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hellfire--cult · 2 years ago

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Harrington!reader who struck up a friendship with Billy after finding him crying. It wasn’t long until she developed a crush on the older boy. But she knew she was the least attractive girl in school, and on the cheerleading squad. Every girl was all over him, she never thought he’d see her that way.

Movie Night

I'm so sorry, I got carried away, and I made it super long, SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY AND I HOPE EVERYONE ELSE DOES this has: fluff, angst, mean brother persona on Steve's behalf, OOC Billy Hargrove, soft side.

wc: 8k (i got a lil inspired, no one requests Billy and I love to write him 😭)

Stupid Steve. Stupid school. Stupid fucking stereotypes.

You understand, you get it, the fucking sister of Steve Harrington should be the perfect girl, perfect as her idiotic brother. If only they knew that being in every single sport isn’t what Steve wants, it isn’t what he desires, it isn’t what he always dreamed about.

But it’s not that perfection they want from you, oh no. It’s not your fault you have bad eye sight so you have to wear glasses, and for some reason that made you fucking undesirable. Just because you are wearing glasses, and you’ve been wearing them ever since middle school, where there were minimum problems with it, and now in high school when you just want to be able to date someone, or even kiss, it’s almost impossible because of them.

So yes, you knew people didn’t want to be with you, and you knew that it was all because of the idealization of the Harrington girl not meeting their expectations. Jokes on them, every single fucking guy in school looks like stepped on shit.

When you finally got into freshmen year, you already knew Steve was the most popular guy in school, always boosting about it at the dinner table, father always saying how proud he is for Steve being the captain of almost every fucking imaginable sport. You looked up to Steve, you really did look up to your brother… Until you crossed those forsaken high school doors, and the only face your brother sent you was that of disgust and turned his back on you.

And that sets your fate.

Now as a Junior, your brother finally graduates this year. Ever since he started dating Nancy who is in the same year as you, he has relatively changed. At home, he now tries to invite you to hang with him at the mall, or tell you to have dinner together when your parents aren’t home… You declined his invitation every time. You prefer to eat dinner in your bed, alone, while he drives away to be with Nancy. Just you, your books, and some good music. You are fine.

It doesn’t help the fact that you have just one friend at school, and she’s not even always with you because she is Nancy’s Best Friend. Barb was always nice to you, and it’s the only one you talked to in class, because then in cheerleading practice, which you had to enter because you needed extracurricular credit because your parents said so, you were given the cold shoulder by every teammate there. You didn’t participate in the cheers really, you just wear the uniform every now and then and pass them bottles of water.

You just have to survive one year, just one more year and you can go to college, probably start anew, meet people, meet someone. You fixed your glasses on the bridge of your nose as you took notes while sitting at the bleachers, hearing the squeak of the tennis shoes of all the boys in the basketball team just going around. You hear a thump, making your eyes look up to see your brother laying on the floor, making you frown.

Then it made sense, as Billy Hargrove smirked, helping your brother stand up again.

You knew that he wanted to take Steve’s position as the most popular guy at school, getting prom king and all that shit. You have heard your brother complaining about him on the phone sometimes, maybe to Nancy or to one of his friends. From what you’ve seen, Billy looked like a tough and irritating guy, and there is no need for you to get close to him at all, and you really could care less about what he does to your brother.

And that is basically your everyday life. Invisible, and you’re fine with that.

You’re fine.

“Hey, can you believe that guy?” Your head snapped up to see your brother at your door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. You raised your eyebrow at him, looking back down at your book. “If he takes away my captainship in the team, I will– Dad will fucking cut my head off.”

“That’s what you get for following his dreams from day one.” You mumble in a low tone, but he caught onto it, frowning at you.

“I have my own dreams. I don’t follow his.” You nodded at that while still not looking at him. You really could care two shits about all of this.

“Maybe Nancy can help you with this kinda stuff. I'm busy.” You heard shuffling at the door and then a sigh. You heard steps and you raised your head to hear him slam his door shut, and you knew he was probably getting ready to go to a party or something because of the music he started playing on his radio. Not once you were invited to one of those, not even by your own brother. He had hosted parties before, and you were commanded to stay in your room all night. The only time you came out of your room was to the bathroom to pee, and even then you had to wait because people were always making out inside.

You got up from bed, closed the biology book to then set it on your desk, looking over to your library of VHS’s tilting your head to check what to watch tonight. You picked Terms of Endearment and Sixteen Candles. Your collection was full of romance and dramatic movies because it’s just your favorite genre to watch. Same with your books, your favorite being Sense & Sensibility.

Steve left after a few minutes, and you made your way down to start your Friday movie night, and tomorrow will be the same, next weekend too. You should get more movies, you are on a roll of rewatching stuff by now. But it was at this moment, when you put the cassette into your player, and you finally sat down and started watching Sixteen Candles that it all simply fell apart.

Your rough facade crumbles down as you see the romance of the characters on screen, the friendship that is displayed in these movies, late calls with friends, kicking your feet because the guy you liked kissed you, or even called you to spend time with you. You stare absentmindedly at the screen as you see the kissing scene finally happening and your fingertips brush over your lips, just softly, tracing the shape of them.

After a few hours Steve finally returns home, completely sober and cursing under his breath. He sees the light of the living room turned on and some blue light shining on. He walked inside to find you asleep on the couch with the TV still on. He sighed, walking over to turn it off but then his eyes looked at your form, making his face completely fall down.

He bent over your figure to see the dried tears on your cheeks, falling down onto the couch. He looked over to the coffee table to look at what you were watching, getting hold of the case. You watch the same movie every Friday night… And every Saturday night. He rubbed his mouth with a frown to his face as he looked back at your frame. And he always repeats the same action every Friday night and every Saturday night.

He stands up to grab the blanket that’s over the couch to put it over your body, and with tears in his eyes he bends over to press a soft kiss at the top of your head with a quiet whisper that he always repeats and that you never hear, not that you would believe him anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

Monday came way faster than you expected, and the morning was even quicker. Your parents were still away on their business trip, but Steve and you knew they were just out on vacation by themselves. Why have children when you just push them aside?

You take out the lunch bag with your sandwiches in it, and you walk out of the school doors and into the football field which was deserted because it was lunch time, so it always gave you the best opportunity to head behind the bleachers to have some peaceful time for yourself, and that was until you almost dropped your bag as you screamed and flinched when you saw someone already there who snapped his head back at you.

Billy Hargrove.

Your breathing was heavy and your eyes were still trying to focus from the scare but as soon as they did you realized that Billy’s eyes were filled with tears, one or two might have escaped because you could see the glistening trail that they left behind on his cheeks. You were trying to talk to him, but then his eyebrows furrowed together, a tight angry look on his face.

“The fuck you looking at Harrington?” You flinched back at that, annoyance switching inside of you instead of fear. This guy was crying and has the audacity to sound threatening?

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just seeing Billy Hargrove actually having feelings is a sight.” His eyes snapped wide at your response, surprise crossing his features while he stared at you this time. “Who’s staring now?”

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just that hearing you fucking talk for once is a sight.” You were taken aback by his response, mimicking yours. You sucked on your right cheek in annoyance as he wiped his cheeks away.

“Well, off you go.” He snaps his head at you, a frown on his features to then letting a smirk spread on his lips.

“I came here first. You go.” You scoff at that, shaking your head at him.

“No, I always come here at lunchtime, it’s my place.”

“Well, that’s lonely as fuck.” You know that. You fucking know that, he doesn’t need to say it to your face, not the heartthrob of the school. Before your heart could turn in pain you nod at him.

“Fine, take it for today.” You turn to finally walk away. Maybe you can eat at the picnic table in the forest? But sometimes the stoner would go there to deal, and you weren’t judging Munson really, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.

“Wait.” You stopped on your tracks and slowly turned around to see Billy slumping down on the ground, his back resting against a column of the bleachers while he rested his forearms on his bent knees. “You can stay here if you don’t tell anyone you saw me like this.”

Who would you even tell this to? He might be scared that you would tell Steve about it, but Billy seems to not know you don’t actually have a good relationship with your brother, and you have just one casual friend in this school. You look in between the bleachers and towards the woods and then you look back at Billy, giving a sigh and finally sitting down with your legs crossed.

It was silent between you two, almost uncomfortable but not quite. You were eating your sandwich and you took out a bottle of water out of your bag too. You glanced once at him, and he was looking at the distance, just breathing slowly. You wanted to know what happened to him, because he didn’t seem like the guy that would cry easily. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow up at you.

“Why do you eat here?” He asks and you clear your throat, taking a sip of your water.

“Why were you crying?”

“Touché.” You gave a nod in understanding. You weren’t going to talk to him if he wasn’t going to talk to you. You looked inside your bag to grab onto the other sandwich, and you handed it to him. He looked at it with a frown and then back at you.

“If you’re here it means you didn’t eat. Basketball players need food.” You calmly say to him and he looks down at the sandwich, taking it from your hands, and then taking a bite out of it, grimacing in disgust.

“What the fuck is in this?” He looks down into it and you smirk at him, finishing off your own.

“Mustard and pickle sandwich.”

He ate the sandwich anyway. It was nice to eat lunch with someone for once, even if that person was Billy Hargrove and it would be a one time thing in your life… Though, it wasn’t. Billy was back behind the bleachers almost everyday after that. He wasn’t at all that persona that he was with everyone else with you. The cocky insufferable bastard you knew was all a mask, and you could see it when he told you about how Tammy Thompson tried to hide a fart with her cough in class.

“You’re fucking kidding…” You were giggling, covering your mouth as you both sat in front of one another, and the closeness slowly shrinking as two weeks went by of eating lunch with him.

“I am not, she actually thought it was discreet, but I heard it. Not that I said anything about it, but it was a total boner killer.” You raised an eyebrow at that, swallowing your apple that you were having as dessert.

“What, girls can’t fart Hargrove?” He rolls his eyes at you and then raises his hand to flick your forehead, making you wince and rub the skin he left in a red state.

“I didn’t say that. When you trust someone enough to do it in their face, sure. Not in the middle of class, and much less when you are a chair in front of mine.” At that you let out a laugh, throwing your head back. He chuckled and took a swig of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side so it wouldn’t hit your face.

“God, I really don’t pay attention to shit like that.” You took another bite of your apple and Billy was still looking at you, clearing his throat, making you look up at him.

“What do you do on Friday nights? I mean, your brother is at every single party but you are nowhere to be found.” He asks you and you feel your cheeks flush slightly at that. You look down at your apple and swallow your bite.

“I often watch movies. Have my own movie nights, sometimes with popcorn, and if I am feeling fancy, S’mores.” You gave him a small smile as you took another sip of water but Billy was still looking at you with a frown to his eyebrows.

“By yourself?” And you suddenly felt embarrassment washing over you. How pathetic were you? He is a guy that has every student in this school eating at the palm of his hand, plans of going out somewhere almost everyday, a date every single night, and you just watched movies and read books for company.

“I– I have to go.” You suddenly blurt out, standing up abruptly to then wipe your jeans from the dirt of the floor. Billy was following suit, doing the same thing, and about to stop you, but you were already walking away. You didn’t need the reminder of how stupid all of your life sounded. You didn’t need it from him. You were always reminded of it by your father, saying that you should be more like his son. Your mother says that at her age she already dated someone and had tons of friends. Steve showing off his new relationship and friends to you, keeping you in the shadows from everyone.

You didn’t need more reminders.

So when you got home, and realized Steve was already out of sight, probably at Heather’s party, you took your time to shower, put on some comfy sweatpants, a white t-shirt and a gray hoodie, and you grabbed your movies and went downstairs. Maybe they will cheer you up from all the stuff that has happened with Billy today. It’s stupid, you both don’t talk to each other all day, yet at lunch you just talk non-stop.

Sweet popcorn was today’s choice and you were already salivating at the smell of it all. Once it was done you put it in a bowl and headed over to the living room, turning the TV on, and putting Pretty in Pink in your VHS. Steve must be getting drunk with his friends by now, dancing to Roxette or something like that. You popped a single popcorn in your mouth and you were about to press play but you were interrupted when glass knocking was heard from the sliding door to the garden.

You jumped up in fear, eyes widened as you quickly turned your head and saw Billy fucking Hargrove outside the doors. You blinked once, twice, three times. Wasn’t he at Heather’s party too? You stood up from your seat, blushing at your attire but he already saw you in it, no time to actually go change. You fixed your glasses at the bridge of your nose as you walked towards the doors to finally unlock them and open a side for him.

“What the fuck are you doing here Billy!” You almost screamed at him, but he raised his hands up in a surrender mode and chuckled at you.

“By that yelling I am assuming your parents are still gone. Let me in, I’m fucking freezing.” He walks past you and you scoff at the nerve of this man. You close the door and you see him looking around with his hands inside his black leather jacket. Your eyes trailed downwards for a second, taking in how tight his pants were, but you snapped out of it, walking around him so that you were facing him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask again and he simply shrugs, still looking all around your house.

“Party was lame as shit, and you said there was a movie night here tonight. That seemed far more interesting than Tommy trying to do a keg stand and falling onto it, breaking his nose.” He walks to the couch, sitting down on it and he immediately grabs the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table. Your mouth hangs open again at this, going to the couch and sitting down next to him.

“You– I don’t need your pity.” You say to him, looking down at your hands as you played with the hem of the sleeves of your hoodie. He chuckles at that and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, I don’t pity anyone. The party was really fucking boring.” He takes a popcorn in his mouth and he hums at the sweetness. You raise an eyebrow to look at him. You never thought Billy Hargrove would be on the sweet side of stuff. “So, what are we watching?”

A smirk formed on your lips. He was gonna fucking hate it, that’s what he gets for barging in your house.

Yet–

“I fucking hated Duckie.” You were wide eyed at him. He had paid complete attention to the movie, even giving small commentary that he really liked the fact that the girl stood up for herself. He turns to look at you, a frown coming to his eyebrows. “What?”

“I just… I didn’t think you like this genre of movies.” You reply to him, a little bit nervous for some reason and he smiles at you and then looks back at the screen.

“I never watched one of these. They have a lot of plot, and they’re interesting.” Your eyes sparkled in excitement and you grabbed his shoulder, which made him look at you alarmingly.

“You’re in for a ride.”

Billy came back again the next day, taking the chance that Steve was out at Nancy’s for the night. He then sneaked into your room while Steve slept and you played Grease on your small TV and VHS that were on top of your dresser. He actually enjoyed it, but despised it because it was a musical. The next time, he actually came through the front door, and you both finally watched Sixteen Candles together. Now, Saturday Night, Steve was at Nancy’s for a family dinner and Billy was taking out two beers from the six pack he came with.

“I don’t drink…” You say to him and he raises an eyebrow up at you.

“Daily or weekly, but you have tried alcohol. One beer is not going to kill you Sweetheart.” You nodded at that and you grabbed onto the can, sitting back down on the couch. You opened it as Billy walked towards you and plopped down with a huff, already taking a swig out of his can. You grimaced at yours and you took a tentative sip, lowering the can to look at him, completely disgusted by the taste and he simply threw his head back in laughter.

“Disgusting.” You say to him and he shrugs at you, sending a smile your way.

“It’s an acquired taste baby, you just keep drinking it, if you feel fuzzy you can leave it.” You felt your heart accelerate at him, feeling the butterflies exploding in your stomach. You didn’t know when your relationship with Billy took a turn for the better, but he actually sends a smile your way this time when walking down the halls, he sometimes greets you when you pass by him in the hallways, like he is not making it seem like he doesn’t know you.

So it was hard not to fall for him. It was undeniable at this point, and even if he was strong and mean, and an ultimate bully to everyone else, he comes here to your house, watches romantic comedies with you, eats popcorn with you, and you two talk about nonsense all evening. Nobody knows about this, and you’re happy to have this secret between the two of you. You can live in the fantasy a little bit longer.

“What did you bring?” You look at the cassette he got and you look at the front of it. You grimaced again and showed it to him. “The terminator?”

“Classic sweetheart, it’s an action movie, you gotta expand your movie knowledge a bit.” You didn’t want to complain, it was the first time Billy suggested to watch something he likes, and in reality you were interested in knowing it, and hopefully like it the way he does.

News flash, you didn’t like it.

“Why are there so many guns?! It's unnecessary!” You complain, your beer gone and you do feel a little fuzzy but not too much. You just felt giddy. He laughed at your side and shook his head as he drank his second can.

