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roosterforme · 1 year

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The Younger Kind Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After you helped him with his dating app, Bradley goes out with a woman who should have snagged his interest. But it's a little hard to pay attention to someone else when he's constantly thinking about you. And it doesn't help that Nat easily calls him out on his crush.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (eventually 18+)

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

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For a split second on Friday night, you had managed to convince yourself that the sooner you helped Bradley get matched up with someone, the better it would be for you personally.

You'd be able to stop thinking about him as a hot, single dad and be able to focus on him as the hot, taken dad who you occasionally babysat for. You could still go over and watch Noah when he and his girlfriend went out for a date night, which you wouldn't mind doing at all.

And that's why you had helped him get his dating app sorted out. Because the sooner you could stop thinking about eating popcorn with him on his couch, both of you in sweats, the better. There was no way that man was interested in you. Sure, he was a little flirty at times. Yeah, he had brushed your cheek when he put the crown back on your head. But it was probably all because he could tell that the babysitter had a crush on him, and he was trying to be nice.

You were surprised to hear from him on Wednesday morning when you were getting out of the shower before class.

Bradley Bradshaw: Are you available tonight?

God, it hadn't taken long for him to chat with one of the women on the app and get a date set up.

I'm free. What time do you want me to watch Noah?

You felt your shoulders sag as you got dressed. You needed to chill out. The only thing you should be worrying about later this evening was Noah and studying for your exams.

Bradley Bradshaw: I'm meeting someone at 6:30. Be here at 6?

Yeah. You would be there.

When you pulled into his driveway at 5:45, you were happy to see his Bronco was already there. You were also annoyed that Greyson was blowing up your phone. You knew what he wanted, but you had been avoiding him all week. You were beginning to think that this "ex with benefits" arrangement wasn't really working for you.

After shoving your phone into your bag, you knocked on the front door and called out, "Hi! It's me."

"We're in the kitchen."

You followed Bradley's voice, and when you spotted Noah at the table, his face lit up as he mispronounced your name. You were instantly smiling back, but that didn't last long. Because when you saw Bradley standing at the stove, he was wearing his flight jumpsuit tied low around his waist with a tight, black tee shirt.

"Hey, Princess," he said, glancing at you over his shoulder. And with just two words and some black fabric, you were a little turned on.

"How are you two boys doing?" you asked as casually as you could while watching Bradley's biceps stretching his shirt sleeves.

'Good!" Noah cheered, eating a bowl of dry cereal with his hands.

"Fine," Bradley replied. "Be a lot better if I had time to go grocery shopping. Thanks for making the spaghetti and meatballs for us." He turned to look at you again, his eyes lingering on your lips.

"Don't you need to get ready for your date?" you asked, closing the distance between the two of you.

"Yeah, but I'm starving. Need to eat something before dinner."

You looked at the pan on the stove. "What are you trying to make?"

"Eggs," he replied, turning to look down at you with a small smile. "Trying being the operative word."

"You're useless in here," you told him, pushing him toward the hallway. "Go get ready and I'll make you some eggs." His body was warm and hard, and it was clearly a mistake for you to touch him like this.

"You don't have to do that," he said, laughing as he pretended you were actually capable of pushing him around.

"I actually don't know how you managed to survive this long without me," you said, pushing him all the way to his bedroom door before he surrendered.

"You have a valid point."

You felt buoyant as you walked back to the kitchen and made Bradley an onion and cheese omelet while you sang with Noah. "You want ants on a log?" you asked, tousling his hair.

"I love them!" he cheered, but when you checked the refrigerator, there were no carrots left. Pretty much the only thing in there was the French vanilla coffee creamer, which instantly made you smile. You took it out and started brewing some coffee in Bradley's fancy coffee maker.

"Is this for me?" Bradley asked, buttoning up his Hawaiian shirt right in front of you and nodding to the omelet.

"Yep, should hold you over until your actual dinner," you said as he grabbed a fork and took a huge bite.

He moaned. He literally moaned as he ate the food you made for him. You watched him take bite after bite until it was all gone. You wished he'd use his mouth on you next.

"That was delicious. Thank you."

You just nodded and cleared your throat. "Mind if I take Noah out in the car with me? I thought he might like the bayside playground."

"Sure. I'll put his car seat in your car before I leave," Bradley said, kissing Noah on his head.

Once again, you thought about him kissing you there as he smiled and headed out for his date.

"Noah, feel like going to the playground?"

"I want ants on the logs," he insisted, having finished his cereal.

You sighed, and just as you heard Bradley pull out of the driveway, you decided to see how much money he kept behind the TV. A hundred bucks. You could go grocery shopping for a decent amount of food with a hundred dollars.

"Should we go buy more carrots and raisins?" you asked Noah, tucking the money into your pocket. "You can pick out a treat, and then I'll make you ants on the logs before bedtime."

You ended up at the grocery store, trying to make a game out of everything to keep him entertained while you tried to maximize the money. Hopefully Bradley wouldn't be annoyed, but you figured he needed as much help as he could get. Noah was sweet, but doing everything by yourself was too hard.

"More cereal?" you asked, and you let Noah pick out Cheerios. "And milk this time?"

When headed back to Bradley's house with ninety-eight dollars worth of groceries and Noah in tow, you couldn't help but imagine staying all night and getting more meals ready for them.

You managed to make Noah's snack while you unpacked the groceries. "I need my crown!" he said, running to his bedroom and returning with his yellow, construction paper crown. "Get yours, too!"

You ran your fingers along his cheek. "I don't know what happened to mine. Should we make a new one?"

Noah laughed and took you by the hand. "It's in daddy's room."

You let him lead you down the hallway. "Is it?" you asked, entering Bradley's room all the way for the first time. It was tidy and it smelled like him. But you stopped short when you saw it.

Your purple crown was hanging on one of the bedposts.

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

Bradley was actually enjoying himself. His date with Talia was going way better than either of his previous dates. Not only did she tell him she loves kids, she asked to see some pictures of Noah.

Bradley paused for a beat as he swiped past the selfie of you in the crown and the photo you had taken for his dating profile. Then he showed Talia some pictures of Noah, and she made a fuss over how adorable he was. But now Bradley was thinking about what you and Noah might be doing at home right now. He got so distracted he barely heard what Talia was asking him.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked, watching her lick chocolate cake from her fork with mild interest.

She giggled softly. "I was asking if you wanted to plan for a second date? Maybe this weekend? When we can stay out later? You said you had a reliable babysitter."

Bradley scrutinized her face for a moment. She was pretty. She seemed really sweet. She wanted to go out with him again.

"How about I send you a message? Maybe we can make something work."

When Bradley said goodbye outside the restaurant, Talia leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, grazing his mustache as she pulled away.

"Goodnight, Bradley. Talk soon," she said with a grin. But he felt nothing.

During the short drive home, he tried to convince himself to take Talia up on her second date offer, but it just wasn't working. But when he pulled into his driveway next to your car, he found himself jumping out of the Bronco and jogging up his front steps to get inside as quickly as he could.

"Hi," you whispered, looking up from your spot on the couch. You had a textbook open on your lap, and you were wearing the paper crown. Either you or Noah must have retrieved it from his bedroom. The idea of you in there thrilled him a little too much.

"Hi," he replied with a grin. "How was Noah?"

"Good. How was your date?"

"Good." His heart was beating a little faster as you set your book aside and straightened up on the couch.

"Oh. You think you'll go out with her again?"

Bradley couldn't help but think you looked a little disappointed. "Not sure."

"I'm beginning to think you're just really, very picky, Bradley."

He blew out a breath, dropping onto the couch next to you, loving the way you said his name. "Huh. I never considered that."

"You don't like martinis. You don't like the opera. You don't like women under twenty-four or over forty. All those martini sipping, opera loving grannies of San Diego might be just what you need."

Bradley was doubled over laughing, looking at your smirk.

"I mean, who does that even leave for you to date?" you asked, clearly trying not to laugh.

You.

Jesus Christ. He needed to stop thinking about you like that. There was no chance in hell that was ever going to happen. Which was a real shame, because you made him laugh every single time he was with you.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, but Noah and I went grocery shopping."

"You did?" he asked, his laughter turning to surprise.

"Yeah. I used the cash behind the TV," you told him with a wince. "I hope that was okay. I didn't want to bother you during dinner."

Okay? It was more than okay. He couldn't believe you had done that for him and Noah.

"I also made you dinner for tomorrow night. Chicken fajitas that you can reheat."

Now he was just staring at you blankly. "You don't have to do any of that stuff."

You just shrugged. "If you don't want me to, I won't. But honestly, Bradley? It looks like you could use the help around here. You're kind of shit in the kitchen."

"You caught onto that, huh?" he asked, involuntarily inching closer to you on the couch. "What gave it away?"

"Oh, I guess the fact that Noah asked me about a hundred times to leave more food in the little plastic containers for him."

Bradley reached out and ran his finger along your crown. "Did you wear that to the store?"

Your eyes fluttered closed briefly. "No. It wasn't until almost bedtime that Noah wanted to wear our crowns. I didn't know you kept it."

He just nodded. He should be embarrassed that it had been hanging on his bed.

"I like your bedroom," you whispered.

Bradley swallowed hard, trying to think of something to say, but you beat him to it.

"Why aren't you sure about a second date?"

His response was out before he could consider it. "Aren't there supposed to be sparks?"

You pressed your lips together and nodded. "Ideally."

"Didn't feel them," he replied with a shrug.

"Shame."

He watched you stand and stretch, just like last time. But your shirt rode up, and Bradley could see your skin, and he wanted to press his lips there. He quickly stood as well. "Um, I'll get the carseat out of your car," he mumbled. "And if you're going to insist on being exceptionally helpful again in the future, I'll leave you my credit card for groceries."

"Okay," you replied, reaching up on your toes and gently putting the crown on his head. "Want to put that back in your room for safe keeping?"

Every ounce of his being wanted to suggest you take it there yourself and wait for him.

"Okay," he told you instead.

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

Bradley paced around the hangar, waiting for his turn to hit the skies.

"What is your problem?" Nat asked him as she sat calmly on one of the benches. "I thought you'd be completely chill right now. You've been on a bunch of dates."

Bradley stopped and looked at her. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Nat just rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you didn't get your rocks off yet?"

"No," he practically growled. "I haven't even been on a second date."

"You know, you can have one without the other, right?"

Bradley ran his hands over his face. "I don't want to start doing that."

Nat stood up and stepped in front of him, placing her hands on his chest to stop him pacing. He hadn't even been aware he had started pacing again.

"How long has it been since you were intimate with someone?"

Bradley shrugged and didn't want to look at her. "A year."

Nat wrapped her arms around him as well as she could with them both wearing their flight suits. He felt instantly better. He should have known it would be okay to talk to her about stuff.

"Oh, okay. I get it now. You need it to be special."

"Kind of," he replied, looking down at her as she nodded up at him.

"I'll stop busting your balls about it then."

"Appreciate that."

"Why don't you tell me about your dates?" she prompted, patting him on the shoulder as she released him.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Not much to tell. Rebel just wanted to hookup. One didn't like kids. The one I went out with the other day was okay. I should have wanted a second date; I know she certainly did. But there wasn't anything really drawing me in? I don't know, Nat."

"Well, how's the babysitter working out?"

Bradley felt himself relax when he thought about you. "Oh, she's great. She's so funny," he said, smiling as he thought about you picking on him for being useless in the kitchen. "She always eats Skittles. And she knows the most random music. Did I mention she knows how to cook? Like really cook? She's good at it. And she likes fancy coffee creamers just like me. She even took Noah to the grocery store with her, so my fridge has actual food in it. And Noah asks for her all the time. She brings him coloring books, and she taught him how to sing the alphabet song backwards."

"Oh my God," Nat said, grinning wildly now. "You have a crush on your babysitter."

Bradley knew he was blushing. He could feel the immediate rush of heat to his face.

"What does she look like?" Nat asked, looking smug as hell.

Bradley huffed out a breath and looked up at the ceiling, willing the redness to recede from his cheeks. "Real cute."

Nat squealed when Bradley took his phone out and found the selfie you had sent to him. "You took a picture of her!"

He shook his head. "She sent it to me. When I was out last weekend. She and Noah made the paper crowns, and she sent me a picture of Noah first."

When Nat started to stare into his soul, he should have known he was in deep shit. "And you asked her for a selfie?" she said, exuding confidence. He nodded and she said, "You asked your cute babysitter to send you a selfie when you were on a date with another woman. No wonder your dates aren't working out!" She slapped him hard on the chest.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You're thinking about getting your dick wet with the babysitter."

Bradley absolutely could not deny that. He'd been thinking about you in a lot of different ways, including some that were definitely not rated G.

"Nat, just because I'm thinking it doesn't mean I'm going to shoot my shot with her."

"Well, why not?" she asked, putting her helmet on as they got called out to their Super Hornets.

Bradley scoffed as he followed her out into the sunlight. "She's twelve years younger than me. She's still finishing school. I have a fucking child and a lot of baggage. The list goes on and on. I'm going to focus on finding someone suitable. Someone a little older."

"If you like her, I say go for it. But don't just fuck her because she's fun and you think she's cute. Don't do that to her. Or Noah."

Bradley was more confused than ever at the moment, and he needed to clear his head before he took off.

"I wouldn't do that to myself either, Nat." He wasn't just trying to hookup with some random woman; he could do that after an hour at the Hard Deck if he really wanted to.

"Well I want to meet her. This weekend. I'll take you out on Saturday night and meet her then."

He sighed. "I have a date on Friday. Let me see if she's even free to watch Noah both nights."

"Great," Nat replied, turning toward her own aircraft. "And then I'll be the judge of the matter of you getting your dick wet," she called over her shoulder.

Bradley cringed as the ground staff all looked at him as he power walked away.

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

Bradley asked if you could babysit Noah on back to back nights. Friday and Saturday. Was he already planning a first date followed immediately by a second date? He had probably really hit it off with someone over the app chat feature. It was the only thing that made sense, and he was just trying to cover all of his bases.

You could watch Noah both nights if you cancelled your plans to hang out with Greyson. The fact that you would rather get to see Bradley for a total of thirty minutes over spending the night with Greyson was telling.

Yeah, I can come over both nights if you pay me a bonus in fancy coffee from that shop again.

When you checked your phone at lunchtime while you ate between your classes, Bradley's response made you laugh.

Bradley Bradshaw: You mean I have to flirt with the barista again? Princess, I'll get kicked out permanently.

You were smiling nonstop as you typed out a response.

Do it for me and my caffeine needs? Besides, I doubt the barista will mind being chatted up by you in particular.

You really shouldn't be encouraging this. It was not a good idea. This man was not available for you.

Bradley Bradshaw: Oh yeah, Princess? What's that supposed to mean?

Shouldn't he be working right now? Didn't he have a jet he should be flying around in? You couldn't help yourself. You were too excited by the prospect of flirting with him.

Have you seen yourself? I have full confidence that your flirting capabilities can score me a free coffee.

You hustled along to your next class, but when you checked your phone again at the end of the day, he had texted you back again.

Bradley Bradshaw: Good to know. See you tomorrow.

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

Bradley wasn't sure why he was doing it, but he managed to leave base a little early on Friday, giving him time to stop at the coffee shop. He picked Noah up with your French vanilla coffee in his cup holder, and now the Bronco smelled sweet and reminded him of you.

"Can I play with my babysitter?" Noah asked as Bradley buckled him into his car seat.

Bradley smiled. "Sure, bub. You can play with her."

"She's my favorite," Noah said. "Is she your favorite?"

Bradley nodded at his son and said, "Yeah. She's my favorite, too."

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

And now Nat is about to get involved again. Could be a good thing, could be a bad thing. I hope you enjoy your babysitter fic @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

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scapegrace74-blog · 1 year

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Don’t Let Me Fall, Chapter 10

A/N Here is the penultimate chapter of my Circus AU. By all rights, it should be two chapters, but I didn’t have the heart to split it in two, which means Chapter 11 will be an epilogue.

Mild warning for sexual situations, although it stays in the Classy Mature category, rather than the Kinky Explicit one (sorry!)

Also a trigger warning for mild reference to sexual assault and its aftermath.

For all previous chapters, please see my AO3 page.

Jamie had never been so grateful to see his drab little dorm room in his entire life. The twenty-four hours of travel from Melbourne to Montreal had been excruciating. His shoulder had twinged. His wrist, three days post-operation and heavily bandaged, had throbbed. But more than anything, his heart had ached to be putting half a globe between himself and Claire.

She’d spent every moment she could spare at the hospital, keeping him entertained, keeping him sane as hour followed solitary hour with nothing to do but stare out the window. When he was wheeled down the corridor for his surgery it was almost a relief, for at least he was going somewhere. And when he awoke in a nauseous haze in the recovery room, it was Claire’s sunflower eyes that greeted him, warm and concerned.

Doing the complicated mental arithmetic required to know what time it was in Australia, he placed his phone on the counter and dialed with his left hand after turning on the speaker.

“You’re home?”

Despite the thousands of kilometres that now separated them, Claire’s honey and sandpaper voice eased the tight ball of tension that had taken up residence between his eyes almost instantly.

“Aye, just got in. How was last night’s show?”

“You mean tonight’s show, Eastern Daylight Time? It went well. I don’t know what you said to John, but he’s performing like his very life depends upon it.”

That was actually a fairly close approximation of what he’d said to John. Not that Jamie ever intended to divulge that detail to Claire. Their late-night conversation had been equal parts helpful advice and dire warning, and Jamie was gratified to know at least the warnings had been heeded.

“I miss ye already, Tourist,” he confessed. He’d begun to miss her the moment he’d stepped out of her arms, lips still tingling from their goodbye kiss, and walked through airport security, the newly installed metal plate in his wrist setting off the metal detectors.

“I miss you too. It’s just not the same without you here.”

A weary sigh was his only response. This was their first of countless long-distance calls if Claire continued to perform for the circus, and he had no intention of standing in the way of her career. She’d already lost too many opportunities. They would have to find a way to make things work.

“Tell me what you’re doing right now,” she interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

“Jes standing in my kitchin, tryin’ tae decide if I’m hungry for breakfast or a late-night snack.”

“Ah, the joys of jetlag,” she laughed, seemingly relieved he’d made a joke. “Are the dorms busy?”

“Aye, there’s ano’er round of recruits. Some o’ them must hail from the Ukraine, because the hallway fair reeks of borscht. Mebbe I should go beg a bowl and be done wi’ cooking.”

“You hate beets!” she laughed.

“I ken, but tis an upside-down world I’m livin’ in right now, Tourist.” He’d meant it in jest, but the words struck true. A circus performer who couldn’t perform. A man in love with a woman he’d barely kissed. A citizen of precisely nowhere.

“It’ll work out, you’ll see,” Claire assured with her usual eerie prescience. “This tour will be over in a couple months, and we’ll find a way to be together. I know it.”

“I learned long ago no’ to doubt yer obstinacy. If ye say it will be so, then I believe ye.”

“Smart man. Now eat some cereal and get some sleep. You must be exhausted.”

“Aye. Stay safe out there, Claire.”

***

Perth, then Auckland, then Wellington. Night after night, John and I soared through the air to the accompaniment of live music and the audible wonder of the audience. I still loved the work, still nourished my soul with the crowd’s applause, but it wasn’t the same without Jamie by my side.

A small consolation was watching John come into his own. Whether it was Jamie’s advice, the confidence instilled by finally being the lead on a major show, or simply rising to the occasion, he was a different performer in the weeks since Jamie’s fall.

“Truly, Jamie, what did you say to him?” We were chatting during our usual mid-afternoon-late-evening phone call, and Jamie had asked after John. “He was always a competent athlete. Workmanlike, I would have called him. Now, he’s…” I hesitated, not wanting to rub salt into Jamie’s literal wounds by extolling John’s virtues as my partner.

“I’m happy to hear it,” Jamie replied without a drop of jealousy. “As for wha’ I told him, I merely spoke tae him in terms he’d appreciate.”

“Such as?”

“Weel, John’s an amateur horticulturalist, ye ken? I said his job was akin tae the stem, leaves, even the roots of a plant. Tae be strong and flexible, but no’ tae distract the eye from the centerpiece, the flower, as it were.”

I would never tire of Jamie’s poetic soul, hidden as it was behind solid muscle and an inscrutable expression.

“Have I told you today that I love you?” I asked rhetorically.

“T’day yer time, or mine?” I heard him grin.

“Both. Either. I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

“And I, you, Tourist. Come home tae me safely.”

“As quickly as I can,” I promised.

***

The hours between Jamie’s physical therapy session each morning and his evening call with Claire stretched on endlessly. It was still too slushy to run outdoors, so he put in long hours on the treadmill, listening to podcasts or just daydreaming as the miles slid by.

