some kind of genetic lottery?”

Emma knocks her glass over. Her elbows suddenly want to make a run for the nearest exit and there’s wine on her jeans and her ring is back over the front of her shirt and she nearly sends her chair into the very nice looking couple next to them when she mumbles a quick apology and bolts onto the sidewalk.

And, really, she shouldn’t be surprised that he’s sitting in the lobby across the street because they did say some time around nine’ish and he’d always been ridiculously good at reading her and knowing her, even when he was hopped up on painkillers and twisted in an uncomfortable hospital bed.

“Swan?” Killian calls, already halfway out the door and he makes a face when the first three cars in the street don’t immediately stop so he can cross. He jogs towards her, post-game tie loose around his neck, which seems kind of unfair, but it makes it easier to tug and pull him towards her and they’re so goddamn good at kissing each other. He startles slightly at the force of her mouth on his, but it takes less than a full second for him to just sort of melt into it and Emma’s feet are only kind of touching the ground when he pulls her closer to him.

They linger in each other’s space for what feels like a very long eternity, fingers drifting and tracing and Emma almost forgets about her wine-jeans until Killian’s lips drag across her jaw and she shivers.

Someone nearby whistles.

“You want to tell me what this is about now, love?” Killian asks.

“I honestly have no idea. Just like...series-inspired insanity and did you know that my brother thinks of you as some kind of baseball frenemy and possible scoring threat?”“No to the first one, but definitely yes to the second. As he should, really, you see that homer today?” “I was there.”“Cheering?” “Trying very hard not to.” Killian chuckles, a kiss so quick it barely registers. Emma knows they’re on borrowed time. It was inevitable that the troops would rally or something equally ridiculous, and she can hear the footsteps behind them, but Killian’s fingers are still moving and his ring is around her neck and-- “I love you,” she says, certain and sure and at the worst possible time.

He nearly drops her.

“What?” Killian breathes, David behind him and making a sound like an umpire just missed an obvious strike call. “Swan…”

Emma shakes her head, pressing her lips together and the next few moments are a blur of explanations and the phrase I wasn’t really expecting it repeated several dozen times. David’s expression doesn’t change, even when some kid in his jersey stops him to ask for an autograph and glares pointedly at Killian.

“We’ve evolved into complete farce now,” Emma grumbles, and she’s not sure she’s entirely prepared for the look on Mary Margaret’s face. Like she knew all along. Like she knew as soon as they walked into the goddamn hospital room.

She shrugs. “I had some suspicions when I saw the distinct lack of ring when he was jogging the bases and you called him Killian like that was a thing you’d been doing.”“And you guys have been…” David starts, trailing off when Killian’s arm tightens around Emma.

“No, no,” Emma sputters. “No...that just kind of…”She cuts herself off, biting her tongue in the process and her eyes don’t do anything except meet Killian’s slightly cautious smile when he steps in front of her. “Hey,” he mutters, thumb ghosting just under her lower lip and she’d never moved the ring back. “I love you too.” Emma’s dimly aware of David’s rather loud too but Mary Margaret shushes him and the whole thing still feels kind of cyclical.

And like hitting a bases-clearing double in the bottom of the ninth.

“Yeah?” Emma asks, an absurd response to declarations in the middle of the sidewalk, but that’s kind of them and kind of this and she wants to ignore baseball for the foreseeable future.

She wants to focus on the force of Killian’s responding smile instead.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I kind of thought that was almost obvious. I’ve pining for awhile.”“Before Toronto?” “Way before Toronto.” “Wait, Toronto?” David shouts. “What happened in Toronto?” “Not anything you actually want to know about,” Emma promises. “You going to be weird about this? Like...for the rest of the season or your careers?”

“More weird than your wine incident?”“Is that what happened to your jeans?” Killian nods, and Emma blushes because he was totally checking her out. David groans.

“I’m not going to be weird about this,” he promises. “I mean...I’ll totally wreck you at the plate if you do something stupid, but our set-up guy is garbage anyway and you’re on that ridiculous streak. It was only a matter of time before you played hero.”“And probably tried to impress Emma,” Mary Margaret mutters.

Killian tilts his head. “It’s more likely the second one.”“Figured.” He takes a deep breath, still twisted and in front of Emma with her finger hooked through one of his belt loops. “I may be a little weird about it,” Killian admits. “We’re totally coming for your divisional title. Wild Card stresses me out.” Emma laughs, some of her nerves evaporating and his chest is very solid when her head crashes against him. She’s fairly certain he mumbles I love you in her hair again and she smiles into his shirt, something that feels like a pitching rhythm and striking out the side. She needs to stop making baseball puns in her head.

They go inside the restaurant eventually – after another Boston fans yells get back to New York, Jones from the other side of the street – and Emma manages to keep all her wine in her glass for the rest of the evening. And the Yankees don’t win the Division, but they win the Wild Card game and Emma doesn’t sit down for any of the six games the ALDS lasts.

They win the series in New York.

She’s wearing pinstripes.

David’s only a little annoyed by that.

“I told you I was going to support whatever city I was in,” Emma says, and he rolls his eyes and Killian’s smile, somehow, gets wider and Mary Margaret looks overjoyed. She has since August.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” David grumbles. “Easy now with just one All-Star to root for.”“Your words, not mine.”

Killian kisses her. There’s a photo snapped somewhere behind them, but that’s become fairly normal in the last few weeks because it only took a few games for the New York tabs to realize he wasn’t wearing the ring and start speculation on the location of the ring and Emma was sitting along the first baseline when someone in a throwback Devil Rays jersey three seats away noticed the ring hanging over the front of the Jones t-shirt she was wearing.

They weren’t very subtle about it.

They actually planned it that way.

“What’s that you always say, Nolan?” Killian asks. “It’s not about the personal accolades, it’s about the team and the trophy.”“Agh, wait at least twenty-four hours after my season ends before you start taunting me with my own quotes, huh?” “That seems fair. Doesn’t it, Swan?” Emma nods, still charmed and happy and she’s got a good feeling about the rest of the playoffs because no one expected a Yankees run and she’s got World Series aspirations. Killian Jones, third baseman of the New York Yankees and World Series champion does, after all, sound pretty good.

It looks even better, a playoff run for the ages with an improbable sweep in the ALCS and a hit streak that ESPN claims is legendary and the New York tabs dub the rivalry over when Emma, David and Mary Margaret are spotted cheering in the team suite in the Bronx.

She doesn’t cry when they win, but she might when Killian kisses her, feet off the ground and arms slung around his neck and there’s not enough oxygen in the world to help Emma say everything she wants to.

Everything.

So, naturally, Killian says something to surprise her, because Emma’s not sure how she got on the field without security yelling at her.

Probably because they were distracted by David signing copies of the goddamn New York Post.

“When’s your lease up?” Killian asks.

“What?”“Your lease?” She has to blink three more times before she understands, and then she kisses him instead of answering him, and that’s kind of an answer anyway. “Yeah,” Emma says. “Yeah, that’s what i want to do.”

He signs his contract extension the same day she signs the lease and Emma keeps wearing Yankees gear and Red Sox gear depending on what city she’s in, but her allegiances become a little more obvious when she gets a slightly different ring.

That makes the New York tabs too.

#cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan #cs #cs fic #laura rambles #i have written so much baseball fic in the last few weeks #it's genuinely ridiculous #the hardest part of this fic was deciding where to make killian play #he's less of a defensive liability than andujar #anyway i miss aaron judge #and i wish the yankees would play better #distant-rose

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sunshinesteviee · 2 years ago

Text

call it what you want - s.h.

summary: you find yourself on the edge of friendship and something more with steve at a halloween party. for @sparklingsin's spookinktober writing challenge with the prompt "quick, switch costumes with me!" wc: 8.1k wtf warnings: friends to lovers. alcohol consumption. smut!!! 18+!!! f!reader. a/n: this is the longest thing i've ever written and it killed me lol i hope y'all like it. feedback is much appreciated! love u sm. also huge shoutout to @sparklingsin and @familyvideostevie for reading this and helping me out and listening to me complain about this gd fic for weeks i love u so much thanks for putting up w me

Masterlist

Parties weren’t Steve’s thing. Not anymore, anyway. And Halloween parties in particular were definitely crossed off the list, especially after everything that had happened with Nancy a few years ago. He was over Nancy, they were even friends now, but something about the idea of going to another Halloween party stirred up a sick feeling in Steve’s stomach that he wanted to run from. Somehow, though, Robin had managed to convince him that it would be fun.

Really, it hadn’t taken much convincing on Robin’s part — all she had to do was mention you, and Steve was in, though he’d never admit that to her. It was stupid, she thought, the way the two of you were constantly pining for each other, but refusing to do anything about it. She’d heard enough lovesick complaints from her best friends, and decided she’d take it into her own hands. And Halloween seemed like the perfect opportunity. She wasn’t quite sure how yet, but she was sure the night would end at the very least with confessions. She’d make sure of it.

And so, Steve was two drinks deep in a crowded house, filled with more regret than beer. Robin had somehow disappeared after one drink, Eddie was nowhere in sight, and he still had yet to see you. Maybe you’d decided not to come. If so, the whole night would be a waste. He hadn’t missed parties one bit. The stuffy, crowded rooms filled with sweaty bodies pressed against each other as music pounded in his ears, pulsing lights making his head throb.

It didn’t used to be so bad. He used to be the keg king, down shot after shot, maybe get lucky, and still wake up the next day more or less fine. Now, two drinks usually did him in, and he didn’t always like the feeling of being drunk. Of being out of control. To be fair, he’d taken quite a few beatings that had definitely fucked with his head since he’d last been to a proper party. But parties just weren’t enjoyable anymore. Especially when all of his friends had disappeared, and he didn’t know anyone surrounding him.

Tipping the last of his drink into his mouth, Steve crushed the red plastic cup in his hand and tossed it into the trash can nearby that was already almost overflowing. A familiar laugh sounded behind him, a sweet sound above the loud bass, “Whoa there, champ. How many drinks have you had?!”

Steve already had a smile on his face as he turned around, and his jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of you. You hadn’t ditched. And better yet, you looked fucking gorgeous. He let out an adoring laugh, eyebrows furrowing together, forehead wrinkling as he asked, “Champ?”

“Your costume, silly,” you nodded towards his outfit as you reached out, placing your warm palm against his bicep. Without thinking, Steve leaned into your touch, stepping in closer to you, his hand grazing your hip slightly.

Since it had been a last-minute decision, and since he wasn’t fond of Halloween anyways, Steve had decided to pull his baseball uniform from high school out of his closet. It fit a little tighter than it used to, but would work well enough for one night. The ugly green and orange baseball jersey was tucked into a pair of baseball pants, and he’d even tucked his wild hair underneath a Hawkins high baseball hat. Steve’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, the soft pink obvious on his pale skin, even in the dim lighting of the house. “Oh, right. Yeah, I think I kinda… knocked it out of the park with this one.”

The snort that left your mouth had Steve smiling again as you clapped a hand over your mouth, “Oh my god. That was fucking awful, Steve. It does look good, though. Can’t believe you’d ruin all of your pretty hair under that hat.”

Steve flushed again, a common occurrence that he couldn’t help when he was around you, and shrugged, “What can I say? I’m dedicated to the costume. I like your costume, too, by the way; you look nice.”

Your eyes lit up at his compliment as you bounced on the balls of your feet nervously, “Yeah? Thanks, Stevie.” You were wearing a short shirt that had “Camp Crystal Lake” printed across the chest, with a picture of a lake underneath it, and a pair of red shorts that were also nearly too short; you were a counselor from one of your favorite horror movies, Friday the 13th. Quite frankly, the costume fit you perfectly, accentuating all of your best features, and you weren’t oblivious to the way his eyes had caught on you when he’d first turned around.

“Yeah! That’s a great movie.”

“I thought you didn’t like horror movies?” you questioned, a teasing tone lacing your words. You and Eddie had had to convince him more than once to watch a horror movie on one of your movie nights, and he usually hid underneath a blanket for more than half the movie.

“Well, no,” Steve huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he narrowed his eyes at you, “But I’ve seen that one, and it wasn’t bad. Do you want a drink?"

When you quickly agreed, Steve’s hand left your back as he pulled back from you. Before you could mourn the warmth of his hand on your skin, though, his hand was reaching toward yours. “C’mon then, babe.”

Without a second thought, your hand slipped into his, fingers slotting together easily. Steve started pulling you through the crowd, weaving between bodies skillfully. The grip he had on your hand, though gentle, was firm, as if you’d be lost forever if he let go. As if the crowds of people would swallow you whole and carry you away from him. He glanced back a few times to make sure you were alright, flashing you a small smile every single time his eyes caught yours.

The alcohol was finally starting to hit Steve, making him feel a bit lighter, though maybe it was just from being near you. Your hand in his was enough to make him feel tipsy. To have him questioning if it was real. He definitely didn’t need to have another drink, not if you were going to be holding his hand like your life depended on it. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, to be close to you, but the alcohol had his senses dialed up. Steve knew that if he wasn’t careful, he might let his real feelings for you slip, and he didn’t want to risk the friendship you had.

Steve shook his head in an attempt to clear it, though the alcohol was making it a bit difficult, and refocused back on you. He gave you a lopsided smile, working to untangle his fingers from yours, “Whaddya want, cutie? Punch? I had two cups and it’s kinda strong because I’m definitely starting to feel it, and—”

“I’ll have punch!” You’d listen to him ramble for hours, but the kitchen was even more packed than the room you’d just been in. You didn’t see Steve drunk, or even tipsy, often, and you adored the way his face flushed red and he started rambling. He’d clearly had just enough to have him feeling good, not enough to tip him over the edge, and it was endearing the way he seemed to let go a little bit.

Not wanting to be away from your side for too long, Steve hurried across the kitchen to get a cup and fill it with punch for you. He pushed by a few people on his way back, trying to be gentler than the asshole who had pushed you, and frowned as some of the drink spilled over the edge of the cup and ran down his fingers. The pout was still on his lips as he approached you, holding the cup out, “Sorry, didn’t mean to spill it. Here you go, babe.”

Taking the cup from him carefully, you smiled gratefully, glad that you hadn’t been the one to cross the kitchen, “Thanks, Stevie. You didn’t get one for yourself?”

“Nah, if I have more I’ll be suffering tomorrow,” he replied. As he talked, Steve lifted his hand that was now covered in the sticky punch, and slipped one of his fingers into his mouth to clean it off. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you stared in disbelief as Steve did it again with another finger. This time, he caught the look on your face and his own eyes went wide as he stared at you in confusion, completely oblivious, “What?”

You nearly choked on your drink, and you quickly shook your head, turning away from Steve so he wouldn’t see the reaction you were having. There was no doubt you were attracted to Steve — how could you not be? He was kind and funny and brave, and treated you better than anyone else ever had. The problem was, he wasn’t your boyfriend, and you were fairly certain he had no intention of that. He was a nice guy to everyone. Just because he called you babe or cutie from time to time, and held your hand or shared blankets with you… that didn’t mean he was interested, and you’d done your best to shove those feelings down. You didn’t want to lose Steve’s friendship above all else, so if you had to pretend your feelings for him were strictly platonic, you could do that. But watching him lick his fingers clean sparked something in your stomach, and made your face feel hot. To be fair, you had already downed a shot with Nancy while the two of you were getting ready, so maybe you could just blame the way your thighs clenched on the alcohol.

Instead of responding, you downed half the cup of punch just in time for Steve to look back at you, a grin breaking out on his face as he chanted teasingly, “Chug, chug, chug!”

You nearly choked again, this time as you laughed, sputtering some of the red liquid out of your mouth, “Steve!” You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth to catch the drops sliding down your chin with a giggle, “Stop itttt.”

“Hey!” Steve’s pout matched yours, eyes narrowing at you, bottom lip pushing out, “How come you can tease me when I’m drinking but I can’t tease you?”

Your eyes may have lingered too long on Steve’s lips as he pouted, but he didn’t notice with the way he was unabashedly returning the favor as your tongue darted out to catch the last of the punch that had spilled past your lips. You wondered what his lips would feel like against yours. If they were as soft as they looked. If he was as good a kisser as the girls from high school claimed. You shook your head, desperately trying to focus so you could answer Steve’s question instead of gawk at him, “No, it’s not allowed.”

Steve laughed hysterically as his arms wrapped over your shoulders so he could pull you into him. He got even more affectionate than normal when he’d had some alcohol. Pressing his lips to your hair, he shook his head, but was totally sincere as he replied, “Okay, fine! I’ll never make fun of you again, cutie. Promise. Should we find Robin? Or maybe Nancy and Jonathan?”

His words had you feeling like you were on fire once more, but you quickly agreed, needing to find someone else to get your mind off of Steve. To think of something other than SteveSteveSteveSteve. Your cheek pressed into the rough fabric of the jersey he was wearing, and you nodded against his chest, “Yeah, let’s go find them.”

“Wait,” he paused, fingers wrapping around your arm as you tried to pull away from his grasp, “you still have…” His sentence trailed off as he licked the pad of his thumb before placing his free hand against your cheek, fingers slipping into the hair just behind your ear. His thumb pressed to your chin, rubbing across your skin carefully in an attempt to get rid of the last of the punch that you’d spilled. Steve’s hand slid down, fingers hooking underneath your chin as his thumb dragged down, pulling on your bottom lip slightly, and you thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you then and there, his eyes flashing with something you hadn’t seen in them before. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared, and Steve was back to his tipsy, bubbly self, “Got it!”

You felt absolutely breathless, frozen in place as Steve pulled away searching the crowd for anyone he recognized. “You coming or what, babe?”

“I, uh–” you shook your head to clear it and moved towards Steve, “Yeah, ‘m coming.”

Finding Robin seemed to be a lost cause, but Nancy and Jonathan had been easy to find, talking to some of Nancy’s friends from high school, drinks in hand. And after talking for a bit, it didn’t take much to pull your friends away to dance with you. You immediately grabbed Steve, feeling bolder than you normally would be, and pulled him into you, chest to chest.

Steve’s heart thudded in his chest as his hands grabbed at your hips at the same time, fingers pressing lightly into the soft skin there as you swayed to the music. Had he been sober and more aware of what he was really doing, he probably would’ve been much more flustered with the way you were pressed up against him. And, had he been sober, he would’ve seen the look Nancy and Jonathan were exchanging knowingly, with Nancy in on Robin’s plan.

–

Robin found you a bit later, the sound of your name being called over the music was enough to get your attention, and you quickly stopped dancing next to Nancy to search the crowd of people surrounding you. It wasn’t hard to find Robin, who was already pretty tall and was wearing heels for her costume. You grinned at her, throwing your arms out to her for a hug as you shrieked her name, “Robin!”

“Hey, hot stuff!” she replied, wrapping you up in her arms, careful of the drink in her hand, “Where have you beeeen? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

You scoffed, “Stevie and I have been dancing. Thought maybe you weren’t here,” you said, pushing your bottom lip out into a pout.

“I am! I have been the whole time!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world, “I’m glad I found you! We’re gonna play a game!” She paused and turned to point at Steve who had been watching the two of you, “You too, dingus! You’re gonna play, too.”

“What? No, Robin, I don’t—”

“Please, Stevie?” you asked, cutting him off with wide, pleading eyes, even though you had no idea what the game actually was, or who you’d be playing with.