“That’s what action movies are, baby, they are irrational, little to nothing of plot, and shooting everywhere.” He says and you sigh at that, shaking your head. The room filled with silence as Billy looked forward, his smile slowly disappearing. “You know why I come here often?”

You straightened at that, blinked with confusion as you turned to look at him. You frowned when you saw how serious he got, just out of nowhere, and your belly turned for him, not in a romantic way, but more of a worry kind of nervousness.

“Because parties now bore you?” You ask him and he gives you one chuckle and then shakes his head, resting it on the backrest of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

“You help me distract myself.” He took a deep breath in as you kept looking at him and you knew it was something he was having a hard time talking about. “The day you saw me crying… I was actually afraid.”

“What?”

“My father… Let’s just say he has– a rough hand. Any slip up I make, I just get a punch out of it… I’m just so angry all the time, so unlike my fucking self and who I actually am when I am at school. I just let out my anger towards people, because I cannot take it out on my own father.” You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and you knew he was trying to choke back tears as he talked. Your heart just knotted at seeing him like this, feeling helpless, not knowing what to actually tell him.

“Billy–”

“And you… I tried to be mean to you… And you actually had the guts that no one had at this school yet. Talk back to me.” His head turned to finally look at you again and your eyes burned at his confession. “I couldn’t be mean to you… With you I can— I can be calm, watch a movie, talk about how creepy that Creel house is and how we should sabotage it– I mean, the only thing I talk with the people from school? Chicks, sex, cars, alcohol.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips, turning your whole body to face him, your legs coming to rest on top of the couch too, bending them and resting your side on the backrest.

“Well, I am glad I could help in some way… My house is always open for you Billy.” His eyes were just staring into yours now, the only thing being heard in the room were your breaths, until he finally talked.

“Can I kiss you?”

What?

There is no possible way you heard that from him. This is a dream, it has to be a dream. There is no way Billy Hargrove, your now friend, your crush, the guy you like has asked to actually kiss you. This only happens in movies, in books, and it never happens in real life, at least, not to you.

“W-Why would you want to kiss me?” And Billy’s features turned into saddened ones at your words. Don’t you realize how beautiful you are? He straightened up on the couch, his body turning to face you as well as both of your hearts jumped out of your chest.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” was his short answer. Your belly turned in pure nervousness now as your body grew a cold sweat. You never kissed anyone, and Billy seemed to know how to do it, and you were just too inexperienced. A flush came over all of your body as you fixed the glasses on the bridge of your nose and you looked down to avoid his gaze.

“I– I never–” You gulped, not being able to finish the phrase from how stupid it sounded. A warm hand was pressed on your cheek, making you lift your head up to look at him again, and you didn’t realize how close he got to you, his blue eyes staring into yours.

“I ask you again… Can I kiss you?” And you finally give him a nod. You weren’t going to miss this chance, not for one second. He still wants to kiss you despite you not knowing what you were getting yourself into. He smiled at you and grabbed onto your glasses, pulling them off your face and setting them on the coffee table. “They were just going to get in the way.”

You took a shaky breath in, his hand still on your cheek as he slowly leaned down towards you. You closed your eyes and his remained open to remember your features as he finally does what he has been wanting to do for the past weeks. At first it was a simple attraction of course, but he knew it was more than that, and he was scared as shit about it… But he never wanted someone as much as he’s been wanting you.

His lips connected with yours in a soft peck, brief, and you let a breath go out of your lips, only for another peck to land. Then another, then another that lingered there a bit more, and then the next one he just stayed there, and suddenly started moving his lips, guiding you as your heartbeat made you deaf in your ears. How do people do this and not faint at the spot?

The lip smacking was heard in the room as your hands finally were brave enough to travel, one scanning his bicep, the other one moving towards the back of his neck, feeling his skin under your fingertips. His free hand landed on your waist, not pressing too hard so that you know that he is being mindful of you. At this point, Billy would already be inside someone, satisfying his needs, but with you… He wasn’t going to do that, at least not now, not yet, and that is if you let him.

He wants to take care of you.

He pulled away for a second, his lips touching yours still as your breathing mixed with one another’s in soft pants. You were feeling as if you were burning all over, not knowing what was happening with you. You never felt like this before, and maybe it has to do with the fact that not only was Billy good looking, but you also feel more than just friendship for him.

“You okay?” You nod frantically at him, wanting more, giving him a peck on the lips making him chuckle in a low tone. “Sorry baby, but I need more.”

He suddenly pushed you back on the couch, crawling over you and you didn’t even think, you just wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he kept his bottom half away from yours, even if it pained him on his thighs from the strength he was doing to keep himself up. His lips connected with yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, the kiss suddenly turning into a very heated one as he suddenly licks your bottom lip a few times.

The butterflies in your belly explode as you open your mouth and his tongue finally slides in. You gasp at the feeling, your hands finding his biceps through his blouse, and you felt his chain hitting your neck at every movement. One hand was still gripping on your waist, while the other remained at your nape, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

You really can’t believe this is happening, not to you, not with Billy, it doesn’t make sense that he looked your way, it doesn’t make sense that he actually wants to kiss you, not when he has Heather on his tail all the time, or Carol even if she is dating Tommy. Or Janet. You always hear them talking about him in the bathroom, always planning their move on him, and this feels you with a sense of power, with a sense of accomplishment and pride in yourself.

Your hands ran through his hair and he groaned into the kiss, and that ignited so many things inside of you that you never felt in your life, and you wanted to hear more of it. Billy was trying his best to keep himself in a hovering position with you, but he was finding it harder and harder to do so. He can’t go on, at least not today when it was your first kiss. He didn’t want to scare you, even if your urges were the same as his, because he could feel your need to pull him even closer.

The door suddenly clicked and both of your eyes snapped wide open, pulling away, looking at one another, panting heavily. Best scenario, it's your parents, and they would be thrilled that you actually, and finally, have someone over at your house… Now, worst case scenario–

“What the ACTUAL FUCK?!” You both sat up on the couch to look over at Steve, who was standing there in the living room, wide eyed, and his face reddened bit by bit. Shit.

“Steve–” You started talking but he raised his hand at you, to then point a finger at Billy.

“Get the fuck off my sister.” You wanted to roll your eyes at this, because why is he acting all protective now? You finally got some action in your fucking life and he wants to take it away from you.

“I don’t think she wants me to leave.” Billy dares to say, glaring at your brother who took a look at the coffee table, seeing the cans of beer. His mind started racing, and Billy followed his gaze, his mouth opening to talk but Steve was running up the stairs already. Your eyes widened and you pushed Billy off, standing up quickly and urging him to do the same.

“You have to leave!” You were trying to push Billy towards the front door but his feet were still planted against the floor with a frown to his face, and your head snapped to the stairs to see Steve running back down with his baseball bat in his hands. Billy’s eyes widen when Steve starts to approach him with a swinging motion.

“Taking fucking advantage of my sister is something I won’t take from you Hargrove, so get the fuck out of my house before I crush your skull in!”

“Shit, Harrington– Fucking listen for a second–” Steve’s baseball bat hits the backrest of the couch, and you could see the dent of the wooden under it that he created. Billy ripped himself off you and gave you a look as if asking if you were okay.

“I’ll talk to him, you go.” You tell him and he gulps, looking back at Steve with a threatening look on his face which Steve only scoffed at.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Billy says with a small squeeze to your hand as he walks out of the house, passing by Steve. Your brother follows him to the front door and he doesn’t walk back inside until Billy drives away with his Camaro. After the roaring engine can be heard in the distance, Steve slams the door shut, throwing the bat at the floor and stomping back into the living room where you were standing there with a glare on your eyes as if you were about to kill him.

“When I saw his fucking car out in front of the house I thought it was a stupid coincidence, and I come in here to see you about to have sex with the sluttiest man in the goddamn school! What are you thinking!?” You frown in anger at that, stepping towards him.

“I am his friend! I wasn’t going to have sex with him, and he wasn’t taking fucking advantage of me! I drank ONE beer, ONE!” You yell back at him and he fake laughs as he runs his hand over his face.

“The first time you have a guy in this house, and it is Billy FUCKING Hargrove. The one guy that I am fighting with for Captain at our basketball team, the one guy that gives me the hardest fucking time of my life at the moment, and you want me to just accept that he wants to be with you because he WANTS TO?” Your chest hurt at those words, your own coming out in soft stutters at Steve’s blind rage.

“He even asked me if I wanted to, and I said yes–”

“God, you cannot be this fucking stupid! He hates me, makes my life a living hell, and you seriously think that he is a nice guy!? You really think there is no ulterior motive!?” He yelled at you and his words were stabbing you in every part of your body, your head already spinning from how harsh he was being with you.

“Why? Is it impossible that he actually wants to be with me?” You try to say loudly at him, even if your fingers start to feel numb. He scoffed at that, looking at you.

“Yes, and I don’t think you are dumb enough to not see that.” He was referring to so many other things, and it was regarding Billy’s persona, in Billy’s actions, in his rivalry with him… And when he saw your tear rolling down your face, his anger evaporated as if water was being thrown at him.

“Okay…” Was your defeated response. You turned around to retrieve your glasses from your coffee table and Steve winced, clenching his eyes tightly together as pain rushed through his body.

“That wasn’t what I meant– Hey, listen to me, I really didn’t mean it to sound like that–” But you weren’t listening, putting the cassettes back into their cases and turning off the TV. You grabbed them and walked past him, going up into your room. Steve stood there, knowing he hurt you once again, not knowing what to do but run a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath as he started pacing back and forth.

He didn’t mean it to sound like no guy would want you, he didn’t mean it at all like that, yet the words coming out of his mouth betrayed him, completely. He doesn’t know how to make it up to you, because if he had given you the chance to go to the parties with him when you asked in your freshman year, many times, and told you yes instead of no, you would have more experiences, you might even have friends. If only he had let you come out of your room at his own parties when you asked him, almost begged him to let you participate, but he declined each time. Then in your sophomore year, you didn’t ask anymore, just accepted that he wasn’t going to tell you anymore about them, and you automatically locked the door whenever he hosted a party.

This year, he tried to invite you, many times. You always declined. You didn’t even want to eat dinner with him, and he knows you want to leave the house as soon as possible thanks to him. Even with your parents. For the past two years he had been so blind because of his father’s approval and the one of all the students in Hawkins High that he didn’t notice how your parents didn’t ask you stuff at dinner. All questions were always directed to him. He noticed this year, and he tried to tell them you had nailed your exams, and the only thing you got from your father was ‘As she should.’

He was the cause of who you were now. Not at all the bubbly and animated girl that asked him to raise her up like an airplane in their backyard, not at all the small girl that put makeup on him pretending she was a stylist, not at all the middle school girl that got excited to see him whenever she got home from school to tell him about what she learned that day.

He walked up the stairs and raised his hand to knock on your door, only to hear soft sobs on the other side, muffled. He wonders if you had also cried when he denied you all those times. He doesn’t know how to even make it up to you. He doesn’t know if he even can.

So the next day, when you didn’t come out of your room, he let you have your alone time. Now on Monday he tried knocking on your door, only to receive the notice that you felt sick. He tried walking in but your door was completely locked. His eyebrows twitched and his mind had come up with a plan. A plan he will terribly hate. A plan that might end up badly for him. But it’s what he deserves for what he did to you.

Billy looked everywhere for you, and even asked Barbara Holland where you could be. She told him that she hadn’t seen her at Science that day either, so his best guess was that you had skipped school. His jaw clenched when he asked other people about you and some of them didn’t even know what you looked like. He waited for the bell to ring, and he was going to tumble Steve down if he had to in order to see you. He didn’t care.

But when he walked out of the school doors to rush to his Camaro, he was surprised to see Steve Harrington sitting on his trunk with his arms crossed. Billy’s eyes hardened at the sight, walking towards him, tilting his head in question at the brown haired boy who was looking at Billy with a mix of emotions behind his eyes.

“Harrington. Get off my fucking car.” He says and Steve gulps as he looks to the side.

“I fucked up.” At that Billy’s eyebrows turned into a frown, but his fists started clenching as Steve kept talking, telling him everything, everything he did to you, and what he had said to you that night when Billy left.

While this was happening, you were combing your hair after the shower you took while sitting on your bed. You had taken a shower because you were greasy from yesterday already, and you really didn't want to get up, but you didn’t have a choice. Ever since Steve said that, you didn’t have the guts to actually call Billy because at some far away place in your mind, it made sense.

You were invisible, and suddenly you were noticed? It doesn’t sound real.

So maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it really was to get into your pants to mess with your brother, and that was honestly the most reasonable explanation for it. You frowned when you heard the door open downstairs, your door was left open so you could hear some drawers being open, to then hear steps coming up the stairs. Your eyes widened when you saw Steve slamming himself against the door frame of your room.

His eye was completely inflamed from a punch received to the face, his nose was bleeding and he was holding some ice covered in a rug to soak the blood in it. From what you could see, his lip was busted as well and his breathing was coming out of his mouth, almost in a pant.

“Steve, what happened?” Even in your hatred for him, seeing him this way made your heart fill with worry, pushing all of the other feelings aside. You were about to rise from the bed until Steve raised his hand up at you.

“I deserved it.” He looked towards the hallway and your eyes widened when you saw Billy coming into view, a pack of frozen peas on his right hand, his eyes glaring at Steve as he passed by him and into your room. His eyes turned to yours and you couldn’t help but look up at him, completely stunned. Steve groans and closes the door for you two as he heads downstairs.

“What… Did you…?” You stutter as you sit back on your bed, seeing Billy’s injured hand as he sat on your bed too, nodding as he looked at you.

“I sure as hell did. Fucker deserved it. He told me everything, from the very beginning, and also what he said to you on Saturday night right after I left.” You feel your face flush with embarrassment and you look down at your hands again. You are not understanding what is going on, nor why Steve would go and tell your life story to Billy. “Though I have to say… Your brother does care for you.” You scoff at that.

“Right. Like he cared for me the past two years.” You reply with venom in your voice and you feel Billy scoot closer to you.

“He knows. He knows what he did to you. Your freshman year was the punch on the eye, your sophomore year was on his lip… And what he said on Saturday was the one on the nose.” He lets out a chuckle and you feel mixed emotions to that. You were happy that he defended your honor, but Steve was still your brother and you didn’t want physical harm to come to him.

“Don’t punch him again… Please.” You slowly looked up at Billy and his blue eyes were already looking at you. Your heart rate picked up the longer he stared at you.

“Do you really believe what he said to you that night?” He asks you, a small worried tone behind his voice. You feel yourself gulp and you look away in embarrassment or nervousness, you no longer know.

“I– After years of feeling this way, it was a very possible scenario.” You say to him in a low voice, your fingers playing with each other. You see him put the bag of peas away, and his hands look for yours. You look down to see his right hand completely bruised up, some skin completely chipped off on his knuckles. You gasp at that and his hold gets stronger on you, making you look up at him. He was closer now, making your breathing get stuck in your throat.

“How can I prove to you that I want you? How can I prove to you that I like you, that I like you very much that I drive myself insane with this fucking feeling, because god knows I am not good with relationships…” For the first time you see a blush come to his cheeks, and his gaze looks down at your connected hands, like how you do when you get nervous. “But I wanna try that with you.”

Your heart leapt out of your mouth almost, not truly believing what was happening, but the bruised knuckles made it more real, the blush on his cheeks made you realize it was no dream at all. This man in front of you wants you, despite it all, and you both have so many broken pieces to pick up inside one another, but you figure that you can help each other. You can mend his heart back, as he can mend yours.

“I think… The first step would be a date…” You say to him almost in a whisper and he chuckles as he looks up at you. He squints slightly at that as if in thought as your smile grows on your face while looking at him.

“I have an idea for it. I think they are showcasing the new Rambo movie.” He says to you with a smirk to his face and your mouth fell open at that, shaking your head.

“I am not watching an action movie on our first date!” He chuckles at that, his face coming closer to yours slowly, and you feel magnetized to him as you both leaned into one another.

“Oh, I bet you prefer the one where the bad boy goes for the intelligent and perfect girl, that genre, right?” You squint at him, pretending to be offended by his words.

“Don’t act like you don’t like those movies Hargrove.” At that he chuckles, his left hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him, a soft breath hitting your lips as he talks.

“I might have a thing for romance.” His lips touched yours again, and you smiled through the kiss, your own hands resting on the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, to taste him even better. Your lips moved along with his, taking in eachother’s breaths, bodies coming closer at each second.

“Don’t fuck my sister, I draw the line there. Not today, not with me here.” You both heard Steve’s voice behind the door, making Billy groan in annoyance and pull away from you to glare at the door as the steps could be heard and another door closes down the hallway.