Thankfully, his dislocated shoulder had healed well, removing the impediment of a sling and freeing him to resume drawing. He wasn’t certain why he persisted working on The Lady of Balnain, only that he couldn’t compel himself to stop. She would come to him in dreams, easing his loneliness. It was always Claire’s face that she wore, gold and ivory, fierce and as stately as a queen. He often woke from such dreams sticky and rigid with want; another reason to be thankful that he was left-handed.

Wardrobe had never been his forte, so one afternoon Jamie strolled down the hallway to the costume department, hoping to find a designer with enough free time to look over his latest sketches. More and more he envisioned the Lady as a solo artist, rising from the stones in billows of pearlescent silk. How this raiment could be cut to still allow articulated movement was something…

“Good afternoon, James.”

He’d been so caught up in his creative musings that he’d failed to notice Gilles Lemieux walking towards him, impeccably dressed in his usual tailored suit.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur Lemieux,” Jamie replied, stepping aside to let the shorter man pass by.

“How’s the wrist?” the company president inquired, casting a quick glance at the athletic brace Jamie now wore on his right arm.

“Comin’ along. They say I should regain about ninety percent o’ my full range of movement, wi’ time.”

Gilles Lemieux shook his head sadly. “It’s a tremendous loss for Cirque des Etoiles, of course, but I’m thankful you weren’t more seriously injured.”

Jamie indicated his thanks and made to leave. The president was a tremendously busy man.

“Actually, James, I came looking for you. If you aren’t expected somewhere, could I trouble you to join me in my office?”

As he followed his boss back to the administrative wing, Jamie tried to imagine what was in store for him. By contract, the circus owed him twelve weeks of rehabilitation, even if there was no chance of him ever returning to the big top. Perhaps an issue with his work visa status, but that was far below the man’s pay grade. Jamie settled carefully into the stylish chair facing Lemieux’s desk, politely turning down his offer of a drink.

“Well, I won’t turn about the pot, as we say in French. James, it has come to my attention that you may have been the victim of inappropriate sexual advances by a former member of my staff.”

Jamie sat perfectly still, his heart suddenly a trip hammer in his chest.

“What you chose to divulge about this matter is entirely your business. I only asked you here today to express my deepest apologies for any harm or mental anguish you might have suffered. As you are no doubt aware, Cirque des Etoiles has a zero-tolerance policy regarding any kind of sexual harassment. Once the allegations against Monsieur Marylebone were substantiated earlier this week, he was dismissed without notice. I understand criminal charges may be brought in at least two of the cases.”

“Two of the..” Jamie felt as though he was drunk.

“Yes, one athlete came forward with proof of Mr. Marylebone offering to exchange career advancement for sexual favours… while on the Tropico tour, as a matter of fact… I can’t say who for reasons of privacy, of course… well, once word got out of the one allegation, a number of other cast members stepped forward as well. It makes me sick, knowing that this behaviour was going on right beneath my nose.”

Jamie nodded, still reeling from the turn of events. His leather portfolio of sketches sat heavy against his left thigh. He took a fortifying breath.

“Have ye replaced Monsieur Marylebone yet, sir?”

Twenty minutes later, Gilles Lemieux was still marveling over his drawings, turning between pages with a disbelieving shake of his head.

“And you’ve never had formal training?” he asked for the second time.

“Nay. My mam was an artist, so I suppose I learned from her,” Jamie explained.

“This is a remarkable concept, James. A major departure from the typical Cirque des Etoiles aesthetic. With your permission, I’d like to show these to our directorial staff to get their thoughts.”

Jamie’s stomach, already tight as a drum, sunk into his pelvis. Perhaps seeing his creation brought to life by others was the best he could hope for.

“I’m quite confident they’ll agree with me,” the president continued. “Yours is exactly the sort of vision we need to keep each new show feeling unique.”

The older man rose from his desk and came around to stand beside Jamie, who had also risen.

“Will yer staff be making a show from my ideas, then?” Jamie asked, still unsure what had just transpired.

Gilles Lemieux laughed. “Certainement pas. That will be your job, Monsieur Fraser. If you’ll accept my offer to become Cirque des Etoiles newest artistic director, that is.”

Jamie’s head spun. His pulse sizzled. It was his first day at circus school all over again. He couldn’t wait to tell Claire.

The president extended his left hand for Jamie to shake, a gentlemen’s agreement before working through the particulars.

“I will gladly accept yer offer, Monsieur Lemieux. On one condition…”

***

“The BAFTAs! I’d thank ye tae remember yer good friend an’ agent when ye become a household name, Claire. I dinna like tae mention it, but twas I who hauled yer arse off the couch an’ convinced yet tae give this circus thing a try. An’ now look at ye, rubbing shoulder wi’ the great and good.”

From seven time zones away, I laughed. No matter the situation, Geillis always seemed to know just what to say. This offer for a select few members of the cast of Tropico to perform at the British film awards in London had come just as we were wrapping up the final stop of our tour in Jakarta. I had been eager to return to Montreal, to finally reunite with Jamie, but the opportunity to perform again in Royal Albert Hall was too great to pass up. Jamie, bless his unselfish soul, had whole-heartedly agreed.

“Would a pair of tickets to the ceremony be a fitting way to acknowledge your steadfast support?” I dangled, holding the phone away from my ear as the predicted squeal shot down the line.

“I’m proud of ye, Claire,” Geillis said after she had settled down. “Ye took a shitty situation and ye turned it inta success through yer own hard graft.”

“Well,” I demurred, “I had a lot of help. I never would have made it without Jamie.”

“Oh, aye. The ginger demi-god. How is yer love monkey doin’?”

“He’s well. The physical therapist is thrilled with his progress. He only has to wear a splint to sleep,” I explained, feeling my skin tingle as it always did when I thought of Jamie.

“Do ye ken wha’ will happen once ye return tae Canada? Besides non-stop acrobatic sex, that is.”

“I don’t know exactly…” I hesitated.

“Wha’?” Geillis prodded, ever a slave to gossip.

“He mentioned he has something he wants to talk to me about but won’t say what it is until we’re face to face.”

In truth, Jamie had been acting strangely for the past week. Distracted, but not in a way that diminished his obvious pleasure in speaking with me. The other night he couldn’t stop yawning, which struck me as strange since his only scheduled task was an hour of physical therapy every day. I was trying not to let it worry me, but the extra week spent in London was another week before I could look into his fathomless blue eyes and know that everything was alright. That we were alright.

“Mebbe he’s plannin’ tae propose!” I could practically hear Geillis bouncing on her toes in excitement.

“That’s ridiculous, Geillis. We haven’t even… well, you know.” Not that I would have been averse to the idea, after the chastity of our bizarre courtship, but the man had been hospitalized and without the use of either of his arms the last time we’d been in each other’s company.

“Ye said he was a bit traditional,” Geillis defended her hypothesis. “Perhaps he believes in doin’ things the old-fashioned way. Holy shite, do ye think he could be a virgin?!”

From the details I knew about his relationship with Anna-Louise, I knew he wasn’t, but I did get the impression he wasn’t particularly experienced either. Rather than put me off, I found this facet of Jamie tremendously appealing. I hadn’t been with many partners either, and I loved the idea of us learning the ropes together.

“Well, whatever it is, I won’t find out until I’m back to Montreal,” I diverted. “I’ll send you the details of where to pick up your tickets. Rehearsals will have me busy until the ceremony, but let’s plan on getting together the following day, before I fly out.”

After hanging up, I paced around my hotel room, tidying up and getting ready for bed. The television in the room next door came on and for a foolish millisecond I thought it was Jamie. Disappointment torpedoed my mood while longing strangled my heart.

I’d put on a brave front while we were in Australia, but the truth was that I wasn’t certain if I could handle continuing to tour with the circus while Jamie was on the other side of the globe. I’d only just found the career and the man who were both meant for me, and I might be forced to choose between the two.

***

The cultured applause of the audience died away, and the television cameras shifted focus. I let out a deep breath, relieved that the abbreviated version of our routine from Tropico had gone off without a hitch. Beside me, John was glowing with all the radiance of a newly born star. He gave me a quick hug, then wandered off to sit in the audience, eager to absorb every moment of the experience.

I lingered backstage, taking in the familiar sights and smells of the theatre where I had performed as a ballerina countless times before. It felt like another lifetime ago.

“Claire!” Geillis’ high-pitched squeal was quickly shushed by a disapproving stage manager. Unrepentant, she threw her arms around me and bounced in place.

“Ye were absolutely brilliant! I fair fell off my chair when the lad was twirling ye above the stage by yer wee ankle. Oof, I’m still shaking!”

I chuckled as I extricated myself from her surprisingly strong grip. The laughter died on my lips as I caught sight of a familiar silhouette waiting in the wings, his copper hair catching the stage lights and glowing like fire.

“Jamie.” The word broke like dawn over my lips. He smiled, a little hesitant, a little shy. I blinked to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

“Claire.”

Jamie’s mouth hadn’t moved. I would know, as I’d been staring at it.

“Claire, it’s so wonderful to see you again.” The voice was familiar, yet foreign. It held none of the lilting bass of Jamie’s speech as it leapt and meandered like clear water in a rocky stream.

I looked to my right and saw Frank Randall, a bouquet of white roses held in his arms like an infant. He thrust these into my numb hands and kissed the air beside my cheeks.

“Fr.. Frank,” I stuttered, looking at Geillis for help.

“I’m sorry I didna warn ye,” she whispered. “He got wind o’ the fact I had a spare ticket, and wouldna rest until I agreed tae let him accompany me.”

When I glanced again, Jamie’s smile had vanished, replaced with an unfamiliar expression, as though he had tasted something spoiled. I beseeched him with my eyes, needing just a minute to gather my bearings and sort out this social train wreck. A dip of his chin let me know he understood.

“Frank,” I tried again, pulling my shoulders back in determination. “Thank you very much for the flowers. They’re lovely. Did you enjoy our performance?”

“Yes, well, it was certainly unusual. Quite bourgeois for the BAFTAs, appealing to the masses and whatnot.” Then, realizing his comment wasn’t exactly complimentary, he quickly added, “But you were lovely as always, darling.”

By now Geillis had caught sight of Jamie and was grinning like an imp.

“Weeel, we should let Claire see tae her other, errr, adoring fans. Call me tomorrow about that coffee, hen. If ye can still walk, that is,” she added sotto voce.

“What? No! Claire, come back to be my partner!” Frank cried as Geillis tried to pull him towards the stage door. “You’re too good for this, this, carnival sideshow. You belong to the world of ballet!”

Already walking away, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder.

“Not anymore, I don’t. Thank you again for the flowers, Frank.”

***

Jamie couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Had her hair always framed her face like a thundercloud? Was her skin constantly aglow with the sheen of a hundred pearls?

He’d barely drawn breath during the entirety of her and John’s performance, moved and terrified in equal measure. Then, when he’s realized they had reversed the routine and that John was about to hold Claire aloft by her injured ankle, he’d nearly been sick. The joint had held, though. There was no sign of discomfort at all on Claire’s expressive face. She was healed.

The tentative brush of finger against finger brought him around to the present.

“You’re real,” she whispered. “You’re here. I thought maybe I was dreaming.”

“Nay, Tourist. I’m flesh and blood. See? I can touch ye now.”

With trembling hands, Jamie reached out to frame her face, tilting her chin upwards into his heavy gaze.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Aye. I’ve missed ye as well.”

“How? I mean, what are you doing here?” A tiny wrinkle of confusion bisected her brow and he rubbed it smooth with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ll tell ye everything, but first, I would very much like to kiss ye. May I?”

Their mouths met before the sibilant of her acceptance had died on her lips. This too felt like uncharted bliss, the softness of her kiss, the warm puffs of breath against his cheek, the tiny noises that seemed to travel through her very bones and into his own. Surely, they had never kissed before if kissing Claire felt like entering paradise. How had he ever managed to let her go?

A smattering of applause, too nearby to be the audience, infiltrated the tiny universe of two they had created. The Tropico stage crew obviously approved of their romance. Embarrassed, Jamie still gave them a mock bow while Claire hid her face against his bicep.

“Is there somewhere we can go that’s a wee bit more private, Tourist?”

“My hotel is down the street. Just let me grab my coat.”

***

The BAFTAs had put us up in the Mandarin Oriental, a considerable upgrade from the downtown business hotels Cirque des Etoiles tended to favour. Walking into the lobby with my hand firmly enveloped in Jamie’s, I couldn’t help noticing what a striking figure he cut. Always handsome and astonishingly fit, he was now imbued with an internal luminance that drew attention to him like a magnet. His chiseled jawline, smooth from a recent shave, the bronzed waves of his hair, the effortless tailoring of his sport jacket and indigo jeans echoing the depths of his eyes.

Those eyes looked my way, a twinkle of merriment reflecting in their depths.

“Verra fancy lodgings ye’ve got here, Tourist. Are ye sure ye’ll be willin’ tae return tae the prosaic life of a circus performer?”

Despite the teasing tone, I read the underlying insecurity in Jamie’s question. Thankfully, it was a fear I could easily and whole-heartedly put to rest.

“It’s like I told Frank, Jamie. The circus is where I belong now. With you.”

He bent towards me, fixated on my mouth before he froze with a grimace.

“Can we gang tae yer room? I’m tired of sharing ye wi’ an audience.”

I looked around us and sure enough, more than a few curious gazes were turned our way, standing as we were in the middle of the opulent room as guests and staff parted around us.

The elevator ride felt endless. Jamie stood across from me, his still healing fingers tapping morse code against his thigh. I focused on them, worried that if I met his look we would be mid-coitus by the time the doors opened on my floor.

The discrete snick of a well-oiled bolt sliding home sealed us from the outside world. I didn’t even bother turning on a light, stepping into Jamie’s open arms instead. We both released months’ worth of patience and disquiet in simultaneous soughing breaths. Jamie rocked us side to side, probably subconsciously, with the gentle insistence of a redwood in the breeze.

When my heartbeat had calmed and the jangling nerves of the night’s events dissipated, I lifted my chin towards Jamie’s face, asking for his kiss. To my surprise, he denied me.

“I ken I asked ye tae bring me back tae yer room, and ye may have some idea of us fallin’ into yon bed and ne’er getting out again,” Jamie began. “And I’m sore tempted tae do jes that. But first, there are some things I must say tae ye, Claire.”

My stomach went into freefall at his words and his serious tone. A million possibilities chased around my head, the foremost of which was that he’d had second thoughts about pursuing a relationship with me. How could I blame him, when I’d had similar doubts? The logistics were near insoluble.

A warm palm cupped my jaw.

“Nae, no’ that, Tourist. There isna a doubt in my mind tha’ we belong t’gether, should it still be what ye want.”

“I want,” I replied decisively. “But how did you…?”

“I can read ye like an open book, Claire,” he explained.

“I’m at a disadvantage, then,” I pouted.

Rather than give way, Jamie insisted I wash up and change out of my costume before our talk. I considered reapplying some make-up or searching through my luggage for something approximating sexy underwear but settled for a tiny dab of perfume beneath my jaw and leaving my madcap curls loose, a look I suspected he appreciated given the fact he lost words each time I left them that way.

When I returned to the main room, Jamie had shed his jacket and was sitting at the foot of the bed like a pupil sitting an exam. His look when he saw me washed away any lingering apprehension I held. Whatever he had to tell me, he was still mine.

I stepped between his knees and rested my hands over his muscled shoulders, waiting for him to speak.

“Gilles Lemieux has offered me a job as artistic director,” he said without fanfare.

“What? Jamie, that’s incredible! Congratulations! Did you show him the sketches?” the words spilled over each other in my excitement.

“No’ at first. But he approached me the other day, wanting to speak. It hasna been announced yet, but Clarence Marylebone has been fired.”

If his first piece of news had surprised me, this information sent me spinning.

“Monsieur Lemieux heard Marylebone had propositioned me, offering tae trade sex fer his influence. Apparently I wasna the only one, and someone finally came forward wi’ proof. The whole house o’ cards came tumblin’ down. He may even go tae jail.”

“But how did Lemieux know that you were one of the victims if you didn’t tell him yourself?”

“Only three people kent what that man said tae me: ye, John and myself..”

“Jamie, I never…” I began to insist before he cut me off.

“I ken, Tourist. And I didna breath a word either. Sae that leaves John. I dinna ken whether I want tae hug the man or throttle him fer goin’ behind my back.”

Piece by piece, the facts rearranged themselves in my mind.

“Oh my god, Jamie, I think it was John who brought Marylebone down!”

At his confounded look, I explained how I’d seen John go into Marylebone’s hotel room while the Tropico tour was in Singapore, and how the night of Jamie’s fall, he’d only be willing to divulge that what looked like an ill-advised tryst was ‘making amends’. With everything else that transpired that night, John’s strange words had mostly slipped my mind.

“Christ, if that’s so, Tourist, I owe John more than I could ever repay.”

“I don’t think he wants repayment, or even credit, Jamie. He was making reparations for causing you to doubt the sincerity of any woman’s attraction to you.”

Jamie leaned into my sternum and lifted those perfect blue eyes to mine.

“I dinna care if any woman’s attraction is sincere, Tourist. So long as yers runs true.”

Unable to resist, I kiss his smiling lips, humming with want as they parted beneath me.

“When do you…” a series of moans as our tongues met and danced, “…start your new job?”

“I told… Christ, Tourist, dinna make those wee noises if ye expect a man tae think!” he panted. For my part, I was totally unrepentant. He had only himself and his talented mouth to blame, after all.

“I told,” he tried again, “Gilles that I had tae speak wi’ ye first.”

This brought me up short.

“Whatever for? I’m thrilled for you, Jamie. It’s what you were working so long for.”

Gathering himself with difficulty, Jamie stood and began to pace. I’d noticed from the first that movement soothed his nerves. If the path he was wearing in the Oriental carpet was any indication, he was very nervous.

“When Monsieur Lemieux came across me, I had my sketchbook fer the Lady of Balnain in hand. Once he’d told me about Marylebone and I’d got over my shock, I showed it tae him. He wants it produced. Right away.”

I nodded my understanding but didn’t interrupt. It would be hard, with both of us working on different shows, but I was determined to make it work.

“I told him I would only accept if ye can tour wi’ me. I dinna want tae be away from ye anymore than absolutely necessary, Claire.”

“I feel the same way,” I replied immediately, happy we were on the same page.

Jamie stopped pacing and stood in front of me again, his hands holding my own like we were pledging a vow.

“I still believe ye’re the best choice tae be my Lady of Balnain. But Claire, I canna have ye thinkin’ ye got the role wi’ anything o’her than yer talent. Nor do I want ye tae hear the vicious whispers of those who might say otherwise. I ken wha’ that’s like, and I dinna want it for ye. Tis why I told Monsieur Lemieux that I would abstain from any casting decisions where ye were a candidate fer any of my shows.”

My heart could not decide whether it wanted to shrink to a tiny ball of heat or explode into galaxies of love. I had wanted Jamie as a partner, then as a boyfriend and a lover, but what he was offering was so much more.

“You are the most remarkable man, James Fraser.” I raised his battered right hand and kissed each knuckle, ending with the fresh red scar over his surgical site.

“Are ye happy, then?” he asked, still sounding unsure.

“Insatiably happy,” I assured him. “It’s everything I could have wished for. For you to pursue your passion for creating. To be by your side. To perform myself.”

“Ye intend tae try out for my wee show, then?” Jamie asked with a sideways grin.

“Oh, make no mistake, Fraser, I intend to star in your wee show,” I retorted, breaking contact to bend and remove my socks. “I’ll look into it as soon as we’re back in Montreal.”

“What are ye doin’?” Jamie asked, a bit breathless, as my hands drifted to my waistband.

“We’re finished talking,” I pronounced, unbuttoning my pants.

“Oh, aye?” Jamie choked out, eyes round as Delft saucers.

“Aye,” I whispered back, stepping out of my pants as they hit the floor.

The blue in Jamie’s pupils was on the ebb, the muscles of his throat constricting as he tried to swallow around a visible lump. Speaking of visible lumps…

“Don’t you think you’re a little over-dressed for bed, Jamie,” I husked. I wasn’t certain where my sudden bravado had arisen from, but I was more than happy to take it for a spin.

“For bed? Or for sleep?” Jamie clarified, obviously still disbelieving the quick turn events had taken.

“I’m sure we’ll sleep. Eventually.”

***

Claire was reaching for the hem of her t-shirt. A slow, lazy blink and Jamie sprang into action.

“I’ll see tae that, if ye dinna mind.”

Not as dexterous as he would like, he was still able to maneuver the white cotton upwards until it caught beneath Claire’s armpits. She took over from there, tossing the garment into the air over her shoulder with a laugh. He was charmed by her playfulness, so different from any of his previous amorous encounters.