The alcohol Steve had consumed was now starting to wear off, while it seemed like it was in full swing for you. Had Robin shown up half an hour ago while he was still feeling tipsy, and was actually dancing with you, he would’ve agreed no problem. Now, as he started to think a bit more clearly, he knew that Robin’s drunk ideas usually weren’t her best, and at the very least, he’d make sure you all didn’t get into too much trouble. And, as always, he couldn’t say no to the look you were giving him. “Okay, okay, fine! I’ll play.”

Reaching out to close the distance between the two of you, your fingers curled around Steve’s bicep to pull him closer. You were giving him the brightest smile he’d ever seen as you leaned into his side, “Yay! C’mon, Harrington.”

The smile that pulled at Steve’s lips was involuntary as your hand pushed down his arm and into his own hand, tugging him behind you as you followed Robin through the house, back to the other side where she’d been beforehand with a few other friends. They weren’t really people you knew – mostly Robin’s friends from band, and Eddie and a few of his friends – but you weren’t going to let that stop you from having fun.

“Okay!” Robin clapped her hands, drawing the attention of the small group, “Everyone stand up, get in a circle. We’re playing a new game!”

“What game is it?” Eddie grumbled, ever the contrarian, though he was getting to his feet to do as Robin said.

Steve had also reluctantly joined the circle, standing at one of Robin’s sides, arms crossed over his chest as he waited impatiently for her to explain what was going on. You couldn’t help but giggle at his sullen expression as you glanced at him from the other side of your friend standing between the two of you. Your laugh caught his attention, and he cracked a smile as he glanced over Robin to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was asking “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth with a smile as you quickly glanced away, trying to focus on what Robin was saying. Only after you’d listen to half of the “rules” did you realize that this was some kind of speed costume changing game, and you groaned, feeling a bit too tipsy for trying to change quickly. Not only that, but this felt like a game that some boy in high school had come up with in hopes to see the girl he liked half naked.

“On the count of three, find someone that you want to change costumes with, and then we’ll time everyone! One… two… three!”

You’d been counting on switching with Robin, considering she was right next to you, and you could probably get into at least some of her clothes. Steve had a similar idea – who else was he going to switch with when he’d already shared clothes with her before? – and turned in her direction. Robin, on the other hand, had a different idea, pointing aggressively at Nancy who was across the circle from her, “Nance! You’re my partner!” She quickly stepped out from between you and Steve and darted over to Nancy without letting her respond.

At the same time, both you and Steve groaned in frustration, “Robin!” She all but cackled, an evil grin on her face that you knew meant this had been her plan all along. You’d told her about your feelings for Steve, but you never expected her to use that information against you.

Still, you turned to Steve with a grin, hooking your arm through his to pull him closer to you, “Guess you’re my partner, Harrington! No backing out now!”

As soon as he realized that partners were being shoved in one of the closets one at a time to change as fast as possible, Steve wished desperately that he could back out. His face burned at just the thought of being in a confined space with you while you took off your clothes. He didn’t have long to think about it, though, as after two other pairs were timed, Robin quickly pushed the two of you in, closing the door behind you and plunging you into complete darkness, except for the small sliver from under the door.

You and Steve weren’t strangers to being close to one another, but this felt like a new level of intimacy, and Steve didn’t know what to do. His heart was pounding in his ears, so loud he was worried you’d be able to hear it, too, considering how close you were. It didn’t seem to affect you as much, though maybe that was just the alcohol, and you giggled with an urgent whisper, “Quick! Switch costumes with me, Steve! I don’t wanna lose!” With that, you pulled your shirt over your head, nearly elbowing Steve in the face with how fast you were moving. Steve immediately averted his eyes to the dark ceiling, wanting to be a gentleman, though he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about you shirtless.

Frustrated with how slow he was moving, you gave his shoulder a weak push, “C’mon, Stevie!”

Steve huffed, amused with how badly you wanted to win, even though he knew it wasn’t going to happen, “Okay, I’m going!” He started unbuttoning the baseball jersey as fast as he could as you started to shove your shorts down your legs, and suddenly his buttons became a lot more interesting, fingers fumbling with the small pieces of plastic. The closet felt scorching hot as he shrugged off the jersey and quickly pulled the plain white tee he was wearing underneath off as well, shoving it in your direction. “Jesus, babe. Here.”

The shirt you’d been wearing had been quickly dropped to the floor as you pulled Steve’s shirt over your head, immediately engulfed in his scent. He always smelled nice, and this shirt was no exception. As much as you wanted to hug yourself and breathe in Steve’s comforting scent, you also wanted to win, and slipped the jersey on, motioning for Steve to take his pants off next. Your voice was frantic when you spoke again, “Pants! Give ‘em to me!”

The giggling from his friends outside the door was distracting to Steve as he thought of ways he could get back at Robin for this. It was torture, really, being shoved into a small space with the girl he liked while they undressed, but in a situation where he couldn’t touch her without seeming like a perv. He was only snapped out of his thoughts when your hands reached out towards his waist, going for the button on his pants. There was no way he could let that happen, and pushed your hands away, all but shouting, “I got it!”

He quickly shimmied out of his pants and traded them with you for the tiny shorts you’d been wearing. Groaning internally, Steve pulled them up his legs and knew immediately that he looked ridiculous. They barely fit over his thighs, and his ass was nearly hanging out. It was bordering on completely inappropriate to be wearing in public; he might as well just be wearing his boxers with how little it left to the imagination. “These do not fit.”

Just then, you stumbled forward as you tried to get Steve’s baseball pants on, hand catching on his chest for the second time that evening. His hand shot out as if on instinct, grasping at the bare skin of your hip to steady you, even though there wasn’t really any place for you to go. You were giggling like a maniac, breathless as you murmured a thanks and pulled the pants up all the way. It was only as you buttoned the pants that you realized your shirt had dropped on the ground, and you grabbed it, shoving it into his hands, failing at your horrible attempt to avoid looking at his bare chest, “Last one!”

Steve stared at the fabric in his hands skeptically; the shirt was already short on you, there was no way this wasn’t going to be the most extreme crop top anyone had ever seen on him, “I don’t wanna rip it!”

“You won’t!” you reassured him, “‘s okay if you do, anyway. ‘M never gonna wear it again.”

Letting out what was possibly the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard, Steve pulled your shirt over his head. The fabric stretched around his arms and chest, the hem falling just below his pecs. His entire stomach was exposed, and while it wasn’t exactly what he’d prepared for that night, the smile on your face in the dark made it worth it.

As your hand reached for the doorknob, Steve realized you were missing one last piece of his costume, “Wait! Can't forget this.” He lifted his hat off of his head and placed it on yours carefully, running his hand through his hair, “Okay, we’re good.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest as he placed his hat on your head, and you nearly dropped everything to kiss him then and there, but the sound of someone laughing outside the door caught your attention. You gave Steve a grin and then pushed the door open, nearly falling over yourself as you shouted, “We’re done! Did we win?!”

Steve’s hand was at your hip again to steady you as he followed you out. He finally felt like he could breathe again. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes, but it felt like he’d spent a lifetime in the closet with you. So close, but so far.

So wrapped up in his own thoughts, Steve missed everything you and Robin were discussing, until there was a loud wolf whistle from someone else in the group, “Damn, Harrington! Who knew you had all that ass!”

Without even glancing in the direction of the noise, Steve knew who it was. He flipped his middle finger up but grinned at his friend, “Fuck off, Munson!”

You let out a laugh as you turned to Steve to say something, but you felt like all of the air had been sucked out of your lungs when you finally properly saw Steve. It’d been too dark in the closet to really see what your clothes looked like on Steve, so you were surprised to see how little of your costume actually covered him. His biceps, stomach, and legs were on full display, and somehow, it still wasn’t enough. Your eyes caught on his arms, the small moles and freckles that covered his stomach, and then, the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of the much-too-short shorts.

Robin, who was standing next to you, nudged your shoulder, a smirk evident on her face. Her plan was working. You were short-circuiting. Even though your head was feeling less fuzzy due to the alcohol, you might as well have been drunk on Steve. You watched for a few seconds as he found space on the couch to sit down, his cheeks flushed a light pink, and then turned to your friend.

“Robin!” you hissed her name, grabbing at her elbow to pull her closer to you. You gave her the most menacing glare you could muster, but before you could say anything else, she let out a low giggle.

She looked quite pleased with herself, leaning in and whispering loudly, “Did anything happen in there?”

“No! How would that even be possible?” you asked, laughing a little yourself at her ridiculousness.

“Dunno, but a girl’s gotta try. Still have the rest of the night to make something happen.”

As much as you didn’t want to give in to Robin’s hand, you were starting to realize that if she was trying this hard to get something to happen between you and Steve, it probably meant that Steve felt something for you too. You narrowed your eyes at her and then huffed, all but stomping away in search of Steve. If something was going to happen, it had to happen before you lost the confidence.

He was still sitting on the couch, chatting with Eddie, but quickly looked up as you walked over, eyebrows furrowed in concern at your seriousness, “Are you okay?”

“Will you come with me?” you asked instead of answering his question, holding your hand out to him.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, still confused, but took your hand in his and stood up, allowing you to lead him away. You weaved in and out of people, trudging up the stairs to find a quieter place to talk.

When you finally found an empty bathroom, you flicked on the lights and pulled Steve inside, shutting and locking the door behind you so no one would bother you. The music from downstairs had quieted to a dull thud and suddenly the idea of confessing your feelings felt much more daunting in the harsh light of the bathroom. You quickly turned away from Steve to try to take a deep breath, wringing your hands. Steve watched in concern, reaching a hand out to rest on your forearm gently, “Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

You were just going to have to go for it. Turning around quickly to face him again, you started rambling, “I don’t really know how to say this, so I think I just have to jump into the fucking deep end and say it. Especially since Robin’s getting on my nerves with all of the scheming and smug smiles, which I’m sure you’ve noticed, but if I’m reading this wrong, I’m really sorry, we can just pretend it never happened, and–”

“Say what, babe?” Steve interrupted, shaking his head which caused his hair to bounce slightly, “You’re worrying me.”

“I really like you, Steve. A lot.”

It was silent for a moment, and you couldn’t tell what Steve was thinking with the way he was staring at you so intently, nearly scrutinizing. Your heart began pounding in your chest, worried that you had read the entire situation wrong. His arms crossed over his chest and he let out a soft sigh, “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not!” you insisted quickly, shaking your head vehemently, “Maybe the tiniest bit tipsy, but mostly sober, I swear. I’m– I’m serious, Steve. I just… I thought maybe Robin had a point? And honestly, you look so fucking good in those shorts, and I–”

You were cut off as Steve surged forward, one hand moving to cup the back of your head, the other grabbing at your hip to pull your body into his. Before you could process what was happening, Steve’s lips were on yours and he was kissing you desperately. Your hands struggled to find purchase as they landed on his shoulders and you kissed him back, hardly able to believe that this was actually happening. That you were kissing Steve. But just as soon as you’d started to wrap your head around it, Steve pulled back, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“You don’t…” he stopped himself and shook his head as he looked down at the floor for a moment before looking up to you, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. How long I’ve liked you.” His hand that had grabbed at your side flattened as he smoothed over the fabric of the baseball pants, his gaze dropping down to the floor again bashfully.

“Are you drunk?” you asked in disbelief.

Steve laughed, a soft and amused sound, as he shook his head and repeated your earlier sentiment, “No. Just barely tipsy, almost completely sober. I feel sober now.”

The kiss had sobered you up, too. Your hands slid down from his shoulders, palms resting flat against his chest as you tilted your head up so you could see him clearly. You could count each individual eyelash if you wanted. Count each and every freckle on his face. But all you really wanted was to kiss him.

Your lips met his again as you pushed your chin up, fingers curling into the fabric of the shirt as Steve sighed into your mouth. Both of his hands dropped to your waist, pressing against your body gently until the small of your back bumped into the counter behind you. He squeezed your waist again as he murmured against your lips, “Up.”

You jumped just enough as he helped to lift you onto the counter. His palms grasped at your thighs, fingers digging into the softness there as he stepped into the space between your legs. Once his lips were back on yours, his hands dropped down to your ass and pulled you forward on the counter easily. The feeling made you gasp; your shorts on him left little to the imagination with how you were pressed against him, “Steve.” Your own hands slid down from where they were resting against his chest and pushed against the soft lines of his abdomen, feeling up towards the tiny shirt on him.

“Mm?” he hummed, distracted by the feeling of your hands on his skin. His lips trailed along your jaw, nipping at your skin softly.

“Want you,” you breathed out, eyes fluttering shut momentarily at the feeling of his lips on your neck.

This caught Steve’s attention and his eyes lit up at your admission, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly, cheeks filling with heat as you recalled the moment earlier in the evening when Steve had licked the spilled punch off of his fingers, “Want… want your fingers.”

“Shit, okay, babe. Just let me…” he trailed off as his fingers hooked into the waistband of the baseball pants. You lifted your hips to help, letting him drag the fabric down your legs and drop them to the floor. Steve’s eyes caught on the wet spot in the center of your underwear and he cursed softly as his hands slid back up your legs, thumbs sliding up the inside of your thighs. A smirk was growing on his lips, “Y’already so wet, baby.”

You let out a soft huff of embarrassment, cheek pressing into your shoulder to ease the burn as you looked up at Steve, “You’re… you just… you look really fucking hot in basically a crop top and short shorts and then you’re kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before, and–”

“Relax, cutie. I got you,” Steve’s eyes softened, the pads of his thumbs rubbing small circles up your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to the hem of your panties. At the same time, the tip of his nose brushed down the length of yours before gently nudging up against yours until he caught your lips with his own.

He kissed you a bit softer than he had before, murmuring as his fingers slipped under the hem of your panties, rubbing back and forth against the delicate skin, “Can I get rid of these?”

Instead of answering, you lifted your hips off of the counter again so Steve could pull the fabric off. It dangled off of your ankle for a moment before falling to the ground to join the pants. Steve’s hands were warm at your knees as he pushed your legs apart, but before he could properly touch you, you grabbed at his wrist, fingers circling around it carefully. He watched you in confusion, about to speak but quickly cut himself off when you finally did what you’d been wanting to do all evening.

You pulled his hand up to your mouth, kissing his palm once before your tongue darted out to circle his middle and ring fingers. Steve’s jaw dropped open slightly, eyes somehow growing even wider as you took his fingers into your mouth, his breath hitching, “Jesus fucking christ, babe, I—” Your hand still wrapped around his wrist gave it a small tug, releasing his fingers from your lips with a small pop. “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

Steve kissed you like it was his last chance, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth, distracting you enough to let his hand drift back down to your center. You jolted forward, whining into his mouth as his spit-slick fingers traced up your center until his fingertip nudged into your clit. “Please, Stevie.”

“I got you, baby,” he replied softly, emphasizing his words with another circle over your clit. Then, as if reading your mind, he slipped two fingers into you, drawing quiet moans from the both of you. “Shit, you’re so tight.”

His words had you clenching around his fingers as you leaned back, pressing your palms into the cool countertops beneath you. Finally, he started moving his fingers, thrusting them in and out of your cunt at a slow pace. “Steve, I need— oh, shit— I need more.”

Happy to oblige, Steve picked up the pace a bit, fingertips just grazing the spot that was going to make you see stars. Ever in tune with you and your body, he heard your soft whimper, and saw the way your fingers curled over the edge of the countertop, knuckles white with how tightly you were gripping it. He didn’t really have to ask, but did anyway, a knowing smirk settling over his lips, “Right there?”

“Ri-right there,” you repeated, voice breaking as you nodded frantically and rolled your hips against Steve’s hand. He curled his fingers inside of you and then he doubled down, fingertips repeatedly rubbing against the same spot that had you keening before. And when his thumb pressed to your clit, you nearly fell apart then and there.

“C’mon, baby, know you’re close,” Steve muttered, rubbing his thumb over your clit again and again and again until you were clenching around him and falling over the edge with a loud moan of his name.

Your head fell back, thudding against the mirror on the wall behind you as you gasped for air, knocking Steve’s hat on your head off, chest heaving, “Fuck, Steve, I–” The words died in your throat as your eyes fluttered open, only to find Steve with his fingers halfway to his mouth.

He paused for a moment but quickly took note of the way your breath hitched, eyes wide, and slipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean for the second time that evening. You squirmed against the counter, trying to shuffle off of it as Steve hummed around his fingers and then pulled them from his lips, “Mm, y’taste so good, babe.”

“Holy shit, Stevie,” you gasped as you stumbled off of the counter.

Steve’s hands shot out, grabbing at your hips to steady you, “You okay?”

“More than okay,” you replied, nodding as your hands trailed down Steve’s chest. To prove your point, you leaned up on your toes and pressed your mouth to his. One of your hands curled into the tiny shirt as you kissed him, and the other slid down his chest and abdomen, brushing over the soft hair that disappeared under the waistband of the shorts. You paused, pulling your mouth from Steve’s to look up at him through your eyelashes, “Can I?”

“I— yeah,” Steve nodded hard, hair bouncing with the movement. He looked so pretty — prettier than normal — with his messy hair and wide hazel eyes, lips pink and shiny from your kissing. As he dipped back down to kiss you again, you slid your hand under the waistband of the shorts, but over his boxers. He groaned as you began palming him, and you nearly did as well.

The shorts left very little to the imagination — you knew Steve was big, but feeling him hard in your hand was something completely different. You wanted him, and you weren’t sure you could wait much longer. Your fingers tugged at the shorts and his boxers, discarding them into the pile of your clothes, and you pressed a kiss to his hipbone as you straightened up again, “What… what do you want, Stevie?”

His chest heaved as your hand wrapped around his length, stroking him slowly while you waited for an answer. Steve felt like he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function. Not when you were finally, finally touching him. He wanted to do so many things with you, but most of all, he wanted you. “Need to be inside you, baby, fuck.”

Your breath hitched a little at his admission and you nodded quickly, wanting whatever he wanted, “Okay. ‘M yours, Stevie.”

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby,” he groaned, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips again to help you back onto the counter and pull you towards the edge. “Do you— um, I don’t have a condom, I—”

“‘S okay,” you shook your head quickly, leaning back into your hands as one of your legs hooked around Steve’s waist and pulled him in closer to you, “‘m on the pill.”

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, eyes searching yours carefully.

“Positive, Steve. I want you. Have for a long time.”

That was enough for Steve, and he shuffled forward, one hand resting against your waist while the other reached down to line himself up at your entrance. You sucked in a sharp breath as Steve pushed in slowly, your hands sliding into his hair at the back of his head. It was more of a stretch than you were used to, and it must have shown on your face because Steve’s hand left your hip and came up to cradle your cheek carefully, lips pressing to the corner of your mouth, “Okay?”

“Mhm,” you breathed out heavily, eyes flicking open to find Steve’s face centimeters from yours. His thumb rubbed soothingly over your cheekbone, back and forth a few times, and you nodded, “More, Steve.”

Steve nodded, pressing another soft kiss to your lips as he pushed forward again slowly, searching your face for any sign that you wanted to stop. And when he found none, he continued until his hips were flush with yours. His jaw clenched, fingers digging into your thigh that was around his waist, and hitched it higher up his side to push a bit deeper. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured, dropping kisses to your shoulder.

Your mind was racing, but with thoughts of only SteveSteveSteveSteve once again. Your senses were flooded with him; the smell of his cologne and sweat, the sound of his heavy breaths in your ear, the taste of his lips on yours, his hands on your body and his cock buried deep inside your cunt. With a gasping breath, you pulled Steve’s chest to yours, your other leg wrapping around his waist. “Ready. ‘M ready. You can move.”

His hands slid under your arms and wrapped around your back to hold you against him as he began to move his hips slowly, “God, baby, you— fuck— you feel so good around me. So good for me, huh? Been wanting you like this forever.”