“I am punching him again.” Billy says and you were glaring at the door too.

“My turn.”

A/N: Well shit, I hope you enjoyed. IT TURNED OUT TO BE A ONE SHOT.

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charliemwrites · 11 months ago

Text

Squeeze Me, I Squeak!

While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)

Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)

Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.

You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.

Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.

Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.

Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.

Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.

Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.

His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.

Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.

The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.

“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.

The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.

On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.

“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.

And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.

But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.

“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.

“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.

“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”

“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.

You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.

“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.

“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.

The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.

You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.

And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.

He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.

It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.

Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.

You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.

On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.

His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.

You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.

But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.

“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”

His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.

He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.

Then you turn to the bleeding.

“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.

You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.

The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.

As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.

You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.

Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.

“All good, sir?” you ask.

“Affirmative.”

“The burn now.”

You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.

“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”

“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.

You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”

There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.

“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”

“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”

When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.

“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”

You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”

You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.

More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.

He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.

When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.

“Need one more thing from you.”

You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.

And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.

Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.

“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.

He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.

“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”

Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.

“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”

Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.

“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”

You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.

Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

… No.

“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.

Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.

“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.

The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.

“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”

“’M scarier than your auntie.”

You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.

“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.

Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.

“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.

“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.

That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.

“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”

He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.

“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”

Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)

He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.

When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.

“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.

He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.

Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.

His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.

You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.

“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.

“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”

“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”

“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.

Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?

You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.

“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”

He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.

You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.

Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.

After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.

“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.

“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”

“Yessir.”

You can feel Soap squinting.

“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.

“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.

With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”

“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”

You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.

It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.

It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.

By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.

Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.

“Solid, Sergeant?”

“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.

“As you were, then.”

And that was that.

Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.

Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.

Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.

You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.

When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.

“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”

“I know.”

But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.

And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.

“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.

He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.

You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.

Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.

It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip.

It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.

He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.

At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.

“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Cat making biscuits.”

There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.

“’S nice,” you whisper.

He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.

You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.

“Mine or yours?” you mumble.

“Mine.”

You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.

“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.

It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.

“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”

“Did not.”

“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”

“You’re a freak.”

“Stones in glass houses, sir.”

You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.

There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.

“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”

“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.

“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”

“Gonna squish it?” you ask.

“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.

You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.

“How copy, sergeant?”

“Solid, sir.”

“Fifteen.”

“Yessir.”

You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.

Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.

You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.

Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.

Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.

Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.

Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.

There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.

When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.

“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.

Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.

“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.

“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.

News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.

You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?

“Hey, LT?”

“Mm.”

You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.

“You ever seen Halloween?”

“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”

He goes still behind you. “What.”

“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”

You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.

“Squeaks…”

“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”

His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”

“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”

“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”

“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”

You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.

“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”

“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”

And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.

You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.

He’s biting you.

“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”

He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.

Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.

“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.

You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”

“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.

“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.

You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.

You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.

You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.

In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.

Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.

If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.

You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.

That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.

You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.

Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…

You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.

You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.

There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.

“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.

“I’ll make you sorry!”

You believe him.

You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.

You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.

“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”

“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.

You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.

“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.

When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.

“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”

The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.

“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”

You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.

“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”

Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.

“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.

“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”

“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.

“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.

“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.

You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.

“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.

You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.

“Taking this one to bed, sir.”

“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.

“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.

You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.

The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.

“Seen it before.”

“Gaz is going to be cross.”

“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”

“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”

You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.

Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.

“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.

It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.

“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.

“Lack of imagination on your part.”

He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.

“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”

“Yessir…” you groan.

Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.

Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.

You might be after this though.

One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.

Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.

But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.

Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.

Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.

And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.

You consider taking it out but… well.

You kinda missed having it.

And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.

You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.

By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.

They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.

He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.

“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”

Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.

“Do the thing,” he gruffs.

You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.

“That captain is—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.

“That’s the stuff,” he says.

“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.

“Debrief now?”

“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”

They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.

As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.

At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.

“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”

“The intel isn’t confidential.”

Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”

You get the fuck in.

As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.

Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.

When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.

He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.

You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.

He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.

“So how was it actually?” you ask.

“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”

You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.

“There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.

“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”

You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”

He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.

“Mask,” he mutters.

It takes you a second to realize what he wants.

“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.

“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.

“Oh for the love of…”

You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?

You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.

“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.

Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.

“What?” you ask.

You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.

“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”

“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.

He snorts. “My problem?”

You consider, humming. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”

He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”

You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.

“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.

“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”

You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.

“That fast?” you ask.

“Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.

“It’s clear!”

“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”

You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.

“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.

“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.

“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.

“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”

He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.

“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”

And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.

Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.

But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.

“…Want me to take it out?” you try.

His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Want… to see it?”

He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.

Then he shifts.

His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.

“Squeaks.”

You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.

Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.

Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.

“Taste good,” he rumbles.

“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.

He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”

You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.

It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?

Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”

You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.

“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.

“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”

You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.

“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”

You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.

“Go on,” he urges.

You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.

“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”

You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.

When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.

“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”

You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”

He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.

“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”

A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.

“You have experience,” he asserts.

“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”

He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.

“And my hands,” you add, gasping.

“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.

You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”

His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.

“Strip, sergeant. Now.”

You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.

“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”

“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.

The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.

If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.

He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.

“Trying to kill me,” you pant.

He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.

“Is that…?”

“Come find out.”

You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.

“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”

“It will if you can be patient for me.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.

His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”

You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”

His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”

“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”

“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”

You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.

“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.

“That’s my girl.”

He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.

You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.

“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”

He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.

“How copy?” he hushes.

“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”

“Tactical retreat?”

“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”

His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”

You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.

He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.

“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”

“N-no,” you lie.

He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.

It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.

You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.

He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.

“Close,” you pant.

He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.

Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.

“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”

“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”

He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”

“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”

“Fuck.”

He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.

You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.

And he doesn’t stop.

“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.

But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.

Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.

“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.

He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.

Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.

Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.

He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”

His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.

A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.

“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.

“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.

“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”

You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.

“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.

You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.

His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”

You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.

You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.

“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.

You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”

“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.

“Have to fix that, then.”

You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.

You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.

“Yes,” you agree.

That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.

“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”

And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.

You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.

He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.

And your eyes.

The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.

“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.

“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”

Just the head. Christ.

The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)

He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.

Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.

“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.

You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.

By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.

“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”

“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.

“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.

You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.

“Stressed?” you ask, confused.

He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”

You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.

“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”

You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.

“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”

And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.

He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”

He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.

“What about you?”

He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.

“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”

You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.

“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”

“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.

He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”

You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.

“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”

And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.

When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.

“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.

“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.

“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”

You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.

“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”

His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.

“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.

You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.

“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.

“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”

“That so, sergeant?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”

He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”

You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.

“Show me how nice you can ask then.”

And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.

You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.

“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”

“Need what, lovely?” he husks.

“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”

Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.

There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.

Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.

There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.

He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.

It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.

“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”

You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”

You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…

“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”

There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.

You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.

“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”

He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.

The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.

“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”

His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.

“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”

His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.

“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.

You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.

“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”

You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.

“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.

“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.

“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”

Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.

“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”

You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.

“Shut up, Simon.”

“Insubordinate.”

“Fraternizer.”

“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”

“Only if you report me.”

“Mutually assured destruction then.”

Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”

He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”

You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.

“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”

He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”

“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”

“Guess so.”

He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.

“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”

You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.

“Nap?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”

Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.

“You’re my hero.”

He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”

“Yessir.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #cross posted on ao3 #old fic #sergeant squeaks #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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romerona · 6 months ago

Text

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Feat Abbot Staff!!

Carmy hated Sundays.

The Bear was closed and for a man used to the relentless pace of a kitchen—orders flying in, knives slicing, pans clattering—the stillness of a day off felt more like a curse than a blessing. Without the chaos to ground him, he was left alone with his thoughts, something he avoids at all coast. He’d tried to fill the hours: cleaning his already spotless apartment, flipping through a cookbook he’d read a dozen times, even going for a run. But nothing seemed to stick. The quiet only made the knots in his chest tighten.

That’s why he was here, walking aimlessly through the park, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. The air was crisp, the kind of late-autumn chill that bit at your nose but wasn’t cold enough to send you running for cover. Leaves crunched under his sneakers, their vivid oranges and yellows scattered across the path like nature’s version of confetti. The walk wasn’t fixing anything, but at least it gave him something to do. Something to focus on other than the gnawing sense that he should be doing more—even if he wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.

The distant sound of cheering, music, laughter, and the unmistakable squeak of sneakers against asphalt drew his attention. Rounding a corner, he spotted the commotion: the park’s basketball court was packed with people, all gathered around a lively game. A colorful banner hung crookedly above the entrance: Teachers vs. Parents Fundraiser—Help Abbott Elementary Score New Desks!

Carmy slowed his steps, curiosity tugging at him. Abbott Elementary. He’d heard you mention it in passing—how you loved your chaotic fourth graders, even when they tested your patience. You’d shared stories that had made him laugh more than he expected, like the time students were ‘desking’ and one of her coworkers splint her ankle.

On the court, two teams—one in bright shirts labeled Teacher Squad—were in the middle of a heated game. The crowd around the edges was just as lively, holding signs and hollering encouragement. Kids raced around with ice cream cones, parents juggled snacks and folding chairs, and a few teachers shouted at their teammates with varying levels of enthusiasm... And cameras?

Carmy’s gaze drifted toward the sidelines, and that’s when he saw you.

You were holding a clipboard, looking equal parts coach, cheerleader, and chaos manager, laughing as a tall man in a Teacher Squad t-shirt tried to dribble past a petite woman in braids who had the energy of someone far too invested in a friendly game.

“Janine!” you shouted, waving your clipboard. “Stick to defense, not interpretive dance!”

Janine threw her arms up. “I am playing defense! I just happen to be expressive about it!”

Another man—who Carmy guessed was not a regular athlete—tried to block someone but ended up tripping over his own feet.

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd as a woman with an air of authority rolled her eyes. “Jacob, for heaven’s sake, plant your feet!”

“I’m working on it!” The man, Jacob, shouted back, sweating bullets.

Meanwhile, on a DJ setup at the edge of the court, a woman stood at a table with a microphone in one hand and a portable turntable in the other. She was wearing oversized sunglasses and a sparkly "Finest Principal of the Year" t-shirt.

She leaned into the mic, her voice dripping with confidence. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and everyone else lucky enough to witness this greatness, welcome to The Ava Coleman’s Show! Featuring basketball, fundraising, and these fabulous beats brought to you by yours truly.”

Carmy was unable to look away from the scene. It was chaos—absolute, unfiltered chaos—but there was something oddly magnetic about it.

You caught sight of him before he could decide whether to leave or stay. Your eyes lit up in recognition, and you broke into a grin, waving him over. “Carmy? Hey!”

He froze, realizing he’d been caught observing, he hesitated for a moment before stepping closer to you. “Uh, hey.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, jogging over to the sideline with a bright smile.

“Just walking,” he said, his tone casual, though his eyes lingered on you a little longer than he intended. “Didn’t know there was an event.”

You grinned, gesturing to the chaos behind you. “Yep! Teachers vs. Parents fundraiser. Most desks in my classroom are about two good elbows away from falling apart, so here we are.”

“That bad?” he asked, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"You have no idea." You laugh.

Carmy glanced at the court, where a small woman—Janine, if he recalled correctly—attempted a layup… and missed. Spectacularly. The ball rebounded off the rim and smacked into Jacob, who yelped and stumbled backward into an older woman, spilling her lemonade.

“Jacob!” The woman scolded, dabbing at her blouse with a napkin. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you made it this far in life.”

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” Jacob said, raising his hands defensively before being yanked back into formation by a red haired woman.

“Quit standing there like a scarecrow, Jacob,” she barked. “Play defense, for crying out loud! And somebody get Barbara another lemonade.”

“Looks... intense.” Carmy tells her.

“Oh, it is,” you said with mock seriousness. “Melissa’s out for blood, Barbara’s refusing to play, and Janine... well, she's... enthusiastic. The only one that can give us a fighting chance is Gregory." You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder toward the court.

On the court, a tall man with a serious demeanor—whom Carmy guessed was Gregory—executed a perfect jump shot, earning cheers from the teacher's side. Nearby, Janine with a bright smile, clapped enthusiastically.

"Nice shot, Gregory!" Janine called out, her admiration evident.

Carmy chuckled softly,“Sounds like you’ve got it covered.”

Before you could respond, the DJ's, Ava, voice boomed over the mic again. “Heads up! This next track is dedicated to the parents who thought they could outplay me.”

She hit a button, and Jump Around blared from the speakers.

“Is she always like this?” Carmy asked, nodding toward Ava.

“Always,” you said, grinning. “But we love her. Mostly... she's what I like to call a creative leader."

“So, this is what you do on Sundays?” He asked.

“Not every Sunday,” you said, shrugging. “But when the kids need desks, we show up. Gotta support the cause, right?”

He nodded, shifting his weight. “Seems like a good cause.”

“It is,” you said warmly, then tilted your head at him. “You can stay if you want. No pressure. But, it’s more fun than wandering around on your own, I promise.”

He hesitated, his instinct to keep moving clashing with the unexpected comfort of your presence. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “I’ll even buy you a cupcake from the snack table. Chocolate, with sprinkles. The good kind.”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s your pitch? A cupcake?”

“Best ones in town,” you replied confidently. “Baked by Barbara herself. And trust me, if you’ve never had a Barbara Howard cupcake, you haven’t lived.”

For a moment, he debated it. Sundays were his least favorite day for a reason. But here, in the middle of this chaos—your chaos—it didn’t feel so bad. Finally, he let out a small sigh and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

“Good choice,” you replied, patting his shoulder before gesturing toward an empty spot on the sidelines. “Park it there, Chef Carmy. You’re about to witness the greatest—and messiest—game of all time.”

He watched as you jogged back, clipboard in hand, before stopping in front of Barbara, who was comfortably seated on a folding chair with her arms crossed and a bottle of water balanced neatly on her knee.

“Alright, Barbie, the game's still on track and we are five points down,” you said, tapping your clipboard against your hip with mock authority.

Barbara didn’t even flinch, raising a single unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh no, dear. I’ve done my part. My knees are not built for this level of foolishness.”

“But the kids need you!” you countered, raising your hands in a dramatic display of desperation. “Think of the desks, Barbara. The desks!”

Barbara waved a hand dismissively, though Carmy caught the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. “The children will survive, desks or no desks. But I will not survive chasing a basketball like a teenager. It’s your turn.”

You let out a dramatic, theatrical sigh, tossing your clipboard onto the bench. “Fine! Guess I’ll have to take one for the team. Again. The things I do for education.”

Barbara chuckled softly, waving you off. “Do your best, dear.”

Carmy leaned against the fence, arms crossed, as he settled in to watch. His eyes tracked your movements on the court as you threw yourself into the game with unrelenting enthusiasm. It was almost endearing—almost. You darted toward the ball, arms outstretched to block a pass—only to misjudge your angle entirely and slam directly into Jacob, who yelped as he tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs.

The ball ricocheted off Jacob’s head, soaring through the air and narrowly missing Melissa, who jumped back with a glare.

“Watch it!” she barked.

“Sorry!” you shouted, grimacing as you crouched down to help a dazed Jacob to his feet. “That one’s on me.”

Jacob groaned, rubbing his elbow. “No worries. Just another day of being collateral damage.”

“You’re a champ,” you said, patting him on the shoulder as the ball was scooped up by one of the parents. “Shake it off!”

“Classic,” Ava’s voice boomed from the DJ table. “That’s why you don’t mix bad aim with too much confidence. Someone get this on video for the highlight reel.”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, leaning further into the fence as the game pressed on. Watching you, he felt the restless tension in his chest begin to ease, replaced by something lighter.

You weren’t the most graceful player on the court—far from it. Within minutes, you’d tripped over your own shoelaces, collided with Janine during an overly enthusiastic pass, and accidentally launched the ball straight into Gregory’s face. But every stumble, every misstep, was met with your laughter—a sound so warm and genuine it seemed to ripple through the air, softening everything around it.

Carmy’s smirk deepened as he watched you jog back to your spot, waving apologetically to Gregory, who gave you a long-suffering look in return.

“C’mon, Chef Carmy,” you called out suddenly, spotting him on the sidelines. “Don’t just stand there! Cheer or something! Ava promised to drop the bass for every basket we score.”