Any light-heartedness evaporated as soon as his focus returned to the woman before him. She was startlingly beautiful, with clotted cream skin generously sprinkled with cinnamon freckles and feline eyes that spoke the secrets of her soul. Tempestuous curls spilled in a sable cascade over her shoulders. In fact, most things about Claire reminded him of water: the fluidity of her movement, the soothing murmur of her speech, the sinuous long lines of her body. Everything except those eyes, that warmed his very heart like fire.

“Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve e’er seen,” he pledged, startled by the raspy depths of his own voice.

“I want to look at you too, Jamie.”

Cursing the stiffness of his right hand, Jamie was entirely focused on the fastening of his jeans when Claire’s nimbler hands took over and made quick work of the button and zipper. As the pants slid from his hips, he could no longer rein in the urge to kiss her senseless.

Jamie would never suggest he had some vast experience of woman, but he’d kissed more than a handful in his day. In every one of those situations, he’d never had cause to consider the raw intimacy of the act. Caressing hyper-sensitive flesh, sharing breath, inviting a lover into the sanctuary of oneself; as he welcomed Claire’s tongue beside his own, Jamie imagined what it might be like for a woman to accept a man inside her body.

Impatient to the point of roughness, Claire’s fingers tore down the placket of his shirt, pushing the material aside to pair her hands to the furrows of his ribs. Kissing him like they’d come to the end of a very long war, a frustrated hum still vibrated in her throat.

“Wha’ is it?” he gasped as they parted for oxygen.

“I just… I can’t get enough of you, Jamie. I want to crawl inside you and never leave.”

A startled laugh burst forth. “Christ, Tourist, do ye think I mind?!”

With more caution than he would have preferred, Jamie lifted Claire’s underwear-clad form onto the massive bed. She followed his movements with a predatory gaze as he shed his shirt. He hovered over the waistband of his boxer-briefs, momentarily self-conscious. As someone who had made his living with his body, Jamie knew he was well-formed in an athletic sense. Yet there was some vestigial part of his brain that worried he wouldn’t measure up to whatever expectations she had of him.

Inhaling through his nose, Jamie pushed the elastic over his hips, trusting that even if Claire was dissatisfied, she would never be so cruel as to laugh. His eyes were closed, awaiting judgement. When no sound came, he peered down towards the bed.

Plump coral lips were parted so that he could see her bottom teeth. The pace of her breathing had accelerated until her breasts, still encased in her pretty lavender bra, were rising and falling as though riding a choppy sea.

“I’m not particularly religious,” she began, still not meeting his eyes yet knowing they were on her, “but if ever there were proof of the hand of god at work, you’re it, Jamie.”

He blushed, flattered and perhaps a touch scandalized by her casual blasphemy.

“Come to me,” Claire commanded, arms outstretched, and like the loyal supplicant he was, he obeyed.

***

I’d spent countless hours being held in Jamie’s arms while both of us were next to naked. What transpired on the eleventh floor of the Mandarin Oriental hotel that night was nothing like that. Jamie as an aerials partner was solidity and strength. His hands were firm and certain, but utterly business-like. Jamie as a lover was like sharing a bed with an earthquake, all devastating power that trembled and shook, mere moments away from bursting forth with cataclysmic force.

I was so overcome by being with him in this new way that it took several minutes for me to realize the tremors that ran rampant up and down his body were not merely passion held in tight control. He was shaking like a leaf.

“Why are you trembling?” I asked as he kissed the span of my collar bones, nose nudging experimentally at my bra straps.

“I dinna ken,” he mumbled before separating his lips from my skin reluctantly. “Tis jes’… things, good things, dinna come easily tae me. I wouldna call my life a perpetual struggle, but perpetual effort, mebbe? I’m a Scot, and that means hard work is the only virtue guaranteed its reward.”

I played with the contours of his cheekbone where it rested by my side, letting him find the path to his thoughts in his own time.

“It’s been sae easy wi’ ye, Claire,” he continued after a pause. “Our work, bein’ yer friend, this…” he gestured to the pairing of our bodies. “I suppose I dinna ken how tae believe it’s real when I’ve wanted it sae badly and done nothin’ tae deserve it.”

“I’ll stop you right there,” I interrupted. “First of all, no-one deserves to be loved. It’s a gift freely given. But if anyone were to be deemed deserving, it would be you, Jamie. Your kindness and gentleness. Your generosity and self-sacrifice. Your passion and creativity. I probably walked off that practice mat the day we met half in love with you, and nothing you’ve said or done since then has diminished my regard in the slightest.”

Watching this man who I claimed as my own purse his lips and blush to the tips of his ears was an unexpected treat. I reminded myself that for all his size and ability, Jamie was still relatively new to relationships, especially healthy ones without any ulterior motives at play. He would likely need a certain amount of guidance and reassurance, and it would be my very great pleasure to provide them.

“I can’t promise it will always be easy,” I said, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. “But I can promise it will always be worth the effort. We were made for each other, Jamie.”

As I removed the last vestiges of clothing, the sonata of our lovemaking picked up pace and moved into a major key. Using his forearm to prop up his body weight on his bad side, Jamie took full advantage of his left-handedness to explore every hill and vale of my skin. Featherlight, his touch was a stark contrast to the long bones and heavy muscles that slid into the cradle of my hips and began a questing, eager pulse. Already aroused to the point of gnashing my teeth, I keened as our bodies rubbed together, providing just enough friction to invite delirium.

“I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe,” Jamie panted near my ear. My hands were conveying much the same message as they polished the contours of his torso from shoulder to powerful buttocks.

“Condom?” I gasped, praying that he’d thought about protection because there was no way we were stopping now.

A long arm reached for the night table while his mouth continued to do unspeakable things to my neck, earlobes, nipples.

Knowing he was temporarily handicapped, I grabbed the foil package from him and tore it open with my teeth. Before I rolled the condom into place, I dragged my free hand down the length and heft of him, pausing at the base to cup his heavy balls. Above me, Jamie went cross-eyed with pleasure.

“Please, Tourist,” he begged. “I dinna want this tae end wi’ me spending all o’er yer wee tummy.”

That didn’t sound like a terrible calamity, but I took pity on the poor man and slipped the rubber into place. No sooner had my grip loosened than Jamie’s good hand took its place, guiding himself into position and making a few exploratory passes that saw me seeing stars.

“Tell me I can have ye now,” he demanded around an iron jaw.

“You can have me forever.”

His first thrust sent me skyward. My hips canted up to meet his descending force, causing a collision that had us both crying out. Slick and hungry, my body protested any movement that threatened the feeling of indescribable fullness he brought to me. My neck and spine were curved like a well-strung bow, my partner the musician who could make me sing. And sing I did, over and over again until my throat was sore with it. In the pause between retreat and advance, Jamie made music of his own, a medley of broken groans and fluent curses that told me he was savouring the experience as much as I was.

The tension between wanting our bliss to last forever and the primal urge for completion built until I was being torn apart by its force. Soon, all too soon, it became more than I could bear. There was only one thing standing between me and soul-rending release. Grasping Jamie’s jaw in both hands, I pushed him back until I could see the madness dancing in his eyes. He was on the edge of falling as well.

“I love you,” I vowed. “I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

My words untethered the last of his control. Hips pistoning out of rhythm, lips parting on a feral snarl, Jamie was sent flying by my words, the simplest and most profound truth there was.

This time, I did not hesitate to fling myself into the abyss after him.

#my writing #outlander #fanfiction

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kanazawa-division · 8 months

Note

It was early afternoon when a certain former cheerleader picked up Kyler from his job at the police station. Beside her was her boyfriend, who had a small, yet still viewable smirk on his face. The reason: because of a white cloth that he used to disable the CIA operative's vision. Normally, he would have refused, but after Evelyn insisted, he begrudgingly cooperated.

"I hope you know I'm only doing this because of Evelyn. Under ordinary circumstances, I'd never let anyone blindfold me like this. ...Especially you of all people, Ace."

"Oh, I know. That's why I'm choosing to enjoy this as long as I can."

Kyler grunted as he could practically feel and see the shit-eating grin on his friendly rival's face. Being led from behind by Evelyn, he stopped as she placed his hands on his shoulders and was told to 'watch his head'. Bending down, he could feel himself getting inside a vehicle. He could only surmise that Ace was the one driving since he couldn't recall Evelyn ever driving anywhere. Did she even have a license for that matter?

But those thoughts ended as he could feel the car start and drive on. He sighed as he heard some cheesy pop song and heard Evelyn singing to it. As he sat there in the back seat, he could feel his eyelids getting itchy, no doubt due to the cloth covering his eyes.

"Hey, can I take this blindfold off now?"

"No."

"No!"

Kyler sighed once more, though he didn't know what other answer he was expecting.

"Well, can you at least tell me where we're going?"

"If we did that Kylie, it'd, like, ruin the surprise!"

"Yeah, but still..."

"Cool your jets, birthday boy. You'll see when we get there. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Tch, if it's you driving, I'd be better off taking my chances walking."

"You want to? Cause I can stop the car. It's no trouble, whatsoever."

"Yes, please do."

"Hey!"

At this, both men felt one of their ears being pulled tightly, as if they had reverted back to their childhood.

"Ah!"

"No fighting! Not, like, today! It's Kyler's birthday, Acey. So, be nice!"

"Ugh, yeah, yeah."

Rubbing both of their ears, the two men chose to just keep quiet, while their female compatriot continued singing along with the radio. It was approximately a 45-minute long drive until the car finally slowed to a stop.

"We're here!"

Hearing the back door open, Kyler carefully stepped out of the car, being guided by Evelyn.

"Yes, but... where is here?"

Kyler could smell and hear the ocean, so he could only surmise that he was near the beach. And if he was a betting man, he could only educate that he and his friends were now in Okinawa.

"Stay here, okay? I gotta go make sure everything is, like, set up!"

Before he could say anything, he heard a pamper of feet getting further off in the distance, meaning he was alone with just his "oh-so-good friend" Ace, still blindfolded.

"So you are going to let me in on what this big surprise is exactly?"

"There's a reason it's called a 'surprise'., birthday boy."

"Well, can I, at least, take this stupid blindfold off now? I already know that we're in Okinawa."

"Hey, feel free to take it off. But if Evelyn gets upset at you, don't look to me for help."

Grumbling, the CIA official stood there his arms crossed. He could feel Ace standing somewhere around him, but the diplomat was silently playing with his phone, not paying his childhood rival much attention. They stood like that for up to three minutes until Kyler heard a slight vibrating sound close to him. He then felt Ace's car shake as the American ambassador hopped off of it.

"Alright, Evee says she's ready. Follow me."

...

"...Well?"

"How do you expect me to follow you when I can't see, genius?"

"Aren't you a CIA operative? Just put those handy skills of yours to use and follow my voice."

"..."

"...Ugh, fine. Give me your hand."

Though he really didn't want to, Kyler obeyed, holding his left hand out for Ace to take. With that, the diplomat led the operative to their 'secret' destination. After a brief walk, Ace told Kyler to 'stop' as he stepped away. The investigator heard the sound of a door opening and was once again led. He felt a rush of cool air hit him, which told him that he was inside a building. Feeling his hand being let go, Kyler then felt the bandana on his face come unloose. He was prepared to see light again, but to his surprise, it was dark even inside the building.

...That is, until Ace gave the 'thumbs-up' to someone, which prompted the lights to turn back on. As it did, the next thing Kyler heard was:

SURPRISE!!!

Kyler jumped back as he looked at a group of his friends and acquaintances all jumped out of their hiding places in Eagle's Nest. Namely: Evelyn, Rashaad, Joey, Wataru, and a few others from Kanazawa that he had worked with. Still surprised, Kyler looked as the bar was decorated with balloons, party planners, a banner with his name on it, and the piece de resistance, a birthday cake, which made the CIA operative shake his head with a grin.

He smiled as Joey continued singing 'Happy Birthday' until Wataru promptly told him to 'shut it'. He then looked as all the members of the Liberty Guild gifted him something for his birthday:

From Rashaad, it was a gold and black cigarette holder that made Kyler blink, surprised. Looking at it from all sides, he promptly thanked the bartender, promising to reciprocate.

From Evelyn, it was a watch with a thin blue line on it. Slipping it on, Kyler smiled as it was a perfect fit for his wrist. He promptly thanked his childhood friend, who gave him a small kiss on the cheek as thanks.

Lastly, the last gift was from Ace, which put Kyler on his guard, as he suspected something mean-spirited from the diplomat. Rolling his eyes, the American ambassador simply handed him his gift. Looking at it, Kyler, at first, thought it was a book of some sort. Upon opening it, he looked as it was a photo holder. But what made it even more special was that inside it was a picture of him and the most important person in his world, his finance, Roxanne. Though he came close to crying, he managed to hold it in, refusing to cry, especially in front of his rival. Giving him a 'thanks', he turned around, still staring at the picture of the love of his life.

...God, he missed her...

Kyler looked around as he took a bite from the piece of his birthday cake that had been nicely cut by Rashaad, his cheeks were staring to hurt from how long he had been smiling but honestly who wouldn’t? Granted he knew Evelyn was gonna pull something like this sooner or later but it still warmed his heart to know and see that his childhood friend still cares a great deal about him even after all the years that had passed.

He was also grateful for his new friends too and Ace but not as much, he shook his head fondly as he watched Joey wearing two party hats as horns on his head and trying to put a party hat on Wataru’s head, who looked like he was getting more annoyed by the second with Rashaad trying to keep the peace.

Truth be told, Kyler never thought he could end up like this. Surrounded by friends and people that cared about him, things were bad when he woke up from his coma and had gotten progressively worse afterwards, the blonde agent didn’t want to admit it but there had been times where he wanted to give up, that he couldn’t go on anymore…

But then he thought of parents, of Evelyn and his friends, of-

A buzzing sensation brought him out of his thoughts, fishing out his phone from his pocket, Kyler looked to see who exactly would be calling him before his eyes widen upon seeing the caller ID “Roxie ❤️”. Excusing himself and telling everyone he’ll be right back, Kyler headed towards the bathroom before answering the call.

“Happy Birthday, Kyler, baby! I love you!”

“I love you too Roxie, so much. Thank you.”

Thank you for the gift!

#hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone #kyler aaron #wataru sasaki #joey kurusu #justice shield #okinawa division #liberty guild #ace douglas #evelyn rose #rashaad young #happy birthday kyler 2023 #gift #taito-division

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whats-rambled-rambled · 2 years

Text

Posterity - part 3

Neil x gn!Reader

Chapter 3: Confidant

(see chapter 2, 1)

summary: one of the teams gets caught in an ambush, and you have to deal with the aftermath

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of death and grief

author’s note: would you look at that, it took me 3 chapters to get to proper angst! I think nobody is surprised at this point. But that seemed like such a vital part of the Reader’s job to cover, and it had to be done at one point or another.

✨hurt/comfort✨

3,8k words

The song for this chapter is Blakey - Confidant

Your feedback warms my heart and keeps me going, I’m so grateful to have you all around.

Enjoy! And as always - let me know what you think?

--------

taglist: @hollandorks @neilsgirl91 @thecraziestcrayon @sunnyitwillbe @eravanaaaah @blue-aconite @mcrmarvelloki

-----

“Posterity, this is Jenkins. We’re fucked. I repeat - we’re fucked.”

“Understood, sending the Cavalry to your location –”

“NO! Don’t....we’re already dead. Just tell the others about the ambush. This place is rigged and crawling with antags.”

“Copy. Help is on the way, Agent, sit tight. Are you hurt? ”

“Walked straight into this… ah shit. Yeah, got hit pretty bad.”

“Hold on just a little while longer.”

“No need, Operator. T’was pleasure, guys. Come here you motherfu-...”

“Agent…?”

“...”

Come in, Agent.”

“...”

“Agent Jenkins, are you there?”

“...”

“...goddamnit.”

—

The office was quiet. Empty. It was better that way, you couldn’t imagine going through this part of the job with an audience of any kind.

Of course, it was not the first time it had happened. Sometimes, there wasn’t much you could do, and even having the full medical team dispatched with the backup was not enough to save everyone.

You sighed, opening another file.

Most operators went through it at some point in their careers. Multiple points, most likely.

Everyone coped with it in their own way. Some people took a day off. Some went straight to the nearest bar as soon as they clocked out. You? You always asked for another shift, to be the one to process the paperwork. It seemed only fair.

The first time someone died on your call… it had been rough. As in throwing up in the bathroom and sobbing for a solid quarter rough. That was how your boss had found you, then took you to his office and talked you through it, enough to calm you down so you hadn’t quit on him right there and then.

You couldn’t say it’d gotten easier. Could it ever? You’d built walls to protect yourself. You’d learned to keep your distance. You’d focused on the things you were still able to do. On the bigger picture. But even then, when you were left alone in the office with the fallen agents looking at you from your screen, there was an ache in your chest, making you struggle to take a deeper breath.

Another timeline. Not too complicated - must have belonged to a rookie.

That was another kind of pain. Every one of those people had their whole future ahead of them, but those wide-eyed newlings always had so much light in them.

It was a rare thing to see it shining bright in someone after a few years spent in the field.

You glanced at your phone.

It was persistently silent.

You hadn’t heard from Neil, aside from the calls during business hours. The requests kept on coming with the usual cheeky politeness, and you were glad nothing had changed after that party.

One little thing had, however.

You caught yourself missing his voice when you hadn’t heard from him for too long.

Even more reasons to be grateful that he respected your boundaries, right?

Everything was in order. You closed the loop, added all the needed annotations, and changed the status of the operative to KIA.

Next file.

You read the name on the screen and your palms got sweaty. You chewed on your lip, trying to level your shallow breath. The shots rang in your ears again. And that scream, the last cry of a man going out with guns blazing. Hellbent on taking down with him as many antagonists as possible.

Of course, you remembered his first call. How he stuttered nervously, cursing every other word, and then solemnly apologized for it. The confidence gained over the next months reflected in his record as he’d earned a leadership position in his own squad. He made sure to mention it during his next call, and you couldn’t help but feel a little proud.

“T’was pleasure, guys.”

You wiped a trembling hand through your face and exhaled slowly. The gnawing in your chest was becoming unbearable.

Maybe that was why, against your better judgment, you grabbed your phone.

The reason kicked back in the second you heard the line ringing, but as you were about to hang up, you heard a sleepy voice:

“Are you really calling or am I still dreaming?”

You cringed and rewarded your stupidity with a hearty facepalm. What the hell were you doing?

“Oh god, I woke you–- I’m sorry, I don’t even know what time it is.” A wave of embarrassment tangled both your thoughts and your tongue. “It-it’s nothing, go back to sleep.”

“No, no, no, it’s okay. Just something new.” Neil grunted lightly. “What’s going on?”

You drew a deep breath, then let it out with a barely audible shudder.

“This kind of day, huh?” His sad chuckle made the tip of your nose tingle, even more so when you heard the softness in his voice as he urged you gently, “Talk to me. What happened?”

“You heard about Malmö?” you asked, hoping you wouldn’t be the one to deliver the news.

“Yeah, I spoke to Ives a couple hours ago. Six of ours down?”

You swallowed with effort.

“It’s eight now.”

“Jesus,” he sighed breathlessly.

“I was on a call with a guy from that team.” You frowned at yourself. He deserved more than a nameless mention. “With Jenkins.” Better. Shifting in your seat, you continued, pushing out one strained word after another. “Now I have paperwork to process and I’m closing all the loops– wait, you know about the loops?”

“May have an idea, but tell me more.”

“The numbers you give us when you log in, right? Imagine them put onto a giant timeline.” You glanced at your screen, at Jenkins’ one already loaded up. “That’s how we keep an eye on you, we can check if the time loop you entered has closed properly, or if you are still in the middle of one. It’s more complicated, but also not as much?” A nervous laugh escaped your lips when you realized you were rambling, as you always did when it came to aspects of the job you were quite fascinated with. “It would be easier to show you. I think you’d appreciate the design, it’s pretty neat.”

“Sounds like it.”

There was a hint of a smile hiding in Neil’s tone, and it was enough to give you the strength to carry on into the more difficult part.

“Anyway, aside from the calls, requests, and routine checks on agents with long inactivity in the system, I’m also responsible for updating the files. When something happens…,” - you forced another deep breath in - “that means double-checking the loops and a lot of time spent looking at their timelines. Seeing their journeys, from the very start… It’s never easy.”

Neil hummed sympathetically. “I can imagine. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. It hurts, even if I only knew them as voices in my headphones.” You sighed, dropping your gaze again. “It’s hard not to get attached to people.”

“Oh.”

The sudden realization in the expression curled a corner of your mouth into a sad smirk. “You know where I’m going with this, huh?”

“Possibly.” He weighed his words. “That’s why you keep us at arm's length?”

You scoffed softly. “That’s why I try.”

“And not calling us by our names? Part of it, too?” he said and the curious notes in his tone suggested he’d been sitting on this thought for a while. “It’s not the protocol, I checked.”