You rolled your hips into his as you all but sobbed his name, pressing your heels into the small of his back. He took the hint quickly and picked up the pace, the filthy sound of his skin smacking yours filling the small bathroom. Your hands searched over his shoulders and back, slipping underneath the shirt of yours that he was somehow still wearing, nails digging into his skin.

Steve’s chin hooked over your shoulder, and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind you. He looked just as fucked out as he felt; eyes and hair wild as he clung to you. What really got to him, though, was the sight of his last name sprawled across your back. Maybe, just maybe, you’d finally be his after all of this. Heart racing at the sight, he set a punishing pace, “Look so fuckin’ good in my clothes, sweetheart. You’re so… so fucking perfect.”

“Steve— oh fuck— you feel so good. Gonna come soon, ‘m so close—” you were mumbling incoherently into Steve’s neck, trying your best to meet his thrusts, which became harder as one of his hands snaked down between the two of you to rub over your clit. You clenched around him again at the feeling, pulling the best noise you’d ever heard from the back of Steve’s throat. Your moan echoed his, completely oblivious to the fact that you were still at a party and that someone could probably hear you.

“Gonna come for me, my pretty girl?”

My pretty girl. His and only his. It was enough for you to come undone, Steve’s name intertwined with the curses and filthy moans you couldn’t hold back. His thrusts faltered, hips stuttering against yours as he came, your name spilling from his lips in a way you wanted to hear again and again and again.

Your chest heaved against his as you both tried to catch your breaths, and you left soft, open-mouthed kisses to the crook of his neck where you’d buried your face as you’d come. His hands were gentle as they pushed up your thighs and hips, around your back to slip under the shirt of his you were wearing. They were exceptionally warm, tracing over the curve of your spine as he pressed your body into his, voice soft at your ear as he murmured, “Are you okay?”

You let out a soft laugh as you kissed up Steve’s jaw, fingers slipping into the slightly damp hair at the nape of his neck, twisting a strand around your index finger, “‘M perfect, Steve. Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” he laughed, shaking his head in amusement, popping up from your shoulder to look into your eyes, “I’ve never been better. Meant what I said… been wanting you forever.”

“Yeah?” you asked quietly, feeling bashful, like he wasn’t still inside of you.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, dipping his head down to press a soft peck to your lips. At the same time, his hands moved back down to your hips, holding you tightly as he finally pulled out. You winced slightly at the feeling, causing a soft apology to tumble from Steve’s lips, followed by another soft peck.

It was quiet as you cleaned each other up as best as you could, stealing sweet kisses from the other more often than necessary. The sound of the music had finally come back into focus, and you realized that it wasn’t as loud as you’d remembered. Still, you’d do it all again, even though you weren't sure you could walk, and you knew your friends were going to give you shit for how long the two of you had disappeared.

As you redressed, you finally swapped your clothes back, but just as you were about to give Steve the last piece of his costume — the jersey — he shook his head, cupping your cheek in his hand, tilting your head up, “You wear it. Looks better on you. And besides, need everyone to know you’re mine now.”

You didn’t put up a fight, grinning and shrugging the jersey back over your shirt that Steve had definitely stretched out. Smoothing down your shirt, you held your hands out to your sides slightly, “Good?”

Steve laughed again, reaching out to swipe a thumb under your eye in an attempt to remove some of the mascara that had smudged, “As good as it’s gonna get. And still perfect. Ready?”

Before he could open the door, you grabbed his hat off of the counter and brushed his hair back before placing it on his head, “For the sex hair. Oh, and Steve?”

“Yeah, cutie?”

“Good game!” you giggled, slapping his ass before bolting out of the bathroom, leaving Steve to stare after you for a few moments with the biggest grin on his face.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #strangertober #best friend!steve #best friend!steve harrington #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #sunshinehollandd #sunshinehollandd writing

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kutemouse · 3 years ago

Text

I Missed You

Disclaimers: I don’t own the gift I used for my header 😁 Creator is credited.

Original Request: “Hi there! A request. Maybe you will do or maybe you wont' but still, can you do a imagine where hobi is a sugar daddy, and he spoils the reader annd you know what happens next😅”

A Note from Kutemouse: Well hello there kutie pie! You’re the first requester I’ve had in so long, thank you so much for sending this in! When I read your request, my first thought was, “Oh hell yes.” I’ve been feeling Hobi lately (hence “Pillow Talk” 😂), but I haven’t written a dom Hoseok fic yet. Thank you, dear kutie, for allowing me to write this. It was honestly such a pleasure.

Btw, doesn’t this amazing gif SCREAM daddy Hoseok? 🥵

(Like half of this is unedited)

Rating: R (18+ only)

Genre: Smutty Smut

Warnings: Sugar daddy Hoseok, sugar baby Y/n, a shit ton of making out described in detail, sexual descriptions and words, oral (m receiving), Daddy/Baby Girl relationship and kink, Hobi softly collars Y/n, dom Hoseok (f*ck yes), swears to the max, bit o’ fluff.

Word Count: There are words.

Master List

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I Missed You (Jung Hoseok, One-Shot, Smut)

Jung Hoseok sighed as he unlocked the door to your apartment. It had been a long few weeks, full of non-stop travel, interviews, photoshoots, and of course, live performances. Now that the pandemic seemed to be ebbing, BTS’ schedule was busier than ever. But this weekend? This weekend would be dedicated to you.

He hadn’t seen you in nearly a month, and except for the occasional text and video chat, you seemed to be keeping busy as well. You joined a pilates class and threw yourself into doing well at university. Your last paper had received resounding praise from your professor, thanks to the hours of research you had poured into it. The truth was, you were keeping yourself occupied so you wouldn’t have time to miss, or even think about, Hobi.

The arrangement the two of you had was unique, that was for sure. Hoseok knew he barely had any time to date, along with the fact that he was constantly in the public eye, and the last thing he wanted was to have to sneak around and subject his partner to possible hate and humiliation. With that mindset, Hoseok kept his eye out for a girl who he could share a few days here and there with, who wouldn’t mind hardly ever seeing him, and who wouldn’t need the type of commitment he knew he could never give.

The pandemic allowed Hoseok to easily go out without being recognized, and one morning he donned a mask and baseball cap to pick up coffee at the cafe down the block. You were nearly at the end of your first shift on the job, thank god. A number of wealthy snobs lived around the area and were extremely particular about their order and service, plus you still had your second job to get to.

You caught Hoseok’s eye the second he walked in. “Hi there, welcome,” you greeted, turning from a table you were wiping down. “What can I get you?”

For Hoseok, there was no going back after that. He visited the cafe as often as he could, always in disguise and always hoping for a brief conversation with you. He enjoyed the way your soft, pink lips would turn up in a small smile whenever you saw him and the way your cheeks flushed whenever he flirted with you. If only he could get you alone.

He finally got his chance. You were taking the trash out to the dumpster behind the building when he approached you. You felt like a mess, what with coffee stains littering the front of your apron and your hair falling out of its bun, but he would’ve taken you right then and there if he could. “Hi Y/n,” he said, lowering his mask to reveal himself at last. You started. “O-Oh! Hey there! Um, this is actually the back entrance, but if you come in through the front, I’ll start on your order right-”

“I wanted to speak to you, actually,” he said.

You stood there, holding onto the garbage bags like they were your lifeline, a flush already creeping up your cheeks. “A-About what?” you stammered, nervous in the presence of such a handsome guy.

“I know this may seem strange, but I’d like to take you on a date. It can’t be anywhere public, though. Would you be willing to meet me at this address?” He lifted the strap of your apron and slid a business card underneath it, staring deeply into your eyes as he bit down on his bottom lip.

Your face was so red it might as well have been on fire. “A d-date? With me?”

Hoseok nodded. “My phone number is also on that card. Text me if you can’t make it. Wear something nice. See you at eight.”

Without giving you any time to protest, he spun on his heel and left. Later that day, the latest BTS song, “Life Goes On,” played over your cafe’s radio. As Hoseok’s heart-warming, mellow voice came through the speakers, you dropped the mug you were holding, ceramic shards flying everywhere. Your coworker asked if you were okay but you couldn’t answer. You couldn’t tell her you’d been asked out on a private date with Jung Hoseok, and you hadn’t even recognized who he was until that moment.

You showed up for your date much too early, wearing a halter-neckline peach-colored dress underneath a black coat. It turned out the address was in a large, ornate apartment building. You had to get through a gate where a security officer checked your ID to make sure it matched a name on a list, as well as be issued a visitor’s keycard that would allow you access to the elevator for one night only. You knocked softly on the door, pulling down your mask so you could be recognized through the peephole. Hoseok opened the door, wearing a custom-tailored suit jacket over a white shirt, the top few buttons undone to show off his caramel-toned skin.

“Thanks for coming,” he said as he slipped off your coat, admiring the soft skin of your shoulders. He couldn’t wait to taste it.

The date went well. Hoseok had ordered the most exquisite food and a few bottles of wine. After a glass, you loosened up a bit. You had questions, of course. Hoseok answered them all before presenting the idea that had been filling his head since he first laid eyes on you. He said that he wanted the two of you to keep seeing each other but with conditions. You would move to this apartment, only mere minutes away from the apartment complex BTS lived in, and Hoseok would pay all your living expenses. He knew the reason you worked two jobs was to try and save up to go to university, but if you agreed to the arrangement, he’d pay your tuition and fees in full. The only thing he asked in return is that you would essentially be his girlfriend whenever he was in town, providing him a respite from being one of the world’s biggest pop stars. You’d have to sign an NDA contract, of course, but other than that, you were free to come and go as you pleased, free to pursue whatever course of study you wanted at university, and free to live your life without worrying about money.

You could hardly speak after all that, let alone provide him with an answer. He’d pay for everything? Everything? And all you had to do is act the devoted girlfriend whenever he happened to have time off? But Hoseok was clear. This wouldn’t be a typical relationship. He’d be gone for weeks, if not months, at a time, and he’d only have a few days a year to spend with you. You couldn’t get clingy or demand more from him, otherwise, he’d cut ties and let you go. He didn’t have time for arguments or drama.

After a couple days went by with nothing else on your mind, you texted him to tell him you concurred with the arrangement. After all, you really wanted to go to university and study medicine. A medical student’s schedule was extremely busy, so you wouldn’t have time for love anyway. The two of you seemed meant to be.

A year went by without incident, but you found with each visit, you began to miss Hoseok more and more. You missed talking to him, missed his contagious laughter, his bright smile, his jokes. You missed the nights spent tangled up in the sheets, his heated kisses, and the marks he left all over your body. And he, in return, began to miss you as well. He chose to show his affection with gifts, however, trying to hide how he really felt behind showering you with designer clothing and accessories.

This time, he showed up with a bouquet of purple tulips, your favorite, and a scarlet velvet box. “Y/n?” Hoseok called out.

“In here!”

He stepped into the kitchen, where you were stirring a pot over the stove. You wore a white apron over your blouse and skirt, your hair held up in a clip as you cooked. It was enough to ramp up the needy desire for you Hoseok had been feeling into overdrive. He wrapped his arms around you, hands sliding up to grope your breasts, grinding his hips against your backside. “Baby girl,” he murmured against your skin as he nuzzled your neck, taking the clip out of your hair and letting it fall down your back. He began to leave hungry, wet kisses along your jaw.

You groaned, your eyes fluttering closed. “H-Hobi, wait, I’m in the middle of making dinner.”

Even as the sentence came out of your mouth, you knew your protest was only half-hearted. Truth was, you couldn’t wait to get him in bed.

“Let it simmer,” Hoseok growled, reaching over the stove to turn down the heat. “And give me what I’m really hungry for.”

You turned, eyes wide. “Wh-What are you hungry for?”

He smirked. “You.”

Hoseok lifted you on the counter, his palms sliding up your skirt and teasing the edge of your thigh-high stockings as he eagerly devoured your lips. You allowed him to dominate your mouth, moaning as his tongue twirled around yours.

He separated from you, leaving you with eyes closed and breathless, before slowly peeling off each of your stockings, trailing kisses along your inner thighs as he did so. With a sly grin, he sat in one of the kitchen chairs, spreading his legs apart to show off how hard you made him. “Daddy’s had a long week, baby girl,” he murmured. “Why don’t you come over here and make me feel better?”

His words had you slipping off the counter to your knees, crawling eagerly towards him until you got close enough to undo his belt buckle and lower his zipper. Eyes locked on his, you took out his rock-hard length, your mouth watering at the sight. It was, to this day, the most gorgeous cock you had ever seen. Long, thick, with a perfect curve that served to hit all the right spots inside of you, it was safe to say you were addicted.

You licked a long strip up to the soft skin of the head, which you sucked gently like it was the most delectable lollipop. Hoseok hissed in appreciation, his fingertips scraping along your scalp until he gathered your hair in a fist and shoved his cock fully in your mouth. “Fuck,” he groaned, holding himself deep down your throat as you swallowed around him.

Hoseok didn’t let you breathe until you tapped his thigh, causing him to slide his cock out of your mouth all at once before shoving it in again. You let him fuck your mouth, grunting as he set a brutal pace. Occasionally, he let out a moan that sent heat straight down to your core, finding pleasure in his gratification.

He withdrew his cock from your mouth for the last time, panting as you coughed and sputtered. He took a napkin and bent down, gently wiping your mouth and cheeks until the only evidence of your debauchery left was the flush of your skin. “I have a gift for you,” he said, helping you stand.

“You do?”

“Mmhmm.”

Hoseok took your hand and led you down the hall until you both stood in front of the full-length mirror in your bathroom. He drew the velvet box from his pocket, smiling as you gasped. “Oh, Hobi, you didn’t have to.”

“Hush,” he said, stepping behind you.

This gift, unlike his others, was simple yet expensive. It was a gold necklace with a thin chain and a small, emerald-encrusted pendant that read, “Hoseok” in gold lettering.

He put it around your neck, smoothing your hair out of the way. “Do you like it?”

“I actually love it,” you said, touching the pendant in disbelief. “But you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Hoseok met your eyes in the mirror. “This will remind you of me when I’m gone. It even has my favorite color gemstone. Green, the color of hope.”

You smiled. “I noticed.”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I’ll wait in the bedroom. I want you wearing nothing but the necklace.”

You nodded, shivers running down your spine. He left you to undress as he also undressed, tossing his clothes in a corner and stroking himself as he sat on the bed to wait. You came in shortly, completely naked except for the necklace as told. Hoseok grasped your hips and yanked you close, twirling his tongue around each of your nipples as you gasped, running your fingers through his dark, silky hair. He nipped at the flesh of your breasts, occasionally sucking and leaving deep purple marks. “Turn around,” he ordered softly.

You obeyed, presenting your ass to him. He sat you on his lap and spread your thighs apart before taking his middle finger and stroking your clit. You shuddered, gasping as he continued his ministrations, relishing in how wet you were for him. “You’re always so ready for Daddy, aren’t you baby girl?”

You nodded, leaning back into Hoseok’s chest as he sped up his pace. He dipped his finger inside of you and circled it around, the pad of his palm pressing against your clit. “Oh god,” you gasped, knowing you weren’t going to last much longer.

Without warning, Hoseok began to rub your clit again with the tips of his fingers, circling your sweet spot faster and faster until you were squirming in his hold. “D-Daddy, I’m going to-”

“Cum baby girl, c’mon, soak these fingers,” he growled.

You cried out as your orgasm washed over you and drowned you in pleasure, cum squirting out all over Hoseok’s fingers and his lap. He didn’t let up, continuing to rub your clit until you grabbed his hand, begging him to stop due to the overstimulation.

You whined when he took his fingers away, the open air flowing over your wet pussy making you shiver. Hoseok turned you around and licked his fingers, the sight of his lips wrapped around each digit driving you crazy. He kissed you then, letting you taste the sweetness of your pussy.

He maneuvered you onto the bed and grasped your hips once more, lifting them until they were level with his cock. “Ready, baby girl?” he asked, pressing a palm in the middle of your back.

You nodded. “Please Daddy, please fuck me.”

Hoseok growled. “I fucking love it when you beg.”

He shoved his cock into your dripping pussy, stretching you out until you didn’t think you could take any more. A whole year of getting fucked by Hoseok and you still could barely take the full length of his dick. He slid almost all the way out of you before shoving himself back in and repeating the action, causing your entire body to tremble with the force of his thrusts. Your legs buckled and began to slide down the sheets until you were practically lying on your stomach, which was just fine with Hoseok as he leaned over you and rammed himself into you even deeper than before.

You moaned into the mattress, grabbing at the sheets until your knuckles turned white, trying to keep yourself grounded as Hoseok fucked you so hard you saw white spots at the edges of your vision. His grunts got louder and higher in pitch, and you knew he was getting close. Just the thought of him painting your insides with his cum had you on the edge, crying out as he hit your g-spot.

“Cum for me baby, squeeze that pussy around my cock,” Hoseok panted, feeling you beginning to contract.

You moaned loudly. “Right there, Daddy, right there, oh my god, I’m gonna-” Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, causing your eyes to roll back in your head, your mouth parted open as your breath stopped, every muscle in your pussy constricting around Hoseok’s beautiful cock.

He couldn’t take it anymore and thrust into you one last time, shooting load after load into your tight hole with a loud groan. He lifted you up as his cock softened inside of you, pulling your sweaty back against his torso, rubbing your stomach affectionately. You rolled your head to the side to capture his lips in a kiss, pushing and pulling at lips with yours. “God, I missed you,” you murmured.

Hoseok tensed. Shit. You weren’t supposed to let him know you felt attached to him and missed him when he was gone. That was the type of commitment he swore he didn’t want in this relationship.

“I mean, I missed this,” you said, backtracking. The way his eyebrows were furrowed worried you.

“Yeah,” he muttered, pulling out of you and going inside the bathroom.

Damn it. You lay down, rubbing a hand over your forehead. Why the hell did you say that?

Hoseok came back with a washcloth and wiped down your body, erasing the mess he made from your body. He caught sight of the necklace bearing his name and smirked before laying down beside you, cuddling your body close.

“Hey,” he murmured, causing you to look up at him into those dark, sparkling eyes. One corner of his mouth turned up. “I missed you too.”

Warmth flooded your chest and you snuggled into his side. You didn’t know if he had feelings for you, and you didn’t know if you had feelings for him, but you did know that he cared about you enough to miss you, and that, for now, was enough.

198 notes · View notes

kkyaka · 3 years ago

Text

You’re Still Here?

Summary: There’s no way this insanely attractive baseball player likes you. Right?

Pairing: Sero Hanta x black!fem!reader

Warnings: college!au, quirkless!au, virgin!reader, baseball player!Sero, reader is a little insecure and doubtful, suggestiveness, Denki annoying Sero, PDA, Sero is really touchy, he also has a tongue pierce and an ear piercing, mentions of virginity, smut (18+!!), loss of virginity, penetrative sex, fingering (f), oral (f+m), some angst thrown in there, fluff at the end

Word Count: 11,669 (i- y’all)

A/N: Repost! This also has to be one of my favorite fics that I’ve written, and if you didn’t already know, Sero is my husband

Your first encounter with Sero Hanta was what you would probably consider normal. Accidentally running into him at the student union while you were heading to class. Pretty normal, happens often, right?

What you found not so normal was that you kept running into him.

The campus was pretty huge, and you didn't really think that your chances of running into him were that high. And you're pretty sure you saw him wearing a baseball shirt, making you assume he was on the team for your school (which was correct), so it's not like he had a ton of free time.