“If you score,” Ava chimed in over the mic, smirking as she adjusted her oversized sunglasses. “Let’s not set unrealistic expectations.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ava!” you shouted back, rolling your eyes.

Carmy chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him here or why he’d stayed, but as he leaned against the fence, watching the chaotic mix of personalities on the court, he realized something. For the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about work. He wasn’t worrying about what needed to be done, what had gone wrong, or what could go wrong next.

Instead, he was just... here. Watching you light up the court with your unrelenting energy, the way you made even the smallest moments feel big like they mattered. Watching the Abbott crew—imperfect, loud, and utterly ridiculous—made his day feel like the best day of the week so far.

And when the game ended with a triumphant, if not entirely skilful, shot from Melissa, Carmy found himself clapping along with the rest of the crowd, the tension in his chest completely gone.

You jogged over to him, grabbed a water bottle and flopped onto the bench, tilting your head back as you took a long drink.

“You alive?” Carmy called out, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

You lowered the bottle, looking at him breathlessly but grinning, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. “Barely, but I’m thriving in spirit. Pretty impressive, right?”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to a smile. “Impressive isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Rude,” you said, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “But I’ll take it. Cupcake?”

“Sure,” he said, his voice quieter now, but warm.

And as you handed him a cupcake from the snack table, your fingers brushing his for just a second, he felt something unfamiliar—a flicker of ease, of belonging, of something good.

The sun was starting to dip lower, casting a golden hue over the park. Carmy took a bite of the cupcake, savoring the quiet moment. For the first time in a long time, the restless churn inside him had stilled.

And as he stood there, beside you, surrounded by laughter and warmth, he realized that this Sunday, chaotic as it was, might just be the best he’d had in years.

A/N: Heyyyy, thank you so much for the support. I'm on fireee lol. I hope you enjoyed it and tell me if you would like to be tagged. <3

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe

@akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1

Part 5

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x you #reader-insert #reader insert #the bear #abbott elementary #abbott elementary x reader

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bleulikedaylight · 2 months ago

Text

I Was Hoping You'd Say That

pairing: basketball captain! natasha romanoff x cheerleader captain! reader

synopsis: it always starts the same way — the squeak of rubber soles, the bounce of a ball, and your hopeless crush on basketball captain natasha romanoff. as AAU’s cheer captain, you swear it’s all “professional observation.” but when natasha starts noticing your disappearing act every time she’s near, she calls you out — and maybe, just maybe, calls you in.

warnings: none !! <3 | wc: 1.4k | genre: fluff >_<

note: this is my first time posting a fic here, so hi !! :) i've literally been simping so hard for basketball player! natasha romanoff — it’s embarrassing. like, i saw her in a loose jersey once (in my mind), and i haven’t known peace since.

It always started the same way — the squeak of rubber soles, the bounce of a ball, the swish of a clean shot.

Y/N L/N sat with her legs crossed on the bleachers, red-and-white pom poms resting beside her. The cheerleaders were taking a quick break from their routine, but Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the court — from her.

Every practice, Y/N swore she wouldn’t look. And yet, there she was again — legs curled up on the bleachers, pom poms forgotten at her side, eyes trained on the girl shooting hoops like the world wasn't watching.

Natasha Romanoff.

AAU's pride. Number 13. Basketball captain. And, unfortunately for Y/N, Yelena's older sister.

"You're drooling," Yelena deadpans beside you, sipping her soda.

You tear your eyes away from the court like you’d been caught committing a crime. "Excuse me? I’m just watching the game.”

“It’s practice.”

“I’m… analyzing her technique.” You sniff. “As a cheer captain.”

Yelena raises a brow. “Her technique?”

"Yes," you say, face heating. “Totally professional. Very strategic. Normal.”

Across the court, Natasha does a clean crossover, spins, and scores. Her ponytail bounces as she jogs backward, laughing with her teammates.

You sigh quietly.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “You always look at her like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re one Taylor Swift song away from writing her name in your wedding journal.”

You open your mouth to deny it. Then close it again. “...Shut up, Yelena.”

It’s been like this for months.

Crushes are supposed to fade — at least, that’s what your mom said when she caught you sighing at your phone for the fifth time during dinner.

But this? This isn’t fading.

This is sitting through every basketball game just to watch her sweat in slow mo level.

This is replaying every time Natasha calls you sweetheart like it didn’t shatter your brain chemistry.

This is slow, unbearable pining — made worse by the fact that Natasha is so effortlessly kind.

“Nice routine today,” Natasha would say, walking past the cheer squad.

Or, “You always do that little hair flip before you jump — it’s cute.”

Or, the worst one — the actual heartbreaker — “Your ribbon matches your eyes.”

Your ribbon matches your eyes.

You had written that down in the notes app under “Things That Made Me Float.”

One afternoon, after a long game and even longer practice, you stayed behind to help clean up the confetti from your halftime routine.

Everyone else had already left. Except—

"Need help?" Natasha’s voice makes you jump. She’s holding a broom and a water bottle, her jersey hanging loosely off one shoulder.

“Oh,” you squeak. “N-no. I’m good. I mean—yes? If you want? You don’t have to, but like—if you want to—”

Natasha laughs. “Breathe, cheerleader.”

You turn pink. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting—um. Thanks.”

You sweep in silence for a bit, just the two of you under the dim gym lights.

Then Natasha asks quietly, “Can I ask you something?”

You look up. “Yeah?”

“Why do you always avoid me?”

You freeze. “I don’t.”

“You do,” Natasha says, still gentle. “You’re always laughing with Yelena, but the second I show up, you go quiet. You stop making eye contact. You run off.”

You bite your lip. “I—I didn’t mean to. It’s not that I don’t like you, I just—”

You stop.

Natasha steps closer. “You just?”

You take a deep breath. “You’re Yelena’s sister. And you’re like, intimidatingly cool. And I didn’t want to make things weird. Or obvious.”

Natasha tilts her head. “Obvious?”

“I’ve kind of… liked you. For a while,” you whisper, cheeks on fire. “But you probably knew that already.”

There’s a pause.

Then Natasha smiles — slow, and soft, and heart-meltingly real.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

You blink. “What?”

“I like you too,” Natasha says simply. “Always have.”

You stare. “You’re joking.”

Natasha grins. “Nope. But I am going to ask if I can take you out. Like, for real.”

You nod too quickly. “Yes. I mean—yes. Like, absolutely. Just let me scream into my pillow first.”

Natasha laughs, shaking her head fondly. “You’re adorable.”

And as you stand under the gym lights, brooms forgotten, hearts louder than ever — it’s official.

You are no longer just the cheerleader with a crush.

You are the cheerleader who finally got the girl.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #basketball player x cheerleader #fanfic #fanfiction

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daddydoddsjr · 4 months ago

Text

Moustache - One Shot

Pairing || Season 16!Sonny Carisi x Female!Reader

Contents/Warnings || Smut, P in V, face riding, dominant reader and submissive sonny, nipple play, rough sex, semi public teasing

“look at his stupid moustache” i say as i rewatch season 16. so silly… i love it. we’re going to pretend that he didn’t shave it after like two episodes okay. i miss it. i have an essay and a presentation due tomorrow yet i decided to do this first at 9pm :D

The “experienced, empathetic detective” that Benson put a request in for was… interesting, to say the least. Moody, maybe overly confident, definitely opinionated. You didn’t care at first, you didn’t have to deal with him as often as the rest of the squad did. Though with you being the ADA, you did sometimes have to deal with his remarks and trying to show off what he was learning in law school whenever he had a chance.

Most of the time you brushed off whatever he said, but at some point his stupid remarks and big blue eyes got to you, though. You found yourself eyeing him when you were in their squad room discussing case evidence, drinking in the sight of his lanky frame, the swoop of his hair, the little curls at the nape of his neck, and that stupid, stupid moustache.

After a big case you won for SVU, you all went out for dinner and drinks at a nearby restaurant. It was you, Sonny, Olivia, Amanda, Fin, and Nick sitting at a round table laughing and talking in pairs. Lucky you, you were sitting beside Sonny and easily able to get him into a conversation by bringing up a vague law term and sending him into a tangent about his night classes. You weren’t really listening to anything he was saying, your eyes drifting to his moustache and wondering what it would feel like on your thighs and neck.

You took a long sip of your martini as your eyes moved lower and your free hand shifted, itching to touch him. You set your glass down, your tongue running over your bottom lip before you carefully scooted close to the edge of your seat. Not that Sonny noticed, too busy stuffing his face with pasta and going on about one of his teachers.

You built up the courage for a moment, wondering if it was really a good idea to make a move now, around the squad. You glanced around to make sure that no one was looking at the two of you, and luckily everyone was still engrossed in their separate conversations at the table. Your hand slid onto his thigh, a gentle touch as you interrupted whatever thought that he was coming up with between bites. Sonny looked like he had just short circuited, his mouth full of food and cheek puffed out like a chipmunk while his face reddened, his eyes meeting yours.

You tilt your head to the side, looking over his face, “You look real cute like that.” That short and sweet statement only made Sonny’s face redden deeper. He swallowed carefully before taking a gulp of his drink to calm himself down, “…cute?”

“Yeah, cute,” You answered, your hand sliding further up his thigh as he nearly dropped his glass as he shakily set it back down. “You seem surprised,” You mused.

“I just… I didn’t know you thought of me that way,” The words tumbled out of his mouth, his attempt at trying to stay calm failing miserably. You smile a little, “If you want me to stop, I will,” you say as your hand slid up to his belt, giving it a gentle tug. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man get hard so fast before.

“No, I wouldn’t tell you stop,” He squeaked out, his eyes darting around the table to make sure no one else noticed. You hum softly, letting go of his belt, “Well, I will for now. But maybe you’ll want to come over after dinner and taste something else?”

He nodded quickly, like he didn’t even have to think about it. The rest of the dinner was relatively normal, except for you giving Sonny’s upper thigh or bicep a gentle squeeze once in a while just to tease him during conversation. He was mostly quiet now, but his eyes were definitely on you more often than not. You loved knowing the effect that you had on him, and he was just adorable with those bright puppy eyes and the tent in his pants.

When dinner was over, you were normal, saying goodbye to the rest of the squad. Once the others had walked off or gotten into their own cabs, you pulled Sonny into one with you. The ride to your place was a blur of kisses and whispered flirtations, mostly from you as he tried to keep up with your straightforwardness, but was clearly unable to. You lead him into your apartment with a frenzy of kisses, his hands on your hips as you pulled him in by his tie. You didn’t bother leading him to your bedroom, opting to just pull him to the couch. Both of your sets of clothes were tossed all over in a matter of minutes, leaving him in just his boxers and you in your bra and panties. He was straining against the fabric of his boxers, a small wet spot forming from pre cum just as you had a damp spot on your panties.

You look him over for a moment and took in the sight of his soft stomach and fuzzy happy trail disappearing under the waist band of his boxers. You gently bite your bottom lip as you look back at his moustache, the thoughts of what it would feel like against you returning.

“Lay down,” You commanded lowly.

“Yes, ma’am,” He mumbled oh so politely as he laid on his back and made himself comfortable. You watched him as you slid your panties and bra off, tossing them somewhere else. You straddle his face, but don’t lower yourself completely yet to see what he would do. His arms hooked around your thighs and he was looking at you in almost a trance, his head moving to press against one thigh, his lips ghosting against it and his moustache gently tickling your skin before he left a gentle kiss, his wide eyes looking up at your face.

You sit fully, careful not to completely crush him. He grunts softly, quickly diving into you as his nose bumped against your clit. You felt his moustache rub against you just the right amount to heighten your pleasure. You slowly grind against his face while your fingers snaked into his hair. He was lapping at you like a man starved, his arms around your thighs keeping you from squirming too much. It didn’t take long for your breath to quicken and your stomach begin to tighten before you burst, shuddering and tugging at his hair as you came hard on his face. He dragged your orgasm out as much as possible before you bat at his arms and moved, shakily getting off of him. You quickly noticed the tent in his boxers still standing as he sat up, this time guiding you to lay down. You also noticed the massive wet spot.

“Did you…” You ask but are interrupted with a quick nod. He came just from eating you out? You were flattered, and impressed that he was hard again so easily. He yanked his boxers down, letting his cock spring out. “Tell me what you want me to do…” He whispered in a needy tone. He knew exactly what he wanted to do yet he wanted you to command him again. You lay on your back, spreading your legs open but raising one up, resting it on his shoulder. His head immediately tilts and rests against it as you tell him, “I want you… hard and fast.”

He nods quickly, wasting no time before moving flush against you, kissing the leg on his shoulder before aligning himself and plunging into you, holding your hips down on the couch. You let out a shaky sigh at the feeling of him entering you before he set a pace exactly how you requested.

Your bodies moved in unison, and you were practically dizzy from how fast he was moving inside of you. You felt his moustache drag against your calf as he nipped at your skin before looking down at your breasts. His hands slid up from your hips to them, kneading the soft flesh before tweaking your nipples, making your back arch off of the couch a bit. You were letting out a moan or huff at every thrust, only getting louder as he toyed with your nipples and kept his pace steady. He played with your nipples almost carefully, testing what every different tug did to you like it was an experiment. His eyes were locked on your face, taking in every moan and gasp, every change in look.

Your entire body felt like it was on fire, your nails digging into his thighs and stomach beginning to tighten once again after only a few minutes. He noticed immediately as you tensed, your back arching further off of the couch.

“F-faster…” You stuttered, knowing that it would push you over the edge. Sonny obliged, picking up the pace the best he could as his hips stuttered, his own orgasm close behind yours.

“Fuck, Sonny!” You cried out, your vision nearly going white as your walls spasmed around him from an intense orgasm. Your legs twitched, barely able to keep your body from convulsing as he kept his pace fast for another few moments before his own orgasm hit. He let out a low moan, his eyes shutting tightly as he spilled inside of you, weakly giving you a few more thrusts before stilling. His eyes opened again, meeting yours, “That was amazing…”

You nod in agreement, your leg sliding off of his shoulder before you sat up, feeling his release begin to leak out of you. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, letting yourselves bask in the remnants of your coupling. Your head leaned back against the back of the couch, your eyes closed as he did the same. The silence was comfortable, and rare from him for the short time that it lasted.

“Should I shave my moustache?” Sonny suddenly asked, as if he hadn’t just made you scream beneath him a few minutes before. You rolled your head to the side, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. He was looking at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought about his simply question. You sigh, reaching over and gently touching the end of his moustache, silently reminiscing about how it felt against your leg, “Don’t.”

#sonny carisi x female reader #sonny carisi smut #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi fanfic #sonny carisi #law and order svu #l&o: svu #svu #peter scanavino

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seeingteacupsindragons · 3 months ago

Note

Please share some of your Stanxeno headcanons 🙏 idk what exactly to ask about but I'll be happy to listen anyway

Random Assortment of Noncanonical thoughts by spending too much time reading up about the Marines lately and just in general being an American emo nerd born the same year these two losers were, and therefore more based in reality than whatever canon has going on, and none of which is therefore inarguable fact:

Stan calls Xeno his wife jokingly (a Canon Fact) because...okay, look, I was looking up stuff about military spouses and like 99.99999% of everything is specific to military wives. There is almost nothing about military husbands. I found something that specified what kind of bras to wear for your service member coming home. And I just think that easily could have become a joke between the two of them

I already mentioned the illegal drag races as teenagers, but I want to bring that up again. Xeno drove because he probably weighs less than all of Stan's muscles and that's money on the line, baby

Xeno is clearly a Gifts kind of guy so he probably sent Stan regular care packages whenever he was deployed, and Stan probably sent letters back with lipstick marks on them, just because it's fucking cute to think about. Also would explain why Stan's squad all agrees to work for Xeno. "That's the guy who sent us cookies every month????"

Both sets of their coworkers are lowkey doubtful that they are involved with someone who probably also has a Wikipedia page

Xeno got locked in his office during NASA tours because he is Not Allowed to Talk to the Public. I'm pretty sure HR and his manager were mainlining antacids

Relatedly, Byakuya landing on Treasure Island after the petrification happened and being like, "Well, at least Xeno's not here."