You shook your head, not so surprised he’d picked on that, too. He was perceptive, he had to be in his profession.

“It’s not, you’re right.”

“Hm.”

“Doesn’t make sense to you?” you asked with quiet resignation. You wouldn’t blame him if it didn’t. Although you weren’t sure if you had it in you to defend yourself. Not today. Not against him.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to.

“No, I understand why you do it, but…” He hesitated, and you cut in:

“But you don’t approve.”

He smacked his tongue and stifled a sigh. “That’s not it.”

Suddenly, you realized he was holding back an opinion, mindful not to overstep.

“What is it then?” To soothe his apprehension, you let a shade of smile into your voice “Make your case.”

“Thank you, your honor,” said Neil, tongue-in-cheek. Then, it was his turn to take a deeper breath, as if he was grounding himself, preparing to share something more personal. “I know how it feels to lose someone you care about. The emptiness that comes with it. Almost physical pain that follows.” He faltered, lost in a memory for a short while, then continued more softly, “It’s scary. Hence the need to protect yourself from it. Especially with the certain danger written into our job. I understand. Only, at the same time… the world can be a shitty place, and having people around, those who get the metaphorical it...who get you.. not only makes life easier. It makes it all that better.”

You sighed and propped the forehead on your knuckles, blankly staring down.

“I know.”

A short, knowing hum. “But it’s not enough to outweigh the possible pain, because what if it ends?”

You tightened the grip on your phone as the lump in your throat grew bigger.

“Exactly.”

“It doesn’t take all those things away from you. What’s happened’s happened. And it’s yours, forever. All you got to experience together, all those little moments you shared, the emotions that warmed you whenever you needed. They stay. Even if the person is no longer with you.”

A tear plopped on the desk and you wiped it with your sleeve, then squeezed your eyes shut, swallowing with effort.

Meanwhile, Neil continued, and every quiet sentence carried immense compassion and warmth. “I know it hurts. Life’s short, but that’s also what makes it all worth it. You deserve to be happy.” He paused for a bit, then added, “That can also mean playing it safe.” He chuckled lightly. “The choice is yours. And I rest my case.”

The last remark made you laugh, but the sound came out with a sob. “Damn, I’m sorry,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I hear you, yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

There was nothing but concern on the other end of the line, and your heart clenched painfully.

“I am. Hit close to home, that’s all.” You frowned and sighed, a little embarrassed. “I like the way you look at it.”

You really did. Although, you weren’t quite sure you would be able to rewire yourself like that. Even if you really wanted to.

“Just give it a thought, okay? Nothing more.”

That you could do. “I will, I promise,” you said, lips curling in a gentle smile. “Thank you for this. And for letting me vent.”

“Of course. Anytime.” There was this light in his words again, and you knew he really meant it. “Are you going home soon?”

Looking back at your screen, you quickly went over the tasks on your to-do list. “I have two operatives left to…debrief. Gonna take a while.” You heard a stifled grunt as if Neil was stretching and was trying not to let it show, and it made you remember the start of your conversation. And made you very self-conscious because of it. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you awake, go back to bed.”

“I am in bed,” he said, all smug about it. “And I don’t mind.”

The image in your head, complimented by the ever so slight switch in his tone, suddenly made you flustered. Heat crept up your cheeks as you cleared your throat.

“I’d love to keep chatting then, but I should really get back to work.” Saying it aloud brought back the heaviness to your shoulders. However, there was enough calmness inside you now, as if some of the load had dissolved once you’d shared it, and you were ready to face the task again.

“It was great to hear your voice.”

You wanted to point out that it hadn’t been that long since your last talk, but that was not what he had in mind. The implication resonated deeply, and you could only say, “Yours too.”

The silence that fell was loaded, but not for too long. Neil was first to break the spell, audibly cracking up at something.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry, I was waiting for you to call me agent again.”

Oh. You snickered, shaking your head.

“It got stuck in my throat, believe it or not.”

“We could stick to darling if you'd like."

A grin brightened your face as you scoffed in disbelief. "You think it's less personal than a name?"

"I think it can be whatever we need it to be.” You could almost picture him shrugging lightly, with those playful sparks shining in his eyes. "All words are made up, anyway."

“Sure,” you snorted, unable to find a counter to that.

“No pressure. I’m happy you called.”

“Me too,” you sighed softly, the warmth slowly spreading through your chest. “Thanks again and good night…darling.”

“Blimey.” No teasing. No mocking. Pure amusement. And something else, you couldn’t quite figure out yet. “Take care, darling. Good night.”

It wasn’t one if you looked at it as a whole.

The one part that was, however, was enough to carry you through the rest of it. Through the paperwork, and through saying goodbye to the agents.

Because for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to grieve.

Over the people. Over the things that had been. Over the ones that could have been.

And over those that would never be.

—

That extra shift meant entering another day in some sort of zombie mode.

The exhaustion from the lack of sleep amplified the emotional fatigue, putting you in a nice, numb state, and letting you sail through the first few hours of work without too much damage. It wasn’t zen, no, not with that hollow feeling still present inside. But you knew it would pass, eventually, and being able to jump back into routine activities would only help with that.

The team knew the drill. Business as usual.

One call. A couple of reports. A bit of research. Five answered messages. Another call.

Time went by, and soon you were off on a break, grabbing a quick lunch in a canteen.

The elevator opened with a quiet ping, and you went into the corridor leading to the office, already juggling through the possible solutions to one of the pending requests in your mind. Then, you noticed a figure in a familiar dark navy overcoat and you stopped, any thought process ceasing instantly as well.

Perhaps it was easy to forget you were actually working together, like– physically, occasionally in the same building, even.

All because meeting any operative on your floor was highly improbable.

And it bordered on the security breach.

That was definitely why your heart was beating so fast all of the sudden. No other reason.

Neil was standing right next to your door, a reusable cup in one hand, a phone in the other, looking as if was battling with himself over something.

“Are you lost, darling?” you asked, squinting suspiciously, incapable of hiding a smile already dangling in a corner of your mouth.

He found your gaze, bewildered, but quickly schooled his features and grinned at you.

“Not anymore,” he said and slid the phone into his pocket as you made your way to him. There was a fleeting moment of hesitation when both of you wondered what was the greeting protocol in the current state of affairs, but it took the smallest cue from him and you walked straight into his arms.

The hug was tight. Warm. Bringing back the memories. Overriding reason.

That was why you had to pull away, even though you wanted nothing more but to lose yourself in his embrace for a while longer.

Neil seemed a little more tired than the last time you’d seen him. Messy hair was his default, apparently, as well as a five o’clock shadow, but the faint dark circles under his eyes were something new, and you pondered if that was the lack of sleep caused by your late-night conversation, or the strain of his own duties taking a toll on him. What didn’t change, however, was the light shining in the blue irises, and a playful smile dancing on his lips, bound to prompt one of your own.

“What are you doing here?”

“They called us in for some drills, so I was around.” His fingers glided down your forearm, almost making your breath hitch. A shade of concern clouded his expression and he searched your face, then added quietly, “I wanted to check if you’re okay. How are you feeling?”

You blinked a few times, slightly shaking your head to dismiss his worries sooner than you were able to collect your thoughts.

“I’m fine. Or better, at least.” Choking out a small laugh, you met the blue eyes again, boring into you attentively, consistently, not mindful of the blonde strands falling into them. “I’ll be alright,” you said softly. Of course you were gonna be alright. Things happened, over and over again, and if you hadn’t been able to handle it, you wouldn’t have been cut out for the job. And you were. As you held his gaze, you sent him a reassuring smile, pouring all your confidence into it. “Thank you for checking on me, though. I appreciate it.”

Neil gave you a small nod, visibly relieved. “Don’t mention it.” He moved his tongue across his lips, then nibbled on the bottom one, glancing over your shoulder into the corridor as the elevator rumbled, fortunately moving past your floor. “I don’t wanna keep you any longer. Besides,“ - a roguish smile curved his mouth - “I might not have a hall pass.”

But before you could lecture him on security measures, Neil took your hand and put the cup in it, sneaking something resembling a folded piece of paper into your grasp.

“What is this?”

“A little pick-me-up,” he said and shrugged, then tilted his head. “Fruity, on the sour side, right?” You gaped at him, utterly perplexed, and he snickered at the shock painted across your face. “No vodka this time, sadly.” He sighed, then patted your arm. “Have a nice day, darling.”

You managed to choke out - “Yeah, you too,” - tightening hold on the cup while he marched towards the elevator, unwilling to take his chances for much longer.

Smart move, and yet, there was a pang near your heart as you watched him walk away.

You were really that tired, huh?

With a hand on the doorknob, you glanced at him one last time. Just as Neil looked over his shoulder.

He met your eyes and smiled softly.

Goddamnit.

You chewed on your lip, desperate to stop the flush threatening to creep up your face, then took a deep breath and entered the office.

The door clicked behind you and as you went to your desk, Alex watched you like a hawk.

“Thirsty?” they asked casually, but with a mocking gimmer clearly visible in their dark eyes.

There was no way in hell they’d heard anything. Yet, your heart pounded heavily, as if you’d been caught on something inappropriate.

You arched a brow and sent them a shrug.

“Heating season, you know how it is.”

“Uh-huh.”

You fell on your chair and took a sip from the cup.

Tea. With raspberry juice, orange slices, ginger, and cloves. Sweet, but not overbearingly, with a touch of spice, definitely leaning into its sour notes. Hot and comforting. Homely.

You closed your eyes and allowed the warmth to spread through you.

A pick-me-up, indeed.

What about that paper tucked in your palm, though?

You unfolded it and your confused frown only deepened.

An envelope. An empty one, to be precise.

As you checked the other side and read a single word written on it, a loud snort escaped you, and you hid your face in your palms, trying to muffle a hysterical laugh rising in your throat.

Strings.

—-

The end of your shift couldn’t come fast enough. Your fingers were itching, and it took some intense reasoning from your brain not to call him immediately after leaving the building.

For the second time in 24 hours? Come on, that wouldn’t be wise. On so many levels.

On the other hand, it would’ve been rude not to thank him for that tea. And you couldn’t exactly do that during his next request call, could you?

Why not? It was doable.

Without raising suspicion? Alex had already been smirking at you after your little giggling fit.

Asking for trouble, nothing more.

Maybe it was. Definitely it was. And yet–

Back and forth, all the way home. The inner dispute ended with the conclusion that you were tired, and you needed rest, first and foremost, because the emotions running loose like that were not helping anyone.

The Universe solved your headache itself, and just as you crossed your apartment's threshold, your phone buzzed with a message.

//Was it balanced to your liking?//

It was easier to call him back since you were in the middle of taking off your outdoor clothes.

Neil picked up straight away.

“It was perfect, thank you,” you said right on the beat. ” Why, you made it yourself?”

“That’s classified, I’m afraid.”

You scoffed at a sly grin tainting his tone. “Understood. No strings attached though, huh?”

“I knew you’d get it,” he hummed with satisfaction, then hesitated and sighed, finally landing on a more serious note. “I’ve been thinking about our last talk. When I said no pressure, I meant it.” A bated chuckle sneaked between the words, now soft and warm and ringing with care that made your heart squeeze with fondness. “We don’t have to dance. Or do whatever else you��re not comfortable with, for that matter. But I’m here if you need anything. Anytime. Simple as that.”

“It means a lot, really.” You couldn’t find words to express how much it did. It was overwhelming, but at the same time calming; swirling a lot of different emotions inside you that you didn’t know how to process. It had to wait, however, because you had an offer to reciprocate. “Same goes to you, darling. I’m always a phone call away.”

“I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

Suddenly, there was that inkling again, and you needed to ask.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Me?” That clearly caught him off-guard. “Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, you seemed a bit tired today.” Probably wasn’t the nicest thing to say, and as you realized that, you winced slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“No, it’s alright,” he said, the initial puzzlement already wearing off. “I’m okay. Permanently jet-lagged, but okay.” He let out a small laugh. “Thanks for asking. Was it the habit kicking in?”

“Maybe.” Or maybe you just cared, more than you’d like to admit. “Go get some rest.”

“You too, darling. Talk to you soon?”

You smiled hearing the hopeful notes in the question.

“Naturally.”

That was it. That was the word.

Because everything came just like that with him.

And everything felt like that when it came to him.

Even more so.

It felt undeniably right.

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet x you #tenet fanfiction #robert pattinson #posterity

93 notes · View notes

whimsicallyenchantedrose · 11 months

Text

Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 174: Capitaine Crochet--pt. 2

Pairing: Captain Swan

Summary: A series of unrelated, fluffy one shots featuring Killian Jones and Emma Swan and the relationship that makes us all swoon. Will contain both canon and AU stories. My contribution to Operation Rainbow Kisses and Unicorn Stickers (aka, my attempt to drown out the season 4 finale angst with ridiculous levels of fluff.)

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31) (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) (37) (38) (39) (40) (41) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49) (50) (51) (52) (53) (54) (55) (56) (57) (58) (59) (60) (61) (62) (63) (64) (65) (66) (67) (68) (69) (70) (71) (72) (73) (74) (75) (76) (77) (78) (79) (80) (81) (82) (83) (84) (85) (86) (87) (88) (89) (90) (91) (92) (93) (94) (95) (96) (97) (98) (99) (100) (101) (102) (103) (104) (105) (106) (107) (108) (109) (110) (111) (112) (113) (114) (115) (116) (117) (118) (119) (120) (121) (122) (123) (124) (125) (126) (127) (128) (129) (130) (131) (132) (133) (134) (135) (136) (137) (138) (139) (140) (141) (142) (143) (144) (145) (146) (147) (148) (149) (150) (151) (152) (153) (154) (155) (156) (157) (158) (159) (160) (161) (162) (163) (164) (165) (166) (167) (168) (170) (171) (172) (173) (175)

(ao3) (ff.net)

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

Emma’s first thought upon waking was that she didn’t feel sick to her stomach. Now that she’d entered into her second trimester, it looked like the morning sickness was finally abating.

Her second thought was that she was very much alone in her bed. Killian’s side was not only empty, but cold, proving he’d been up for a very long time. That in and of itself wasn’t so strange; he’d always been an early riser, but normally she could hear him puttering around downstairs or softly whistling sea shanties while he went about his morning. This morning–like far too many of late, the house was still and silent.

Had she snapped at him one too many times about his hovering? Had he finally gotten tired of her hormone and nausea induced surliness? She felt the guilt creep in when she thought of that moment she snapped at him a couple weeks ago and told him to get a hobby. He was just trying to help; she knew that, but old habits die hard. She’d spent so much of her time growing up licking her wounds by herself that it was hard to let anyone–even the husband she loved with everything in her–take care of her.

Has it finally happened? That small, insecure voice deep within, asked, “Has he finally realized I’m not worth it? Has he gone off to find someone else who will let him care for them?

For a moment, the nausea almost returned, for a reason entirely unconnected to the little one inside, who was currently kicking for all she was worth, but Emma resolutely turned away from her insecurities. She knew Killian; had always known him. That man was as steady and faithful and dependable as any man she’d ever met. She’d be less surprised to hear that he’d doused the Jolly Roger in lighter fluid and set her on first than to hear he’d cheated on her–or even thought of doing so.

Her visits with Archie had really done wonders in helping her overcome her insecurities, even if they occasionally tried to creep back in.

No, it was more likely Killian was keeping his distance because it’s what he thought she wanted, what she needed. It wasn’t. She needed him, even if early pregnancy discomfort brought out her worst side.

She shouldn’t have snapped at him the way she did. He deserved better.

And so she resolved to set things right–but first she had to find him.

His phone went straight to voicemail, not a surprise there. Killian was wary of technology at the best of times, and he seemed to have a particular aversion to what he called the “incessant chirping of that infernal talking phone”, and more often than not, he chose not to even turn it on in the first place. (They’d need to have a talk about that as she came closer to her due date and needed a reliable way to get ahold of him immediately, should she go into labor when he wasn’t with her.)

She first went to the Jolly Roger, and then to the docks where Smee worked, and then to the library, but all to no avail. Granny’s was the most logical next stop, but when she stepped inside and perused the diner, there was no sign of him.

She was on the point of turning to leave, when Leroy stopped her. “You lookin’ for Capitaine Crochet? Check the sitting room. Odds are he’s having one of his little sewing circles with his princess friends.”

“He’s…what?” Emma asked, fairly certain that there hadn’t been a single intelligible word in what the small man just said.

Rather than answer, Leroy merely hooked his thumb toward the inn portion of Granny’s establishment. Emma decided not to even try to get any more answers out of him. Instead she followed his directions.

She heard Killian before she saw him.

“The trick is to maintain an even tension,” he said. “It was a bit of a challenge to master, but since I have, my stitches are nice and even. See?”

What?

“Oh that is better!” Ashley said. “Thanks Killian!”

The sight that met Emma’s eyes once she entered the sitting room was something she’d never thought she’d see. Killian, the fearsome Captain Hook, sat in a frilly, pink armchair surrounded by Ashley, Kathryn, Mary Margaret, Belle and Ariel. All of them appeared to be…crocheting.

He looked up when she entered the room, his face coloring with apparent embarrassment, as he tried to hide the small piece of fabric he’d been constructing behind his back.

“Swan!” he yelped. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. This was supposed to be a surprise”

“What? I…I was looking for you, Killian,” she said, making her way slowly to his side, and coaxing his hand back to the front so she could see what he was working on.

It looked like…it looked like her baby blanket.

“Is this where you’ve been disappearing every morning?”

He used his hook to scratch at that spot behind his ear and glanced aside. “Well, Love, you told me to get a hobby, and I’m trying to respect your wishes.”

Emma vaguely noticed the other women filing out of the room, giving them privacy for what looked to be a private conversation between spouses. She’d appreciate the gesture, if she could get past the shame she felt at pushing him away the way she had.

“I’m sorry, Killian,” she said, taking a seat next to him, and running soft fingers against the blanket he was making. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you. I was kind of afraid I’d pushed you away or something, that you’d decided I wasn’t worth the effort.”

He looked up quickly, the shock evident in his eyes. “I assure you, my love, that will never be the case, no matter how out of sorts you might become. Nothing could ever convince me you aren’t worth the effort. To me, you are worth everything. You and our little cygnet.”

The tears came to her eyes then, and one spilled over and trailed down her cheek. “I know that Killian. I hope you know I feel the same.”

“Of course I do,” he said, leaning in to kiss her softly. “But this project is about more than staying out of your way when you bid me to do so.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking a bit uncertain. “I must admit to a bit of trepidation when it comes to our child–Oh I want her, more than anything, no fear of that–It’s just…”

“It’s just what, Killian?” she asked gently.

“What do I know about being a father?” he asked softly. “What do I know about caring for a child? What if I fail dismally? I thought, perhaps if I made her her own blanket, like the one you cherish, perhaps I could feel a bit less inadequate.”

Emma began to cry in earnest at that, as she pulled him in for a longer, more comforting kiss. When it came to an end, she stayed close, forehead against his, hand still at the nape of his neck. “Listen to me, Killian Jones. You are a wonderful father to Henry, and you’ll be an equally wonderful father to this little magic bean, no matter what you do or don’t give her. You love her, and that’s all that matters. You don’t ever have to try to prove yourself beyond that. But for the record, she’s going to love the blanket her daddy made her.”

“You really think so?” he asked, holding the half-completed item up for her perusal.

“I know so,” she said firmly, fingering the delicate material before laughing.

“What’s so amusing, love?” he asked.

“I’m just imagining telling that swaggering, innuendo laden pirate I climbed the beanstalk with that one day he’d not only settle down, but lead a crocheting circle with the local ladies.”

Notes:

–Apologies for the shamefully long time in between updates. I got busy with other projects, and then I kind of forgot this story even existed. That combined with my muse being on strike led to an almost 8 month hiatus, such that I would be surprised if ANY of you even remember what happened in part 1.

–I just returned from a vacation with @kmomof4, @jrob63 and @snowbellewells, and it’s amazing what a little down time with fandom friends can do to get the writing juices flowing again! I will do my best to be less of a stranger in the future!

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#cs friday fluff #cs fluffy fridays #season 7 missing scene #my fanfiction

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mmoxie · 11 months

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Part 6 - Long Distance

Seebs was starting to hate the car. He curled up in the floorboard in front of the passenger seat and waited for the storm to pass. Hours prior, Dani had suddenly scooped him up, along with her duffel bag, and crammed everything back into the car. Now they were winding back and forth through old, scarcely-maintained roads full of potholes and bare spots where asphalt gave way to good old fashioned dirt.

She had to disappear.

Once was an accident. Twice, the sign of a trend.

If I burn one more person, it's a habit.

The roll of cash from the night before- ten percent- was safely tucked into her left breast pocket. It would hold her for a while. No bank transactions, no cell phone, if she saw a hint of grid it was her prerogative to get off it.

Just one thing, first.