But despite all of that, he always somehow found you. But by the third encounter, you couldn't really find it in yourself to particularly care. For one, he was really cute. Scratch that, really hot. You're pretty sure when you first ran into him, you stopped breathing.

The piercings adorning his tongue and his ear only add fuel to the fire, along with the fact that he fits out his clothes like nobody's business. (You've definitely fantasized about his thighs more times than you will admit). But besides that very eye-appreciating fact, he's really nice.

He's made you laugh so hard that you're stomach's hurt, you've both have had very good conversations on just about every last one of your interests, and he's pretty smart, so he's helped you out with homework in some of your classes.

You want to call him a friend, but you know that you don't want that, and every time you think about it, you shake the thoughts out of your head. He's way out of your league, and there's no way he'd be into you. That's what you keep telling yourself, but Sero doesn't make it any easier for you. He's a very touchy person, and it wouldn't bother you so much if it didn't fuel your feelings for him even more.

You've known each other for about a couple of weeks, but you've come to the conclusion that somebody must think you're dating because of his actions.

There's a spot that you found on campus, a pretty secluded courtyard that only gets a few people every now and then. You've spread out your blanket on the grass, and you were working on your notes, but now you're reading a book that you've meaning to start.

You bop to the music filling your ears through your headphones, your head resting on your backpack, and you frown when suddenly the sunlight is being blocked. You look up, scoffing softly when you see Sero standing over you, and you take an earbud out. "You're blocking my light," you chide.

"Sorry," he responds, a small smirk on his face, but he's making no move to get out of your way. "What're doing?"

"Reading. I'm giving my hand a break," you explain, nodding towards the notebooks next to you.

"Mind if I join?" he asks, and you shake your head as you start to move the stuff next to you, but you pause momentarily when you hear his backpack hit the ground next to you, and the next thing you know he's on his knees by your legs.

"What are you doing?" you ask suddenly in surprise, and he starts to spread your legs apart, and he lays down, his upper half almost equal with yours as his arms wrap around your thighs.

"Using you as a pillow," he responds like it's nothing. "Is that okay?" He lifts his head up to look at you when he asks, and even though your heart is now racing, you nod your head. He gives you that smile that literally makes you melt before he lays his head back down, sighing heavily as he closes his eyes.

"You couldn't just lay next to me?" you question with a laugh, and he doesn't look at you as he shakes his head.

"Nope. Practice kicked my ass this morning, and you're really comfortable."

"Thank you?" you quip, and he smiles, his eyes still closed.

"You're welcome. And now if you don't mind, I'm gonna take a nap," he concludes, his breathing starting to even out, and you chuckle softly as you go back to reading, your hand eventually finding its way into his hair, your fingers lightly carding through it.

When your nails graze over the back of his neck, you feel him shudder before he groans softly, and you raise your eyebrows as you lower your book. "Don't do that," he mumbles, but his voice is firm, feeling it vibrate against you.

"Do what?" You're confused, and you do it again, which causes him to react the same way.

"That," he groans, and you bite your lip as you do it again with more force this time. "Keep it up and I'll take you right here." Your eyes widen slightly as your legs subconsciously tighten around him, and he hums lowly at your reaction as he smirks.

"So, this is who you've been ditching us for." Your head snaps towards the voice, and you hear Sero sigh, but he doesn't open his eyes. Your eyes land on a redhead and a yellow-haired guy, but neither of them looks familiar.

"What do you guys want?" Sero sighs, annoyance in his voice, and you find yourself looking between Sero and the guys standing above you.

"We wanted to know where you've been. And now that I know..." It's the yellow-haired guy that's speaking, and you notice that his lip starts to quiver as he holds his hand over his heart. "I thought I was the one you loved, Sero."

Hanta rolls his eyes as you laugh beside yourself, having a hard time stifling it. "Cut him some slack, Denki. At least he had the courage to finally--"

"Don't finish that, Kirishima." He cuts him off quickly, making you wonder what he was going to say.

"Mind if we sit?" Kirishima asks.

"Absolutely not. Go away," Sero counters just as you were about to move your stuff, and you scoff, moving it anyway. "But, baby," he starts, lifting his head up to look at you, and you tilt your head slightly, your eyebrows raised.

"They're your friends, Hanta. It's fine." Your voice sounds like you're scolding a little kid, and you can hear Denki and Kirishima laughing as they sit down. "Do you guys play, too?" you ask, turning to them.

"Yeah, we do," Denki answers with a nod, but then he's quickly speaking again. "But I do have a question for Sero." You see Sero frown, a soft smile playing on your lips as you wait for what he's going to say. "What'd you do, man?" Both of you have a lost look on your faces at the question, but he keeps going. "You pay her? Offered to do her homework? Cause there's no way you managed to get someone this pretty."

"Fuck off, Kaminari." You find yourself snorting in surprise at his words, feeling your face grow warm as Sero tries to hit his teammate.

The whole time they're sitting with you and Sero, you find yourself talking more to them than they are to Sero. You expected him to maybe move away from you or sit up, but he stays on you, keeping his arms wrapped around your legs. He even turns his head away from them and actually falls asleep, but none of you pay attention to him as your hand finds its way back into his hair.

"Is he giving you drugs?" Denki tries.

"No, he's not," you answer with a laugh, and Denki scoffs as he shakes his head.

"I'm gonna figure it out," he mumbles, making you huff quietly as Kirishima rolls his eyes. You watch him check his phone, and he lightly taps Sero on the back.

"Wake up, man, we gotta go," he says, standing up, but if he hears him, he doesn't move, and Denki whines.

"I don't wanna watch film," he complains but gets up anyway.

"Says the person who needs to watch it the most," Kirishima counters, and Denki releases a dramatic gasp. You turn back to Sero, who's still laying on you, and you shake him gently. "Sero, you gotta go."

"Don't wanna." You barely catch it, but you let your head fall momentarily when you hear it, and he whines when you start to move, grabbing onto whatever part of you he can.

"I've got a lecture in fifteen," you tell him, and he basically weighs you down as you stand up, almost falling down in the process as he hangs onto you.

"Sero, let the poor girl go. You can see her later," Kirishima reasons, and Sero yawns as he stretches while he waves his friends off.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming." He slips his backpack on, and Denki's about to say something when Kirishima wraps his arm around him, forcibly turning him around as they start to walk away.

"It was nice meeting you," Kirishima tells you over a grumbling Denki, and you smile widely as you give him a small wave.

"Yeah, you too."

Sero helps you put your stuff back in your bag and helps you fold the blanket before handing it to you. "When does your lecture end?"

"Three. It's in the only brick building on this side of campus." He steps closer to you as you raise an eyebrow. "Why? Picking me up after?" you joke, both of you chuckling softly.

"If that's okay, yeah," he responds with a small nod, and then there's yelling coming from his friends, and he rolls his eyes as he sighs. "I'll see you at three."

And then he's planting a kiss on your forehead before jogging towards them.

"It's nice."

"Thanks." You close the door behind you as Sero looks around your apartment, and you wish you would stop being so fucking nervous, but when he asked if you could go back to your place, you didn't know what to expect.

You guide him to your room, setting your bag against the wall as you take your shoes off, trying to find ways to get your heart rate down. You flop down face first on your bed before turning your head to the side, watching Sero do the same thing you did.

"I'm so tired," you groan, which is partially true, the yawn that follows your words helping the credibility of your statement. You flip over on your side when you feel the bed dip next to you, and you scoot back to give him room. He lays down next to you, holding his arm out, and you easily move into him, trying your best to conceal the deep inhale you do when his cologne hits your nostrils.

His arm wraps loosely around you, and you look at him to see him looking right at you, and it makes you jump back slightly. The look in his eyes is something you can't decipher, and he starts to run his hand over your back. "How tired are you?"

You hum for a second as you pretend to think. "Depends. Why?"

"Because I really want to kiss you right now."

Your mouth drops open in surprise for a split second, feeling your face heating up. "Is that okay?"

You nod as you swallow heavily. "Yeah, it is," you respond, your voice quiet.

His lips meet yours softly, almost like he's giving you a chance to pull away if you want to, but you don't, pushing your lips closer to his as your hand moves into his hair. You feel him smirk against your lips, the action immediately followed by his tongue swiping against your lower lip.

You easily let him in, his hand coming up to rub over the soft skin under your shirt, the motion making your skin go warm. He starts to move his hand down towards your jeans, and that's when your legs tense around him, your hand shooting out to grab his wrist, and he pulls away with a frown.

"Is this not okay?" he asks, and you hesitate before shaking your head.

"No, it's--" You cut yourself off, looking anywhere but at him, and fucking hell, your face is on fire. "It's just...I've done stuff before, but I've never done it," you admit pitifully, waiting for him to scoff at you, belittling you before he gets up and leaves, and you put your hands over your face.

"So?" he responds, and you move your fingers, looking at him between them. "Is that what you wanna do right now?"

You pull your hands away as you shyly shake your head, curling into yourself to the best of your ability. "Okay. We don't have to go all the way," he says, and you raise your eyebrows. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he states, and you feel yourself relax, not even realizing you had terribly tensed up.

"Are you okay with that?"

"I'm okay as long as you are," he answers, the smile on his face making you feel so much better. "Do you wanna keep going?" You nod quickly, your smile matching his with a reserved look. "Can I touch you?" he asks, chuckling when you huff as you roll your eyes.

"You're already doing that, Sero." He leans down closer, his nose brushing against yours, that smirk back on his face.

"I gotta hear you say it," he whispers, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

"Yes, Sero, you can touch me," you consent, and he's looking between your eyes for any sign of uncertainty before meeting your lips as his hand continues its course, your hand slipping from his wrist as he travels past the waistband.

He runs his fingers over your jean-covered crotch, the tense he feels from your thighs are different than the previous one, and even as he unbuttons and pulls the zipper down, he's still waiting for any sign that you don't want to keep going, but then you're lifting your hips to help him push your pants down, and his focus is on your bare legs as he drops the clothing to the floor.

You push on his head lightly, your face slightly covered by your arm. "Stop staring at me," you mutter, your face once again flaming at the attention.

"How could I? You're so pretty," he counters like you said something ridiculous, and he huffs internally when he can see the growing wet patch on your underwear. He pulls them to the side, biting his lip to stifle a groan at the sight of your glistening folds. "Shit, you gotta pretty pussy, too," he breathes, and you move your arm over your eyes as you whine at the lewd words.

You tense for a second when he runs his fingers through them, coating the digits in your slick, and he can't help but stick them in his mouth, not even bothering to hide his groan. "And you taste so fucking good. You're just the perfect package, aren't you?"

No one's ever talked to you this way, and now that you're exposed, he can definitely see that it's greatly affecting you. But he doesn't waste any more time teasing you, grabbing your leg when you try to close it as he rubs over your clit.

He slowly slides a finger in, gaging your reaction to make sure you're not uncomfortable, and he can hear you holding back, so he keeps going, pushing his whole finger in before sliding it back out. He moves it quicker, satisfied that you're getting louder, and he rubs over your hip as he adds another, that uncertain tense back in your thighs.

He hovers over you, slotting his lips with yours before he pulls away. "Relax, baby. Get out of your head," he tells you. "Let me make you feel good, okay?" You nod, your eyes having a hard time staying open, and he keeps rubbing at your hip, using his leg to hold yours back, spreading you open.

He curls his fingers, finding what he was looking for, and your back arches off the bed for a second as you let out a loud moan, the image making his dick throb in his jeans. The more he curls and speeds up his fingers, the more you start to relax. He has to press his palm into the erection straining in his jeans, wanting to focus all of his attention on you.

He uses his thumb to rub at your clit, pressing a little harder every now and then as he speeds up his fingers, your wetness starting to drip down his wrist. He leans back down over your face, his forearm braced next to your head as his nose brushes over your ear. "They ever make you feel this good? Hm?" he whispers in your ear, making you clench around his fingers, and he slides in a third, your legs starting to twitch as he continues to reach that spongy spot inside you.

Hell to the no, no one's ever made you feel this good. The best you could get was a few rubs at your clit, and they'd call it a day. You whine in frustration when you feel him slow down. "I need an answer, baby."

"No, no," you stutter as you shake your head, your hand grabbing his wrist when he picks up speed. "God, Hanta, don't stop."

If he's being honest, he could probably cum from this alone. You feel so tight, warm around his fingers, your walls clenching around them, and the only thing he can imagine is how you would feel around him. Wondering if he could make your sounds louder, make your eyes roll to the back of your head, and he releases a soft groan as his imagination runs wild.

You're moaning his name, your grip on his wrist borderline bruising, and you cum without warning, your back arching off the bed, your mouth open in a silent moan, your legs shaking as you release more slick onto the sheets under you.

When you wince at the oversensitivity, he pulls his fingers out, your chest heaving as he pushes them in his mouth, the taste of you not doing anything to help the throbbing between his legs. His nose brushes yours as he smirks, your eyes opening when he speaks.

"You okay?" he asks, and you scoff in exertion as you nod, and when he shifts, you can feel his hard-on digging into your leg.

"Yeah," you breathe, placing a hand over your chest as you catch your breath. "Do you want some help?" you question, your hand moving down to palm him, and he digs his fingers into his palm at the stimulation.

"Only if you want to," he offers, not wanting you to feel like you owe him something, but he doesn't stop you when you push him onto his back, situating yourself between his legs.

"I want to," you say, your gaze focused on the bulge in his jeans, and he rests a hand behind his head as you lightly trail your hands down his shirt, chewing your lip softly as you feel the rippling muscles through the material.

Goosebumps breaking out over his skin, his breathing starting to pick up slightly in anticipation, and his hips jolt slightly when you run your hand over his crotch before you unbutton and unzip his pants agonizingly slow. He takes a deep breath after you finally get his clothes off, his dick almost painfully hard.

You run your nails over his thighs, his stomach, everywhere but where he wants to touch him, and he groans when he feels your lips on his thighs, your teeth pulling at the skin before you suck it softly. "Damn it, baby, stop teasing me," he groans, multiple marks appearing over his skin, and the smile you respond with has him twitching.

The persona you had earlier was completely gone, making him wonder where in the hell it went. He moans in surprise when he feels your tongue lick over his balls before sliding one in your mouth, your tongue swirling around it, making him drop his head against the pillows as his eyes close.

When you lick up the precum drooling from the tip, his moan gets louder, his hands gripping the sheets beside his hips. Sweat starts to break out over his forehead as your tongue swirls around it before taking all of him in your mouth. He bucks his hips up into your mouth by accident, and he tries to apologize, but your head starts moving up and down, and he's at a loss for words.

He sits himself up on his elbow, groaning again when he meets your eyes, his lip slipping between his teeth as his eyes start to have trouble staying open. He bucks his hips again, having a hard time fighting against the heat of your mouth, his head falling back on his shoulders.

"God damn it, shit, you are so good at this," he moans, and you guide his hand to your head, which makes him lift his up. You push his further onto your head, and he gets the message instantly, grabbing a fistful of your hair, your throat relaxing, cheeks hollowing, as you place your hands on his thighs.

He moves your head up and down as his hips buck up every now and then, fucking your throat, the vibrations of your garbled moans only sending him higher. His moans are uncontrollable at this point, and he can't help it when he can see the tears running down your face, short gagging noises starting to fill the room.

He's not going to last long, the knot in his spine moments from snapping, and when he tries to pull you off, you push down on his hand, making his eyes go wide. "Baby, fuck, I'm gonna--"

You bop your head faster, and he grits his teeth as he cums, his load shooting down your throat as you take him all into your mouth. His legs twitch as you keep your mouth on him until he's pushing lightly at your forehead, finally making you relent. His limbs fall flat against the bed as he throws his arm over his forehead, and you chuckle softly as you cough lightly. "Fuck," he breathes before looking at you, watching you wipe your face before he grabs your arm. "C'mere."

He pulls you up to him, bringing you closer when he cups the back of your neck. "Good?" you prompt, your voice hoarse, and a smirk on your face before he pulls you in for a deep kiss, tasting yourselves on each other's tongue.

"Amazing," he stresses meeting your lips again, this time a little more lazily, sighing contently as you smile, making both of you laugh softly.

You're thinking way too much. Right? You groan softly as you rub a hand over your face, leaning back in the seat. What you and Sero did the other day doesn't mean anything, does it? He hasn't really mentioned it, but you haven't talked to him because he's had practice and...

You slap a hand to your forehead, making the person sitting at the end of the table glance at you in confusion.

You sucked a guy's dick, and you don't even have his number???

You groan again as you let your head fall forward, the person eventually getting up and leaving, and you would apologize, but you're too busy dealing with your inner turmoil. How in the hell did you even let that happen? Maybe it was the horniness and your post-orgasm haze that clouded your judgment. Or maybe it was clouded because of Sero. Who's really fucking hot. With amazing thighs and--

This time you drop your head to the table, flinching at the pain and the loud echo that can probably be heard by everyone in the vicinity. "What'd I tell you about studying so hard?"

You snap your head up, looking to your right to see Sero sitting next to you, dropping his backpack on the table. "You'll fry your brain," he adds as he holds out a cup in front of you.

You frown as you look at it. "What's this?" you ask, taking it.

"Smoothie. You're favorite, right?" You blink in surprise, recognizing your order, and you nod distractedly.

"Uh, yeah, it is. Thanks," you say, and he gives you a quick 'you're welcome' before scooting closer to you, looking at what's in front of you.

"You're studying so hard for economics? That class is light work," he responds, and you roll your eyes fondly.

"That's because you slack off," you chide, making him scoff playfully as he holds a hand to his chest. You laugh softly as you drink the smoothie, and you think to yourself, how did he know this was your favorite?

You jump out of your thoughts when you feel his head fall into your lap, laying in the chair next to you as his feet stay on the floor. "What're you doing?" you ask.

"Laying down," he responds plainly, not even taking his attention off of his phone.

To be completely honest, you thought he wouldn't speak to you anymore after that you both did. There's no way he's actually interested in you, right? Both of you are mostly opposites, you don't even know how he managed to notice you. You don't seem like the type of person he'd 'go' for.

Granted, you don't really know who that would be.

Maybe he's just staying around until you sleep together, and then he'll just disappear. You shake your head internally, feeling stupid. You shouldn't have told him you were a virgin. That's probably what his intention was all along, and you can't help but feel a pathetic feeling sinking in you.

It's probably all a part of his plan to lure you in, and you're falling for it. Like an idiot. You felt safe with him, making you feel comfortable and not pushing you to do anything you didn't want to do. But maybe that's how he does it; he's probably used those lines before with other girls, and you're definitely no different.

You feel something warm on your face, and you look down, realizing it's his hand. "What's wrong?" he asks, his phone resting on the table, and you shake your head, using your smoothie to help you stall for an answer.

"Nothing. I'm just really worried about this test coming," you lie, hoping it's enough to deter him, but to your dismay, it doesn't, his thumb over your cheek softly.

"That's not it," he says, and you scoff as you put on a fake smile.

"It's nothing, seriously, I'm fine," you repeat, and he sits up like he's about to press you further when a voice cuts him off.

"Really, Sero? The captain's gonna flip if you're late." It's Kirishima, and he waves at you before looking back at Sero, an annoyed look on his face. "You had all this time."

"But I have something to do," he tries, glancing at you, and Kirishima raises his eyebrows.

"And what're you gonna say to him?"

Sero groans softly as he rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, I gotta go," he says, and you don't know if you're grateful or disheartened, but before he stands, and he holds his hand out. "Give me your phone."