Stan is not given a specific rank in canon, but if he's the team commander of a Marine Special Ops squad, he has to be a Captain. Which is a commissioned officer rank (so he did Not enlist), which means in literally 98% of cases, he needs a 4-year college degree (and that 2% would require him to be way older than he is, because he's already squeaking by realism at his current age with that rank). So let's shove him into the Naval Academy for an immediate commission on graduating (which is hard to get into, but he really is smart as hell) and let Xeno come to Commissioning Week to give him his new officer cap etc. and pin it all in place with a, "Congratulations, Lieutenant" (what he would be immediately after graduation) solely for the fact that it's fucking adorable

Speaking of, the USNA requires you not to be married to enroll, so they're going to have to wait to get married, but they would have to anyway, because they were practically 22 before it would have been legal countrywide (DADT was repealed when they were seniors, though)

They definitely shoplifted from Hot Topic and Spencer's

Stan desperately wanting to get shitty mall piercings and Xeno having to lecture him about blood borne diseases and how the Marines would hate it until he gives up on the idea

Xeno is actually a better shot than you would think because look, Stan engaged in his hobbies, it was only fair

I don't know why people think Stan was the popular one, because he seems to have imprinted on Xeno like a duckling as a child and then decided he Had A Friend Why Do I Need More? And it's cute to think of the pretty jock boy hanging out silently behind his charismatically weird nerd friend while he tries to talk them out of trouble because they committed yet another crime

I also do not understand the people who think either of them have any experience outside of each other, because neither seems like the type to settle and their perfect person was Right There their entire lives. Even if they did not recognize what that feeling was. No. Sorry. They're significantly more likely to have been "boyfriends" since that meant giving each other dandelions and sharing their favorite crayons

Why do people think Stan is attracted to women/bisexual??? Or could pass as straight??? He cannot. He is a hot, possibly Texan, wall of muscle Marine with a drawl and a terrifying sharpshooter record, and he's still a flaming homosexual. Thank you for your time

*hands you plate* here is a random assortment of thoughts from pre-petrification times.

I have more, but this was a fun start.

#Dr. STONE #Stanxeno #Stanley Snyder #Xeno Houston Wingfield

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xreaderdumpster · 2 months ago

Text

Squad 8 Friday night

@villainsrtasty and I got talking about everyone’s favourite Shunsui and it birthed this. I’ve always seen him as a Dionysus style hedonist: alcohol, heavy incense and lots of sex regardless of gender or position. So, why doesn’t he host an orgy?

Content warning: 18+ MDNI, p in v, p in a, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it irl!!!), ass spanking, eating out women, threesome (mff), gay sex, reader gets naked and horny but doesn’t participate in the fucking (not yet at least), the man you don’t recognise is Urahara btw, has been proof read but please let me know if I miss anything!!!

Word count: 835

You pulled the sliding door back and entered the Squad 8 barracks. It was dark, only moonlight illuminating the tatami flooring. You received a small envelope a few days ago. Inside was an invitation written on light pink paper. You couldn’t tell who’s handwriting it was but the message was clear:

“Come to the Squad 8 Barracks on Friday night for a fun time.”

There’d always been whisperings about what goes on in Squad 8 on the last Friday of the month. Some believed it was a secretive club of some kind, some assumed it was always a drinking night for the captains. But you believed otherwise. You’d see your captain, Byakuya Kuchiki, leaving the barracks on the last Friday of the month on multiple occasions. The next day, he’d seem more relaxed, like he’d had the best sleep of his life. No one would question where he was or what the marks that peeked through his haori’s collar were. Rangiku, a close friend of yours, sometimes would cancel your usual Friday night plans.

“I have… A late night meeting.” She’d explain with a slightly wider smile than normal. When you’d asked her the next day how the meeting had gone, she would bite her lip before coyly shrugging.

You continued walking through darkened corridors. Where the hell was this secret meeting happening? All you found so far were empty rooms with no light. But then you noticed it, the faint smoke of incense seeping out of a crack in a doorway. The smoke was illuminated slightly by the faint glow of light. As you took in the scent, your shoulders relaxed, your blood running hotter under your skin. Rose, amber and patchouli merged together into a delightful, almost powerful aroma that made a familiar warmth seep into your belly. The warmth only a hand or another body could quell. Stepping closer, you heard subtle moans, groans and sinful skin slapping. Your cheeks heated. You’d heard these kinds of noises before. It couldn’t have been!

Shaking hands slide the door open, stepping into a sinful sight. Captains on lieutenants, squad members lips interlocked together, naked bodies writhing and touching like it was their last night in the Seretai. Silk bed sheets and pillows scattered about, very few of them left without a wet patch. No one had noticed your entrance to this den of sexuality. You recognised some faces. Rangiku was naked, back arched in pleasure as Kenpachi Zaraki pounded her from behind. Those blue eyes met yours as you watched. She giggled slightly

“H-Hey bestie, glad to… See C-Captain Kyoraku finally.. Fuck! Finally invited you.” She half said, half moaned before Kenpachi pulled her hair.

“Pay attention, woman.” He commanded before spanking her ass. A squeak escaped Rangiku followed by a moan. The squelching of her pussy made your face flush more.

You ventured further across the room before your eyes widened. Captain Byakuya’s pale frame hunched over a familiar tattooed figure. His hips moved slowly, rhythmically as low groans escaped the man below him. Renji gripped the pillow below him tighter, slightly biting it. Byakuya’s hips kept hitting against Renji’s ass, one hand scratching down Renji’s back and the other gripping the sheets below them so hard, his knuckles turned white. You weren’t sure whether to keep watching, enthralled by the taboo of it when Byakuya’s cold eyes met yours.

“Why are you still dressed (L/N)?” He asked in his usual serious manner.You glanced down at your robes before looking back to your captain. Whether it was the growing, pulsing heat in your lower stomach or the dizzying sensation of just being there, you weren’t sure. But you couldn’t refuse your captain. Slowly you disrobed, baring your skin to the cool air. He eyed you up and down, taking in every detail before speeding up his thrusts into Renji.

A man you didn’t recognise grinned at you as you kept observing the hedonism going on.

“Newbie, huh? Welcome to Kyoraku’s Hedonistic paradise.” He greeted in a lazy drawl with arousal around his stubble before he pressed his face back between a pair of thick thighs. You didn’t recognise the woman he was eating out but she was beautiful. At least her body was. Thick thighs, dark skin that glistened with sweat, round boobs. Her face was obscured between the thighs of Captain SoiFon. She mewled, her hips grinding against the woman’s face as she kept getting eaten out.

“Yes, Lady Yourichi! Yes! I-I’m so close.” Soifon moaned as she began massaging the other woman’s breasts. Beneath Soifon’s thighs, the woman moaned before her thumb began circling the Captain’s clit.

“Ah, our newest member.” A smooth voice spoke. You turned to see Shunsui lounging across a loveseat. Hairy legs spread, revealing his erect and throbbing cock. It was thicker than you had imagined, the tip red as it sat against his stomach. He gulped his sake in one go before setting the cup aside. Large hands patted his thighs.

“Take a seat.”

#x reader #fanfic #bleach #bleach smut #shunsui kyoraku #shunsui smut #rangiku matsumoto #kisuke urahara #yoruichi shihouin #soi fon #renji abarai #byakuya kuchiki #kenpachi zaraki #kenpachi smut #byakuya smut #renji smut #x reader smut #smut fanfiction #bleach fanfiction

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lillypad910 · 8 months ago

Note

I’m the person who asked for the Queen Bee with Big Dick! Billy and omg PLEASE do a smut with it (btw that just fulfilled all my dirty mind tysm).

Didn’t think this would be my ticket to fame but no complaints-

Of course!!

Ex-Queen Bee

Pairing: King Billy! Billy Hargrove x Queen Bee! f! Reader

Warnings: Smut, p n v, oral (f receiving), fingering (v and a ), pure filth, degradation, slut shaming, enemies who fuck,

Summary: You have lost your rep as the Queen Bee of Hawkins High at that party last week, but with this loss from the Tigers at the basketball game, Billy propositions you for some much needed attention.

A/n: Someone call Jesus cause I might need to just go ahead and start my walk to hell after this one

It has been a week since Billy was an asshole at the party, calling you out in front of everyone. You have lost a lot of power over everyone, your friends started drifting, Carol realizing how genuinely stupid it was of her to do everything you asked. Tommy broke up with you, returning to that bitch.

Tina is the only one who still sticks around, at least for now. You hold some power over her, after kicking Carol off the cheer team. People look at you differently, snaring and glaring at you whenever you walk by, but you don't let it bother you. You refuse to let it bother you.

"Go, Tigers, Go!" You all cheer, doing a small routine on the sidelines of the basketball court. The members of the basketball team fight their way to win. Billy dribbling the ball closer to the net as the timer counts down.

The crowd behind you and your cheer squad go dead quiet as the ball is thrown into the air. The buzzer goes off as the ball teeters on the rim of the goal, but it doesn't go in. The ball falls over the edge, bouncing onto the hard wood as the other team's cheerleaders and audience blares into loud excitement.

The Tigers have lost the Home game.

Walking out of the gym with the rest of the squad about 30 minutes after the game has ended, you make your way down the hall when you remember you forgot something in the locker room.

"Shit," you quickly grab your bag off your shoulder and look inside, your necklace no where to be seen, "Ugh, girls, I'll see you tomorrow. I forgot something." Tina waves you off as you walk back towards the gym.

You step into the gymnasium, your sneakers squeaking across the now dead room, echoing through the large space. You take out the key Coach gave you earlier in the year as the Cheerleading Captain, unlocking the door before stepping inside.

You look inside your locker, then around the surrounding area. You catch a glimpse of silver under the bench.

"There you are," You mumble before crouching down and getting under the bench to snatch the necklace off the floor.

"Shit, do you show your ass off to everyone?" A voice comes from behind you and you jump, knocking your head into the bench.

"Fuck!" You yell, grabbing the top of your head as you climb out from under the bench, looking over at the unwanted visitor. There stands none other than fucking Billy Hargrove. "Ugh, fuck off, Billy." You groan, standing up, not even bothering to fix your skirt as it now just barely covers your ass.

"Aww, you don't like seeing me, Queen Bee? Or should I even call you that anymore? You know, since you're loosing your influence."

You roll your eyes, obviously annoyed at his presence, "Why are you even in here? This is the Girl's locker room, William."

"Hey, don't fucking judge me, Whore." He shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing around the room.

"That doesn't answer the question, Jackass." You raise a brow. Billy just sighs, looking you up and down.

"Well, originally Tina was supposed to meet me in here."

"Really? That dumb bitch?"

"I thought you two were friends?" He counters.

"More like... she does what I ask and I give her popularity points for it." You cross your arms over your chest.

"Hmm..." You watch Billy's eyes trail over your form, stopping for a second when his gaze reaches your chest. "You know, I hear no guy has even given you the time of day since that little brawl at the party." This catches you off guard, causing you to blink for a second before turning your head away from him.

"So?"

"Please, Bitch, we both know a whore like you needs all the attention." Billy steps closer to you, getting right up in front of you. "I wouldn't mind... supplying." You scoff at his proposition.

"Are you fucking serious? You? Shit, and I thought I was desperate." You go to move around him but he stops you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him, turning you around so your back is against his chest.

"Come on, Whore. We both know just how needy you are." His hands slip down your abdomen, pulling up the cheer uniform you have on. His fingers graze over the bare skin of your stomach, causing goose bumps to go up your arms.

"Fuck you, Billy." You try to wiggle out of his grip, but he only tightens his hold on you. One of his hands move downward, slipping under the skirt and into your underwear. Your breath hitches as his fingers push inside you.

"Please, you can cuss me out all you want, Bitch. But we both know this pussy needs attention. No other guy is willing to give what I'm offering." He pumps his fingers inside you, causing small moans to leave you.

"Fuck..." The word slips out without your approval as your knees nearly buckle. Why are his fingers so big?

"Do you like getting your pussy fucked? You fucking whore." Billy curls his fingers, causing you to slap your hand over your mouth. This doesn't seem to make him happy though.

Billy pulls his hand out of your clothes and shoves you down onto the bench in front of him. Before you can even react, he has his pants down to his ankles, his huge cock right at your face.

"Come on, Bitch. Be a good little slut and suck my dick. I wanna know what Tommy spoke so highly of." His voice is deeper than usual, eyes blown dark. Something about his attitude is... hot.

"Ew," You refuse to be his bitch, "I would rather die than suck your cock, Billy." Billy sighs.

His hand pulls up and wraps around your ponytail, yanking your head back. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to shove his fat cock down your throat.

You gag, your hands gripping at his thighs, "Mm!" You try to push yourself off but he holds your head down.

"Go on, Whore. Suck my cock like a good bitch." Tears form in your vision as he begins to bob your head on his cock, not giving anytime for you to adjust to his size in your mouth.

"That's it," Billy groans, "Just like that." You glare up at him, but decide to take advantage of this.

If he wants to see you be a whore, you'll show him a whore.

You concave your cheeks around him, sucking hard as you grip his thighs. You begin bobbing your head yourself, allowing him to loosen his grip on your hair a bit.

"That's right, suck that dick." He groans as you get a little sloppy with it, causing some spit to dribble down your chin. You feel your throat going sore fast, his cock rough as he thrusts it into your mouth.

"Shit-" Billy yanks you off, causing his cock to leave your lips with a sloppy pop. He looks down at you with those darkened eyes, his cock dripping with precum.

"What's wrong, Billy? Is my mouth too good for you?" You give him a smirk, still trying to catch your breath from when his big dick blocked your windpipe.

"You fucking Bitch." Billy shoves you to lay stomach down on the bench before yanking your underwear down. You don't fight him, actually finding it hot how rough he's being with you. Most guys are gentle, kind, they worship you, but he's being so aggressive.

He steps over the bench, straddling it behind you, pulling your legs so you are doing the same. He pushes you down so your face is squished into the metal seat.

"Gonna fuck you so good. Ruin you so no one else can fuck you." You feel the ridges of the bench rub against your bare cunt, the cold of the metal feeling oddly good.

"Please, like that tiny cock could do much damage to me." You say, looking back at him just enough so you see the flash of fury go over his eyes. He spanks your ass once, a hard slap that will definitely leave a mark, before lifting your hips as he pushes his cock right against you. You hold in the moan as the tip of his dick presses against your cunt.

"Beg." He orders you, but you glare back at him.

"No." You groan back at him. Billy leans over you, getting right at your ear.

"Fine." He bucks his hips forward, shoving his fat cock into you forcefully, causing you to grip the bench tightly, gasping as you brace yourself for the best fuck of your life.

"Shit!" You push your sneakers into the tile of the floor, causing your ass to lift off the bench a bit more, but Billy just grabs at your hips and thrusts into you, repeatedly hitting that perfect spot inside you than makes your toes curl. "Oh- Oh, fuck!" You moan out, gripping tighter onto the bench as your body starts to rock, inching forward with every harsh thrust he gives you.

"You like being treated like a whore? Like having a fat cock up your pussy?" You can hear him grinning through his words. They make you wanna vomit, but you can't deny how full his cock makes you feel.

You can feel him hitting deep, feeling your stomach make contact with the cold metal of the bench over and over again as he thrusts into you. God, you could have his cock in you all day.

"Y-You're being so gentle." You barely pant out, trying to provoke him further, but it only gets a laugh from him.

"Gentle? Please, Slut, I'm anything but." He grips your hips tighter before pounding his dick into your cunt, making you gasp.

It doesn't take long for this treatment to push you over the edge, you cunt spasming around his big dick as you come undone. You begin to feel overwhelmed as he doesn't stop. You pant like a dog as he fucks into you, harsh and deep. You feel like your insides are being rearranged.

"Fuck, look at you. Going stupid already, Whore?" You blink as you come back into focus at his words.

"N-No, I can take it. This is-Ah!" You shut up as your face is shoved down into the bench under you.

He fucks into you for what feels like hours, you don't know how many times you come undone on his cock. The bench is soaked as he finally does that last deep thrust, filling you with his cum, the warmth shooting through you. He pulls out before he can finish completely, pumping his cock in his hand as his cum shoots over your ass.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, him spreading your legs further to watch his cum leak out of your abused and sore cunt.

"Gotta' admit, Bitch. You look pretty like this." He moves his hand down, digging his finger into your cunt, earning a whimper from you.

"Billy..." You moan out his name, not even realizing it until after the fact. He just smirks, taking out his now covered finger and spreading your ass open for him to see.

"Ever had someone fuck you back here?" He presses his thumb to you, watching your ass slowly let it sink in. You whimper again, earning a small chuckle from him. "Going to ruin it too," he shoves his fingers inside your ass, the mixture of his cum and your slick helps lube the intrusion, making it nearly frictionless.

"Gonna make you my personal Bitch."

Tag list!