1-800-COLLECT. Does that still work? What about CALL-ATT?

And which one did Carrot Top work for?

"Aw, to hell with it." She punched 10-10-220 into what had to be the world's last operational payphone, somewhere in the middle of Winnemuca. To her surprise, the signal went through to somewhere- and not an apologetic recording about the service being down.

After some delay in routing, a traditional ring began- and after two, someone picked up.

"DuFresnes residence. May I ask who's calling?"

"Ahah- uh, hey, mom."

Dani had to pull the receiver away from her ear, grimacing through her mother's excitement to hear from her. It hurt her heart that anyone wanted her anyplace when she needed so badly to go away.

"Dani Bananni, you sure kept me waiting. What's the occasion, darlin'?"

Oh, man. This sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks. Sucks out loud.

"Well, mom, uh... it's nothing official yet, but I might be in a little bit of trouble. I don't want to get anyone involved, just kind of... put in the time and get it over with- but I wanted to say goodbye, first."

She heard a little gasp, and some tongue-clicking, and then something she couldn't have expected in a million years:

"Everyone gets in trouble eventually. I started worrying when you made it all the way to prom without getting la-"

"Mom!"

"-So what you do? Kill somebody?"

"Well, ah... mom, if I told you that I could breathe fire, would you believe me?"

"I'd believe you got into some wacky weed- why? Did you breathe fire?"

The fact that Jolene DuFresnes sounded excited was in many ways upsetting to Dani. She shook her head and let out a stabilizing puff of air before speaking.

"I don't feel like I should say yes, on account of... the weed thing, but," She sighed and let the receiver hang between her thumb and index for a moment, looking back at the car. Seebs was curled on the dashboard, enjoying a moment's peace in a sunbeam.

"I did. And... both times, there was someone in the path of it."

"On purpose?"

"No! Well-"

"Dani,"

"...The second time, yeah."

"Did he deserve it?"

"I- I don't think I get to decide that, mom. That's kind of a god thing."

Jolene laughed, and Dani could tell she was pausing to take a slow drag off a cigarette. -Camel shorts, no filter, Dani knew.

"Can't say I was expecting that out of you. Ain't been in a church since you were ten or eleven. --I remember that Easter, you got in a fight with your cousin, ha. Pulled that little creep around by the bowtie."

Have I always been so violent? The thought was more than a little upsetting. Dani rubbed the back of her neck. "Anyway, mom, uh... like I said. I gotta disappear for a while. I love you, and-"

"Oh, you should go see Craig!"

"Huh? Who?"

"Craig Butterbean Palmer. Went to high school with him. Real whiz kid, making model rockets and stuff. Heard he got into IBM after the seventies."

"Why do they call him Butterbean?"

"No idea. Always assumed it was a sex thing. --Anyway, darlin', you need to scoot. Look you up a place called Fish Camp. Pretty hard drive if you're in Chevette, but he used to talk about it all the time. Bet you dollars to donuts he retired there, too."

"Fish Camp."

"I know, Dani. But you're asking me to trust you, making this call, right? So how 'bout you trust me? Craig can help. He's the type."

She guessed that was fair.

"Now I love you. And whether you're stoned out of your mind or turning into a dragon, I need you to keep my baby girl out of jail."

Dani managed a small laugh and nodded. "Alright. You talked me into it. Thanks, mom. I'll uh... I'll try to call again when I'm sure the heat's off."

It took them a few more attempts at ending the call before Dani was back in the car, and this time with a heading.

"Fish Camp, Seebs. Sounds like your kind of place."

The old man of a cat crawled into her duffel bag and made a nest out of her hoodie. He wasn't going to be convinced today. Wake me when you get there, you menace.

There were plenty of stops in-between, unfortunately for him. Dani did her best to take the back roads, nice long straightaways surrounded by nature where she could floor it if she needed. Closest they got to civilization after five hours of driving was Reno.

"Looks fuckin' bad," she said through a mouthful of fries. She had considered getting a shake... but murderers don't deserve a shake.

She unfolded a tourism pamphlet on the seat in front of Seebs. They had considered another motel in Reno, but stopping for anything but gas seemed like too big a risk. It was halfway through prodding at the vending machine, restocking for the leg of the journey that would take her into California, that she realized she was in trouble.

Her hand went to her hip, and she gasped.

She had left her walkman in Eureka, Thin Lizzy tape and all.

The boys are back in town.

<-Prev Next->

#IPYIHGU #dani from my bullshit

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fredhot23 · 1 year

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Light's first contact with L.

I've always loved how the first match with them goes. On national television, a man introducing himself as Lind L. Tailor and as the great detective "L", makes a call-out post to the serial killer "Kira", calling him "evil" and that in the name of Justice, he will capture him.

Somewhere out in the suburbs, Light Yagami, genius high school student, serial killer "Kira", and aspiring "God of this New World", hears the transmission at home and takes it well, screaming at L that he, Light Yagami, is Justice and kills him instantly with a heart attack, laughing as L seizes his chest and his head falls limp. The Great Detective L, dead in a minute! That's what happens to those who oppose the God of this New World!

Then the broadcast cuts to a black screen with the image of a stylized "L" and a different man's voice speaks. He introduces himself as the true legendary detective "L". Taylor was merely bait, a death row inmate in disguise meant to lure Kira into revealing himself. Similar broadcasts had been shown all over the world, including the area of Japan Light is in. With that, he now knows the general area where Kira is and will try to narrow his efforts there, rather then spread it across the world. The transmission ends with Light and L proclaiming that they will find and eliminate the other first because they. Are. Justice!

First contact with L, the first round of their life-or-death match, and it's a loss for Light-and a big one. Before this trick, L had no real clues on where Kira is operating. He could be in on any continent in any part of the world. Even if you managed to narrow it down to Japan, that itself doesn't tell you much as Japan isn't exactly the Virgin Islands. Without any idea of Kira's M.O, you can't say how close they have to be to kill these prisoners. Now, he knows the general area to try to track down Kira rather then having to cast his net all across the world and search in every corner he can. One of Light's biggest advantages is gone from the onset.

And it doesn't get better for our proclaimed deity. While he manages to evade and dodge around L and the investigation, even the F.B.I, for a while, they never stop getting closer and closer to him, closing the distance between them. L uses the times of prisoner's deaths to deduce that Kira is a student? Light changes the times, which makes L suspicious as to why Kira changed his system so quickly after the deduction and starts to suspect an insider in the police. L enrolls at the same college as Light (I lol'd at how L looked like such a freakazoid when surrounded by everybody else, who look positively mundane) and tries multiple small tricks and questions to support his suspicions: a tennis match, questions about the "shinigami like apples" puzzle pictures, all of which Light tries to get around but he falls into the trap anyway, keeping L suspicious. He even manages to pick-pocket Misa's phone from Light right when Light was about to call Misa, the second Kira and Light's human accomplice, thinking that the two have joined forces.

Over and over, Light dodges, L pursues, until Light and Misa are tied-up and held somewhere secret by L to finally prove if Light is actually Kira by way of elimination: if no heart-attack deaths happen while they're holed up, then that's it for them. By that time, Light...concedes the fight.

He gives up, in a way. The memory gambit he institutes to finally defeat and kill L does work but it's an admittance that Light Yagami, God of this New World, cannot deceive or trick L any longer. The long battle of wits is given over to L at that point until Light regains his memories and the God of this New World comes back for a final and fatal attack on L and Watari, his caretaker, ending the battle between them with L dead and Light posing as the legendary detective himself.

L finally managed to corner Light in their duel of wits Light but due to the other uses of the Death Note, Light manages to finally be the last one standing. It was still amazing to watch as Light just couldn't shake L off his tail, no matter the attempt, until he had to go back to being Light Yagami to get a chance.

#death note #light yagami #L #God of this New World vs. Legendary Detective #A closer match then you'd expect-for the detective

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justin-hammers · 2 years

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October/Early November Story 2 Prompt: Shower Time with some Praise Kink

Warning: A lot Degradation and Self-hatred with a slur. It's based on how I feel about myself. It's depressing, but there's a happy ending. Also some attempts of German language.

Words: 1,132

Ship: Erik Heller/Second Person POV F!Reader

The story is also down below 👇🏽

I closed the bathroom door behind me, and began to undress.

I was enjoying a lazy Sunday morning solo although I found it hard to enjoy anything this morning as something was bugging me.

Erik was still out of the country for yet another mission. I personally wish he didn’t go, but I knew it was for the best. It's what he likes to do I guess.

Trying to do a long distance relationship is rough, and he hardly calls or messages, especially at night before bed.

I'm worried about whether our relationship will still be what it used to be when he gets back.

I've been sleeping during much of the day and I hadn’t done anything even remotely fun other than masturbating. Plus, I got in a really stupid shouting fight yesterday on the phone. I realized that he was probably just tired and cranky since he was still on his mission.

We hadn’t had sex for a while too. While he was away, I thought the first thing we’d do when he returned was rip our clothes off and do it until we passed out, but those chances are just as low as the relationship itself.

I checked to see if the water was warm enough, and I stepped into the shower.

Does he not find me attractive anymore? Am I too ugly for him?

When we first met, he used to call me "ein schön frau." I was very flattered with his comment, and we just hit it off with our relationship. I have to admit that it was pretty fast, but he loved me regardless, but my self-esteem was lower than the deep end of the sea.

I always see myself ugly and unattractive as sin. People say my body looks so small, but I always think I look fat like my stomach needs toning and my thighs are so wide. My face looks man-ish and shitty looking, and I always have unnecessary body hair in other areas of the body. I still have scars on my wrist from the constant self-harming I have done when I have really bad days. I look so stubby and short that I could be mistaken as a middle schooler. Been exercising, cleaning myself up like always, and doing my best at trying to eat healthy and do less stressful stuff, but I feel like it's not enough to make me feel better, look good and attractive.

'Maybe he only likes girls who are fine with how they look regardless? Fucking doubt it. He ain't gonna want a Monkey Hyena hybrid looking girlfriend with stupid scars on her wrist and in need to be put down,' I thought to myself as I let the warm water wash over me.

I soaped up my top half of my body as I looked at my puny breasts. Maybe I really do look like a child.

Erik probably fell for some super smart sexy foreign model cunt or some hot prostitute with nice curves. Hell, maybe he likes hot fat chicks with a pin-up look. Maybe they all talk really fucking sexy too. I just don't fucking know! How can I compete against such good looking women?! I'm just a hideous midget from Texas!

I always felt like Erik was out of my league. A cute down to earth guy from Germany who was also an Operative? I failed to understand why he was ever interested in me.

"Maybe I was right. I should've killed myself," I admitted to myself as I started to burst into tears.

I kept on crying as I failed to hear the bathroom door open. The shower curtain slid open, but I didn't turn around. I suddenly felt some tapping on my shoulder.

“Is there room for two?”

I turned around to see who it was.

It was Erik, standing in the nude.

He still had that beautiful big grin on his face. I didn't know what to say as I was so surprised by the spontaneity of the moment.

“Oh-uh, y-yeah okay,” I finally responded, backing closer to the end of the shower.

The shower in their apartment was pretty old and small, but at least it's pretty roomy for the both of us.

“Excuse me,” he said as he went in.

My head was pressed between his abdomen and chest.

“I thought you were still on your mission,” I asked.

“Not all my missions were going to be long and complicated. The only thing I don’t want to leave is you,” Erik answered as he leaned over and began kissing my neck.

It was corny as shit, but his response made me smile. My cheeks turned rosy red and another “shower” had begun in between my legs.

“Oh Erik, I was so worried. I was beginning to think that you weren’t attracted to me anymore, and that you were meeting other girls that are probably so much cooler than me and I…”

He suddenly interrupted me by locking their lips together in a passionate kiss.

They continued to makeout in the shower as Erik's hand traveled the surface of my puny wet body. Eventually, he massages my small breasts as he breaks away from the kiss for a moment.

"You know you are such a schön frau. Your body is like a wonderland for me to explore. Your smallness makes me wanna eat you, and carry you everywhere. Your eyebrows are very natural like nature itself. Your Beige skin reminds me of my favorite season being Fall. My god, baby, you are phänomenal!"

I was blushing really hard now as I was slightly confused by his statement. I broke away from the kissing to respond.

“Ugh, I just feel so yucky everywhere," I confessed as I desperately wondered what Erik would say.

“Oh liebling,” he answered as he leaned in for another quick peck. “You’re never ugly. Not at all you are. You're as beautiful as the landscape of my country. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise, meine geliebte. Don't ever push yourself to be perfect for me."

He then cups my face as his thumbs wipes my tears away.

"I'll always love you, liebling. Always."

He then leaned in for more shower kissing.

I was feeling so much relief and joy to know that my boyfriend liked me for who I am.

He put his arms around me, and pressed his muscle tits and abdomen into me. I shivered at the pleasurable feeling of my boyfriend’s slick body. I felt Erik’s member rise and poke my vagina. He began to giggle as I did too. We looked right into each other’s eyes with wide grins on our faces.

That Sunday we finally had sex for the first (and for the second) time since he was gone.

#joel kinnaman #fanfiction #au story #tw self blame #tw self pity #tw hatred #tw body dysphoria #tw obsessive thoughts #tw language #tw ugly #tw jealousy #tw gender dysphoria #tw thoughts #tw depression #tw degradation

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salvagedsouls · 1 year

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this is a non-canon compliant explanation around the murders of howard and maria stark, and will include information about protocols for missions, pieces from bucky's trial before being placed with SHIELD and the Avengers, and thoughts from bucky and james. this is a long post of two drabbles and then info under a readmore. it isn't extensive so much as providing the scene for what seems to have happened and what actually happened.

DO NOT REBLOG.

tw warnings for the following: violence, suicide mention, torture, physical & mental abuse, manipulation. please message in private if additional tagging or warning is necessary or preferred for personal comfort.

There were few certainties under HYDRA: most notably, however, is making sure to keep a conditioning on the Winter Soldier ( James fronting ) for a fear response in the face of disobedience of superiors or failure of a mission. This became so specific a process that the asset has to perform missions a certain way, or he is punished, even if the target is dead.

In earlier missions, when at first they ploy him undercover ( in the days before only distance and muzzling ), that means keep to the dialect of the region he’s meant to sound like he’s from, get close, take care of the target. In some cases that means either ghost immediately, or stay around up to two weeks before leaving in a perfectly normal fashion.

In later missions, however, things change as technology begins to rise. Take care of the listening device underneath the phone. The one-way screen in the office. The camera watching the door. As electronics become more involved with the environments the asset needs to work in, he’s given an order to check both before and after completing a kill.

Late missions go one way: kill quietly with minimal witness. Deaths that look like hunting accidents or suicides when up close, clean shots as a sniper all other times. The change in process is the only hint of how much time may or may not pass between bouts in cryo, but it means little to the Soldier anyway so long as he can do what needs to be done.

It’s a deviation from routine for many reasons then, when he is ordered take a high-profile target when the target isn’t travelling quite alone. Civilian deaths had never been part of the Winter Soldier’s line, but questioning it would only result in pain so he doesn’t. The next deviation is cause for worry: destroy the camera only after the target and witness are dead, and secondary crew will take care of footage while making sure the scene is set correctly.

He says nothing, in the end. And he does not hesitate in doing exactly as ordered.

_________________________________________________

The video seems quite damning in Bucky’s eyes, but the lawyers say it will make a stronger case for brainwashing and not operating on his own will. Mostly he expects them to be gone any minute though, because those people on tape were Tony’s parents. Howard recognized Bucky’s face, and it hadn’t been enough though he is surprised the man hadn’t said Sarge or just called him Bucky. Tony paying-for-the-defense Stark’s parents, and rational wouldn’t be what the former assassin expects to be anywhere in the equation once he sees the footage.

They don’t leave though; in fact, Stark makes a point of meeting with him to explain they won’t be. Tony had made a promise to back him, and he would see it through. He promises not to tell anyone Bucky cried over the news either.

What Bucky doesn’t anticipate happening is being told the film is a fake. A setup. A second camera’s feed had been found, and it painted the rest of the story: he had been deposited into an elaborate stage on a road closed to the public. The only real part was the bodies, the special effects like something straight out of Mission Impossible. Explains the lack of familiarity from who he thought was Howard, though a part of him wonders if it was a real couple. Someone else’s actual parents. It isn’t an explanation he gets.

And he’s still stuck with the memory of their faces when he killed them.

TL;DR for the above info and explain why things play out the way they do:

The Soldier was given incredibly specific orders to let the camera record the elimination of his targets, and then to only destroy the camera itself not the footage or feed

he knows not doing this would have resulted in varying forms of pain and punishment, likely including the Chair ( which still elicits one of the highest fear responses from James or Bucky )

In the moment does not recognize being called ‘Barnes’

may have been able to pause if he’d been addressed more personally but most people don't know Bucky & Howard were also friends during the war, which may explain the ‘slip’

The crash itself was not something akin to the Soldier’s usual M.O. at any point during his run of missions and would not have been recognizable to an outside source as his work

Eventually papers also surface with the secondary footage that heavily indicate the involvement of Obadiah Stane in the orchestration, though it takes quite a while to find solid proof that he actively had a hand in the matter

It remains unclear as to why HYDRA agreed to stage anything but it's posited as a further use against either Tony or the asset in the future, should something else need to happen, or even to keep Stane in control as he was taking up the Stark Company after Howard's death

Despite being exonerated on their deaths, James ( who often shares memories with Bucky ) can vividly still see both Starks die by his hand

Bucky can see it too, but it’s not as clear or detailed, partly because memory sharing isn't a simple or easy process

this is one of a handful of events that regularly haunt nightmares even though they understand the attack was not actually on the Starks

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sillyrabbit81 · 2 years

Text

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part One

Summary: An unexpected phone call from a brief fling grows into a new long distance romance.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 7.8k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), anal play, showering together, slight praise kink, mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part One Warnings:

Implied masturbation (male), mild discussion of sex, mentions of war, mild angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

So this has been a lengthy saga. I need to thank @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for their wonderful beta reading and guidance. As always they curb my crazier ideas or encourage me to go further and without them I wouldn't have pushed myself to get this done. I also need to thank @radiantheartbeat for her brilliant and ruthless editing. I have enjoyed working with you immensely, my writing definitely needs some tidying up and I thank you for your honesty and openness and for offering to help me out. I cannot thank you enough.

This story ballooned from a small one-shot to a three (maybe four) part series. I was inspired by a non-Sy moment in the movie Sand Castle. The scene where Harper calls home before the big operation always struck a cord with me. My heart ached for him, and was a glimpse into his private life. The scene made me think, would Sy make a phone call like that? Would Sy ask someone he probably shouldn't be for a promise? Anyway, thats what lead me down this crazy path. I hope you enjoy it.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 2

2003

4.30am Iraq

6:30pm USA

The phone rings.

Absent-mindedly, you pick up the cordless phone from the dock and put it between your ear and shoulder to keep your hands free.

“Hello?”

Picking up the wooden spoon, you stir the chicken stir-fry, that’s nearly ready, making sure nothing sticks to the pan as you give the vegetables another minute to cook through.

In your ear the line sounds strange; a digital, robotic hum buzzes in the background, like cicadas on a late summer’s day. Perhaps it’s a long distance call from a college friend, something.

A deep male voice, with a hint of a southern drawl, says your name. He sounds hesitant, as if he’s not sure he has the right number.

“Yeah,” you say, “That’s me.”

The receiver crackles, sounding as though the man must have released a held breath. There’s silence for a few beats. Then a few more; no sound except for the drone of the robot bugs. You sigh, wondering if this was a prank call or a wrong number. But that couldn’t be, this person knew your name. Maybe the call was dropped.

“Hello?” you ask irritably.

You impatiently turn off the gas and get a plate from the cupboard. You’re about to hang up, when you hear the man clear his throat.

“It’s Sy,” he says simply.

Sy? You almost drop both the stir-fry and the phone. You think fast, placing the pan on the stove and taking a seat at the small dining table in your kitchen. Gripping the phone in one hand, you quickly bring the waiting wine glass to your lips with the other, gulping down the dry Pinot Grigio and nearly finishing the glass.

“Syverson?” you ask stupidly.

Why on earth was he calling you? He should be overseas. At least that’s what he had told you two months ago.

“Are you home already?” Then you gasp, your hand covers your mouth. Oh my god. What if he was shot or injured? “Did you get hurt?”

“No… uh — I’m in Iraq.”

Images from the fall of Baghdad came unbidden to your mind. You prefer not to watch the news, but these days it is impossible to avoid. Between the 24-hour news stations, newspapers, magazines, or the homepage where you check your email, it was difficult not to absorb at least some knowledge of what was happening in the Middle East; bombings, firefights, IED attacks, and countless other presumed horrors.