You raise an eyebrow but unlock it anyway, handing it to him. He types something in, and he's handing the phone back to you and standing before Kirishima can say something else. You're looking at your phone, and he tilts your chin up, planting his lips on yours softly.

"I'll see you later, okay?" He gives you a wink before turning around, waving off whatever comment Kirishima said, but you don't even hear it, too focused on what just happened.

He's out of sight by the time you come to, and then your face is heating up as you put your face in your hands.

If it's one thing you hate, it's being confused about your feelings. Along with being played with. You decided to eat lunch outside today, hoping the good weather would help you clear your head, but so far, it's proving to be futile.

You hadn't even bothered to check your phone, trying to dive into studying to see if that would help, and you're very close to pulling your hair out. You close the textbook about to shove it in your bag when your phone pings with a text.

G.H.G.O.A.T. >I miss you :(

You frown, giving your phone an incredulous look before you type back a response.

You >Uh, who is this?

G.H.G.O.A.T >The love of your life, duh

The response is almost instant, and you shake your head.

You >Sero?

You expect a text back, but then you see your phone light up, seeing that he's calling you now, and you scoff as you answer it. "Aren't you supposed to be practicing?"

"We're in the weight room today, and I'm taking a break. Don't you miss me too?" he says, changing the subject, and you scoff softly.

"No," you joke, the smile on your face hard to get rid of as you hear him squawk indignantly.

"You're so mean to me, princess," he whines as you tap at the table with your nail.

"Are you even supposed to have your phone right now?" you ask, someone yelling in the background as you finish the question.

"Technically, no, but I'd rather talk to you, pretty girl," he responds quickly, and you hate how your face goes warm at the compliment.

"What does the acronym stand for anyway?" you ask, trying not to focus on the feelings running through your head.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Uh, no?" you respond, your eyebrow quirked.

"The greatest head giver of all time. Duh." You let out a laugh in surprise.

"I am not keeping that as your contact name," you admit, and you can hear him protest.

"I'll take the love of your life as well," he teases, making you roll your eyes, and before you can respond, someone's yelling in the background again, making Sero yell back. "I gotta go before the coach gets my ass. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah," you say, quickly shaking off the stupid smile on your face.

"Shut the hell up, Denki. I'm coming!" you hear him. "See ya later, beautiful." And then he hangs up, leaving your face warmer than it was before. But at the same time, it makes you wonder how long this is going to be going on. If his plan is to just punch your v-card, then maybe you should just get it over with.

There's no reason to delay the inevitable, but there's a part of you that doesn't think that that's his intention, which is why you're having such conflicting feelings right now. Should you feel flattered that he thinks you're pretty enough to be his next target? Right now, you mostly feel stupid, thinking for even a second that you could possibly get a relationship out of this.

And here you are again. You decided to eat outside to clear your head, and you're back in the same cycle of thoughts. You let out a groan as you let your head fall back on your shoulders. You look at your phone, seeing that you only have a few minutes before your next class, so you pack up your stuff, putting in your earbuds, deciding to focus on the music to drown out your thoughts.

It's your last class of the day, and you've never felt more grateful that it ended early. Even though the sun has just started setting, you want nothing more than to get some food and go back to your apartment. It was actually going great for you, the line wasn't long, which means that you would get back home sooner.

But just as you walk out of the dining hall, you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders, making them drop slightly. "You look like you're on a mission. Can I join you?"

You roll your eyes as you turn to see a familiar face, the smile he's wearing contagious. "I'm going home," you tell him, and he pouts softly.

"Is it to study?" he asks, and you nod your head.

"Well, then just come back to my place." You stop walking, and he follows suit, shrugging his shoulders. "We can help each other, right?"

You shouldn't, but every time you get around him, he makes that voice in your head scream louder. The voice that refuses to believe he has ill intentions. "How do I know you'll actually study?" you quip, and he keeps walking, ultimately turning you in the opposite direction.

"Can't stay on the team if I have shit grades," he says. "And if I have you there, you'll keep me motivated," he adds, and you give him a skeptical smile.

"Oh, really?" you jab, and he gives you a firm nod.

"Of course," he starts, leaning closer to you. "Cause if I'm good then you can reward me," he whispers, making you shudder deeply, and he chuckles to himself before he kisses you, a lot sloppier than you would prefer in public before he continues the walk to his dorm.

When you get there, the building doesn't seem that lively, and you're thankful because this doesn't look like a co-ed dorm, and you could be spared the looks right now. You're surprised that he's living in a dorm, but you assume because he's an athlete, the dorms would a bit of an upgrade, the place looking almost as nice as your apartment.

There's not much of a living room or a kitchen, but it's enough to get him by, the place has two separate bedrooms and a bathroom. He leads you to his room, turning the lights on as he throws his backpack in his desk chair. "You can make yourself comfortable. There's no need to be so stiff, princess."

You nod as you drop your bag near his bed, toying off your shoes, setting yourself on the edge of his bed before you dive into your food partly because you're hungry, and partly because you just need something to do. He plops down next to you, stealing a fry before you can react, and he laugh when you push him away.

He pushes himself up towards the head of the bed, leaning against the wall. "So, what're you gonna help me study?" he asks, placing his hands behind his head.

"I'm not helping you do anything. I have to study too," you respond, and he rolls his eyes before he grabs his backpack, pulling out some index cards as he returns to his original position.

"Could you at least quiz me?" he tries, and you tilt your head as you hold your hand out. He puts the cards in your hand, and you read off the first question, his answer making you shake your head.

"That's not right," you say, finishing your food, and he scoffs.

"There's no way."

You frown. "Didn't you make these? What you said doesn't match," you respond, and he takes the card from you, reading it to himself.

"That's basically what I said." You shake your head fondly as you go through the stack, and you raise your eyebrows in surprise when he takes it from you, throwing it to the side. "I'm bored," he states, pulling you into his lap, placing your legs on either side of him as his hands rub up and down your thighs.

"We just started."

"I'd rather be kissing you though," he says, not waiting for a response as he kisses your neck, purposefully running his tongue piercing up your neck. "Haven't I been good enough?" he murmurs in your ear, your breathing already picking up.

"You haven't even done anything," you breathe slowly, your focus barely on your words, and he grabs your ass, grinding you into his crotch as he finally puts his lips on yours. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and you moan softly when you feel him swirl his tongue around yours, his hands arching your back further into him.

"Yo, Sero!" The loud voice follows the door opening, and you jump violently as you move your face into his neck, hesitantly turning your head, your face as hot as a flamethrower.

"What the fuck, man?" Sero groans as Denki laughs.

"Shit, my bad. Didn't know you were in the middle of something. Guess that means you don't wanna hang out with the team," he adds, and Sero nods his head, but his hands never leave your body.

"Yes, it does. Now get the fuck out," he responds shortly, and he chuckles again as he holds his hands up.

"Okay, okay. Relax," he starts, walking towards the door, but he turns to you when he gets to it. "He talks about you all the time."

"Denki--"

"Seriously, you should've seen how ecstatic he was when he finally got your name--"

Sero cuts him off with a shout of his name, not giving him any more room to talk, once again hearing his laugh as the door closes, and Sero chuckles nervously. "Sorry about that," he tells you sheepishly. "That guy has no boundaries."

You huff softly as you shake your head. "It's okay," you say. "You were happy you learned my name?" you ask hesitantly, and he releases another nervous chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Well--he says stupid stuff all of the time," he explains, his face terribly red.

"And you talk about me?" you press with a soft chuckle, and he gives you a lazy shrug.

"I mean, yeah," he grins. "It's kinda hard not to," he adds, making you smile softly.

"If you wanna hang out with your friends, you can. I don't wanna stop you," you shrug, and his hands are back on your ass, pulling you into him again.

"I see them all the time. I don't get to see you a lot, and I'd rather spend time with you anyway," he reassures, and you play with your hands as you look down, those thoughts flooding back into your head, and he notices your change in demeanor, his hands move to rub over your back.

"Why?" you ask, and he scoffs fondly.

"Cause you're way more fun than them," he responds, and he doesn't give you enough to think about what that could mean because he's saying something else. "You wanna watch a movie or something?" he asks, and you give him a look.

"What about studying?"

"I think it's been well established that I don't wanna study," he decides before leaning over to grab the remote. "We can watch anything you want to."

"I don't care."

He hums as he scrolls through the selection, and he smiles when he hears your scoff. "A baseball movie?" you muse.

"It's a classic. You can't go wrong," he responds before throws the remote towards the nightstand, and he moves until he's laying down on his back, pulling you into him as he throws your leg over him.

"I can't stay the night, Sero," you tell him, feeling fatigue start to come over you, the movie nearly putting you to sleep. Or could that be because of his heartbeat?

"I'll wake you up, don't worry," he says absentmindedly, and you know that he won't, but the hand he's rubbing up and down your back isn't helping you stay awake. And you don't really trust that he actually will. "You can't go to sleep yet, this is the best part."

"The movie just started, Hanta," you answer sleepily, snuggling further into his chest, and you hear him chuckle as you feel him pull the comforter over you.

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't change anything." You blink sleepily as you try to watch the images in front of you, but the warmth is making you fall asleep way faster than before. "You can't change my contact name," you barely hear him say.

"What?"

"You can't change my contact name because yours is the same." You frown at him as you lift your head up, and he turns his phone towards you, and lo and behold, that same acronym is in place of your name.

"Where'd you get that picture from?" you ask, squinting as you look at the contact photo, and he's quick to move the phone away.

"I took it earlier today," he answers quietly.

"That's such a bad picture," you scold, but there's no heat behind it as you put your head down.

"I think you look cute," he defends quickly, and he smiles when you do, and he watches your eyes flutter close. "Baby, you gotta give me a kiss."

"Why?" you whine in annoyance.

"A goodnight kiss," he clarifies, and you don't open your eyes when you respond.

"You're not going to sleep," you deadpan.

"Please?" he whispers, dragging out the word, and you huff as you roll your eyes before you lift yourself up, your lips meeting firmly, and he smiles into the kiss. "Goodnight, baby."

You flop down onto him, your face in his neck as you pull the comforter up to your chin. "Goodnight, Hanta."

When you wake up, you shield your eyes from the sun beaming in through the blinds, your mouth dry. You frown as you shift your face away from the sun, groaning softly, and you blink to get the sleep out of your eyes.

You're not in your room.

You sit up as you look around, and that's when you realize Sero's not in the bed with you. Before your mind can think of the worst possibilities, the door's opening, and you're greeting with a Sero, who's only in tight black briefs.

No. No. It's too early for this.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks, drying his hair some more before throwing the towel to the side.

"It's the next day, Hanta," you chastise. "You said you would wake me up." And you really wish he would put some fucking pants on.

"But you looked so peaceful. I couldn't bring myself to do it," he responds, and thank goodness he slips on some shorts before walking over towards you.

"Gee, you're so kind," you joke, and he smirks at you as he leans down.

"I know, right?" He moves in to kiss you, and you back away, making him frown.

"I have morning breath," you say, covering your mouth, and he rolls his eyes before nodding his head towards the bathroom.

"I have extras," he tells you and you hesitate as you move the blankets.

"What about Denki?" you ask, a little worried you'll run into him.

"Don't worry about him. He already left," he says, slipping on a shirt as he grabs his bag, and you slip out of the bed, making your way to the bathroom.

When you walk out, you see him fully dressed, baseball cap on his head with his bag slung over his shoulder. "I know it's Saturday, but I have a game, so I can't sleep in with you like I want to," he groans like it's the worst thing in the world.

"That's okay. Good luck," you respond, and he slips his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

"I want you to come," he continues, and you frown.

"I won't have time. I still have to shower."

"The game's not until later this afternoon, I just have to get there extra early," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"Um, I can try," you say, chewing your lip softly, and he beams at you.

"Perfect. Now, let's go," he orders, pulling you out of the hallway.

"Where are we going?"

"You're walking with me to the stadium. Obviously," he grins.

"Why do I have to go?"

"Because you'll make the walk there more bearable." You don't fight it, and your apartment isn't that far from the stadium, so you slip on your shoes and grab your bag, and he's got his arm around you the entire walk there.

He calls out to some of his teammates when you get to the stadium, and you'll definitely have to change. It's only late in the morning and the temperature is already getting hot. "I'll see you at the game, right?" he asks when he turns to you.

"We'll see," you tease, and he's adjusting his cap further up his head as he leans down.

"You're no fun," he jabs before he kisses you, wrapping his arm around you, deepening the kiss. You hear his teammates cheer and holler, but you're not really paying attention when he slides his tongue into your mouth.

"Sero! Stop macking your girl and come on!" At that, he pulls away, satisfied that your lips are puffy and that you're breathless, and gives you one last peck before he slides the hat onto your head.

"See you at the game, beautiful."

And you watch as he walks away, some of the guys shoving him playfully when he gets to them, and the stupid smile you have on your face never leaves the entire way to your apartment.

"And where the hell have you been?" Mina questions as soon as you walk through the door, and your head is towards the floor as you slip your shoes off.

"Nowhere," you mumble, dropping your bag into a chair as you make your way towards your room, and you know Mina's not going to drop it, prodding you with questions as you try to decide what to wear.

"You slept with someone?" she tries, and you scoff as you shake your head.

"No."

"Then who's cap are you wearing?" You frown at her as you throw your clothes on the bed.

"It's mine," you lie and she gasps.

"You're sleeping with someone on the baseball team? Look at you go!" You wave your hands frantically as you shake your head.

"No. I am not sleeping with someone on the baseball team," you deny.

"So, you're seeing someone on the team?" Now that causes you to stall, the hesitation making her laugh loudly. "You are! Why didn't you tell me?"

You shrug as you struggle to come up with an answer. "I dunno," you reply lamely before moving towards the bathroom.

"Well, you're gonna tell me everything on the way there," she says, following you.

"Where?"

"To the game of course. I have to see this guy for myself," she concludes, and there's no way she's backing down, so you roll your eyes before making your way towards the shower.

"Did we have to sit so close to the field?" you ask as you sit down, taking a sip from your drink.

"Of course, we did! I have to be able to see what this guy looks like." You roll your eyes again as you fan yourself.

"The game hasn't even started yet."

"That means you have time to tell me everything."

You reluctantly tell her everything, making sure she keeps her voice down for the rather explicit stuff, hoping you're not getting weird looks as you recall everything that's happened. "I don't know, maybe it's all a joke or something," you say when she asks why didn't tell her anything from the start.

"What you just told me does not sound like a joke. He knows your favorite smoothie, and you never told him? Something's definitely there."

You don't get to respond, the game getting ready to start, and you turn all of your attention towards it. You don't know a ton about baseball, but you know enough to understand what's going on, whereas Mina's mostly just watching for the guys, but it's not like you can blame her.

"Oh, my God! There he is!" she yells almost too loud for your liking, slapping you on the arm in excitement, and you slap her hand away. "Damn, babe, you chose a hot one."

"Shut the hell up," you hiss. "And how'd you know?"

"Because the number on 'your' cap matches the one on his jersey." You jump in shock, and without taking it off, you run your fingers over the front, and yep. You feel the number seven under your fingers, the number splayed on his back as he stands in the on-deck circle, practicing his swings. And you thought he was hot in just regular clothes.

It should be illegal for a uniform to be that tight, right? There's no way that should be allowed. The couple of swings he does allows you to see every inch of his muscles, his arms nearly bulging out of his uniform, like he's not even wearing it at all. You bite your lip softly as images run through your head, and you're quick to shake them off, not sure if you should thank or curse Mina for sitting so close to the field.

Your eyebrows raise when he turns around, his eyes landing on you instantly like he knew you were there, and you give him a small wave. You frown at him when he starts poking at his cheek, tilting your head in confusion, but when he puckers his lips, you instantly understand what he means, and you're quickly shaking your head.

The smirk on his face turns into a pout, his body slumping slightly, and you smile softly at his reaction. He's continuously mouthing please, and you elbow Mina lightly in the ribs as she giggles at the both of you. You cautiously look around before hesitantly bringing your hand up to your mouth, your lips meeting your fingers before you flick your hand his way, your face heating up at the cheesy gesture. He's smiling at you, as he grabs the imaginary kiss out of the air before placing his hand on his cheek.

You roll your eyes as you shake your head at how much of a dork he is before he turns back to the field, stepping into the batter's box. You find yourself waiting anxiously for the pitch, and you don't even realize how tense you are until you hear a satisfying crack ring out, the ball flying through the air as Sero drops the bat and runs.

The ball quickly flies past the outfielders, not high enough to be easily caught, effectively aiding him in making it to third. "Does this mean you're gonna be your boyfriend's biggest cheerleader?" Mina teases, and you laugh beside yourself as you push her lightly, rolling her eyes.

The only thing you dislike about baseball games is how long they can be, the sun feeling it's trying to kill you, and you and Mina reapply sunscreen more than you would've liked, your skin feeling awfully sticky along with the combination of your sweat.

You actually find yourself cheering pretty loudly, but other are people are doing it too, so you're not really thinking about it. Mina's cheering with you, with the teasing of course, but by the time the game is over, it seems to cease, much to your relief.

The game was nearly close, so when it's over, you're working on calming down your racing heartbeat as you watch the team celebrate their win. Just as you and Mina get to the stairs to start walking out of the stadium, you hear someone yell your name. Both of you turn around, seeing Sero waving at you, and before you can even think about walking towards him, Mina's walking up the stairs tossing a "see you later" over her shoulder.

You roll your eyes when she winks at you before turning around, leaning down a bit as Sero jogs towards you. They're not that high up from the field, and Hanta's tall, so it's not like you have to go far. He's covered in sweat and dirt, but the smile he wears on his face spreads across yours. "You came," he says, and you shrug softly.

"I mean, you wanted me to, right?" His smile widens as he takes a couple of steps closer, beckoning you closer with a curl of his finger. When you get close enough, his hand grabs your neck just on the side of possessive before kissing you deeply, the contact leaving you wanting more, and he smirks at you when you chase after him.

"Thanks for coming," he says against your lips, and you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

"Yeah, of course," is really all you can manage without stuttering like a nervous wreck. He gives your neck a tiny squeeze before he pulls away.

"Meet me outside the stadium, okay?" You nod in agreement, and he smiles again before jogging away.

You wait for him, sitting on one of the benches mindlessly scrolling through your phone, and you can hear his voice before you see him. You look up, seeing him talking to Denki, so you get up, slowly making your way towards him, and you can see Denki's eyes drift over to you before they move back to Sero.

You don't know what he says, but Sero shoves him away, Denki responding with a laugh before he turns around to greet you, throwing an arm around your neck, pulling you into him. "You did really good," you say as he starts to walk the both of you wherever.

"Only because you were there," he responds making you roll your eyes playfully. "Seriously, your cheers motivated me."

"Everyone was cheering, there's no way you heard me," you argue, and he just chuckles at you softly before kissing you on the forehead.

"So, what're we gonna do?" he asks, changing the subject, and you sigh heavily as you let your head fall back on your shoulders slightly.

"Well, I am going back to my place and getting in the shower. I feel disgusting," you add, frowning softly.

"Sounds good," he says before turning to walk the both of you towards your apartment, and you squint at him.

"But you already took one?" you question, and you're almost certain he did because for one, he smells amazing, and even though you're close to him, you're having a hard time preventing yourself from pushing further into him.

"No harm in taking another one."

"Hanta, I would actually like to get clean," you groan. "That's the whole point of a shower."

"You hear the water running, don'tcha?"

You are currently caught between Sero and the shower wall, basically completely dry because he's the only one getting hit by the stream. "But you're blocking the water--" He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, and you can feel his smirk against them.