@cagethemunson

@spikeybatt

@cherrycolas-things

@r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

@ali-r3n

@thepurplelovewitch

#stranger things #x reader #billy hargrove #billy stranger things #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x female reader #dom! billy hargrove #smut #enemies to f buddies

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it-happened-one-fic · 2 months ago

Text

Swimming Through Avidya - Crewmeru Mermay (2025) Part 1

Summary: When you’re called to meet the archon in the Grand-Sage’s office, you hardly know what to expect. Especially since you’re just a part-time lecturer at the Akademiya who happened to be friends with some fairly elite individuals at the famed school of Sumeru. And to call to a fishy situation was an understatement to say the least.

(Part 1: You're Here), (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4), (Part 5)

Series Type: Gender-neutral reader/MerMay 2025/ series/ sfw/ fluff/ platonic or romantic/ Crewmeru/ Merman!Kaveh

Word Count: 2421

I was cautious as I peered in the Grand-Sage’s office where the archon awaited me, but it was hardly customary for me to be summoned by Lesser-Lord Kusanali herself.

But then, that was to be expected. I was just a part-time lecturer who happened to be friends with some fairly influential people.

And yet here I stood, peeking into the office before cautiously entering and catching sight of Alhaitham, Cyno, and the archon herself. An entire array of highly ranked, well-respected people, only two of whom I happened to know from having worked with them at some point or another.

The entire squad all turned to look at me at the same time, with only the archon smiling as she beckoned me over with one tiny hand, “Y/n, you’re here.”

I only faltered slightly before walking over. Idly wondering if I should bow or something as I glanced between the two men, whom I was far more familiar with, before I looked back down at the archon, “You asked for me…?”

I trailed off slightly, not really sure what to say even as she nodded, “Yes, Kaveh recommended that we get your help.”

I blinked in utter confusion, almost looking around in search of the blond man as I echoed her, “Kaveh?”

“He’s in a bit of what you might call…. A fishy situation,” Cyno spoke up ,and I looked his way almost immediately, my brow furrowing.

“He isn’t in trouble, is he?” I didn’t even bother hiding the concern that leaked into my tone.

“No, not precisely. In fact, he’s right here,” Nahida gestured to the Grand Sage’s desk behind her, and I frowned, noting the considerable lack of Kaveh there.

She let out a soft giggle as I glanced her way in confusion, and she nodded, waving me on over, “Go ahead. Take a look.”

My eyebrows arched, but I stepped closer anyway, and I felt my eyes widen as I caught sight of the bowl of water that held a very particular someone and had me dropping to the ground in a crouch. Hardly believing what I was seeing as his name slipped from my mouth in utter surprise, “Kaveh?”

There was no denying his identity as he twisted to look at me. His golden fins twitching and bringing him over to the side of the bowl where his tiny hands came to rest as I stared down in alarm at the miniaturized Kaveh. Or rather, miniaturized merman Kaveh.

From behind me, Alhaitham spoke in a dry tone that was perfectly at odds with my surprise, but then he’d quite likely already become accustomed to Kaveh’s new form.

“Apparently, Kaveh decided to help out one of the students who’s been attending his lectures with their study, and the student’s work turned out to be quite intriguing. Even possessing the capability of turning someone into a merperson, of all things.”

There was no denying the scowl on the tiny architect’s face as his yellow tail that occasionally glinted with a flicker of bluish scales flicked about agitatedly, “Well, how was I supposed to know I’d get turned into a fish!”

Kaveh’s voice squeaked out the bowl, and I had to keep myself from openly gaping down at him in shock. I honestly hadn’t entirely expected him to be able to speak, though. At least not at any pitch I would be able to understand… But now it was just that his voice was high-pitched and incredibly squeaky.

“I believe the proper term is ‘Merman,’” Alhaitham was hardly fazed as he corrected him, and Kaveh let out a huff. Turning a little circle in his plastic bowl before he turned my way as if to ask, ‘Can you believe him?’

I pressed my lips together, torn between being horrified at this turn of events and laughing at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. I finally managed to speak, though, as I twisted to look back at the others, “I’m assuming it was a study on marine biology?”

“Among other things,” Nahida nodded as she confirmed my question as she eyed Kaveh, and I followed her gaze.

Despite the situation, tiny mermanified Kaveh was oddly cute with the way he swished speedily through the water. His flared tail fanning out behind him as he glided along effortlessly through the water.

The fact that even his earrings had been shrunk down to a miniature size only made him that much cuter too.

I felt myself let out a sigh, though, as I eyed him, “Why did you ask for my help? It’s not like I know anything about fish.”

Kaveh frowned at my words, swimming closer to where I knelt once more, “It wasn’t like we could just broadcast this to everyone, and Abbad needs to work on the cure. Besides, you said you had a fish once when you were younger, right?”

His tone was positively hopeful, and I almost sighed again as Alhaitham spoke up once more as he gestured idly to me and echoed my thoughts perfectly, “Didn’t their fish also die?”

Kaveh scoffed, flapping his tiny hands as if to wave away Alhaitham’s words, “All fish die eventually! And I just need to be taken care of until the cure gets fixed. Which, if you do your job right and actually help Abbad, shouldn’t take too long!”

I glanced back at Alhaitham, who met my gaze almost immediately from where he stood behind me with his arms crossed as I spoke, “I’m guessing Abbad is the student he was helping?”

“And the guy I’ll be helping fix this entire mess,” I nodded at his confirmation before twisting to look at Nahida as the tiny archon spoke.

“Like Kaveh said, you’ll just need to be helping take care of him until we get the cure fixed. Cyno will be with you for security reasons as well.” I glanced over at the young man, who nodded at me, and I felt myself frown.

Him helping wasn’t a problem by any means, but it did make me wonder….

“Are you worried someone will try to take him and do something?” I stood as I spoke, twisting to face Cyno, who nodded, confirming my concerns almost immediately.

“Since we’re dealing with some unprecedented results, yes. Especially considering the topic of the research that was being conducted in question.”

I glanced back over at Kaveh once more, feeling my eyebrows arch, “What was the topic of this study anyway?”

“He was trying to find a way to allow people to breathe underwater by studying varying forms of marine life. All that was supposed to happen was I would be submerged for a brief period of time while hooked up to a machine to help him get some data, but we didn’t even get that far. Instead, the machine that was heating some of his solution overheated and blew up. When the smoke cleared, I was part fish.”

I blinked, my eyes widening at the spiraling explanation that sounded like something straight out of a light novel from Inazuma.

One thing was clear, though. The study had actually, in at least some ways, been a success. Even if the substance in question had some unwanted side effects, such as fins.

“Are you hurt?” I found myself lowering my volume, subconsciously afraid of blasting poor Kaveh away.

Kaveh’s reaction to my concern was almost instantaneous, though. He pressed his tiny webbed hands to the side of his bowl and stared back at me with a genuinely touched expression, only pausing to shoot a dirty look over at Alhaitham, “Finally. Someone who cares. I’m fine though, Y/n.”

“Just tiny,” Irritation flickered through Kaveh’s entire form at Alhaitham’s nonchalant interjection, and I found myself glancing back exasperatedly at the scribe, who merely shrugged.

“Do you think you can take care of him?” Nahida’s voice interrupted my thoughts before I could conjure up any more questions and before another fight between Kaveh and Alhaitham could brew.

I hesitated, shifting uncertainly, “Wouldn’t Tighnari be a better choice? He does know more about biology than I do. Taking care of a merperson probably isn’t the same as taking care of a fish, and I don’t want to accidentally hurt Kaveh.”

I glanced over at Cyno for support only to find him shaking his head, “He is on his way, but he’s going to be helping Alhaitham and Abbad to speed up the process.”

I frowned but nodded. I couldn’t really argue with that logic. Getting Kaveh back to normal definitely was important, and Tighnari was an obvious choice to help with a biology-based study.

In fact, Alhaitham was an odd choice, but I had no doubts his role had something to do with worrying about Kaveh and wanting to ensure this got handled as quickly as possible.

And, for that matter, I personally felt like taking care of Kaveh and making sure he stayed healthy was important too.

“I’ll do my best then... Do you want me to take care of him here?” I agreed softly, following my assent up with a question almost immediately as I looked back towards the archon, who practically beamed up at me as she rested her hands on her hips.

“That would be for the best; that way we can all keep an eye on him using the security cameras in this room, and he’ll be easy access for when they get the cure ready.”

She paused, shaking her head slightly as a frown crept onto her face, “For now I’ve got to do some cover-up work, though, to help ensure Kaveh’s safety.”

I nodded, watching as she left after bidding a soft farewell to all of us, only for both Cyno and Alhaitham to turn my way.

“I’m going to go check out the scene one last time,” Cyno gestured idly to the door as he was already walking away, with Alhaitham picking up where he left off.

“And I’m going to make sure no one else has gotten turned into a fish.” I almost snorted at Alhaitham’s sardonic tone but nodded. Watching as they both left before I turned to glance back down at Kaveh with a smile.

“I guess it’ll just be the two of us for a while then,” I plopped down on the floor next to the desk as I spoke, leaning against the desk comfortably.

“So what happened to your last fish?” Kaveh swam about in his bowl, wasting no time in casually questioning me as I quietly made a note to myself to tell Nahida, or maybe Cyno, that Kaveh would definitely need a bigger tank in order to be healthy and comfortable.

Plus, if he got overly excited, there was the chance he’d jump out of something without a lid…..

I frowned at him, crossing my arms, “Are you sure that’s a story you want to hear considering the state you’re in and that I’m your caretaker?”

Despite his tiny size, I could see his eyes roll from where I sat as he shook his head lightly, “Please, you were a kid then, right? I’m not worried about what happened when you were little. Especially considering you can successfully give a lecture to a room full of Haravatat students without anyone interrupting.”

I snorted, shaking my head slightly at his words, “You’re just saying that because Alhaitham is from Haravatat.”

He crossed his arms, eyeing me as if I were handling his side of the argument for him, “My point stands.”

I sighed, smiling at his tone but explaining anyway, “I got a fish tank kit that came with everything you could need, except for the fish. I got a betta, and the only problems were that both the plants and rocks at the very bottom were too rough and that some of the decorations were painted. He tore up his tail, possibly ingested some paint flakes, and then got more and more lethargic while my family and I tried to figure out what was going on.”

I paused, tilting my head slightly as Kaveh silently listened, his eyes locked onto me the entire time.

I shrugged lightly as I finished, smiling almost apologetically at Kaveh, “By the time we got him diagnosed, he was dying because he’d stopped eating. Probably due to being in too much pain or overly stressed.”

Kaveh frowned, shaking his head slightly as sympathy crept into his tone, “So it basically starved to death?”

I lifted one shoulder, “Amongst other things.” I paused, smiling slightly as I looked at Kaveh’s frowning face, not at all surprised by his reaction, “Downer ending, huh?”

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t know what was coming. I did ask you how your fish died,” His tone was perfectly defensive, and I laughed slightly. Watching as his frown slowly shifted into a smile before he continued.

“I am sorry about your fish, but I’m really not worried. After all, you know what went wrong then, so that won’t happen to me,” He grinned at me confidently, and I felt myself smile in response, nodding slightly.

“True, I doubt you’re likely to go eating paint flakes. But taking care of a merman might be a little different from taking care of fish, though. Make sure you tell me if there’s something you want,” I gestured to the side lighty, and he spoke immediately. Barely letting me finish before he was speaking.

“Something to do. It’s outrageously boring living in a bowl,” I outright laughed at his words, nodding in agreement.

“Sounds good, I was already going to tell the archon tha╼”

“Y/n! We’ve got a problem!” I got cut off as Cyno rounded the corner, his expression grim enough that it had me scrambling to my feet immediately.

Kaveh was faster with his words, though, as he pressed his hand to the side of his bowl, his voice tense as he spoke so quickly that it was almost difficult to make out his words, “Is it Abbad?! Did someone come after him for his research or╼”

“Wrong. It’s Alhaitham,” Cyno’s response was brief, and for a moment, Kaveh and I both froze. And then I felt myself start towards him with wide, concerned eyes as confusion swirled in my mind.

“Alhaitham?! What╼?”

I cut off sharply, turning to look back at Kaveh. I couldn’t leave him here alone.

Trotting back, I picked up his bowl carefully before turning to look at Cyno, both me and the merman wearing matching determined expressions as I spoke, “Where is he?”

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 6 months ago

Note

Could you do an imagine about sharing a bed with the AR team and/or DEFY members?

(GFL) AR/404/DEFY Sharing a bed with their S/O

BOO, SQUAD 404 JUMPSCARE!

M4A1 is actually rather comfortable sharing a bed, plus not like she had any room to complain. Beforehand she had to make do with the dorm's beds, which were alright, at best.

Granted she's a little jumpy since she's afraid she might accidentally hurt S/O with her weight, but her fears are pushed aside when S/O moves intentionally closer to her.

Hugging them tightly, M4A1 takes a deep breath and nuzzles even closer to them.

(M4A1) "Good night, S/O..."

She feels them smile against her arm, squeezing her hand gently back.

(S/O) "Night..."

In her mind, she swears that nothing will ever hurt them, letting more of her emotions out as she holds one of the few humans she's grown to love closer to her core.

M16A1 is obnoxious when it comes to sharing, since she sprawls out and snores loudly.

How a T-Doll can even snore is beyond S/O, but they've learned to stop questioning things when they saw her get drunk somehow.

And on that note, she usually smells of Jack Daniels, not that S/O has time to realize that as M16A1 accidentally hits their face as her hand flops onto them.

(M16A1) "Mngaaah......."

(S/O) sigh

Well, at least she wasn't stealing the blanket.

Yet.

Since STAR is on the shorter side for a T-Doll, she's able to squeeze in with S/O on the bed rather easily.

Not that it helps the blush on her face any.

(ST AR-15) "Um...I'm not uncomfortable, am I?"

(S/O) "The opposite, actually."

STAR lets out a small squeak when S/O wraps both their arms around her and pulls her into their chest.

In which she takes a deep breath and melts into their hold.

She could get used to this feeling...

Ah yes, SOPMOD, her girlfriend/boyfriend, and her smaller clone of herself in between.

Honestly, it feels being a family considering SOPMOD Jr is snoring happily away.

With her mother not being that far behind, to S/O's annoyance. But something about the sight was also endearing.

They were machines, but they sure as hell acted just as human as every other person S/O had met.

(M4 SOPMOD II) "Mehehhe...."

(S/O) "If anyone could dream of electric sheep, it'd probably be you, SOP..."

Surprisingly, the bed is comfortable with S/O, Junior, SOPMOD, and even Junior's Dinergate all sleeping together. If a little cramped.

RO is flustered to be sure, yet she still embraces S/O without question.

(RO635) "H-Here, you can scoot in a little if you're about to fall off."

(S/O) "Is this an excuse to hug you?"

(RO635) "I...!" sigh "No, but I won't mind..."

RO doesn't take long to succumb to S/O's embrace, smiling herself as she rests their head on her chest.

RO is definitely the big spoon on the bed, but her heart will melt if S/O decides to be it one night.

Not that she has the metaphorical heart to admit that aloud.

Especially since she felt so embarrassed with what they were doing right now to begin with.

45 is a bit teasing whenever S/O gets in close to her.

(UMP45) "Hm, if you wanted me next to you, you could have just asked.~"

(S/O) "H-Hey now, how was I supposed to know this place only had one bed?!"

Joking aside, 45 is a bit rigid at first when it comes to sharing a bed.

She was not used to such intimacy, T-Doll or human.

But its a sign of great trust since she even decides to share the bed, always having to look over her shoulder given the nature of her squad.

Her arms hesitantly snake around their back, but she eventually gives in and snuggles closer, feeling a little vulnerable doing so.

Zero hesitation!

(UMP9) "FINALLY! A fluffy bed!"

She didn't get much of a chance to sleep on one since her team was always on the move, and wasting no time she drags S/O with her to the mattress.

With a deep exhale of satisfaction, she hums to herself as she plops her head directly onto S/O.

(UMP9) "Hm...! Comfy!"

She giggles a lot before finally falling asleep, with the two of them holding tightly onto each other.

HK416 will mutter German profanities the entire time, but still gets into bed with S/O regardless.

Even if she is blushing the entire time, she'll never say that she wanted to share the bed.

(HK416) "Just scoot over already."

(S/O) "Hah, okay okay."

She won't initiate the cuddles first, but when S/O eventually hugs her, HK416 will just scoff.

As long as they didn't tease her, she wouldn't direct the swears at them.

Probably.

Floor? Tree? Bed? It didn't really matter to G11.