It didn't explain why he was calling you though. The two of you hadn't known each other very well. You were barely even friends, having only seen each other a few times before he left for Iraq. You were undeniably attracted to him. To you, he was the total package: ruggedly good looking with his buzz-cut, chiseled jaw, blue eyes to die for, and a tall, powerful, burly physique. The fact that he was a soldier hadn’t put you off either. Your father was a retired marine, and your brother was currently serving, so you knew enough decent military men to not instantly dismiss Syverson.

“Hello?” Sy says.

Shit.

What do you say? How do you talk to him? Why was he even calling?

The one date he had taken you on was good, the make-out session on your couch at the end of the night had been even better. As far as you were concerned, the date went well and you were sure he would ask you to go on another. Over the next few weeks he had called a handful of times, but when he didn’t ask you out again, you assumed that he wasn’t interested. The last time he called was to tell you he was being deployed. He gave you no promises and you offered none in return, knowing what deployment meant, especially during wartime.

“Sorry,” you say with a short laugh, “I’m surprised you’re calling me.”

“Want me to go?” His voice became gruff and guarded, but his tone softens your demeanor.

“No, not at all. I… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Silence again.

You wrack your brain trying to think of something to say, anything to fill this awkward silence. You don’t know why he’s calling you, but you’re sure he doesn’t get to sit around making overseas calls all the time. You think back to when your father was deployed in the Gulf War, trying to remember what you would talk about. You remember telling him about school, about a new song you heard, you told him boring, everyday things.

You’ve been silent too long and you don’t want the short time he has to be wasted, so you say the first thing that pops into your head, “Hey, remember when we were talking about how I’d never seen Ghostbusters?” You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Yeah?” You sit up a little straighter in your chair, he actually sounds interested.

“Well, I watched it a few weeks ago.”

“Ya did?” His voice became lighter, as though he were smiling.

“Yeah, it was on TV,” you say, smiling, “I sort of understand why you had a crush on Sigourney Weaver back in the day.”

“Hell, Sugar, you ought to see her in Alien.” Sy whistles, “She is fine.”

“I saw Alien: Resurrection,” you laugh, “She’s still looking pretty good.”

“She’s great in that, but ya gotta watch Alien. And Aliens as well. Ya can probably give Alien 3 a pass though.”

“Ok, I’ll put those on my list then.” Shit, there goes that topic. You quickly try to think of something else. “Oh my God! Have you heard they’re making an Alien versus Predator movie?”

“You’re kiddin’,” Sy says, “Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t decide if it will be awesome or terrible.”

“It could be awesome. The Xenomorphs will fuck shit up,” Sy says confidently.

“But the Yautja had a Xenomorph skull in the ship at the end of Predator 2, so we know they hunt them.”

From there the conversation between you both simply flows.

You go back and forth, each arguing for your side and gently ribbing the other in jest. The conversation is easy, as comfortable as it had been when you went on that date.

“Yup,” Sy says in an altered tone. It’s short and cold, and noticeably different, you realise instantly that he isn’t talking to you. Your father has a similar tone.

“Give me a minute,” Sy adds in his work voice.

No, not his work voice, that’s his Captain’s voice. Your heart flutters. Christ, that’s hot. The subtle air of authority in his baritone makes your knees weaker than you care to admit.

“I gotta get going, Sugar,” Sy says.

“Yeah, of course.” There is a sinking feeling in your belly, you don’t want him to go yet.

More droning bugs. This silence is short though and not as awkward. Progress.

“I don’t know when I can call ya again,” Sy says apologetically, as if you were expecting this phone call in the first place, let alone more in the future, “I’d like to, when I can — that is, if you want me to.”

“Sure.” You giggle a little, thinking about your conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask you how you were or anything. Just talked your ear off about a stupid movie.”

Sy hums, “No, Sugar, it was...” you hear him take a deep breath, “it was exactly what I needed.”

You shift in your seat as a feeling of pleasant warmth radiates through you, “Well then, next time, I’ll give you a review of Freddy versus Jason.”

“Hold on, now! Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees? They made a movie ‘bout that?”

“Like I said, next time,” you deliberately tease.

Sy chuckles. It’s a short laugh, more indulgent than amused, but you’ll take it.

“I look forward to it, Sugar. Bye now.”

“Bye, Sy.”

The phone goes silent.

For a while you sit looking at the receiver in your hand with a mixture of happiness and confusion. Was he just bored? Did he try to call other people and they weren’t available? Did this mean he liked you like you had originally thought? Will you have to wait another three months before he reaches out again? Maybe he does this to all the girls, calling them while he’s away to make them feel special so that when he comes home he doesn’t have to work so hard to get with them.

Shaking your head, you admit you can’t possibly know why he called. No amount of guessing or theorising would answer that question. Finishing the wine in your glass, you pour another before finally eating your stir-fry.

It’s a little cold, but you don’t mind.

About two weeks later Sy phones again. You’re in bed, comfortably reading, thinking about letting the call go to the answering machine as you normally would this late at night, but ever since Sy’s phone call, you rarely let the machine take them.

“Hello?” you ask, feeling a little silly when you hear the hopeful note in your voice.

“Hey Sugar,” Sy says, and your mood soars.

“Sy! Oh my God! How are you? What’s been happening? It’s good to hear from you,” you gush.

Sy chuckles, and although you feel a little embarrassed by your obvious excitement, you’re pleased that he seems happy.

“I’m glad I caught ya,” Sy says, “I’ve been curious about this Freddy versus Jason thing. Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it.”

“It’s just a movie, Sy,” you laugh, “It’s a good movie, but it’s no Citizen Kane.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ you tell me all about it.”

“Oh,” A warmth spreads over your cheeks at the playful way he emphasises those last few words, making them suggestive and flirtatious. You swallow hard as your words get caught in your throat and manage to rasp out, “Um, ok.”

Over the next couple of months, Sy calls you regularly, usually two or three times a month. The calls aren’t long, ten or fifteen minutes at most, but you look forward to them like a kid looks forward to Christmas. After each call you’re on a high for a day or two, replaying the conversations in your head. When that thrill wears off, you start to think about the next call you'll have with him and the excitement builds anew.

“Are you seein’ anyone?” Sy asks during the fourth or maybe fifth call.

The question seems to come from nowhere, but you’re relieved because maybe he will give you an idea of why he’s been calling you. Is this just friendship? Are you just a person to anchor him to normal life, someone to talk to so he can have a break from whatever it is he’s seeing and doing over there? Or is there the potential for more?

“I’m not dating anyone.”

Sy falls into silence and the robotic hum is back. Although you always do most of the talking, he hasn’t gone this quiet since your first call. Maybe he’s expecting you to say something else.

“Are you?” you ask with trepidation. What if he says yes?

“No, Sugar,” Sy chuffs and you feel a rush through your body as your heart pumps faster, “Now, uh, tell me more about this car you’re thinkin’ of buyin’?”

Months pass by and nothing changes. This thing between the two of you is never discussed and you’re mostly okay with it. Sure, when you think of him your stomach flips and you can’t concentrate, but you enjoy his calls, and you tell yourself that his friendship is enough.

One call seems to change everything. Sy is about to hang up when he asks you a question.

“Hey, before you go, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“Sure. I can try.”

There’s a beat of silence while you hold your breath.

“Will ya send me a picture of yourself?” Sy asks.

Your eyes widen.

“A picture?” You shift awkwardly on your couch, bringing your knees to your chest, “What kind of picture?” you ask with a shake in your voice.

“Whatever you want, Sugar,” Sy says lightly, “One from your birthday, maybe from a party, or weddin’, or somethin’. I'll take anythin’.”

“Oh,” You let out a giggle of relief, “Oh, I can do that. I thought you meant…” Heat burns your ears, you aren’t going to finish that sentence.

“Thought I meant what?” Sy asks before suddenly barking out a laugh, “Oh, no. No, I didn’t mean a picture like that,” He pauses and while he still sounds amused, his voice lowers, “I wouldn’t say no though.”

“Well, I will say no, to that kind of picture,” you say, still thoroughly embarrassed by your misinterpretation, and a little shocked. It’s the first time he’s really flirted with you.

“Cain’t blame a man for tryin’,” Sy jokes.

“But, I will send you a nice one, if you send me one of yourself too.”

“Deal. Now, ya got a pen handy? I’ll tell you how to get it to me.”

The next day you look through the last couple of rolls of film you developed, and check the images on your new digital camera. There is one photo you like, taken at a game of putt-putt, but it’s casual and you aren’t dressed up. It’s a candid shot, you’re laughing and half looking at the camera while lining up for your putt. You decide to send that one, along with a picture you'll take this weekend when you go out with friends.

On Monday, you place the photos in a box along with the latest edition of Rolling Stone, a book, some pretzels and trail mix, hot sauce, a foam football, and some socks that your brother said all the guys were raving about. You wonder if it is too much, if it’s crossing a line, but your brother assures you that Sy will love it.

Nearing the end of the conversation with your brother, he becomes serious, giving you the third degree, and warning you that those Special Forces guys are a different breed.

“They’re gone six to nine months of the year just for training when they're not deployed. On tour, he could be gone anywhere from six months to two years. They frequently won’t be able to tell you where they’re going. Communication is difficult, coms black outs are common. I don’t know this for sure, but they seem to move more than we did growing up.”

“Are you saying I should stay away?”

“No. I’m just giving you the facts. You have to decide if he’s worth the price you’ll have to pay. Being alone and waiting isn’t easy, you saw how hard it was on Mom.”

He’s right, you know that. But the way your hands start to shake, and the way your mouth goes dry whenever you hear the phone ring, that can’t be ignored.

“We’re just talking,” you retort. “He’s never said he wants more than that anyway.”

“You know I love you. You’re my little sister. But, if you think he’s calling you every week…”

“Sometimes every two weeks,” you correct him.

“Fine, every two weeks,” You can practically see him rolling his eyes, “If you think he’s calling you that often because he wants to be your friend, then you’re a dumbass. He’s interested in you. He’ll ask you out at some stage, you wait and see.”

The call with your brother leaves you in a strange headspace. Part of you wants more from Sy too. Well, a large part of you wants that, but your brother's warning has got you all tied up in knots. Even if Sy does want more than friendship, would you be able to deal with that? Truthfully, you don’t know.

You stare into the shipping box, feeling like it’s missing something. Other than the photos, there’s nothing tangible of you in there, and it feels too impersonal. You think a letter might be nice, you’ll make it short and keep it light, just like your phone calls.

Dear Sy,

Forgive me if I’ve overstepped by sending you some gifts. I know my brother always loves getting packages from home, so I hope you do too. He recommended the socks, and hopefully the recommendation of a Jarhead is okay with you. Haha!

I can’t wait to hear from you again. I’ve really been enjoying our phone calls. I was thinking that I could keep writing to you too, if you’d like, and maybe send you some more magazines or snacks. Next time we talk you'll have to give me a few ideas.

I bought two copies of the book I sent you. I thought it might be fun to both read it so we can talk about it together. Maybe that’s silly. I don’t even know how much time you have to read. I don’t even know if you like reading, or if you do, what kind of books you like. But, I’d like to know Sy. I’d like to know those things about you.

Take care.

You sign the letter with just your name, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you throw it in the box, tape it shut and take it to the Post Office.

When you check the mailbox a week later, you see a small white envelope with your address handwritten in a small, narrow, but neat, script. You quickly turn it over and see that it’s from Sy.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you race to get inside your apartment. With shaky hands you unlock your door, dump your bag on the floor, and try to get comfortable on the couch. You’re too excited, your body tingles with goosebumps, and your fingers tremble.

He touched this, you think, he wrote this for me, this is his handwriting.

You carefully open the envelope, peeling back the flap slowly, watching as the glue pulls away in strings before it snaps apart. Inside is a photograph and what looks like a letter on white paper with faded blue lines.

You pull out the picture first. It’s a headshot and it’s a little blurry, but it still takes your breath away. Sy is wearing a dark brown shirt with a green and black scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s staring into the camera. His brows are drawn together in a serious expression. He looks different to the way you remember him; his face is a little slimmer, and the beard is new. You didn’t think they were allowed to have beards.

All at once you remember the night he took you on that date, and you subconsciously draw your thighs together. Looking at his short hair, you remember how it felt, soft like velvet as you ran your hand over it when you kissed. He was so warm, his skin was almost hot to the touch as your hand had caressed his neck.

You wonder if he’ll have the beard when he comes back. You wonder what his kisses would feel like with the beard. His lips had been smooth and strong. Would his beard prick at your lips? Would it chafe at your skin like a five o’clock shadow, or will its length make it softer? Would its coarseness add a layer of sensory pleasure that you haven't felt before?

Knowing that those kinds of questions will only lead you down a path of distraction, you put the photo down, and take out the letter. You have to read it several times before it starts to sink in.

Sugar,

Sorry about the quality of the photo, I didn't have many options. I got it from one of my team, he took pictures of all of us a few months ago before we left the city. If I don’t look impressed, it’s because I wasn’t. Thought it was a stupid idea, but I’m glad I let him take it cause now I can send it to you myself instead of asking my sister to send you one. Although, if you want a better one, I can ask her.

I want to thank you for talking to me. You didn’t have to, and I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate it. Talking to you has been just what I’ve needed. Remind me to tell you about the other girl who’s keeping me sane this tour, she’s a little smaller than you, much hairier, barks when she’s hungry, and answers to the name Aika.

I also want to apologise for not spending more time with you before I left. I was an idiot, an asshole really. I wanted to, it’s only that I was leaving and thought it would be better that way. I regret that now, I should have made more effort and not been

There’s more I want to say, but I want to say it to you in person. For now, I want you to know that I look forward to speaking to you, just thinking about it makes me smile, and more than once I’ve been caught thinking of you by my guys.

I’ll call you real soon and I look forward to your photo. I’m laughing now, thinking of how cute you must have looked, all embarrassed, when you thought I was asking for a dirty picture. I remember how cute you looked when I kissed you that night. I think about that sometimes. I think

Thank you,

By the time Sy calls you again, you must have read his letter a hundred times and looked at his photo twice that amount. You keep both on your nightstand, committing his words and image to memory before you sleep each night, strengthening your recall whenever you think of him.

“I gotta make this quick, Sugar. I ain’t got much time, but I got your package today and had to thank you,” Sy greets you.

“Yeah? You got it? Is it ok that I sent you the other stuff? I wasn’t sure. If you don’t want any of it, you can give it away. I don’t—”

“Hell no, baby! I ain’t givin’ any of it away,” he sounds a little outraged at the suggestion, “I love everythin’ you sent me,” his voice softens and you would give anything to see his face, “You’re just as gorgeous as I remember.”

You smile and you feel your body heat up. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, you would barely be able to look at him.

“Sy…” you murmur. “I, uh, thank you. That’s sweet.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it. It’s the truth.” Sy chuckled. “And you sent me two photos. And all the other things. Not gonna lie, darlin’, I feel a li’l spoiled.”

You laugh, feeling a little uncomfortable. Not because of anything Sy has said, but rather it’s your brother's advice that plays on your mind. You change the subject, first asking him about the book and if he wants to do a read-along. He does. Then you ask if he wants you to send more packages. He does. However, it takes a while for him to admit it, he doesn’t want you to go to any trouble.

“I should be the one buyin’ you things, and givin’ you surprises,” There’s a hint of flippancy in his tone, but not much, “Takin’ you out somewhere nice to eat.”

Oh. Maybe your brother was right.

You laugh it off, “It’s 2003, Sy, women can pay for themselves.”

“I’m serious, Sugar. No woman of mine would be buyin’ me dinner.”

Woman of mine? Did he even realise what he just said? Or was he just speaking in a general sense?

“Well, I’m not trying to pay for dinner. I just want to send you some more magazines and socks.”

“You’re a sweet thing ain’t ya?” Sy says and his words set fire to your cheeks. “You takin’ the time to talk to me is more than enough.”

“What if I send you another picture with each package? I'll—”

“Deal,” Sy interrupts and you giggle.

Sy laughs, it’s a little teasing and you think about the last paragraph of his letter, the part that until now you haven’t wanted to acknowledge. You two have grown comfortable with each other, and a little light flirtation at this point of a relationship is natural, even for friends. You’re both testing the boundaries, seeing what you can get away with, probing for the potential of more. But, even so, you still aren’t sure you want to go there with Sy because there’s too much to unpack, so you redirect and ask him about Aika.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask with faux petulance. Shit. You aren’t supposed to be flirting back.

“Maybe,” he concedes, “She makes me smile almost as much as you do.”

You fall into silence, dropping your head with a grin. Fuck, you do want him to flirt with you. You can hear him breathing, suddenly heavy, and so loud that the robotic buzz is drowned out, and you like that too. When he speaks again, his voice is husky and deep.

“I’ll bet you’re smilin’ right now, ain’t ya, Sugar?”

“Sy…” you say softly. You’re more than just smiling, your body tingles and your heart beats so hard, you can feel it in your toes.

“Yeah, you are. You don’t have to tell me, I can hear it in your voice.” He makes a noise in his throat, like a groan, “I gotta go. I… Things are a li’l crazy ‘round here right now. It may be a while before I can call you again.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice, “Sy, I…”

“Yeah, baby?”

You shouldn’t say it. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You know you aren’t going to be able to stop yourself, because you want him to know. So much for working through how you feel about him later. Your heart already knows, it’s just taken your brain a little while to catch up.

“I think about that night we kissed too,” you whisper, referencing his letter.

He makes that noise again. You wonder if it’s the same noise he made in your ear that night and your spine feels like jelly.

“I gotta go,” Sy says so softly, you barely hear him, “I’ll be thinkin’ about you.”

Before you can say goodbye, the line goes dead.

It takes a while before you feel like you can move. You hold the phone tightly in your grasp, not wanting to let it go, because you fear if you do, you’ll forget the sound of his voice.

It’s over a month since you've heard from Sy. You know he said he was going to be busy, but after the second week of not hearing from him, you begin to doubt. You question everything, you stop reading his letter and looking at his picture. You remind yourself that he is on the other side of the world, and you remind yourself to protect your heart.

By the fifth week you’ve almost convinced yourself that he’s finished with you. You were just a distraction, a way for him to pass the time; a warm female voice to drown out the sounds of the cold men he dealt with daily.

What really messes with your mind is that even if he’s not calling because he doesn’t care about you, you’re incomprehensibly okay with that. You’re okay with it because it means he’s alright, it means he’s safe. He’d be a complete asshole, but he’d be fine. You can’t stand to think about other possible reasons for his silence.

When the phone rings, late on Sunday morning, you’re still in bed catching up on sleep. No longer do you answer the phone with your heart in your throat, indifference is all you can manage. It’s probably just your mother anyway, calling to remind you about meeting her for lunch.

But as soon as you raise the receiver to your ear, you know it’s him. The line crackles with the same robotic humming that you thought you’d never hear again.

“Sy?” you whisper, or at least you try. Your voice sounds strangled, even to your ears.

Blood roars in your head, from anger or relief you can’t tell because you feel both. You open your mouth to tell him you hate him, tell him you miss him, tell him you’re glad he’s okay. But you don’t. You slam your mouth shut, you keep it inside, you don’t want to give away too much. It was too painful after last time.

So you wait. As the silence stretches, the strange pulsing static of the line grows intolerable, and you begin to worry. Is this even Sy? Are you hearing things because you desperately want it to be him?

Then he clears his throat, a short cough that sounds wrong. As soon as he speaks you know something isn’t right.

“Hey, baby,” he sounds tired, but not just tired, depressed. Oh my God, what happened?

“Hey, Sy,” you say gently.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, you want him to tell you what happened, but you know he won’t. In all the time you’ve been speaking to him he hasn’t told you a thing, he hadn’t even mentioned Aika until his letter. You don’t take it personally, you knew next to nothing about your father’s or brother’s deployments. Sy may not even be allowed to tell you anything, that’s just the way things are in most military units. Still, after all these weeks, he must be calling you for a reason, you just can't put your finger on why.

“You never call me at this time of day, Sy. Are you okay?” you prompt lightly.

Sy sucks in a breath. It’s been so long since you saw him in person, and you can’t remember what he looks like when he does that. You wish you could remember. You wish for so much.

“I needed to hear your voice, Sugar,” he says softly, and your heart stutters as his reason for calling emerges. He’s speaking so slowly that his accent has become thick, and his voice is so heavy that it flows like syrup into your ear, “It's been too long.”

“You’ve been busy, huh?” you say, surprised at the lack of bitterness in your voice. You can’t bring yourself to be upset any more, not when he sounds so awful.

Sy hums in what could be agreement. He’s quiet for a while and you wait, hoping he’ll say something before you tear your hair out in frustration.

“When I—” Sy starts, then stops, and it takes a few moments for him to speak again, “I think about you, Sugar. A lot. More than I probably have a right to.”

You don’t know what to say. After all this time, are you finally going to have an honest conversation about your relationship? Are you going to talk about where this is going? If it’s going anywhere at all?