"Just one more, okay?" The huff you're about to release is cut short once again when he starts kissing down your jaw, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him allowing you to feel his growing hardness digging into your thigh.

His tongue spends a lot of time on your neck, catching any stray droplets that have made it onto your skin, the piercing making you shudder under the strokes. You feel him bite at the skin under your collarbones, and your hands run up his back, your nails digging into his skin slightly.

When the water finally hits your skin, you expect him to let you actually shower, but no, his hands are still on you, the only difference this time is that he's behind you, and Sero's added soap to his hands. His fingers run slow circles over your nipples before pulling on them slightly, and your head falls back on his shoulder, his lips instantly finding yours.

You grind against his hard-on digging into your ass, and one of your hands moving into his hair. He releases a deep groan against your lips at the same time you softly moan his name, and then it seems like you both are thinking the same thing as you start to rinse all of the soap off your body as he does the same with his hands.

He quickly turns the water off, getting out of the shower first as he finds a towel, making a half-ass job of drying the both of you off, his lips on yours once again as you stumble into your room. He puts the towel down on the bed, spreading it out before getting on the bed, pulling you down on top of him. You whine against your will when he grinds you against him, both of you gasping at the friction.

He kisses you sloppily, his hands moving your hips faster, your moans and his groans mingling together as your nails dig deep into his skin. One of your hands moves to the nape of his neck, feeling him shudder against you when you scratch across it as his hand digs into your ass, his nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in your skin as you roll your hips feverishly.

His arm is wrapped around you, causing the both of you to be chest to chest, and you're pretty sure he can feel your heart hammering out of your chest. "I want--" you start, having a hard time keeping your hips still so you can get your thoughts together.

"I want it, Hanta," you whisper shakily, your body nearly trembling from the stimulation, and it takes him a moment to register your words, exchanging a couple of wet kisses with you before he pulls away.

"What?" he mumbles at first before it finally clicks in his head, his eyes widening when it does. "Wait, here--now?" he asks like he's in disbelief. "I don't have a--" He trails off, doing a double-take towards your nightstand.

You follow his lead, scoffing in borderline embarrassment when your eyes land on the condom resting on top of your nightstand.

Fucking Mina.

You groan softly in annoyance as Sero laughs softly. "Well, I do now," he chides, and you share a small chuckle before you turn to look at him, the arousal in the air slowly being replaced with awkwardness. His hands go from gripping your thighs possessively to rubbing over them soothingly. "Are you sure?" he asks you quietly. "We don't have to," he assures.

You nod your head. "Yes, I'm sure," you respond, feeling nervousness flooding your system.

He gives you a soft smile as he nods. "Okay, but if you wanna stop at any time, let me know instantly. Okay?" You nod your head eagerly, and he carefully moves the both of you until you're laying on your back and he's hovering over you. "Promise?"

You take a deep breath as you slightly roll your eyes. "Yes, Sero, I promise." His smile widens as he leans down, his nose brushing against yours, and then his lips are pressing against yours, his hands spreading your legs a little wider as he fits himself in between them more comfortably.

His kisses are soft but full of desire as his hands move to your tits, massaging them softly, his thumbs rubbing over the hardened nipples, his lips starting to move down your neck, every contact of his lips making you shudder. He keeps moving down, brushing his nose down your sternum before putting his mouth on one, making you sigh, your hand moving into his hair.

His tongue flicks and twirls before he closes his lips around it and sucks, quickly popping off to do the other one. "Hanta," you huff impatiently, and you can feel him smirk against your skin as he kisses down your stomach.

"You gotta be patient, baby. Have to make sure you're nice and wet," he explains, which only makes you let out another impatient noise, but from what he felt not too long ago when you were on top of him, he didn't need to do anything for long.

He spreads your legs, his mouth watering the moment his eyes land on your soaking wet folds, and just as you're about to say something about him staring at you, he's pulling you towards him, his mouth on you so fast that it makes you gasp loudly.

Making up for the fact that he didn't get to taste you the last time, he eats you out like there's no tomorrow. It's sloppy and loud, and you would be embarrassed if it wasn't the best head of your life. It's nearly overwhelming, his tongue running through your folds before circling and flicking at your clit, and every time you even think about moving away, his hands are digging further into your thighs and pulling you closer.

You can't even think straight, your hand pulling at his hair, moaning loudly when he thrusts his tongue inside of you, and when your legs start to squeeze his head, he groans against you as his nose bumps against your clit. And he's totally living up to that stupid acronym he put as his contact name.

He seems to push his face further into you, and you're worried that he actually might suffocate, but it soon fizzles out when you feel his fingers slide into you. His mouth focuses on your clit as his fingers pump in and out of you, spreading them to stretch you out.

He pins your legs down when they start to shake, your orgasm not that far from approaching, and you can't do anything but cry out at the constant stimulation of the bundle of nerves inside and outside of your sex.

And it takes one firm suck at your clit for it to finally hit you, your grip on his hair borderline painful, but he doesn't care as he listens to you cum as he catches as much of your release as he can, which makes him groan again. "You taste so good," he says against your folds, still keeping up his movements, making you whine loudly at the overstimulation.

"Hanta, please," you breathe, and you take deep breaths when he finally pulls away. He sits up, licking his fingers and around his mouth before moving to hover over you.

"You feeling good?" he asks, and you nod your head quickly, your breathing still ragged. "You wanna keep going?"

Your nod is a little more energetic this time, and he reaches over to grab the condom, tearing it almost too slow with his teeth, and he can you tense in his peripheral as he slides the condom on.

He spreads your legs a little more before bracing one of his arms next to your head. "Just relax, okay?" His face is close to yours, but his eyes look down as he guides himself in, and he quickly looks back at you when he hears you wince.

"I'm okay," you say, reassuring him so that he doesn't stop, and when he gets a little more ways in, he moves his other arm to the other side of your head, and your nails dig into his arm. He moves his hand back down, rubbing at your clit as he slowly bottoms out, looking at you to make sure you're okay.

He kisses you softly as his hands rub over your body, trying to help you relax. His hands grab at your hips, his face falling into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, and he groans softly. "Okay?" He barely manages to say the word as he lifts his head, and you nod your head, his hands moving into yours.

"Yeah, yeah, you can move," you breathe as his hands lace with yours, and you just can't get over how full you feel, and you've barely gotten used to it before he's moving his hips back, the empty feeling back for only two seconds before it's gone again.

You let out a practically breathless scream, the air feeling like it's being punched out of your lungs as your nails dig into the back of Sero's hands. "Fuck, baby--fuck." It's really all he can say, finally being able to be inside you after fantasizing about it, and you take your hands from his and wrap your arms tightly around his neck.

"Faster, Hanta, please." The soft, broken words you whisper in his ear only spur him on, his hips quickly picking up the pace, shifting his hips until he's found the spot that has you clamping around him.

He pulls back to kiss you, feeling how close he is and how he wants to hold back, wants you to cum first even though you're making it almost impossible. His hand is back on the puffy bud, rubbing, rolling, light pinches, the stimulation bringing you higher and higher until your back arches, pressing you against him.

You cum with a broken whine, your body tensing as it rips through you, and your nails dig and scratch across the nape of his neck, easily sending him over the edge with you, and he can barely muffle his grunt against your lips, shooting into the rubber as his pace turns into slow rolls to ride out your highs.

It's just ragged breathing for the next couple of minutes along with the sounds of his lips against yours as his hands are back rubbing across your body, calming and bringing you back down. "Are you okay?" he asks, resting his forehead against yours, and you nod as your hands come to rest on his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, I am," you answer, feeling such a strong feeling of happiness, which you know is from your high, but you can't help but feel giddy even though your body is tired.

He pulls out as slow as possible, but it still causes you to wince, and he gives you a quick apology before tying the condom off. "Is your roommate gonna be here any time soon?"

And then that euphoria is gone.

"What?" You frown slightly at the question, but then you quickly recover, shaking your head. "No, she's not gonna be back for a few hours," you tell him, and he nods before tossing the condom in the trash, pulling on his shorts, and leaving the room.

Was that it? Were you really just another body for him? Bonus points for him to gain because he took it?

You feel your heart sink, far too many emotions to process as you suddenly feel too exposed, curling yourself under the blanket and wincing when you feel the sensitivity between your legs. You fight hard to stop at least one tear from falling, but it doesn't work; the droplet soaking the pillowcase under your face.

You jump when you hear him come back in, feeling the bed dip next to you. "Baby, what're you doing? I gotta clean you up." He stops when he carefully rolls you over, seeing the look on your face. "Woah, woah. What's wrong?"

You can't even look at him, wanting to pull the blanket over in shame, but he won't let you. "I need you to talk to me, baby. What happened?"

"Was I just a game to you? Someone to string along until you got what you wanted?" He looks at you like you've just said the most absurd thing in the world, and you watch as he sighs before handing you the shirt that was in his hand.

"Put this on first, and let me clean you up, alright?" You eye him cautiously as you take the shirt, slipping it over your body as he pulls the blanket away from you. The rag he has is warm as he carefully cleans you up before letting the rag fall to the floor.

He grabs your arms, pulling you towards him as he leans against the wall, moving you so that you're sitting on his lap. "You are so much more than a game to me," he starts. "From the moment my eyes landed on you, I've never felt that way about you."

You look away, your thoughts conflicted, and he grips your chin softly, shifting your face back to his. "Where is this coming from?"

You shrug. "You just never established anything, and I thought that you were--" You cut yourself off, shaking your head. "Nothing. It's stupid."

"How you feel and what you thought is not stupid," he tells you strongly. "It was my fault for not making my intentions clear from the start. This actually wasn't supposed to happen." He finishes it with a laugh, but he's quick to backtrack when he sees your face.

"No, not like that. I spent weeks trying to get the courage to talk to you, to ask you out on a date. But I guess I got too excited and got way too ahead of myself. Some boyfriend I am."

"Boyfriend?" you try hesitantly, and he looks you in the eye, wrapping his arms around your lower back.

"Yeah. I want you to be mine. If you'll have me." He chuckles as he glances down before looking back at you. "I really, really like you. Like a lot, and I'm sorry that I've made you feel this way, but I want to assure you right now, that I do not look at you that way. I never did."

You bite your lip, trying to stifle your smile. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I just did everything in the wrong order," he says, making both of you laugh. "So, if you say yes, then I'll take you on a proper date."

"Well, where are you taking me?"

His face seems to brighten even more as he jumps slightly. "Are you saying yes?" You can't help but laugh as you nod, and he flipping the both of you over, trapping you on the mattress as he peppers kisses all over your face.

"I seriously do really, really like you," he repeats after he pulls away, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

"And I really, really like you, too, Hanta."

#sero hanta #hanta sero #sero hanta x black!reader #hanta sero x black!reader #sero hanta x reader #sero hanta smut #hanta sero smut #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha x black!reader #mha x black!reader #mha #bnha

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pellucid-constellations · 2 years ago

Note

hiya! i just want to say that your writing is literally amazing and oh my god i love you so much!!! also you are so fucking talented i wish i was like you 🥺🥺 i had some questions about writing that i have always really wanted to ask you (coming from an amateur writer). you totally don’t have to answer these by the way!!

- when did you start writing?

- how long did it take to get the following you have now?

- how long does it usually take to create a fic?

- how do you stay motivated with writing?

- what app do you use to write?

- if you wrote while in school, how did you juggle that (because im STRUGGLING!!)

- how do you create your ideas?

- when did your write your first smut?

- do you focus on a specific word count goal?

- how do you navigate the SPACING ON THIS APP BECAUSE I FIND IT SO ANNOYING!!

- do you have any advice for a small writer like me?

anywho, i hope this isn’t too invasive or too much to ask! you’re just one of my favourite writers and i really want to produce better writing like you 🥺 i love you so much and i hope you have the most amazing today and even better tomorrows!!! xoxo -🐞

Hi! I would be more than happy to answer your questions :)) I'll make a little list under the cut! ♡ If anyone has anything else to add, feel free!

I wrote my first ever fic last year in June. I'd never written anything before that! (Other than this tiny, 800 word spn thing back in 2012 that I never posted anywhere haha)

It took me a year to get where I am right now. My one-year anniversary for posting content on this blog is tomorrow, actually! :)

It depends on the fic. Oneshots usually take me a few hours, but series take me weeks! I don't usually keep oneshots as WIPs unless I'm really struggling with it/don't like it too much

Staying motivated can be really tough for me sometimes. I like to ask others for inspo or encouragement if I need it (so it's good to make friends!!), or make playlists to get me going!! If you don't feel motivated though, don't force it! Motivation comes and goes and that's normal!

I use google docs for writing fics. When I transfer onto Tumblr though, I paste the fic into my notes app first to keep formatting and then copy from there (thanks @wkemeup for that tip!!)

I did write in school, and I'll continue to when I start graduate school! I'm going to be honest, juggling the two isn't always the easiest. I tried to think of writing as a hobby that I got to do once I finished whatever I had in my planner, and that helped a bit! (but I def wrote at times I really shouldn't have though lol)

Ideas come to me at weird times!! While I'm driving a lot. Most of the time, my fics come from one specific scene I have in my head, and then I make a story around that. I make an outline for series, but for oneshots I sorta just start writing it and let it come to me lol. I find that's the best way for me to work :)

I've only written smut twice, and I don't get too in-depth (I use it more as a plot device). But my first was back in October for my baseball!bucky series.

For series, I try to have a word count goal for each chapter, but I'm trying not to place such an emphasis on that. During my last series, I was insistent on making my chapters each at least 5k, and it burned me OUT 😅 I've learned that you don't always need a ton of words :)

Hmm what do you mean by spacing?? If you mean like post formatting, I could help with that!

Advice!! I think having a good group of mutuals/friends makes the experience here on Tumblr so much better, especially for writers. It's always nice to have those people to bounce ideas off of or ask if something looks/sounds okay when you are starting off. Writing is lots more fun that way!! On another note, I know this is always so much easier in theory, but don't get discouraged! I'm always doubting myself and looking at notes as much as the next person, and that can just add unnecessary pressure. Write what makes you happy! Write when you feel like there's nothing else you'd want to do. It shouldn't feel like a chore or a competition :)

#asks #me writing too much again #🐞 anon

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six-sanctuary · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming (Will Miller x Reader)

Author’s note: I’ve never written a fic before but was HEAVILY inspired by all the amazing content @lucrezia-thoughts and @charnelhouse generate (Super hope that's okay!) and wanted to try my hand at it and contribute to Triple Frontier Fr-saturday. (I know I'm a day late whoops)

Also I suck at proofreading I’m so sorry for any errors and hope someone enjoys this. Lowkey proud of myself for not being obnoxiously shy and just saving this to my desktop somewhere for eternity.

Anyways here we go no more rambling this is the fic. If I still dig it later on I might write some more in this lil universe either with Will/Reader or throw in some Benny/reader. Maybe even Santiago/reader if I can get his voice right.

Below the cut is 18+ only please and thanks!

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

You’d always been there, and you always would. It was the sort of realization that crept up slowly on Will. Looking back he wishes he could count the times he counted on you. He wishes he could put it into something concrete like numbers, something that he could wrap his head around, but you were there even before the numbers.

You were there before he was shipped off to war, before he had to learn to count as he breathed, in… two… three… four… five… hold… two… three… four… five…. out… two… three… four… five…. You were there before he broke and crumbled, falling into a million little pieces he didn’t know how to put back together again.

He wished he knew the number of warm smiles you’d given him. He wished he knew what number it took for him to fall in love, whether it was the hundredth or hundredth thousandth soft smile. All he knows now is that so much time was wasted, and he didn’t want to lose a second more.

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

You’d moved to Colorado a few months ago. It had always been part of the plan but that timeline got moved up when Will’s parents announced they were selling the house in favor of something smaller now that they were empty nesters. For a solid week, Will hummed and hawed about it, flip flopping back and forth. The thought of giving up something that was so integral to his childhood, something that had always meant home for him, was hard.

After weeks of his thinly veiled discontent, you came to a solution. After one of his talks, you sat him down in the dining room table of your apartment together and laid out the documents one by one. Rather than explain right away, you let Will take them all in, grabbing each one and skimming it before moving on to the next piece of paper.

“This is…. To buy the house?” Will’s thumbs smoothed over the paper as if in need of a reminder that they were real, that this was real. “My parent’s place?” His voice was thick with emotion, which never failed to bring it out of you. Rather than answer in words and risk your voice failing you, you nodded.

From there it was a lot of packing, a lot of hard work, but with the Delta Force boys help you two managed to get everything packed up in a hauler, ready to make the trek halfway across the country. The thought of being holed up in the car for hours on end with Benny made you the slightest bit nervous. The younger Miller was a bundle of energy and while you appreciated that most of the time, you were wary about being stuck in cramped quarters with the lightning bolt of a man. In the end the cars were split with you and Santiago taking Will’s Ford and Will and Benny driving the Uhaul.

You had a week of the gang’s help, well the gang minus Frankie. He had to head back a few days early to his wife and daughter. The others stayed, even Tom, though he was quick to point out several “serious”problems with the house that you’d need to look into. Despite that, it already felt like home. Sure it needed your and Will’s touch on the place, and a number of things had gone into disrepair as the Millers got older. At some point it had become too much for them, but it was the perfect project for a newlywed couple.

Not once did you regret it. Not when you were lugging heavy boxes up the stairs nor when you learned the roof needed to be replaced. No, each problem was taken in stride because you knew with Will by your side, you’d get through it. There was nothing the two of you could not conquer.

Soon the novelty of the new house wore off and with Benny back at his apartment down the street and Santiago and Frankie back home, you and Will fell into a quiet domesticity. You lived in pieces, your life wrapped up in boxes while you made repairs to the house.

Will, though he meant well, was not as handy as he claimed to be. After the shower incident that required a late-night call to an emergency plumber, your big Delta Force husband was relegated to the simpler tasks, or the ones that required his muscle. If a dresser had to be moved, he was your man, rolling up his sleeves and making it look easy. The same went for anything that required reaching high places (the uppermost cabinets in the kitchen were a real bitch). In the end, Will ended up spending more time turning the side yard into a garden while you turned this old house into your home.

After a month, Will had to go back to work. He’d been requested to give a speech in D.C., back to the other side of the country. As much as you wanted him to stay, you knew that this was important to him. You knew how much it mattered to him to feel useful, to feel good about what he did and so with a kiss to the cheek, you promised him that you’d have the kitchen cabinets all painted by the time he came back.

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

Classic rock was softly playing out of the radio you had set up on the counter. Painting was boring work, even more so all by yourself. The radio made you feel less alone and so you hummed along as you worked. Stroke after stroke of paint was rolled onto the cabinets, breathing new life into the space. It was really mindless work and so your thoughts wandered as you painted. You thought about the home, what other projects you had in mind. If you finished the cabinets quickly enough you wanted to tackle the downstairs bathroom too before Will got back.

He'd called every night but it wasn’t the same as him being here. If you were lucky, you got him on FaceTime and got to see his face light up when you appeared on his screen. Even with the small image of him on your phone he was so handsome, golden and bright. You’d called him your Apollo once, god of the sun, and he’d found that funny. Ben was picking him up from the airport tomorrow and driving him home and then you’d have your sun again.

The opening of the front door snapped you out of your thoughts, your head whipping around. “Honey?” His gruff voice was unmistakable to you. Without a second thought your paintbrush was set down, dripping slightly off the drop cloth though that was a problem for later. Your feet carried you to him, flinging yourself into his arms when you saw him standing there in the foyer. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.” You nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the smell of him as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “We finished early and I wanted to surprise you.” It was definitely a surprise.