Sleep was sleep.

But she had to admit, sleeping in a bed with S/O was the comfiest.

Surprising no one, G11 immediately passes out with S/O holding her like a teddy bear.

(S/O) "Why are you always so tired...?"

(G11) "...I dunno. But your arms feel nice. Keep them on me so I can sleep..."

(S/O) "Hah, as you wish."

12's smirk grows by the second realizing the situation.

(AK-12) "Well, I suppose we have to share."

She'll 'accidentally' bump into S/O the entire time, claiming the reason was that she couldn't see in the dark.

Which was just a boldfaced lie.

(S/O) "12, do you really have to move around so much?"

(AK-12) "I have to get comfortable to sleep, S/O."

(S/O) "And that requires your arms to go all around me?"

(AK-12) "Is it? I couldn't tell!"

She said with a faux gasp, making S/O roll their eyes.

94 is comically stiff the entire time, trying to sleep completely straight as to not impose herself on S/O.

Only for that objective to fail when S/O grabs 94, unintentionally making her squeak at the sudden embrace.

(AN-94) "S-S/O? Is this not uncomfortable for you?"

(S/O) "I think I'd be moreso without you next to me."

Her cheeks flush at their flirting, and just lays with S/O on the bed.

Though a small smile begins to grow as she wraps her arms around S/O as well, loving the feeling of being needed like this.

Even for something so small.

15 did not mind sharing, though she had to be the big spoon, considering her size.

(AK-15) "If you need me to adjust, please let me know. I will be entering rest mode now."

(S/O) "Hah, doubt I'll need to."

WIth a hum, 15 closes her eyes as she lets S/O move closer into her hold.

Obviously by their vitals they were very happy about this arrangement.

At least the one bed made things more efficient, but she hoped that it wouldn't get S/O too excited since they were still jittery.

15 made no comment and instead let it slide, as long as it didn't affect S/O's performance.

Thankfully, 16 was a bit on the smaller side of Machine Gun T-Dolls.

The entire time, she has almost a sinister smile to her face upon realizing there was only one bed.

(RPK-16) "Oh? You look a bit nervous, S/O."

(S/O) "And you look a little too happy with this arrangement..."

(RPK-16) "I thought you liked being so close to me!"

Her voice pretends to sound hurt, though her amusement is clear to tell.

The entire time, 16 is just noting S/O's reactions to her movement and the very little space in between them.

If it weren't for the fact that this was an operation, she'd have tried something solely to gauge their reactions, but perhaps that was something to try at home.

Angelia is barely fazed, if at all.

(S/O) "There's only one bed?"

(Angelia) "Yup. I had it arranged this way."

Before S/O could begin asking, she already began undressing herself, waving her prosthetic hand dismissively.

(Angelia) "Saves us money instead of having to rent a bigger room. Plus, thought you'd like it."

(S/O) "I-I mean, I do but!-"

(Angelia) "Get flustered later, we need all the sleep we can get for tomorrow."

Despite her dismissive tone, she is pretty amused by their reaction.

If only this wasn't a mission, then she could really appreciate this situation.

Maybe when they got back, she could invite them over to her dorm, but those were later thoughts.

She at the very least makes sure both her prosthetics are facing away from S/O to not make them flinch from the cold metal under the blanket.

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icedragonlizard · 5 months ago

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From my understanding, the Kirby series largely emphasizes on friendship, with Star Allies in particular establishing that.

My Kirby universe takes the franchise's large emphasis on friendship into account, in the form of how I let every Dream Friend be cared about by at least someone. Each and every one of them has friends. Some may not have a lot of friends, but they still have friends.

Not every Dream Friend is a good person. Many of them are absolutely too morally flawed to be considered good people. But regardless of how much some of the Dream Friends might suck, none of them are unloved!

Every Dream Friend has a friendship with Kirby himself in my world, and it's further established by me interpreting him throwing Friend Hearts at each and every one of them during Star Allies.

And it's not even just Kirby that every Dream Friend has a friendship with. They all have, like, more than one friend each.

Some of them are incredibly obvious... the rest of the Dream Team is all friends with each other, and Dedede has his whole group of Waddle Dees (including Bandee) while Meta Knight has his Halberd crewmates.

The Animal Friends have each other and their DL3 counterparts, and Gooey is a close associate with them. Adeleine and Ribbon are best friends, and that also results in Adeleine connecting with many people that Ribbon is close to in her home in Ripple Star.

Daroach, of course, has his squad of squeaks. Dark Meta Knight has Shadow Kirby as his best friend, and also has Daroach as another good friend.

Marx and Magolor are each other's best friend. Taranza and Susie used to have loved ones that they lost, but at least they have each other now. They both also have some strong friendships with the Mage Sisters.

And as far as the Mage Sisters themselves are concerned, well, it's obvious they have each other and Hyness, and of course they have other friends too!

Now, of course, many of these friendships aren't canon, as they're just headcanons of mine, but it's to showcase how my verse takes into account how the Kirby series is, indeed, about friendship. I dunno, it just feels right to me at all of them have friends to varying extents.

And I obviously have more established friendships in my world than what I mention here, I'm just bringing up the more immediate friendships each Dream Friend has.

This is also to show that there's always going to be plenty of lightheartedness in my verse, appropriate for Kirby. A lot of crazy and dark stuff does happen, and Dream Friend gatherings after Star Allies will pretty much always result in varying levels of drama because not all of them get along with each other and it's more than likely going to stay that way, but they're all loved.

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thatswhyilovetheghost · 2 years ago

Text

Easy, girl.

Whumptober Day 1 : 'Swooning'. (No, I'm not posting day 1 on the 13th)

Captain John Price x f!Medic Reader

Summary: The Captain isn't impressed by his medic's tendency to overwork herself.

A.N. : Only mild whumpage in this one, fainting w/ hurt/comfort <3

The interrogative call of your name nearly makes you jump out of your skin, head crashing into the surface of the desk you were rifling through folders under. You hiss a curse between your teeth.

Turning around, you're met with the displeased face of the Captain of your assigned squad, firm hands resting on his hips as he glares down at you, brows furrowed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he starts, "but didn't your shift end about four hours ago now?"

Eyes widening, you raise your wrist to check the time, only to be met with a glaring 01:00.

"I- sorry, Captain, I was just sorting out some paperwork which-"

"Which can be done tomorrow," he interrupts, sending you a reproachful look that raises your hackles.

"It's fine," you snap, rising to your feet, arms now full of folders. "I've got it all under control, Captain."

The rapid movement makes your head swim. You stumble slightly and blink away the blur.

"Mm, looks like it," he snarks, concern underlying his tone.

His sarcasm only serves to make you prickle further. You huff, steadying yourself on your feet before making your way to a filing cabinet.

Or, attempting to at least. The increased motion sends your vision to a white flash that quickly fades to black nothingness. The last thing you feel before you pass out is a set of strong hands grasping at you, pulling you close.

When you wake it's with a gasp, as though you'd been drowning but pulled to safety. There's someone holding you, tight and close. You squirm at the restriction.

"Shh, easy - easy, girl. I've got you. You're alright."

The voice that hushes you is deep and rich, a slight familiar gruffness to it. Forcing your eyes open you find yourself looking straight into the piercing blues of Captain Price.

Captain Price, your Captain, whose lap you're currently settled on.

Price, who is sitting on the floor, legs crossed and back flat to the wall, must have scooped you up before you hit the ground and curled you into him while you were out.

Fuck, how long had he been holding you like this?

He lifts one hand from stabilising you at your hips to your jaw. Holding your chin up to get a good look, Price scans your face, scrutinising every blink and wince you make.

"Sir-" you rasp drily, feeling your face warm both in embarassment at fainting in front of your superior and at the situation it had left you in.

"There she is," he cooes, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your skin. "You feel alright?"

You nod, hyperaware of his proximity.

"Y-yes sir, thank you," you manage.

"Good girl," he nearly sighs in return, eyes flicking over your face once more as though for his own reassurance. "Think you're ready to listen to me about gettin' some sleep now?"

Price chuckles under his breath as you turn away in embarassment, rubbing a broad palm up and down your thigh in teasing comfort.

Without another word, Price lifts you up like you weigh no more than a feather and shifts you into a bridal position in his arms as he rises to his feet.

You squeak lightly in surprise, and if Price notices you hiding your face in his tac-vest he doesn't mention it.

Slowly so as not to make you dizzy, your Captain carries you over to an empty cubicle in the medbay.

"Shh, there we are," he soothes, bending at the waist to lower you into the bed. There's a comfortable silence as Price pulls the blanket over your form, ensuring all of your limbs are tucked into its warmth. "How's our lovely medic s'posed to take care of us if there's no one looking after her, eh?"

You feel your heart pounding at your ribs at his words, wide eyes looking up at your Captain.

"Thank you, sir," you speak softly, suddenly finding yourself imagining what his lips might feel like against yours.

"Always, love," he whispers, dropping to press a kiss to your cheek before walking away. Price pulls the curtains to your bay closed, turning to take one last look at you before retreating to his own quarters.

When you wake up that next morning you aren't sure if you dreamed the softness from your Captain, but the look he gives you later when he comes in to check on you reassures your mind.

Your Captain had his eyes on you now, and the man was not known for giving up. If he had to take you to bed himself every night from then on, then so be it. He was sure you'd let him tire you out.

#whumptober 2023 #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader

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withlovewriting · 5 months ago

Text

All I Ever Knew, Only You 20: O Captain! My Captain!

Chapter Twenty.

For now, We are an unfinished story, Waiting to be written, For now, The pen lays sleeping, While the ink stands still

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 4,870

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of alleged suicide, explicit language, there is a crash. Also, welcome to the floor... Scoops Steve.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty: O Captain! My Captain!

True to his word, as the clock hit 9pm, Patrick’s car came to a rolling stop a few houses down from yours. Sneaking from your bedroom, you peered into the living room where your mother was stationed in her usual spot, mouth wide open and snoring — the only sign that she was even still breathing — as the TV blasted some game show, an empty bottle half rolled under the coffee table.

Rushing back to your room, you opened your bedroom window gently — praying that if the loud television sounds didn’t wake your mother, neither would the squeaking of your window — and squeezed out of it, trying not to trample on the mud beneath it.

But you realized, maybe a little too late, that the car parked across the street wasn’t Patrick’s, it was, in fact, a black Jeep Cherokee.

Slowing down your pace, Patrick emerged from the back seat with a wince when he noticed your pinched brow. Was this the moment they threw pig's blood over you and sped off into the distance, laughing at you all summer long?

“Hey, so, I’m sorry about this. I mentioned tonight and they just kind of… invited themselves along to pick you up. I didn’t know what to say.”

No, you thought, your eyes darting toward Andy, who was making kissing faces at the window. You could’ve said no.

Patrick’s eyes remained on his sneakers, but the moment they peeped up toward you, shame and silent understanding evident in his large, brown eyes, you realized how hard saying no could be. So instead, you sent him a slightly strained smile and shook your head, “It’s fine. Really.”

His relief was evident, his shoulders sagging slightly as he smiled back at you before moving to open the door, “Cool. Great.”

The drive wasn’t the most comfortable thing you’d experienced, but thankfully Jason’s Jeep was big enough that despite being seated between Patrick and Jason’s girlfriend Chrissy, you weren’t really squashed.

Despite knowing Chrissy — or at least, of her — for years, it still felt strange to see the girl out of her usual green, yellow, and white cheer uniform. She had quietly mentioned going up for head cheerleader in the upcoming school year, and you couldn’t help but think that despite her ability and likability, she seemed awful shy for someone on the squad. Some of the other girls were vicious, and you couldn’t help but hope that Chrissy got the position over them, if only to make your own life easier.

The car came to a stop, the group exiting quickly as they began to make their way toward the boarded-up building.

“You good?” Patrick asked, hands shoved in his pocket as he waited for you.

Nodding, you remained quiet as you followed the group into the desolate building that once housed the best burgers in town.

Perching on one of the couches, you took a look around what you thought had been a deserted diner. Some of the booths were still intact, but there was graffiti all over the walls, and tables and chairs rearranged and huddled around a TV. How this place had power was beyond you.

“Pretty cool, right?” Andy smirked, throwing himself onto the couch, trapping you between himself and Patrick, holding out a beer for his friend.

You sent the boy a side glare, unimpressed at both his words and his appearance, “It’s something alright.”

“You show her the brain matter stain yet? When we first got in here-”

“Dude,” Patrick glared at his friend before sending you an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. He has like, no tact.”

“Oh shit,” Andy laughed, sitting up straighter on the couch so he could angle his body toward you, “It was you who found him, right? Benny? Holy shit. I bet his head was mashed-”

“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” Your voice strained slightly as you pushed yourself up from your seat and away from the idiot sitting to your right, “Like, really, Andy? Were you dropped on your head as a baby or something?”

The boy stood, anger pulling his brow together as he leaned a little too far into your space, forcing you to look up toward him. But Benny was a good man, and you weren’t going to sit here, in his building, and let someone like Andy talk shit about him.

“If you don’t like it, you know where the door is. Right, McKinney?”

“C’mon, man. It isn’t-”

“Right, McKinney?” Andy turned his attention toward his friend, knowing that he could easily make him back down.

Patrick turned his attention back toward you, embarrassment and shame evident in his eyes, “I can walk you home if you want.”

Scoffing, you shook your head, trying — and failing — to not take your annoyance out on the wrong boy, “I’m good, thanks. I mean really, do none of you feel even a little shame that you’ve broken into a dead man’s business? For fuck sake, it was Benny. We all came here growing up.”

As your eyes glanced around the group, Chrissy at least managed to look mildly ashamed of herself, and her boyfriend's actions.

“Look, it’s been abandoned for like, a year and a half. Benny was cool, he’d be-”

“Just drop it, Jason,” you sighed, making your way past the small group, “I don’t what I expected.”

As you pushed open the door, walking out into the cool summer air, you faintly heard Andy scoff, “Let her go, man. That’s what happens when you date losers.”

You’d barely stomped halfway down Randolph Lane when you heard your name being called behind you, and in your anger, you chose to ignore it. Unfortunately for you, Patrick caught up to you quickly, barely breaking a sweat even in the warm June air as he jogged to catch up, an apologetic and strained smile tight across his lips,

“I am so sorry about Andy. About all of that, really. You were right, it was disrespectful to be there, and it was stupid of me to take you there.”

Scoffing, you pushed your pace, as if the high school athlete wouldn’t be able to match it, “Whatever you say, McKinney.”

“C’mon, I’m sorry-”

Rolling your eyes, you came to a sudden halt, causing the boy to almost trip over his own feet in an attempt to stop too, “You know, it’s my fault, really. I was stupid enough to agree to what I thought was a date, with someone who I knew had meathead jock friends because for one, slither of a second, I thought maybe you were different. But I was wrong, and that’s on me.”

“Look, Andy was out of line, but I promise I’m not like him.”

Sighing, you shook your head, eyes softening slightly as you looked at his puppy-like expression, “I get it, alright. You’re… You’re a nice guy, Patrick. But I won’t wait around for someone to realize their friends suck. Speaking of, you better get back. Don’t want them to realize you’re out here, talking to a total loser, right?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” the boy sighed, carefully chancing a step closer to you, “Well, not a total one, at least.”

Despite your attempts to stop it, your lips quirked up slightly, “Now is not the time for jokes.”

“Look, I am really sorry. I wanted to ask you out, like, just us, on a date... but then I started overthinking it and I panicked and… And I ruined my chance, and hurt you. I messed up.”

“I mean, you already said Andy would be there, I really should’ve realized it wasn’t gonna be my kind of thing.”

Patrick sent you a sad smile, hands deep in his jean pockets as he rocked on his heels, “I mean, I wanted to take you on a real date, you know? Book a booth at Enzo’s, or something. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to afford it, so we’d probably end up at the Hide Away spitting a club sandwich, but-”

“That sounds much more my style. Plus, who doesn’t love a club sandwich?”

“So maybe, there’s a possibility that you could look deep down in your heart and forgive me? Maybe even, I don’t know… Accept half a club sandwich as a peace offering?”

You probably should’ve said no. You should’ve declined his invitation to walk you home and accepted that whatever spark you’d felt between the both of you was nothing more than a simple attraction, but something that shouldn't be explored. But saying no was hard.

It was a tale as old as time, like something out of a John Hughes movie. A popular high school jock and the unknown loser find something in each other that they never knew they needed. God, Steve had practically strong-armed you into watching The Breakfast Club enough times that you realized most teenage girls — yourself included — daydreamed about being a Claire.