His hand moved from the small of your back to your chin, gently lifting it to place a soft kiss on your lips. “I missed you,” you breathed before stealing another. “I know.” He always knew. He knew every time he left you would miss him and he would miss you. You’d play this game and then he’d come home and reclaim you. One kiss turned into two, which then turned into three and four. Your hands moved to his short blonde hair, moving to the back of his neck to pull him closer, ever closer.

Leaving his bags at the door, you two tangled, desperate for contact, desperate for two to become one again. He picked you up, something you’d normally protest as your feet worked just fine, but instead you let him carry you up the stairs, deeper into your home, to your bedroom.

With a playful grin he tossed you onto the bed, nearly chuckling at the way you almost bounced. His amusement only lasted a moment before lust and his need to have you took over. He descended on you on the bed, lips crashing into yours for a heated kiss as his tongue grazed against your lower lip. He was everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses as his name repeated over and over in your head like a mantra.

Will… Will… Will…

His large hands held your wrists above your head, somehow managing the dichotomy of being gentle but firm, while his lips retraced every curve of your skin. Every time he came back the routine was the same. Will wanted, no needed to learn you again, to cover every soft spot that made you sigh to ensure you were the same as when he had left. He needed to know and so he kissed you, his trimmed beard tickling as he slowly made his way down your body earning soft moans along the way.

He only left your wrists when he got to your legs, separating them and placing one over his shoulder as you laid back on the bed. There he paused, looking down at you so bare and exposed and wet beneath him. It was hard not to move under his gaze. “God you’re so beautiful.” You felt heat rise in your cheeks as you whined out his name. He placed a less-than-chaste kiss on your inner thigh before moving closer, breathing in your heady scent. Licking your folds, he let his tongue circle your clit, smirking at the sounds leaving your lips.

He knew your body like the back of his hand and it took no time at all for him to bring you to that peak of pleasure. Closer and closer, more and more you felt your body respond to him, your hips rolling up against his tongue, hands fisting in the sheets or his hair whichever was closer. “C’mon baby,” he coaxed, slipping a finger into your slick heat, curling it to stroke the soft spot that made you cry out and shudder around him.

“That’s one.”

And you knew your husband would follow through with another. He collected your orgasms like some collected baseball cards, counting each and every one. No night ended with just one, leaving you spent exhausted and so satisfied at the end.

Wiping the wetness from his face, he kneeled next to you, watching as your breathing rate came back down, waiting for the sign that he could have you again. As you blinked the haze away, his hands trailed up and down your side, drawing absent patterns against your soft skin. The look in his eyes of restrained hunger made your mouth go momentarily dry, reigniting the flames of passion within you. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you used your other hand to reach for him, pulling him over you.

It was all the encouragement he needed. After tossing his shirt away, his calloused hands move to your thigh, hiking it up over his hip. You had only a moment to take in the sight of him, the well-toned muscle, the scar on the left side of his stomach, before you two crashed together once more. Your hips ground against the hard bulge in his pants, leaving a dark patch in the denim. You needed more, more friction, more him.

He pulled away only long enough to unbutton his pants, kick off his boots and rid himself of the rest of his clothing. Standing at the edge of the bed, he stroked his impressive length a few times as he admired your naked form. Then the wait was too long and crawled over you, lining himself up and so agonizingly slowly pushing himself into you. You tried to be still but it seemed your body had something else in mind as your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him ever closer.

“Someone’s eager,” he breathed, both of you knowing full well that neither of you had the patience to wait much longer. Pressing his lips firmly against yours, he moved, hips snapping into you at a quick pace, his size stretching you in ways no one else ever could. Your body molded to fit around him, your leg wrapping around him once more in an effort to guide him ever deeper. He bottomed out in you before pulling out and pressing into you again and again and again. Each motion put stars behind your eyes, the fireworks building to another crescendo.

You felt him get closer, the rhythm of his hips losing itself as he continued to thrust into you, hips stuttering as the pleasure overwhelmed. “One more honey, I know you have one more.” His low throaty growl in your ear was enough to push you over the brink, your hands clamoring for purchase on his back and shoulders as you cried out once more. Your core clenched down on him and it took only a few more hurried thrusts before you felt his hot seed shooting into you as he let out a low grunt.

His forehead rested against yours as he remained where he was, not wanting to pull out of you just yet. A thin sheen of sweat covered the both of your bodies and despite that you didn’t think either of you were finished quite yet. You had a full week of time apart to make up for. Will pulled his head back from your forehead to give you another soft kiss, this one lacking the passion and lust but more than making up for that with the love and affection he poured into it. “It’s good to be home.”

#kiki writes #triple frontier #will miller #will miller x reader #will miller x you #will ironhead miller #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction

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redhoodieone · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome Home

A/N: Hi everyone! This is an old fic that I’m re-posting for those who want to read it. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language and Smut.

I knew my family was different the moment I found out my adoptive father was Batman. I was just a ten-year-old girl when I snuck down the stairs at midnight for a drink of water and spotted Batman leaving a trail of blood from his study and calling out for Alfred for help. The moment our eyes locked, Bruce instantly knew that I was clearly aware of his secret. He had also confessed it was him who saved me from a shootout that my parents were involved in and that it was him, as Batman. I felt I owed Bruce my own life for saving me, and I vowed to keep my father’s secret and pray that he would return home safely every night back to me.

It didn’t help that I soon discovered my adoptive older brother Dick Grayson was Robin. Not only did I have to keep his secret as well, but it made it more impossible to not have a crush on him. I mean, Dick has such a charming personality, beautiful baby blue eyes, and a devilish smile that can make any girl crawl on her hands and knees. And that ass…

I later found myself becoming the second Robin once Dick left to assume his own identity, Nightwing. Bruce trusted me, and he saw potential in me the second I told him I couldn’t see myself being a hero forever. Perhaps he never really wanted me to be his sidekick and figured if I got it out of my system that I could resume my life as a sixteen-year-old and do normal teenager activities. As if my life was normal anyways.

But things changed as soon as I was finally embracing myself as a hero. Bruce had taken in a new kid, Jason Todd. He was a troublemaker, a rebel, and a mysterious kid, who had never even spoken to me unless he had to. I don’t think my age helped the situation either; I was a couple of years older than him and he may not have seen me as an equal. But of course, the dark haired, icy blue eyed, bad attitude boy was given the Robin title, and I was removed because of a patrol-gone-wrong situation.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Then the unthinkable happened. The second Robin was killed by the Joker. Jason Todd’s death put Bruce into a depression, and he swore he would never put another kid’s life in danger. Our father and daughter relationship broke apart before my very eyes. I spent my remaining teenage years in the mansion isolated, except for Alfred’s loving company.

I had graduated high school on time and I quickly decided to go to Gotham University to escape the Bat family. Before I moved out, I discovered Bruce had taken in another kid, Tim Drake, who was currently the new Robin. Was I hurt? Of course, I felt I was somehow replaced. Would I miss the Bat family? Maybe. Maybe not.

I did in fact wish the new younger Robin good luck. When Tim looked up at me, his light blue eyes were so innocent and frightened about me leaving him behind. I didn’t know why he would be so upset about me leaving; wouldn’t he want all of Bruce’s attention without me hanging around the mansion?

Now I’m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

As I sit in a taxi while anxiously waiting to pull up to Wayne Manor, I honestly don’t know why Bruce wants me back at home. Alfred has kept me up to date about the Bat family incidents and activities I have missed out those few years such as:

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

Tim Drake is Red Robin (does the fast food chain restaurant know about his superhero name?), and he’s currently assisting the Teen Titans when necessary while simultaneously aiding Bruce with detective work.

Damian Wayne is Bruce Wayne’s unknown biological child. I think he’s about fifteen-years-old now; from what I remember the last time I spoke to Alfred. I met Damian once, when Bruce asked me to meet him once Talia al Ghul practically dropped him off at Bruce’s doorstep. The boy was a little shit: bratty, stuck up, and insensitive. Even though he is the spitting image of Bruce, minus the different colored eyes (Bruce has blue and Damian’s are green), Damian claims he is set to take over the cowl when Bruce is either dead or done. God help us all…

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I jump in surprise once the taxi comes to a hard stop. After paying the man, I grab my duffel bag and I climb the front steps that I suddenly remember jumping off them as a kid. Alfred scolded me many times, and I still did it because being bad was fun.

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

I find the wooden front door unlocked, which is odd considering Alfred always makes sure to lock it. As a matter of fact, Alfred hasn’t greeted me like he always does when I come home. Where is Alfred?

After I unwrap my scarf, I pull my hoodie over my head to be more comfortable in the warm house. Sadly, I forgot to do laundry yesterday, so I came home in just my black yoga pants and red tank top. What would Alfred say?

I kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen barefoot. Pulling my long hair into a ponytail, I notice a note on the counter that’s written for me. I unfold the note and stare at the nicest, well done cursive handwriting only one man can do here.

Dear Lady Y/N,

I sincerely apologize for not being there to greet you properly. Master Bruce had wanted me to take my holiday to London early, and Lord knows I can use a week to myself after stitching up countless wounds, tidying up bedrooms and Bat caves, and playing messenger between you and your father. I have a cooked roast with garlic mash potatoes in the refrigerator if you are hungry. Do heat it up and perhaps show your father and brothers how to use the microwave.

I dearly love you and the boys,

Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“Welcome home, Y/N. I missed you so much,” Bruce whispers in my ear. I can feel his hot breath above my shoulder and neck. The familiar smell of his expensive cologne fills my nostrils. His large hands rub my legs and grip onto my hips very hard. “Did you miss me?”

“H-hi dad. W-what are you doing?” I ask softly, but I know it came out like a whisper. One of his hands is holding my waist, while the other caresses my abdomen. It feels strange considering Bruce is supposed to be my father, and we shouldn’t be this close or even touching each other. But a part of me wants to keep feeling his hands on me and see what he does next.

“Holding you. Smelling you. Touching you,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He breathes harder when I press my backside against his front by accident. “It appears you want this too. Am I correct, Y/N?”

His hand pulls down my yoga pants enough, so he can reach into my underwear. Bruce continues to breathe hard from his nose when his fingers find my core. His thumb rubs fast circles on my clit, while he pushes two fingers inside me. I bite my bottom lip to stop a loud moan from coming out of me, but he appears he’ll have none of that. He stops fingering me.

“You better be loud, or I won’t let you cum, Y/N.”

Before I can beg him to keep going, he turns my face, so I can look him in those cold, pale blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re…not a virgin.” Bruce’s face is twisted in pleasure from just fingering me, but I can tell his lips are trembling and there’s a soft but pleading look in his eyes. This must hurt him as much as it’s hurting me.

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

Before I can answer, Bruce shoves the front of my body onto the counter, while he pulls down my yoga pants. My adrenaline is rushing, and I can feel myself wetting the counter from just his roughness. I can feel him unzip his pants and I can already imagine this thick, hard cock fucking me into oblivion.

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I want to turn around and watch him jack off. Hearing him pleasure himself isn’t enough. Bruce then jams two fingers back into my pussy and I whimper loudly. It has been too long since I’ve been intimate with a man. I need his cock now!

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Do I need to remind you who you are supposed to answer to?” he says seriously before adding a third finger inside me. I grip the counter and I breathe harder. I find myself rubbing my pussy on the edge of the smooth countertop for more friction, but he grabs my hips and stops me. “Now, do you want me to fuck you, Y/N, or should I leave you here, so you can dry hump the countertop alone?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately wonder if I killed the mood. Why would I call him ‘dad’ when we’re about to have hot, rough sex in the kitchen? I need to apologize. I push myself up on my elbows and I shift my head to the side to apologize. I open my mouth to speak but stop when Bruce’s eyes darkened, and he growls as he slams his thick cock inside me.

I moan louder than I have in my entire life. His cock fills me up so much that I fear I won’t be able to walk straight for the next week or two. Bruce lifts my legs up and continues to shove me against the counter with every hard thrust. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck me. The man is practically drilling into me with no kindness at all.

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

Bruce growls and rams his cock faster into me. He keeps knocking the air out from my lungs, and I can feel my body pulsating against his. I grip the countertop harder each time, and I know my knuckles are turning white and becoming numb every second. With one hand on my hips, Bruce moves his other hand up my tank top to hold my tits.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

“Excuses,” he manages to say, as he holds me up more, so he can penetrate me deeper. His cock is hitting a deeper spot in me. It must be my g-spot, because I have read about it but never actually felt it to know. I can feel myself clenching his dick tightly, and I know I’m getting closer to release. “You wanted me and your brothers to see your tits, huh?”

“Maybe,” I cry out louder than what I intended to. Fuck, what if one of my brothers hears me? They’ll really think I’m insane for fucking our father and for loving it every second. Bruce readjusts our position once more, so he can hit that spot continuously. “I-I think I’m going to cum!”

“Not yet, you better not!” Bruce growls, and drills into me harder and faster. With his powerful thrusts and the constant friction from the countertop on my clit, I know for a fact that I can’t last longer. His hands hold onto my hips while he fucks me harder than before.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

The sounds of skin on skin is louder because of my mess. I drop my head onto the counter while Bruce continues to fuck me. Before I can catch my breath, Bruce chuckles and lifts me up. “I just made you squirt. That has never happened before, has it?”

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“You’re so wet,” Bruce grunts into my ear. Breathing heavily, he lifts my hips again, so he can rub my clit with his fingers. “You’re making a mess all over my cock. You’re such a bad girl.”

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

With every rough thrust, I know Bruce won’t last. I whimper once more when my pussy clenches his dick as he fucks me through my orgasm. A few more hard thrusts, Bruce pulls out and turns me over onto my back. He jacks himself off as I watch his cum spurt out all over my stomach.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

Bruce sighs heavily, and just when I think I should try to get up and clean myself, he pulls me up and kisses me. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and we explore each other’s mouths as if this was our last chance to. He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You belong to me, and the Batfamily. I don’t care who wants you, because you will never give them what you have given me. Do you understand?” Bruce asks, before giving me his famous bat glare.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

I grab a paper towel and wipe Bruce’s cum off my stomach before I pull up my yoga pants. As soon as I toss the damped paper towel into the trash, I immediately notice Dick Grayson is standing there at the entrance of the kitchen staring at me with fire in his eyes.

#dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x reader smut #bruce wayne x y/n smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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free-pancakes · 3 years ago

Text

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 5/? Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

Notes: ahhh sorry for the wait! hope you like the new chapter!

CHAPTER 5

“Hange-san, are you ready?” Armin yelled.

Hange stared at the small blade in her right hand, then gazed over to her left palm. She looked back at Armin and Mikasa, standing off at a safe distance. Hange and Armin sat all night trying to think of any way she could enter paths, and figured a good way to start would be to try shifting into titan form. They’d take this one step at a time, and hopefully they’d have some better idea of what to do next. Hange was a little worried about going through the transformation for the first time, but she called Mikasa there just in case she didn’t have a good handle over her titan.

But overall, she was excited. She could become a titan!

She wondered all night what form she’d take as a beast titan—she wondered especially if it would be the animal Levi had always likened her to.

She smiled in excitement, and held her breath as she cut into her hand—yellow light flashed and smoke appeared around her.

Armin and Mikasa braced themselves as Hange shifted, they fell backwards as the ground shook beneath them, and their jaws dropped.

“Never thought a titan could be so... beautiful,” Mikasa breathed out. She was a large dog—a wolf, really—standing on all fours, with messy brown hair, the ends giving off a golden sheen in the early morning sun. It gave a huge shake, shaking off all the branches and leaves from the trees that broke around her as the titan expanded. Armin called out to Hange, but she did not emerge. Mikasa stood in front of Armin with her blade drawn in case the titan decided to attack—since Hange didn’t come out, it was safe to assume she didn’t have any control over her titan form. The wolf titan lowered its head, its teeth bared as it faced the two.

Suddenly, the titan happily stuck its tongue out, licking the two, leaving Mikasa and Armin in a mess of slobber.

“What in the world—“ Armin said out loud. He was quite surprised at the result, that Hange’s titan on her first shift could be so... docile. And it seemed to recognize him and Mikasa.

Mikasa used her ODM gear to launch herself right upon the titan’s nape, calling out to Hange, but again, there was no answer. She cut into the nape to find Hange, asleep inside. She pulled, ripping her out from the titan’s flesh and jumped back down to Armin, steam building as the large wolf titan body slowly began to disappear.

“Hange-san?”

Mikasa and Armin held on to Hange, gently shaking her to make sure she was okay. Hange slowly blinked her eyes open, and when she came to, her eyes lit up.

“That’s what I looked like?!”

Hange jumped with joy running over to her titan form, running her hands over its fur and teeth as it gradually dissipated from beneath her fingers.

“Wow... AMAZING!” she squealed with delight. Mikasa smiled, happy to see Hange back to her happy, curious self, even if it was just for a short moment.

Armin sat and stared at Hange in awe as she gushed to Mikasa, asking her for every detail about her titan form. Armin thought it to be quite fascinating, Hange’s titan able to recognize her loved ones even while she was unconscious. And on the first try.

He thought it was pretty special. Maybe there was hope that Hange could enter paths. He began to think over it all, debating all the ways they might be able to get her there.

————————————

Two weeks in, Levi began to get restless. Jean had been taking good care of him, keeping him busy as he accompanied meetings, doing what they could to help out Historia. But Levi was antsy—he was worried about Hange, about all of it.

Jean kept a close eye on Levi, and noticed. He sighed, having to use Hange’s plan this early on their trip. Before they left, Hange had given him a list of errands to finish for her to keep him busy, and Jean figured it was time to task him with that now. After sending Levi off, Jean headed towards another meeting, though his mind was somewhere else.

Last night, Levi was oddly talkative, and they chatted about a multitude of random things. Or well, Jean was mostly just listening to Levi talk his head off. Maybe it was because Hange was absent—he must have been used to someone filling the silence and just… took it upon himself. All he could think of was how Armina and MIkasa wouldn’t believe it if he told them. But at some point, Jean had mentioned that Armin would try having Hange shift into a titan while they were gone. So Jean began to think out loud about what animal her beast titan form would take on, but Levi had cut him off, adamantly sure that Hange would become some sort of dog, or related creature. Jean wondered if Levi was right, and was itching to return and find out.

————————————

Levi walked into town, his third stop being a tiny sweets shop Hange had loved. He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he did like the little fruit tarts Hange would bring back for him if she had some meeting in Sina. Of course Hange would put some fun little task like this on a checklist to get him to let loose a little. . He grabbed a few things for Jean and headed towards his last destination: Hange’s old lab.

Levi kicked through the door of the old Scout barracks, a thin layer of dust billowing as it came down. After patting himself down to clean himself off, he walked down the old corridors. They brought back many memories, and Levi just tried focusing on the good ones. It was almost as though he heard Oluo and Petra arguing around the corner with Eld and Gunther trying to calm them down, Hange talking Erwin’s head off in his office, Mike and Nanaba coming up behind him to tease him about something stupid. He made the familiar turn towards her lab, and opened the door, the hinges creaking loudly. A box, Hange had written, to grab from her top drawer. He walked in, touching her old microscope, running his hand over the desk he had always sat on to interrupt her from her work, nagging her to go to sleep already.

He almost smiled seeing a pile of small journals she had piled haphazardly on her desk, and grabbed them all to put in his satchel—she’d probably jump with joy seeing them again. He proceeded towards the first drawer, wondering what could be in the box. But he didn’t want to invade her privacy, so he didn’t plan on opening it.