It seemed, however, that despite the nymphomania, you were much more of an Allison.

Despite knowing Hopper wasn’t on duty this evening and that Paul — or Officer Greene, as he often reminded you — was almost desperate in his determination to give you a speeding ticket, all too aware that whenever a certain Chief of Police was on duty they would simply disappear, you paid no mind to the signs you passed, nor the stop signs you drove right through.

You were already running late, an issue with the Miss Pac-Man machine meant you spent an extra ten minutes watching Keith’s gross, Cheetos dust-covered fingers mashing the buttons before he finally allowed you to whack the side of the machine, causing the screen to eventually unfreeze, before you stopped at the Hide Away to grab a dinner order for Hopper and El. The girl was a menace for Eggo waffles and Hopper wouldn’t know a healthy meal if he choked on one, but you were determined to shove a vegetable or two down both of their throats.

Although Hopper had officially become El’s legal guardian — forged birth certificate to prove it — they remained in his grandfather’s cabin, rather than returning to his old trailer. Whilst he would tell you it was simply because there was more space at the cabin, you knew that deep down, Hop was also uncomfortable moving back into a place that the government had bugged. He was a little more lenient on letting El out of the house with the gang, but he was still hesitant around crowds, just in case.

When you finally reached the cabin, you could hear Hopper yelling about… something, as El’s music played from her room, the TV blaring as if attempting to drown out the song.

“Hop?” You called, shutting the front door, only to see him glaring into El’s room as she sat relaxed innocently on the bed reading, Mike chilled at the bottom with a comic book, “What’s wrong?”

He took a moment, eyes flitting between the two teenagers dubiously, before finally turning around to face you, “Nothing, I… Nothing. What’s that?”

“Dinner,” you offered, placing the bag down on the small table.

Peering into the bag, Hopper’s face screwed up slightly as he spotted the broccoli, “You know I don’t like that shit-”

“What, vegetables? C’mon, Hop. You’re a grown-up, it’s time to… well, you know, grow up. Eat a damn broccoli floret.”

“I eat just fine,” the older man sighed, grabbing three plates from the cupboard, fully intending to let Mike starve.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have finished off that bag of Tostitos for dinner if I hadn’t come here.”

“It was a snack-”

“-A family-sized snack, maybe,” lowering your voice, you pulled out enough cutlery for him and El, “I get it. You’re stress eating because of… well, that, but she’s fourteen, you’re going to have to trust her sometime.”

“Exactly. She’s fourteen. That’s exactly why I don’t trust her. Them. Him especially. Do you remember what you were like? Jesus…”

Despite the slight eye twitch, you decided to let Hopper’s comment slide, knowing he was just being a big baby about Eleven, “Anyway, I can’t stay.”

Jim glanced your way, brow pulled together in confusion, awaiting your explanation,

“I promised to drop off Mike at the Mall, which we’re going to be late for if someone doesn’t hurry up, and then I’m gonna hang out with Steve at Scoops for a bit.”

“So I get broccoli for dinner, and you get ice cream? That doesn’t seem fair, Kid. And should you really be bothering the Harrington kid at work?” Opening the fridge, Hopper pulled out a can of beer, opening it and chugging it a little too quickly.

Rolling your eyes, you knew exactly what Jim was trying to get at, “If you can survive off a dinner of free samples of ice cream, be my guest. Plus, it’s normally pretty quiet around now. I just wanna go mock him again over his uniform.”

“Oh, God. It is priceless.” Mike practically giggled, his dark eyes a little too amused to just be thinking of Steve’s sailor outfit.

“Yeah, it’s pretty great. But we needed to leave like, five minutes ago. C’mon, Wheeler. And Hop? Finish the broccoli.”

After suffering through an agonizing five-minute radio chat between Mike and El, who had literally just seen each other, you couldn’t get to the Mall fast enough.

“So, Henderson is home tomorrow, right? You planning something, or?”

Mike huffed a laugh, “Oh, yeah. But it’s a surprise, so… Plus, you’re not invited. No offense.”

Glaring at the boy, you continued to make your way through the Mall’s parking lot and toward the group of teens, “I didn’t wanna go anyway, Asshole. I was just being polite.”

Mike gave you a gentle punch to the shoulder — one that you returned — as you entered the Mall, arm thrown around Max’s shoulders as the boys began to argue about Mike’s tardiness.

“We’re gonna miss the opening,” Will whined.

“Yeah, if you keep whining about it. Let’s go!”

“He was too busy trying to retrieve his tongue from El’s mouth,” unable to hold in your smirk when the group made gagging sounds.

“Hey! You were the one having a Mother’s Meeting with Hopper. I could’ve biked here in that time.”

Shrugging, you turned to the boy, “Well, excuse me for talking down the man with a gun and a literal license to kill, who doesn’t like you. And next time, you can bike it.”

“Oh, El, I wish we could make out forever, and never hang out with any of our friends,” Lucas continued to tease the boy, despite the scorning he received from Max.

Making your way into the Ice cream parlor, you took note of Robin, who was heading the till, as you hung back, watching Mike press the bell repeatedly,

“Hey, Dingus. Your children are here.”

“Again?” Steve asked, pushing open the server window that separated the shop from the backroom, “Seriously?”

As Steve led the teens through to the conjoining corridors, allowing them to sneak into the Movie theater for free, you made your way to the counter, leaning against it as you greeted Robin, eyes roaming over the many flavors Scoops offered.

“Are you gonna buy something, or just look busy until he’s back to give you handouts?”

Scoffing, you pressed your nose against the glass knowing it would annoy the girl who would inevitably make Steve clean it later, “It’s not a handout if it’s free.”

“So the latter?”

“Yep,” you smirked, returning your attention to the girl who rolled her eyes as she tried to keep her own smile from her face.

“You need to stop bringing them here,” Steve sighed, acting like the 40-year-old single mother he most definitely wasn’t, “I’m gonna get caught, and then I’ll get fired, and then I’ll have nothing better to do than hang out all day at the arcade, annoying you.”

“Please, I only brought Mike here. Plus, nobody is forcing you to sneak them in. That’s all on you.”

Steve glared but had already grabbed a cone, awaiting your request. Before you could point to the Cherries Jubilee, the lights flickered and cut out, leaving the Mall in total darkness.

“That’s weird…” Steve sighed, putting the scoop back down and making his way toward the light switch, flicking it on and off multiple times.

“That isn’t gonna work, Dingus.”

Steve glared at Robin as he continued to flick the switch, only this time faster.

“Harrington, seriously, you’ll blow the fuse, stop being a moron-”

“Let there be light.” Steve smugly glanced your way, cone still in hand as the electricity around both the shop and Mall turned back on.

“You know that was a coincidence, right? It probably just took a minute for the backup generator-”

“I know, I know. I’m a genius. You’re welcome.” Steve sighed dramatically before returning to the ice cream and scoping you out the ice cream he already knew you were going to try.

“You know, the free samples are supposed to be sample-sized, right? Not a whole cone.”

“Don’t spoil my fun, Robin,” you sighed before licking at your ice cream.

“I thought your fun was coming here to mock his outfit?”

“It is. The free ice cream is an added bonus.”

Scoffing, Steve continued to serve the next customer, “I’m right here, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. The outfit couldn’t have made that any more obvious.”

“I’m not wearing it by choice.”

“It’s fine, Steve. I heard the giant toddler look is in right now.”

Robin’s giggle only irked the boy further, his attention flitting between you both as he pointed his thumb toward the girl, “She’s literally wearing the same thing. We both look ridiculous.”

“I mean, not really. Rob looks cute, you look… like you’re late for a family photo shoot at Olan Mills.”

“Rob,” the boy mocked whilst Robin took payment from the previous customer, “What, are you two like, friends now or something?”

“I’m allowed friends that aren’t you, Harrington. Plus, she’s kinda cool.”

“She’s in band…” Steve scoffed, as if he were disgusted at the thought, “She plays the trumpet.”

Swiping at the boy’s hat, causing it to almost fall off his head, had he not caught it quick enough, you glared at him, “I thought you stopped being an ass.”

“I did!” He argued, brow straightening out a little as he realized what he was saying, “I… Sorry. You’re right. But she is annoying. And loud. And way too hyper. And kinda mean.”

“You’re kinda mean, too.” You sighed before wiping your mouth with the napkin that had been wrapped around your cone, “Just, stop being a brat, and give her a chance. You never know, you might surprise yourself.”

“You cannot lose your temper,” Joyce said as she continued around the aisle, using her pricing gun to stick on labels.

Making your way toward her — you could already see Hopper over the shelving — you sent the two a small smile,

“Is he still losing his shit over El and Mike’s spit swapping?”

Screwing up his face, Hopper glared at you, “Don’t call it that. That’s disgusting. But, Joyce… Maybe you could do it for me?”

“Do what?”

“A heart-to-heart,” Hopper said as if he’d never said the words before, “Joyce thinks I should have one with El.”

“I mean, that sounds like a good idea to me. But, really? Him?” You questioned, turning your attention to Joyce as you nodded your head towards Jim, “I don’t think he could keep his cool, even if he was sat in an ice bath.”

“It’s just… It’s infuriating, and I don’t know how to deal with this shit, other than strangling that smug, son of a-”

“Yeah, okay. Strangling a child, not very ‘Chief of Police’ of you…” you sighed, “I told you, Hop. She’s a teenager, anything you say — or yell — will fall on deaf ears.”

“What’re you doing here, anyway? Heading to work?” Joyce asked, turning her attention from the overreacting man-baby to you.

“Oh, no. I’ve already been there, Keith asked me to hand this petition into the Mayor’s office for Tuesday's meeting at the Town Hall. It’s about boycotting the Mall’s arcade, and considering Main is practically empty, I’m presuming Donald’s doing the same?”

“Yeah, it’s been empty all morning. You and Hop are the first people I’ve seen all day.”

“See, she never gave me any problems,” Hopper started up again, his finger pointed at you as he held his hat in his other hand, “Not boy ones, at least.”

“She?” You scoffed, glaring at the man as he continued to spiral.

“I mean, sure… Petty theft, and a ridiculous amount of speeding tickets, but never any boy problems.”

“Jesus Christ, Hop,” you scorned him, eyes wide at his sheer audacity, and thankful that the store was empty, “Why don’t you just take out an ad in the Hawkins Post and let everyone know?”

Hopper was, thankfully, completely unaware of any boy problems you’d had in the past, and you were beyond grateful. The idiot could barely handle El hitting puberty, god knows he would’ve had an aneurysm if he knew about your own boy-related issues.

“I’m just saying, you never slammed a door in my face.”

You didn’t want to inform Hopper that he had not, in fact, been around enough to have said door slammed in his face, but you decided one breakdown was enough for today. Even if he was being a total ass about it, “Right, well… I’m gonna go and hand this in, then I’m meeting up with Steve at the Mall. Free ice cream calls.”

“The Harrington kid? Again? Didn’t you just see him yesterday?”

“We’re friends, Hop. That’s what we do. Hang out.” Grabbing a box of tampons from the shelf which only caused the man to delve further into his meltdown, you handed Joyce three dollars, “And don’t worry, I’m not stealing them.”

Standing next to an empty booth, you watched as Steve tried his hardest to flirt with one of the customers,

“Ahoy, ladies! Didn’t see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain… I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Oh, god.”

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose up, the secondhand embarrassment radiating from you as the girls all giggled at Steve, and not in the way he was used to, as he continued his tirade.

Once the girls had bought their ice cream, presumably turning the boy down, and made their way out of the shop, you watched as Steve turned back to Robin, exasperatingly running a hand through his hair.

Making your way toward the counter, you leaned on it, awaiting the boy to turn around, “I thought it was the hat! It’s gotta be the whole outfit, right? Like, even Tom Cruise couldn’t pull this shit off.”

“I don’t think it’s just the uniform,” Robin smirked, marking another tally on her chart.

“Then what is it? Is it me? Have I lost my… My Harrington charm?”

“Why do you never offer to set sail with me on an ocean of flavor?” You said loudly, causing the boy to jump and spin around, grabbing at his heart over his shirt, “Do you not wanna be my captain, Steve Harrington?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at your mockery as he adjusted his necktie back into place, “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“A very hungry asshole. You wanna head to the food court? I’m craving orange chicken.”

Sighing, Steve nodded as he made his way toward the back, “Let me just grab my wallet.”

Robin watched as you both exited the parlor, Steve’s arm hanging over your shoulder as he pulled you close, only to get you in a headlock as you jabbed at his ribs in an attempt to get him to release you, and sighed,

“Yep. Definitely not just the uniform, Dingus.”

You’d only been home a few hours when your radio started to crackle, Dustin’s voice coming through as he called for ‘anyone with a vehicle with four wheels and an engine’ to come collect him, so he didn’t have to haul something called ‘Cerebro’ all the way home.

Since Steve was still at work, you knew you were the only one who was able to help, and although you’d never admit it, you missed the little sucker whilst he was away at camp.

Dustin, however, had talked your ear off, something about some Russian guys coming through on his radio — that was Cerebro, something he had created at Camp Know Where — believing they were spies.

You’d put your foot down a little faster then, hoping to get him home as soon as possible. Clearly, the boy was worn out from camp and needed to sleep off the excitement. Although his retelling of spraying Lucas in the face with hair spray did amuse you slightly, you weren’t in the mood to hear the boy’s conspiracy theories.

You were driving down Cornwallis, just passing the old steel mill on Cherry Oak when a car came swerving down, colliding with yours as it lost control, your head hitting the car door being the last thing you remembered.

Blinking once, then twice, you came around slowly, the pain on the left side of your head pulsing behind your eyes.

Unbuckling your seat belt, you turned, seeing the cracked glass of your window, your hand slowly reaching up to touch your head, flinching when your fingertips came away tinted with blood.

Stumbling from your car, the hood smoking and bent, you tried to regain your balance as you made your way toward the familiar Camero, only to find nobody inside.

“Billy?” You called, wondering if he too had suffered a head injury and wandered from his vehicle, “Billy, are you out here?”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat and attempting to ignore the pounding in your head, you turned toward the large steel mill doors. Brimborn had been abandoned for quite some time, so if Billy had wandered down there in an attempt to find help, he’d be shit out of luck.

“God dammit, Billy,” you sighed before making your way into the large, dust-covered Mill.

“Hargrove, you down here?” Your voice echoed around the barren building, as did the scream that fell from your lips when a rat darted out in front of you, before you muttered to yourself, “Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself.”

As you ventured further, stepping slowly down the stairs, you saw Billy standing in the basement of the building, staring at a wall. Maybe he really did hit his head.

“Billy,” you hissed, unsure as to why you were sneaking around, almost like you were waiting to be caught by the workers that no longer existed, “Hey, Hargrove? What the hell are you doing down here? And why the hell were you driving like a total lunatic-”

“You should leave,” Billy said, eyes never leaving the wall. The monotonous tone of his voice caused your body to break out in goosebumps. It was Billy but… You couldn’t put your finger on it, “Go.”

Stepping back up the stairway, you kept your eyes on the boy, “I’m gonna head down the road and call for help. I think you might’ve hit your head. Just… stay here, alright? Don’t move, and I’ll be right back.”

The boy didn’t answer, instead continuing to stare ahead of him, you quickly made your exit, ignoring the pain in your head as you rushed down the road, looking for the nearest pay phone.

Eventually, you found one a little further down Cherry Oak Drive and called Flo’s office phone, asking to be put through to Hopper who, thankfully, was working that evening.

But as he pulled up to the steel mill with you in the passenger seat of his Chevvy, a spare napkin pressed against your head, you both remained in the car, staring out toward the rather empty lot. It was much creepier at night.

“He must’ve left,” Hopper sighed, noting only your car outside of the mill.

“Well, he shouldn’t be driving. His car had a huge dent in it, and I think he hit his head because he was just… staring. Like, staring at nothing.”

Hopper watched you for a moment as confusion crossed your face, causing your brow to pull together, “Well, I know you’ve hit your head. So c’mon, I’ll take you to the hospital, and I’ll call for a tow truck in the morning.”

“And what about Billy?”

“I’ll check his address, and see if he’s headed home. But you need to go get that checked out.”

Waving the man off, you pulled the napkin away, finding the blood was already clotting, “I’ll be fine, Hop. It’s just a scratch. I just… I wanna go home.”

In reality, home was the last place you wanted to be. You’d managed to wreck the car and had no way of being able to pay the repairs on it.

Your mother was going to kill you.

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