He grabbed the handle of the drawer, pulling to no avail. It was jammed shut. Levi yanked at it a few more times, laying a foot on the lower drawer for support, until it launched out in his grip, the box inside hitting the floor, contents spilling everywhere.

Levi sighed and stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow, and reached to grab the objects off the floor, but he paused—his hands shaking as he looked at everything that fallen out. An empty box of tea, a small yellow hair clip, a seashell, a small used tube of wound ointment, a framed photograph, and a baseball. Levi’s eyes began to water as he ran his fingers over the objects, his mind racing with beloved memories of Hange.

A knock on the door interrupted the moment, startling Levi. He quickly put everything back in the box, securing it.

“Come in.”

“Captain?” Jean asked. “Did you find everything you needed?”

Levi bit his lip, holding back the tears before facing Jean. He nodded, and the two left to return to their quarters for the evening.

—————————

After the month finally passed, Levi and Jean returned back to Marley. Levi made every effort to suppress his excitement, but Jean having to speed up his horse to keep with how fast he was going.

Levi wondered whether it would be a good idea to see her right away, but he couldn’t help it. He and Jean asked Onyakopon where Hange and Armin were, and he pointed them towards where they needed to go. Levi nearly ran, Jean once again sighing trying to keep up with him. They made their way out into an open field, and Levi laid his eyes on Hange.

His heart leapt with joy, simply to see her again, but his smile quickly faded away as he looked closer. Hange stood, her skin filled with bruises, scrapes, scars all over. She looked completely exhausted, heaving as residual bouts of titan steam swirled around her. She was sustaining injuries faster than she could even heal them.

“Hange-san, please, I think you should stop! You’ve overdone it again!” Mikasa yelled out.

Hange continued to heave, but her eyes only lit with determination. She was so close, she could feel it—she would reach paths. She just knew she would, a month of all their training and ideas bounced back and forth between her and Armin. There was just some key missing, and they hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Oi, you should listen to them.”

Armin, Mikasa, and Hange turned to see Levi and Jean standing off into the distance. Hange looked at Levi, locking eye contact for the first time in God knows how long. Too long. Levi stared back at Hange, and there was no flinching, no fear, no nothing—just his Hange, her eyes kind and bright, pools of honey in the afternoon sun meeting his gaze. He wanted nothing but to run out towards her, but he restrained himself to a smile, waiting to see what she wanted.

“Awwwww Mikasa, Armin! One more time, please?? So Levi and Jean can see my titan form!”

Armin worriedly looked towards her, but gave in. What was one more try? He’d make her rest for awhile after anyway, at least a few days.

After nodding his approval, Hange looked back towards Levi again with a smile that made his knees weak. “Levi! You wouldn’t believe what my titan form looks like!” She exclaimed. He folded his arms and nodded, waiting. She gave him a thumbs up, smiling and staring at Levi happy as ever to see him again, and slashed a blade at her hand. Yellow light flashed, almost electrifying. Steam puffed out from where she stood, but there wasn’t a titan—there wasn’t a large figure looming in the smoke as usual.

Something was wrong. Jean and Levi looked at each and rushed in, finding Armin and Mikasa already at Hange’s side. She was on the ground, unconscious. Levi sprinted towards her, gathering her up in his arms.

“What happened??” He yelled angrily at Armin—he knew it wasn’t Armin’s fault but he didn’t know how else to direct his anger. They had just been reunited again, and somehow she was lying limp in his hands.

Levi shook, unashamed this time, tears streaming down his face as he repeated Hange’s name over and over again like a mantra. Armin held his fingers over Hange’s wrist feeling for a pulse—thankfully it was there, and they all felt a wave of relief. But Armin noticed something else.

“Her pulse… it’s not like she’s fainted or something. Her pulse was racing, as though she was awake.”

Armin paused.

Mikasa stared wide-eyed at Armin and back at Hange. “Do you think she…?”

Levi knelt in the grass and cradled her body close to his, rubbing his thumbs gently over the titan marks on her face, his hands shaking uncontrollably in worry.

Armin stared in shock—“I think she made it into paths.”

Levi ran his fingers through her hair, and pulled her chin over his shoulder, holding her head close next to his. His tears spilled over her face, running down her skin as he tried wiping it away with his sleeve.

“Hange, I’m right here,” Levi whispered into her ear. Jean, Mikasa, and Armin stood behind Levi, staring dumbstruck as he held Hange in his arms.

——————

Hange woke up, as though she was rising from a deep sleep.

How long have I been out?

She blinked her eyes open, staring at the starry sky above her.

“Levi, did you see?” She whispered, excited to hear what he thought of her titan.

But, she turned, to find no one next to her.

Sand?

She raised her hand, grains of sand falling gently from her palm.

She sat up to find herself…

“I’m in, paths?” She thought out loud.

“Yes.”

Hange whipped her head around at the familiar voice.

A man stood behind her, his glasses glinting in the starlight and green glow of the paths realm, blowing smoke as he pulled his cigarette away from his lips.

“ZEKE!” Hange yelled in a rage. She jumped up to tackle him to the ground, quickly threw her fist towards his face, intending to make him pay for all the pain he caused her, and especially Levi.

Zeke caught her fist in his hand, shaking as he tried to hold off her strength.

He gritted his teeth as he faced her, anger etched in every inch of her face.

He said in a strained voice as he fought off her strength—

“Hange Zoe.”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #dreams and nightmares #hange zoe #levi ackerman #armin arlert #mikasa ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #zeke yeager #aot #snk #hanji zoe #levi x hanji

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nikibogwater · 3 years ago

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The Final Becoming--a Tales of Arcadia fanfiction: Chapter Two

A gentle king, a warrior queen, a clever prince, and a Master Wizard. Together with their allies, these four heroes must reform the ancient kingdom of Camelot and rise up to face the Arcane Order in a decisive final battle for the fate of everything they hold dear.

An alternate take on the series ending for those for whom Rise of the Titans didn't quite make the cut. Updates every Friday (weather permitting).

(Link to Chapter One)

Read on Ao3

Or in the post below:

Before we begin, I have to say thank you all for the amazing response to the first chapter. I have worked harder on this fic than any other I've written so far, so it brings me no small amount of joy to know that you are all already enjoying it. 💖

This chapter is a bit shorter than the prologue from last week, because there was really only one place that seemed good for a chapter break. But rest assured I'll work very hard to get the third chapter ready on time next week so I won't leave you hanging too long. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you again for all the amazing support!

*****

Though the chill of winter still persisted in the occasional little gust of wind, the sun’s warmth on their backs carried the promise of the swiftly-coming Spring. Nari had been especially restless that morning, pacing around their tiny apartment, checking and rechecking all of her potted plants in an effort to keep herself occupied. It was Douxie’s half-day at work, and the moment he returned home, he hustled his companions out the door for a walk, half-heartedly hoping it would ease Nari’s growing anxiety. With no proof that the Order knew where they were, and nowhere else to go even if they did, he could only pray that her worry was simply the result of her long confinement within the city, and not a premonition of things to come.

Out here in the sunshine, she seemed more at ease, though her eyes still darted around more quickly than usual. She was delighted to discover a scrawny dandelion growing up through a crack in the sidewalk, and knelt down to give it her blessing without a second thought. Douxie didn’t have the heart to tell her people were staring, or that the use of her unique brand of magic carried the risk of revealing her whereabouts to the Order. They continued on their way, the wood nymph seeming to feel much better for her efforts.

“...Douxie?” Nari had to raise her voice in order to be heard over the noise of the city.

“Mm?”

“...I am sorry if this is an impolite question, but....What are you wearing on your head?”

“Oh, do you like it?” He gave the baseball cap a jaunty little tweak, turning and walking backwards in front of her. “I’ve never had one before. Found it at a thrift shop a couple of weeks back and thought I’d give it a go. Makes me look like a proper mortal, eh?” He turned back around just in time to barely avoid running into a streetlamp.

“Among other things,” Archie muttered, leaping up onto Douxie’s shoulder so he could keep a better eye on him. Nari giggled softly, skipping a few feet forward to walk by Douxie’s side. They stopped at the end of the sidewalk, where a clearly distraught and world-weary man was shaking a paper cup as he miserably proclaimed to unsympathetic passersby:

“The world’s gonna end! We’re all gonna die!”

Douxie shared a glance with Nari, mouth turning upward in a knowing smile. He flipped a quarter into the man’s cup. “Not on my watch,” he said blithely. They went on their way before the confused prophet could ask any questions. Nari’s hand slipped into Douxie’s, giving it a grateful squeeze, as Archie’s tail draped fondly around his neck.

Strolling aimlessly around the city block like this, with Archie on his shoulder and Nari’s hand in his, Douxie found himself overcome with a warm feeling of contentment. In spite of all the evidence that easily proved otherwise, he felt that for just this moment, all was right with the world.

But it was always the nature of such moments to come to an end.

A few minutes later, Nari came to an abrupt stop, her nails digging into Douxie’s hand as she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Nari?” he murmured.

“They’re here. Bellroc’s magic, I felt--” She couldn’t finish before an explosion rattled the entire street, a huge chunk of skyscraper toppling to the ground in a flaming heap nearby. Archie leapt off Douxie’s shoulder, shifting into his dragon form, and blasted away a chunk of brickwork before it could crush a terrified mother and her child. Douxie pulled Nari into an alleyway, his feet pounding against the asphalt as the echoes of the confused and panicked screams of civilians bounced off the narrow brick walls around them.

“Douxie, where are we going?!” Nari cried, scrambling to keep up with his long strides.

“I don’t know!” he panted. “Just--” A blast of frigid air shrieked down the alleyway and threw the both of them off their feet. Douxie curled around Nari just before the hit the concrete, as her instinctual magic rushed around him, softening their fall. “...away,” he snarled through gritted teeth, as Skrael emerged from a flurrious cloud at the end of the alley and gilded towards them slowly. Douxie pulled Nari to her feet and pushed her behind him, while Archie perched on his shoulder, baring his fangs at Skrael. Douxie’s staff appeared in his hand, his eyes flashing blue for a moment as defensive magic coiled around the three of them.

“Stand down, boy,” Skrael hissed. “Unlike Bellroc, I am willing to strike a bargain. Hand over Nari, and we’ll let you live long enough to witness this world’s glorious rebirth.”

“Seems Bellroc and I have something in common,” Douxie spat. “There will be no bargains. Not today, not with you.” He kept his staff raised as he spoke, slowly backing up with Nari still clinging to his arm.

“Oh, I dearly hoped you would say that,” Skrael murmured with a cold grin, readying his own staff.

“Douxie!” Nari pushed Douxie to the side just in time to avoid a wave of fire from the other end of the alleyway. Bellroc stalked through the flames, throwing aside their ornamental skull-helmet as they came. Only one way out, Douxie realized with a sinking heart. He slammed the end of his staff on the ground, sending out an explosive pulse of magic that pushed the two demigods back for a moment. He swept up Nari and Archie with his magic and launched them to the top of the building at their backs.

“Go! Call Claire!” he shouted, throwing down a barrier just in time to block two simultaneous waves of fire and ice. Nari pushed against his magic, frantically trying to rejoin him on the ground, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“No, I cannot leave you!”

“Go!” Douxie bellowed. “Archie, take her!”

“We have to trust him, Nari!” Archie insisted, tugging on the back of her shirt. With a frustrated growl, she finally relented, and the magic holding her at bay dissipated as she tore away from the scene, bounding across rooftops as Archie flew beside her.

“She is escaping!” Bellroc howled. Skrael leapt up to follow her, but a tendril of blue magic snapped around his ankle and pulled him back down.

“Not so fast!” Douxie barked. “I thought you said you wanted to fight me!”

“Insolent brat!” Bellroc snarled, fingertips sparking with red-hot magic. A bubble of flames erupted around Douxie’s feet. He hissed in pain as he rolled out of the way, throwing out a shield spell just in time to block Bellroc’s staff from slamming into his head.

“Oh, come on, now, no need for petty insults!” he quipped, ducking under their staff to launch them away with another spell. “I’m sure we’re both capable of tearing one another to pieces in a civilized manner.”

“By the time we are finished with you, you will beg for the mercy of being torn to pieces!” Bellroc roared, charging towards him once more.

The alleyway was swiftly lost in a haze of smoke and flashing blue light.

*****

Nari was gasping for air as she sprinted across another building, her magic carrying her across the gaps as she bounded from rooftop to rooftop. Without the rejuvenating magic of raw nature, she quickly grew weak, and she and Archie were forced to stop and take shelter behind a chimney. She ripped her phone from her pocket, dialing Claire with trembling fingers. Her hand clenched against her rapidly beating heart as they waited for an answer.

Click.

“Hello?”

“They have found us!” Nari gasped. “The Order--they are here. Please, you must assemble the Guardians--Douxie cannot fight them alone for much longer! He needs your help!”

“...We’re on our way,” Claire replied.

“Hurry!” Nari breathed, before ending the call and struggling to get back to her feet. She stood for a moment on trembling legs, looking back at the billowing cloud of smoke and flashing blue light in the distance.

“We must keep moving,” Archie urged, gently nudging her with his head.

“But....Douxie...”

“Claire and the others will be joining him any moment--he’ll be alright. In the meantime, he is counting on you to stay out of the Order’s grasp. You have to keep running.” Nari did not look fully convinced, but she pushed away from the wall and continued to run, with Archie following close beside her.

*****

Douxie yelped in pain as Bellroc slammed him against the wall, burning hand at his throat, their forked staff pinning his weapon hand to the side. He choked and struggled as he was lifted off his feet, the back of his head scraping painfully against the brickwork.

“You fancy yourself a Master Wizard,” Bellroc hissed, breathing heavily from exertion. “But you are nothing more than a meddlesome child. One that I will relish in punishing.”

“Yeah?” Douxie snarled breathlessly. “Well, this meddlesome child’s plan worked perfectly. And you couldn’t do a thing about it. Nari is--”

“--Already in our possession,” Bellroc said, a smirk twisting their ashen face. “Your plan did not account for the fact that you humans are very easily distracted.”

“What’s that supposed to--” Douxie stopped short with another fruitless gasp for air, his eyes widening in horror.

Skrael was nowhere to be seen.

*****

Nari cleared another alley in a single bound, but stopped when she landed on the other side. Frost was creeping across the tiles beneath her feet. She swung around and managed to throw Archie back before leaping out of the way of Skrael’s attack. Ice chunks scattered across the top of the roof as Nari landed on all fours, what little defensive magic she still had gathering in her hand. In this wasteland of concrete and metal, she was all-too-aware that she wouldn’t stand a chance against her brother, but she faced him nonetheless, eyes burning with quiet rage. Archie swooped over her and landed on her shoulders, spreading his wings over her protectively as Skrael descended in front of them.

“Nari,” he spoke silkily, brandishing his staff. “Beloved sister...We are tired of your games. It is time for you to rejoin your family--time to fulfil your duty.”

“You are not my family!” Nari spat. “Not anymore. My duty is to protect this world--I will never help you destroy it!”

“These human pets of yours have already destroyed it. We merely intend to set things right. But I am not here to reason with you. You will return to us...” he leveled his staff at her. “...willing or otherwise.”

*****

“R-rigescunt indutae!” Douxie choked, grasping Bellroc’s hand where it was clenched around his throat. They let out a shriek of pain as webs of frost shot across their wrist, and jerked back. Douxie dropped to the ground, coughing and gasping for air, briefly raising a trembling hand to his burned neck. He summoned his guitar and strummed a blast of magic that sent Bellroc flying out of the alleyway. He turned to flee, heart pounding wildly, growing more frantic with every beat. Nari! They can’t take Nari!

But turning his back on the ancient sorcerer proved to be a horrible mistake. Bellroc was up faster than he anticipated, and immediately took advantage of Douxie’s carelessness and retaliated with a roaring blast of fire. Douxie screamed in pain as it struck his back full-force. His shirt and hoodie were instantly shredded by the flames, leaving them in scorched tatters that hung limply off of his frame. He struggled to push himself up, limbs shaking, the raw, stinging pain in his back nearly unbearable.

“How easily the fleshlings fall,” Bellroc mused, coming up beside him and planting their foot between his shoulders. Douxie cried out in agony as he was pinned to the ground. “Such arrogance, calling yourself a Master Wizard. You are a worm, and you shall die like one!” Bellroc’s foot pressed deeper into Douxie’s back, sizzling like a brand. He couldn’t withhold the scream that tore from his throat, as hot tears stung mercilessly at the corners of his eyes. This couldn’t be it, he couldn’t fall here. Nari and Archie needed him! But no matter how desperate his writhing, he couldn’t escape from beneath Bellroc’s burning heel.

“Die, Creeper!”

There was a loud thwack, and suddenly, Bellroc’s weight was thrown off of him. Douxie gasped in relief, managing to lift his head just enough to see Steve furiously fending off the demigod with his beloved axe. Claire, Jim, Toby, and Aaarrrgghh all charged through the shadow portal behind him, their gazes murderous as they rushed to defend their ally. Jim dropped beside Douxie and eased him upright, mindful of the fresh burn that stretched across his back and shoulders.

“J-Jim...!” the exhausted wizard gasped.

“Sorry we’re late! I had to borrow an extra serrator from Krel,” Jim told him. “Can you stand?”

“Nari!” Douxie croaked, gripping Jim’s sleeve with white fingers. “We have to get to Nari!” Another wave of fire came hurtling towards them. Jim activated the serrator’s shield and blocked it, as Aaarrrgghh shielded the others with his stony body.

“Jim, get Douxie out of here!” Claire barked. “We’ll handle this!”

“No, I can’t leave without Nari and Archie!” Douxie protested, weakly struggling as Jim pulled him out into the street.

“You can’t fight like this, Douxie! We have to--” Jim was cut off as his foot landed on a patch of ice--his legs flew out from beneath him, and both boys were sent toppling to the ground. Douxie looked up just in time to see Archie’s limp, frost-covered body thrown down in front of him, hitting the iced pavement with a sickening crunch. The Familiar’s glasses landed in shattered pieces nearby.

“Archie!” Douxie dove for his Familiar, crouching over him protectively.

“Bellroc!” Skrael’s voice echoed down the street. “We have what we came for. It is time to go.” He descended beside his sibling, launching another blast of icy wind that pushed their assailants back. His robes were singed and tattered, and his face was scarred with fresh wounds, the cuts bleeding a misty substance that floated away on the wind. Nari had clearly put up quite a fight alongside Archie. She was bound in icy chains behind Skrael, struggling fruitlessly against his magic. She let out a panicked cry as her gaze landed on Douxie and Archie, taking in the awful sight of the both of them so horribly injured.

“No!” she shrieked. An explosion of green light broke through Skrael’s chains and coiled around her, as a gust of warm wind shrieked down the alleyway. Douxie forced himself to his feet, Archie still cradled in one arm, and reached for her as she flew towards him.

Her hand clasped his. He felt her magic slam into him for one brief, joyous moment, rushing and rolling over him like a river. His pain vanished, and he felt fresh air pouring into his lungs, as a surge of energy coursed through his body, filling his chest and limbs .

Then suddenly, in a whirl of snow and ash, she was gone.

Thanks for reading! ✨

(Link to Chapter Three)

#tales of arcadia #toa #toa fanfiction #douxie #toa nari #toa archie #toa bellroc #toa skrael #jim lake jr #claire nunez #toby domzalski #steve palchuk #aaarrrgh #the final becoming

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