“Will ya do somethin’ for me?” He asks.

“Sure,” you say, “If I can.”

“Will ya tell me that you’re waitin’ for me? That you’ll be there when I get home?”

You’re a little taken aback, so you hesitate in answering. You think about the last month, the pain of not hearing from him, and the constant worrying. This is what a relationship with Sy would look like more often than not, irregular communication for months or years at a time. Is that what you want? Was he worth it?

“I won’t hold ya to it,” Sy says, “I just—”

“Sy—”

“Fuck, forget it—”

“Wait—”

“I shouldn’t’ve asked—”

“Sy, stop!” you say firmly, “Just stop,” Sy stops talking but he’s still there, you can hear him breathing, “I’m not going to say something like that just because you ask me to.”

“I know, I—”

“Would you let me finish, Sy?”

He grunts, low and guttural, his frustration as evident as yours. You wish you could see him. You wish he could see you. You don’t know if you have the right words to tell him how you feel, but you try.

“I want you to know that if I say something like that it’s because I really mean it. I don’t want you to doubt it, and if I tell you that now, like this, you will.”

The silence from Sy feels heavy, the dead air is thick with unspoken words. Your gut twists as you think of him alone, obviously going through something, and he reaches out to you, only to be rejected. But that’s not what you mean, and you need to let him know that.

“Can I tell you some other things? Some things you’ll know are true.”

“Please,” he murmurs.

“I can tell you that after we speak, I smile for hours, days, weeks,” your voice quivers and you take a deep breath. He doesn’t need your tears. “I think about how you laugh and how wonderful that sound is.”

You wonder what he’s doing in this moment. How is he sitting? Is he laying down? Is his head in his hands? Is he petting Aika? Is he alone? Has he showered? Can he shower? Is he wearing the socks you sent?

You want to comfort him, you want to tell him that it’s going to be ok, but you know you can’t. He knows you can’t promise him that. What do you say when you don’t know why he seems to be in so much pain? You don’t know what he could possibly need from you.

The truth. You tell him your truth.

“And I smile because for those moments that we’re talking, I’m not worried about you. I know you’re safe.”

You hear him expel breath into the phone. The speaker crackles and shudders, or is that him? Is he crying? Is he okay? You wish…

“I wish I could see your face when I talk to you. I wonder what it looks like when you say certain words or speak in a certain tone. I’d like to know what you look like when you’re quiet. Like now, I want to see your face so bad.”

“Me too baby,” his gravelly voice is throaty, his drawl is so strong.

“I want to see you when you get home, Sy. I do. I’m not making any promises, but I like you... a lot. I've liked you from the start. You’ve kept me at arm’s length though, and that just isn’t going to work for me.”

“Because I knew I was leaving,” he repeats the excuse he wrote in his letter, but his tone makes you wonder if he's not trying to convince himself more than you.

“When are you comin’ home?” you ask softly.

“Officially, my tour is up in a few weeks,” Sy’s voice is stronger now, more like what you’re used to, “But after what went down…” More silence, “Could be tomorrow, or six months from now.”

Six months. Or tomorrow. Or…

“Keep calling me, Sy. Or write if you can’t call. Do you have email where you are? Send me an email, even if it’s just one line.”

“I will, but I can’t email. There’s no internet at this camp.”

You hear him breathe in, long and deep. Then you hear that noise again, that deep rumble in his throat. Your thighs clench together and your face heats up.

“Sy, what are you doing?” you ask, just above a whisper.

“Right now? Layin’ on my bed. Just… thinkin’.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?”

Sy chuffs, “Not what, who.”

“Who are you thinking about then?” you ask innocently, not realising until too late what he means.

“You,” Sy says, and his voice takes on that low husky tone. Your thighs rub against one another, you can’t stop them, “I’m always thinkin’ of you— You wanna know what I’m thinkin’ about?”

“I don’t know,” you swallow, feeling breathless, “Do I?”

“How ‘bout I tell ya one thing I’m thinkin’ about, then you can tell me if ya wanna hear more.”

You want to know. You want to know if he’s having the same thoughts as you.

“Okay,” you murmur, and restlessness sinks deep into your bones. Your body is so hot, and you already feel the wetness ebbing from your center.

“I’m thinkin’ about that night I took ya out. Thinkin’ about that dress ya had on... God, you were so pretty. All night I wanted to kiss you.” He pauses, and you hear that sharp inahle again, “Then we went to your place and— fuck, baby, you really let me kiss you.”

“I liked that,” you tell him as you sigh, and he makes that noise that keeps driving you wild, “I liked you kissing me.”

“That’s good, baby,” Sy says, “That’s what I want... to make you feel good.”

“You did, Sy.”

“I wanna do that again. When I come home, I’m gonna kiss you just like that,” Your body heats even more at his suggestion. Would you let him kiss you again?

“I want that too, Sy,” you say firmly, despite your trembling voice, “I really want you to kiss me like that again.”

Sy hums, his deep voice rumbles in his throat, “Whenever I imagine that, making you feel good, it doesn’t stop at kissin’, Sugar.”

He just says it, a little tentatively perhaps, like he’s testing your reaction, but he just admits he’s thought about being intimate with you. And from the way he says it, he’s thought about it often.

“Do you wanna know more, or should I stop?”

You let out a small noise, like a squeak. You hope he knows that means yes.

“Where are you?” he asks. Is that a grin you sense in his voice?

You look around, like you've forgotten your location in this universe. God, he truly makes your brain shut down. He makes you stupid in the best possible way.

“Actually… I haven't gotten out of bed yet.”

“Shit,” Sy groans, drawing the word out.

His reaction makes you bold, and although your heart thunders, you close your eyes, and manage to speak, “I’m still in my t-shirt, the one I wear to bed.”

You hear him swallow, “Anything’ else?”

“Just my panties,” you barely breathe.

“Fuck,” Sy groans again. “You’re makin’ it really tough for me not to grab my cock right now, baby.”

“Oh,” you say on a long exhale, because you feel like you have to say something.

What you really want to say is: do it.

“Why don’t you?” you add quickly, squeezing your eyes shut in mortification.

Sy is quiet, all you hear is his quickening breaths. “Do ya want me to?” he asks, his voice is hoarse and breathy.

“Yes,” you admit. God, you’re shaking, your hands are trembling.

The speaker fills with static as he breathes out. “God dammit, I wanna touch you so bad. You gonna touch yourself too, Sugar?”

Shit. Oh shit. You weren’t expecting that. You’re definitely in the mood, but this is still too new and you’re insecure. You’ll probably end up replaying this moment later and cursing yourself.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Too much?” he says hoarsely, but gently. There’s no anger in his tone.

“I… I feel like I want…,” you don’t know how to explain yourself.

“Tell me, Sugar. It’s ok, tell me what you want.”

“It just feels… strange, to do this on the phone for the first time, instead of together, in person.”

Sy hums mulling it over, “But… you would want that?”

You don’t say anything. What can you say? You’ve just teased the hell out of him and now you feel like an ass.

“How bout we save all that ‘til we see each other again?” Sy suggests.

“I feel bad.”

“Nah,” Sy laughs, “I’ll just wait until ya hang up to finish.”

“Sy!” you exclaim, but you laugh along with him.

You talk for a few more minutes before you tell him that you have to go, “I’m meeting my mom for lunch. I’m already going to be late.”

“Yeah, I should go too. I’ve used every privilege I have as an officer, and some I don’t, to get the phone for this long,” He pauses and becomes serious, “I know what you said earlier, but… will ya do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if you start seein’ someone.”

“I’m not going to start seeing anyone, Sy. I’m not sure where this is going with us, but I’m not about to throw it away either.”

Sy calls you more frequently now, usually once a week. There hasn’t been another call like that one, but you feel as though your relationship has changed again. It’s subtle, but tangible.

Sy says things like, “When I get back, we should see that,” or “I’d like to take you there when I get home.”

Tentative promises are made, and restrained flirtations are thrown around. You tell him you think about him, you tell him sometimes you want to see him so bad you ache. He tells you he wants to see you, he wants to kiss you; he hints that he wants you to be his, but the line you established on that earlier call is never crossed.

You both send more packages, more photos, and more letters. Sy sends you a picture with Aika, in it he’s wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a red shirt. He seems bigger than you remember. So broad in the chest. You wish he’d have taken the glasses off though, so you could see his handsome face.

Then the day finally comes, the day when he tells you he’s coming home. At first you can’t process it, like you had accepted that Sy was just a disembodied voice, not something to see, or touch, or smell. Then, as he lays out the process of returning home, you start to believe.

“I’ll really get to see you? In two weeks?” You ask incredulously.

“I’ll be all yours for thirty days. No work, nothin’.”

“What about your family?”

Sy grumbles, but you can tell he’s putting it on, “I suppose I’ll have to go see them for a few days.”

“Yeah, you should,” you say, smiling.

“Will ya come with me?” he asks.

“Sy…” You can’t fault his tenacity, “Let’s see how things are between us first?”

“There ain’t no way we won’t work,” Sy says, “I've never wanted a woman like I want you.”

“That’s only because you’ve had to wait over a year.”

“That ain’t it, baby,” Sy says seriously. Then his voice lowers, getting so gravelly he practically growls, “That’s why I’m so fuckin’ horny... but that ain’t why I want to be with you.”

As it always does when he talks like that, a fire ignites in your gut and radiates through you, heating your blood until you feel hot all over. You can’t imagine how it will feel to have him touch you and talk to you like that. You shiver just thinking about it.

You want to ask him why he wants to be with you, but he diverts the conversation and tells you he has to get you clearance to visit him. Sy lives on base, and he says it’s easier for him to pick you up to bring you to his place.

“Less paperwork,” he explains.

“Don’t you want me to meet you when you arrive?” The party atmosphere of homecoming was one that soldiers usually look forward to. If he doesn’t want you there, maybe he’s not as serious about you as you thought.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that. As much as I want you to be there,” Sy makes a noise like he’s sucking in air through his teeth, and says amused, “I don’t think you’d wanna meet the guys that way.”

“Yeah ok, good point,” you concede with a laugh. The thought of meeting his group and their families in an atmosphere like that is a bit intimidating.

“We’re plannin’ a barbeque for a couple of weeks after we get home. I’d like to take ya with me, and you can meet the guys then.”

“Sounds like a much more relaxed way to meet them.”

“Good,” Sy says, sounding pleased.

“Shit, I’m nervous just thinking about it.”

“What?! Meetin’ the boys? Baby, they love you already.”

Your eyes widen, “You told them about me?”

“I didn’t say anythin’, they just figured somethin’s up. Been a few comments about my mood having improved this deployment, and the packages I’ve been gettin’, and how they wanna meet the girl that keeps makin’ me smile.” Sy chuckles.

Your cheeks burn, but it's a pleasant feeling and you smile widely. You like hearing that he’s happy.

“Okay.” You don’t know what to say, so you steer the conversation back to his homecoming. “Will Aika be coming home with you?”

“Yeah,” Sy says and you can hear the joy in his voice. “She’ll be quarantined for three months though.”

“Oh, that’ll be tough,” you say sympathetically. “You’ll miss her.”

“I will,” Sy agrees. “But I’ll have you.”

God damn him. Four words and he renders you speechless again.

“Baby? Are ya still there?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” you scramble, trying to remember what you were talking about. “Oh, yeah. So, if you’re coming to get me anyway, why don’t you just stay with me?” you ask.

“Cause your couch is too small for me to sleep on.”

“My bed’s not too small.”

You hear Sy suck in a breath. “I can just go home at the end of the night. It'll be easier that way. You should still fill out the forms though, so you can visit me when ya want to and—”

“Sy,” you interrupt with a smile. It suddenly dawns on you that he’s nervous.

“Yup,” His lips make a small pop when he says it.

“You don’t want to sleep in my bed?” you ask, playing a little coy.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Sy says roughly.

“Me neither.”

“I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” There’s a question in his statement, like he’s unsure that you would want him to touch you.

“I wouldn't want you to,” You hold your breath in anticipation of his answer.

“From the second I see you, all I’m gonna want to do is touch you,” he groans.

A moan leaves your lips as your arousal wells between your legs. “I want that too.”

“And baby... Once I start, I ain't gonna stop,” Sy says.

His voice sounds strained, like he’s struggling to lift something. Then he clears his throat, his voice is back to its normal deep, soothing baritone, and he changes the subject.

“We’ll play it by ear then, Sugar.”

Part 2

#captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #captain sy #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson fanfiction #syverson #syverson x reader #henry cavill fic #captain sy x reader #captain sy fanfiction #ask sillyrabbit81 #even if you don't mean it #cpt syverson

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newronantic · 3 years

Text

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years

Text

Total Eclipse Of The Heart (Part Five)

Jacob Black x Fem!Vampire!Swan!Reader

Summary: Jacob Black, alpha of his pack, would never fall in love with a bloodsucker, much less imprint on one. The problem is that Y/N Swan was human…until she wasn’t anymore.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The bike works for a while, Bella can see Edward; until she gets good at operating the vehicle. After that the danger is gone and so is any version of him.

Jacob and Y/N are hunting Victoria. Charlie is hunting the wolves, who he still believes to be bears, responsible for the killings around town.

Bella’s alone again.

She decides to try something new, to get that rush of adrenaline. Cliff jumping is about as stupid as it is recreational. But Edward is there, begging her not to jump. So she does, anything to make him stay.

———————————————————————

“She’s freezing cold. I can’t touch her.”

“Relax. Human hot box, remember? I hope you don’t mind, I’m gonna have to give her mouth to mouth.”

“Jake,” thwack.

Beyond the voices, Bella can feel pressure. Like someone is pounding on her chest, commanding her heart to beat.

“Come on Bella. Breathe.”

With a sputtering inhale she chokes up the water that invaded her lungs.

“Bella!”

The brunette opens her eyes just in time to see her sister reach for her and then remember her temperature, dropping both hands back to her sides.

“I’m ok,” Bella tells her, through chattering teeth.

“What the hell were you doing?” Y/N demands, tossing a blanket around her shoulders.

Jacob lifts Bella from the sand to lean against him, soaking up his warmth.

“I just wanted to see something.” Bella looks away from Y/N. The venom has eaten away her contacts and she can see her now for what she truly is.

“We’ve gotta get her home.” Jacob says, lifting Bella with ease.

“Your eyes,” Bella tries to warn her.

“It’s ok,” Y/N shakes her head. “Dad’s not home. He’s over at the Clearwater’s.”

“Did something happen?” Bella wonders.

“Harry had a heart attack.” Jacob breathes, the words striking like a hot iron. “He didn’t make it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bella whispers to no one in particular.

“Let’s go,” Y/N jerks her chin in the direction of the road.

“I’ll run her,” the wolf offers.

“My truck,” Bella pushes feebly against his chest.

“I got it,” Y/N sighs, taking the keys. “You go, keep her warm.”

“On it.” Jacob nods, breaking into a sprint.

Y/N heads back to the truck, opening the door and waiting as it rattles to life. Her fingers curl over the steering wheel harshly, distorting it with the force of her grasp.

The phone buzzes to life in her pocket, not a number she recognizes. “Hello?”

“Y/N, it’s Edward.”

“Edward…” The Y/H/C nearly short circuits.

“Is Bella alright?” He asks immediately.

How did he know? “Now you care what happens to Bella?”

“Y/N please-“

“No,” she cuts him off. “Edward, you left. You left and you didn’t care. I mean where the hell have you been? Where were you while I was here picking up the pieces?”

“I’m sorry.” Edward grovels, the way she had on the front lawn of the Cullen’s home after Bella’s birthday party. “It was a mistake.”

“Your sorry means nothing to me.” Y/N ends the call. Tossing the phone to the passenger seat. Her foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor.

Arriving home at record speed, she finds a black car in the driveway. Carlisle’s car. Parking the truck, she jots through the front door.

Alice, Jacob and Bella are deep in conversation.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asks Alice.

“I had a vision of Bella jumping off a cliff. I didn’t see her get pulled out of the water-“ Alice breaks off. Her eyes fluttering, then she gasps.

“What now?” Jacob runs a hand over his face.

“It’s Edward, he thinks Bella’s dead.” Alice chokes out. “He’s going to the Volturi, he wants to die too.”

“What?” Bella’s entire body lurches forward.

“Rosalie told him why I came here. Then Y/N-“

“You spoke to him?” Bella cuts Alice off. “What did you say?”

“I told him to screw himself. Not kill himself.” Y/N says defensively.

“Y/N!” Bella is hysterical.

She never meant for this to happen. “Tell me where he is and how to get there.”

“What are you gonna do?” Jacob leans in, his fingers closing around her wrist.

“I have to go,” Y/N rolls her eyes at the ridiculous nature of the situation, “save Edward.”

Jacob’s face falls into a scowl, “no, no way in hell.”

“Jake-“

“The Volturi, isn’t that some kind of vampire judge and jury situation? The ones you’re so afraid of that you can’t even tell Charlie what happened to you?” Jacob can put up with a lot, and he has. But this…

“Jacob, I know that this sucks.” Y/N pulls him away from Alice and Bella for a shred of privacy. “But it’s my fault. I have to make it right.”

“Stop blaming yourself for his shitty decisions!” Jacob roars, “it’s not your fault that he left, it’s not your fault that he didn’t come back and it’s not your fault that you told him to shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

Y/N takes step back, “please don’t.”

“Please don’t what?” Jake snarls, closing the distance between them. “Tell you the truth?”

“Please don’t hate me for what I’m about to do.” Y/N pleads, allowing his fingers to sear her skin.

“If you die…” he strokes her jaw reverently, “I’ll kill you.”

“I love you so much,” she turns into his palm and presses gentle kisses there.

Jacob lets his hand fall away as they break apart. “What do you want me to tell Charlie?”

“Last minute girls trip or something,” Y/N shrugs.

“How long will you be gone?” Jacob wants to say it back. That he loves her.

Y/N looks to Alice.

“Three days, round trip.” The pixie tells them.

Bella has already gone up to pack.

“Perfect,” Jacob acknowledges. Keeping the words to himself.

———————————————————————

The plan ride to Italy is tense. Bella hardly sleeps, she is a nervous wreck.

Alice is flooded with vision after vision as she watches Edward and the Volturi’s decisions.

Y/N plucks anxiously at the wolf charm on her wrist.

The car Alice steals is a beautiful canary yellow color. It shifts gears like butter and glides over the road.

“The Volturi refused him.” Alice says, surprise and relief in her voice.

“Should you be driving?” Y/N wonders, there’s no way she can concentrate with the future flashing before her eyes.

“You can channel for me” Alice offers. There is no time to stop.

Y/N closes her eyes, willing the visions to come to her. “He’s waiting until noon, when the sun’s at it’s highest. Then he’s going to reveal himself to the humans.”

“Alice, you gotta hurry up.” Bella pleads, tugging at the roots of her hair.

“Bella,” Alice coos, “breathe.”

Y/N opens her mind, but Edward is decided, so nothing changes. Until something unexpected appears.

Jacob. He’s seated on their living room couch, shooting the breeze with Charlie. Clearly waiting for something as his eyes flicker to the clock repeatedly. Her, Y/N realizes, he’s waiting for her.

“What did you see?”

“It wasn’t Edward, don’t worry.” Y/N drawls. Just her letting down the most important person in her life…again.

The crowd surrounding Volterra is massive, Alice cuts through as much as she can with the stolen Porsche, but eventually Bella has to make a run for it. To the clock tower at the center of the festival before Edward exposes himself in the sunlight. She is the only one Edward can’t see coming.

“So, what now?” Y/N demands.

“What did you see?” Alice asks instead.

“Doesn’t matter.” The Y/H/C shakes her head. “We can’t just sit here-“

“You saw him, didn’t you?” Alice steals a glance at her. “Jacob?”

“Does he always look so miserable in your visions,” she wonders.

“I can’t see him.” The other vampires admits, “the wolves are a blind spot.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.” Alice’s brows furrow, the visions are back in her own head. “We have to go.”

The two of them weave through the festival, skin covered from the sun that shines bright overhead. Finally taking shelter in a door off the alley way.

“Come on guys,” Alice pulls the scarf from her head as they enter. “Wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

The ‘guys’ in question have glowing red eyes, their diet is strictly human blood.

Bella is against the wall, with Edward between her and the two men wearing black cloaks.

“No we certainly wouldn’t.” The shorter blonde man purrs. “Aro requests your presence.”

“Bella,” Edward addresses her, “why don’t you go back out and enjoy the festival?”

“All of you,” the larger man clarifies.

A third vampire joins them, a girl with blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. “Aro sent me to see what’s taking so long.”

“So no festival?” Y/N cocks her head to the side.

“I’m afraid not.” The girl gives her a tight lipped grin. “Right this way.”

The four of them are led down a long corridor to a stair case, then to an elevator.

Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

Edward’s eyes, dark with thirst, cut to Y/N. Bella tucked securely beneath his arm.

‘Sorry,’ she mentally shoots back.

He turns his gaze ahead as the elevator doors open onto a checkered marble floor. The ceilings are high, adorned with paintings that put the Sistine chapel to shame.

“Don’t be afraid,” Edward whispers to Bella.

“Are you?” Bella stares up at him.

“No,” he lies.

They land at double doors, pushed open to reveal three more men, seated in high back chairs that resemble thrones.

The one in the center moves to stand, the other brunette and blonde vampires can’t be bothered.

“What a happy surprise!” The man rejoices, “Bella is alive after all. And you’ve brought a friend.”

“I’m just here for moral support.” Y/N explains, jerking her thumb at Bella, “she’s my sister.”

Aro looks her over, “welcome…”

“Y/N,” she introduces herself.

Aro steps forward then, taking Edward’s hand from Bella’s into his own.

“Aro can read every thought I’ve ever had with a single touch.” Edward tells them.

“You are quite a soul reader yourself Edward. Although you can’t hear Bella’s thoughts.” Aro remarks, “would you do me the honor?” He extends a hand to Bella.

Warily she steps forward, allowing him to encase her hand with both of his.

“How strange,” Aro pulls away after a moment. “I see nothing. I wonder if…let us see if she is immune to all our powers, Jane.”

“No,” Edward protests, jumping in front of Bella.

“Pain,” the blonde girl murmurs, a satisfied smirk spreading across her features as Edward falls to the ground. He writhes silently at Bella’s feet.

“Stop! Please.” Bella yells, “stop hurting him.”

Aro watches her in fascination, allowing the torture to continue for a moment. “Jane.”

“Master?” The girl says.

Edward relaxes with a grunt.

“Go ahead my darling,” Aro motions to Bella.

“This might hurt just a little,” Jane warns.

But Bella feels nothing.

“Remarkable.” Aro marvels, “she confounds us all. So, what do we do with you now?”

“She knows too much, she’s a liability.” The blonde man on the right croons, from his chair.

“That’s true.” Aro replies, “Felix.”

“No,” Edward flips Bella behind him, having read his thoughts.

Alice seen Aro’s decision to have Bella killed.

And Y/N catches on quickly enough. Stepping in front of her sister.

Alice is restrained by the short blonde haired guard and Edward is wrestling with the larger vampire, which eventually leaves Edward on the ground.

Y/N’s never engaged in combat, but fight or flight is still a thing. She’s stronger and faster than anyone in the room, perks of being a newborn. She uses it to her advantage.

Fending off every attack the guard throws at her. But she is wreckless, untrained in her youth. Eventually she is restrained, with a hand at her throat.

The exchange gives Edward enough time to recover, he comes back swinging. For Bella. Anything for her.

Felix is strong. Edward is going to lose and her sister is going to die.

Y/N does the only thing she can do, “pain.”

The large man twists inhumanly at the crippling pain coursing through him.

Aro’s mouth sits slightly agape, watching in wonder as Edward returns to his feet.

“Call him off and I’ll stop,” Y/N jerks her chin toward Felix.

“Let us discuss this in a civilized manner.” Aro tries to defuse the situation.

“Tell your men to stop trying to kill my sister,” Y/N tosses the guard’s hand from her neck. “Then we discuss.”

“Felix, stand down.” Aro orders.

Y/N releases the man from her clutches, hearing him struggle to regain composure.

“You have the most peculiar scent.” Aro comments, “come.” He holds a hand out, “let me see.”

Y/N steps toward him, allowing his palm to rest under hers.

His eyes fall closed as he weaves through the facets of her memories. From birth to death and after life. “Ahh,” Aro coos.

Y/N resists the urge to pull away.

“Your gift is…untouched.” The things she could do, if only- “I can teach you.”

“Let my sister go,” Y/N repeats.

“So young, so much control.” Aro remarks. “To have resisted her blood twice within the first year. You are magnificent.” He smiles, drunk on the idea of harnessing the power she possesses. “You could join us.”

“I have someone waiting for me.” Y/N declines the offer.

“The child of the moon.” Aro recalls the boy from her mind. Dark hair, bright smile, “you love him impossibly so, against everything in your nature. It makes my heart ache.”

“Consorting with a werewolf?” Caius rushes to his feet. “Our sworn enemy?”

“This is different brother,” Aro stops him. If only he earns the young vampire’s trust, all that power will be his. “They have no qualms with us, nor each other. Misfortune has befallen them, much like our young friends Bella and Edward. This is a sadness.”

“You already know what you’re going to do, Aro. Let us be done with this.” Marcus motions dismissively.

“If only it were your intention to change her.” Aro addresses Edward now.

“Bella will be one of us.” Alice interrupts, “I’ve seen it. I’ll change her myself.”

Aro steps away from Y/N, to where Alice stands. Whatever she shows him must be proof enough. They’re free to go. For now.

———————————————————————-

The plane ride home is awkward. Both better and worse that the flight there.

“Thank you, for what you did.” Edward breaks the silence, as Bella sleeps peacefully against his shoulder. “Only it wasn’t smart. Aro has taken interest now, he’ll try to win you over.”

“Better men have tried.” Y/N turns her nose up at the idea, and him.

“I’m not going to push for your forgiveness. Or hers.” He looks over at Bella, “I’m going to earn it.”

“Sure.” The Y/H/C crosses her arms, “holding my breath.”

“Good thing you don’t need air.” Edward cracks a smile.

“Can you not pick my brain right now? I need to think.” Y/N tries to refocus. “Alone.”

“Jacob will forgive you.” Edward ignores her comment.

“Jacob always forgives me.” She whispers, “I want to deserve it this time.”

Edward nods in understanding. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

If he hears anything else he doesn’t comment on it. Falling into a comfortable silence.

Y/N is largely on autopilot until they make it home.

Charlie rushes out onto the porch at the sound of a car engine. “There you are.”

“Hi, Dad.” Y/N steps up to hug him.

Charlie kisses the top of her head, returning the embrace. “Jacob said it was a girls trip.” He’s not thrilled to see Edward.

“It was supposed to be,” Y/N pulls away. “He surprised us.”

“She does look better though, doesn’t she?” Charlie notes, seeing Bella.

“Yeah,” as much as Y/N hates to admit it, she agrees.

“Go on. He’s been waiting for ya.” Charlie nods toward the house. “I’m gonna have a word with Edward.”

“Ok,” Y/N takes the stairs two at a time. “Don’t be too hard on him though.” She calls after her father. “He’s been through hell too.”

Charlie squints at her, hoping she will elaborate but knowing she won’t.

“Honey, I’m home.” Y/N sings into the living room.

Jacob doesn’t say a word. Just makes his way to her and wraps her up in his arms. Inhaling the scent at the crook of her neck, deeply. “Never thought I’d miss your stink.”

Y/N takes a whiff of her own. “The wet dog and earthy tones are starting to smell like home.”

“Yeah.” He feels it too.

“Can I ask you something?” She murmurs against his shoulder.

“Sounds like a loaded question already.” Jacob can hear it in her voice.

“How much of you staying here is because of the imprint? How much of it is your soul needing mine? And how much of it is just Jake?”

“I guess I-“ he breaks off. “I’ll never really know for sure. But I think the Jacob I’ve been my whole life would stay. Imprint Jacob would have no choice but to please you. And my soul just wants to be close to yours, anyway it can.”

“Do you ever wish you could un-imprint?” If that’s even a word. “I hate the thought of you chipping away parts of yourself…to please me.”

Jacob nuzzles her forehead with his own. “I’m lucky that I got to imprint on someone who loves me. Someone I didn’t have to change for. Being with you is easy, like breathing.”

“I want to give you more than I take.” Y/N tells him.

“I can feel you,” heart and soul, “how much you love me.”

“You can,” the vampire tenses, “feel me?”

“I know how guilty you feel for leaving, how scared you are that you’ll have to do it again.” Jacob places her hand over his heart. “I’ll wait.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” she argues. “You’re already giving away too much.”

“Stop beating yourself up. I can handle you. Have little faith.”

“I have faith in you.” That was never the problem.

“Give yourself some credit too.” He taps her chin, “quit brooding.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” Jacob holds Y/N at arms length, “now tell me everything. What’d I miss on the trip of a lifetime?”

“Well Alice stole a car.” She starts with the fun part. “Porsche I think, crazy fast. You would’ve loved it.”

———————————————————————-

The night they return from Italy, Bella insists that her mortality be put up for a vote. The Cullens gather around the staircase in their home, calling for Y/N and Jacob as well.

“You are part of this family, Y/N.” Carlisle rests a hand on her shoulder. “Jacob is your mate. Bella is your sister. You have a say in this.”

Jacob votes no.

Y/N votes not to vote. Only expressing her opinion based on her own experience. “I know what it feels like to have your choices taken away. I won’t do it to you.”

Life goes on. Y/N visits the reservation often. Like Jacob promised, everyone is coming around.

Graduation is right around the corner. Bella is waiting until after to become a vampire. Hoping it’ll be easier on Charlie.

He’s definitely not going to let it go a second time. He’ll demand answers that they won’t be able to give. They’ll have to leave. All of them.

Billy can see how much Y/N is wrestling with the decision. “In your heart you know that this is the best thing for everyone. Why are you hellbent on torturing yourself?”

“I’m not,” she shakes her head.

“You and Jake will get each other through.” Billy isn’t worried about that.

“What about my Dad?” He’ll be devastated.

Billy sighs, resting a hand on her shoulder. “What’d you want me to say kid?”

“Give me another choice.” She covers his fingers with her own.

“You having a pity party without me?” Jacob catches them, leaning heavily against the doorframe of his childhood kitchen.

“You were sleeping.” Y/N sniffs, breaking away from Billy. “I made you breakfast. Pancakes, French toast, eggs, bacon, sausage and-“

“And?” Jacob perks up.

“Chocolate chips muffins for dessert.”

“You’re trying to butter me up, huh?” Jacob grins, making his way to the breakfast table. “It’s working. Just give it to me straight.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Billy excuses himself.

“The Cullens are having a graduation party for Bella.” Y/N watches the wolf take a bit of food from each dish.

“Just Bella?” Jacob arches a brow.

She huffs, reaching into her bag for the formal invite.

‘Congrats Grad!’

‘Please join us to celebrate, Alice, Jasper, Bella, Edward, Y/N and Jacob.’

‘R.S.V.P. To Alice or Esme Cullen.’

“Wow,” Jacob takes it all in. “They shouldn’t have.”

“They gave them to half of Forks high school.” Y/N explains, “most of my senior class remembers you as my hot boyfriend from a different school.”

“I am your hot boyfriend from a different school.” There is no denying it.

Y/N bites her lip. “They gave me a handful of invites for you too. If you want…”

“Really trying to push the whole ‘happy family’ agenda.” Jacob takes the stack of envelopes.

“It’ll only get worse if we indulge them.”

“In a few months they’ll be the only people we know.” Jacob reminds her. “Should probably get used to it.”

Y/N nods, turning her gaze out the window. “The younger we start out in a new place the longer we get to stay.”

“So high school again.” Jacob laughs humorlessly. “Can’t wait.”

“I want to stay in Forks.” Y/N forces out the words. “I want to stay with my Dad.”

“Baby,” Jacob breathes. That’s one thing he can’t give her.

“But it doesn’t matter what I want. Bella has to turn. We have to move on.” Y/N squares her shoulders. “Just let me sulk a little.”

“Sulk away, beautiful.” Jacob takes a bite of scrambled eggs. “Just pass the salt first.”

Series Taglist: @remembered-license @itscheybaby

Part 6

#jacob twilight #jacob black x y/n #jacob black x you #jacob black imagine #jacob black fanfiction #jacob black x reader #jacob black #twilight x you #twilight fanfiction #alice cullen #edward cullen #bella swan #Volturi #charlie swan #billy black

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magicalqueennightmare · 3 years

Text

Come Home

Open ended angst?

Warnings: mention of blood, torture,cursing

Boots echoed off the concrete floor. Water dripped somewhere in the distance. The only thing you could taste was the metallic twinge of blood in your mouth. Whether from the split lip or the slice going down the side of your face you weren't sure. Your side throbbed from a heavy kick. You'd been distracted. You'd gotten sloppy and slow. That's what lead to you being here. If you hadn't stopped to look at that store window, if you hadn't been dreaming of a future to come you would've been able to fight them off.

"Miss Flag. We simply want the codes your boss has access to. Is it that hard?" A voice spoke in the darkness surrounding you. You turned over to the extent the chains would allow pushing yourself to your knees as you spit a mouthful of blood in the general direction of the voice before saying "First of all its Mrs not Miss dumbass. And Waller could give two damns less if you delivered my severed head to her"

You tried not to flinch when the man moved quickly towards you grabbing your hair roughly to force you to look him in the eye "but what of your husband? What of your friends?" You gave him a pained smile "Oh no matter what happens here to me. They're gonna kill you and they'll enjoy it" He backhanded you hard enough you hit the floor curling into yourself. You heard his shoes retreat from you but knew better than to think you were alone.

One escape attempt had beaten you not into submission but the knowledge that without Rick and the squad coming to the rescue you weren't making it out alive. You just had to hold on.

Easier said than done when you could hear a blade dragging across the metal top table they'd had you on before. "Let's see if we can make some of that bravado falter Mrs Flag"

-------

"SHE'S MY WIFE AMANDA!" Rick screamed slamming the woman against the wall who'd been his boss for so long. Dubois moved to pull him back not for Waller's sake but for Rick's and for yours. "She knew the risks way back when she first signed on Rick. You're an expendable team. I didn't tell you to fall in love with one of them"

Robert felt his lip curl in disgust at her tone speaking about you. The only reason he was here was because Rick had called him when you failed to make it back to the safehouse. All of you were supposed to be free and clear, walking away. Apparently someone had managed to get the jump on you somehow.

He'd been standing next to Rick when the video came in. He was just your friend and the sound of your screams still rang in his ears. He could only imagine what was going on in Rick's head. "If she dies. You're next" Rick warned. His tone alone was enough to say it wasn't a threat but a promise he fully intended to keep.

"I'm telling you now. You'll have no backup. If you take your little team of pet killers it's just all of you" Waller taunted but Robert scoffed with a shake of his head "We'll get her back without you"

------

Floyd wanted to come the moment he knew what was going on so Rick sent Harley and Cleo to take his place guarding the safe house.

They'd managed to narrow down where the video was sent from. They just had to get in and hope they weren't too late.

--------

Bodies laid strewn in every direction. Two of the best shooters in the world even didn't hold a candle to the damage Rick had done to these men.

"Spread out and find her" he ordered to the other two men. They had a doctor Abner knew waiting. An entire team if need be on standby.

Rick was clearing one room when he heard Floyd's voice "FLAG!" he ran towards the sound and sank to his knees when he saw you. Blood soaked your clothes, one wrist twisted in the wrong direction and your entire body was curled into itself. His hand shook as he reached for your neck allowing himself a moment to breathe when he felt your pulse. It was weak but there. "Baby what did they do to you?" He whispered as Robert took care of the chains they had on you.

"Floyd call Abner get the team ready!" He spoke trying to be as gentle as he could while applying pressure to the worse of wounds on your side. "She's bleeding bad Flag. I don't wanna move her and risk worsening it but if we don't...." Robert didn't have to say anything further Rick knew. If they didn't move you now you'd bleed out in his arms "Help me get her up Dubois. Please" he begged feeling more broken than he ever had.

------

Rick paced outside the operating room. They were going into hour two of your surgery. There was so much damage. You'd lost a lot of blood and even if you made it off the table it would still be a touch and go situation until you woke up. He could still lose you.

He heard someone walking up behind him right before Floyd touched his back gently "Rick, man Harley called. Zoe has kept her occupied for as long as she could but she's looking for the two of you"

He took a deep breath steadying himself before taking the phone from Floyd. A small voice on the other end nearly broke him when your daughter said "Hey daddy. When are you and mommy coming home?"

#rick flag imagine #rick flag x reader #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag #angst

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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

Text

SIGN ON THE LINE || STEVE ROGERS

PRETTY WOMAN AU

pairing: Escort!Steve Rogers x bisexual!black!reader ; minor pairing: escort! steve rogers x bisexual!black!reader x bisexual!natasha romanov || word count: 14,446 || warnings: smut, sex, rough sex, ass eating, butt stuff, oral sex (male & female receiving), rough oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, face sitting/riding, 69, cockwarming, nipple play, consensual voyeurism, prostitution, daddy kink

authors note: right under the buzzer! this is for @allaboardthereadingrailroad marvel diversity challenge! my prompt was Pretty Woman AU. this is a pretty loose interpretation of the movie, but there are some similarities threaded throughout if you’re familiar with it. once again, a lot was inspired by @honeychicanawrites headcanons here, here, and here. there was also a black and white gif floating around of an animated woman, rubbing, sucking, and fucking her dude, but i lost the link! (i was gonna embed it, but i don’t want my post flagged). also, daily convos with @tropicalcap led to some of the filth. enjoy!

line divider by @firefly-graphics

The wine glass clinks against the porcelain of the bathroom counter as you set it down gently, backing up to eye yourself in the mirror. You push your box braids off your shoulders and twist your body, smoothing your manicured hands down your hips as you primp. Sliding your fingers underneath the thin band of your thong, you adjust it slightly, pulling them up on your hips before letting the material snap back to your body, cutting into your flesh. The Zodiac tights come next, wiggling your hips to pull the crystal embedded fishnets up your smooth legs and up over your behind.

You dig your hands into your bra, pushing your tits up so they sit a little higher in it and pucker your lips, adding a little more gloss. A deep buzz sounds throughout the bathroom, your phone illuminating as a text slides through.

In the lobby

A smile spreads across your face. You grab the fluffy, white hotel robe and shrug into it, tying a tight bow at your waist before arranging your hair again and bringing the glass of white wine to your lips to finish it off. The small bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 is the last accessory you reach for— spritzing your neck and wrist, rubbing them together slowly to spread the sweet, floral aroma. Grabbing your phone, and the now empty wine glass, you move out of the bathroom and hit the light switch to cover the lavish room in darkness.

You’re wet already— tight muscles clamping around nothing as you pad back into your Presidential suite. Blood starts to race, skin heats up as your heart beat grows harder. You’re so fucking horny it hurts. Stomach is tight and knotted, your clit achy and sore— fingers not enough to quell the need. So you went out one night, found a sex shop, which isnt hard in the heart of L.A.; bought a pretty glass dildo and a diamond studed butt plug— even a pocket vibrator, but it wasn’t enough. You need the real thing, a big, hard, dripping, warm cock to put you out of your misery so you can focus on the reason you’re in L.A. in the first place.

“Oh girl,” Natasha winked, handing over an off white business card, “Having dick on retainer is a must.”

You flipped it over in your hand, your dark eyes skimming over the telephone number printed in the middle of the card, the initials S.G.R. scrawled out just underneath it, “Give him a call,” she winked, “He’ll keep you plenty occupied while you’re here.”

That was two days ago— over a business lunch when the VP of Operations and CEO of the company you’re trying to acquire stepped away from the table. You’d known Natasha Romanov for exactly one week at that point, but she knew the desperation of a woman going without— you're convinced she smelled it on you as soon as you walked into her office. It took her a few days to pry it out of you, but once she caught you discreetly making eyes at the waiter, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you in close.

You’re a woman of the world, you both realize and understand sex work is a valuable commodity, and champion it, for men and women alike. But you never honestly had to give it a second thought, you’ve always had options. A cute little black book that sits just inside of your nightstand, full of names that can satisfy your every mood.

Tony for a quickie when you’re buzzed and on the way to an event, Sam for a back breaking, fingers in your mouth, ‘call me daddy’ romp, sweet Bruce when you want it real nice and slow— somebody to love you just for the night. That little black book doesn’t help you in L.A., and you aren’t about to fly somebody out for a four hour layover.

There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks, “Just one second.” you call sweetly, slipping into a pair of Giuseppe heels— your favorite Giuseppe heels.

You untie the belt around your waist and throw the robe over the back of the couch as you click towards the door, leaving you in your black, strapless bra, thin thong, and waist high tights. There’s really no need to be modest— you’re both adults. Turning the square, stainless steel door handle, you pull gently, throwing it open for the tall, blonde man leaning against the far wall. He stands up straight, blue eyes going wide as they drop down your body, pink lips quirking into a lopsided grin.

You spin on your heels and retreat back into the room slowly, hearing the door as it hitches when he catches it with his palm. Eyes are on your body as you switch your hips seductively, moving towards the minibar. You can’t help the smile that curls onto your lips.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Rogers?” You purr, voice low and smooth.

“Steve’s fine,” his voice equally low, equally smooth, “What do you have?”

You hum, opening the small fridge and bending just slightly, poking out your ass, “Looks like Modelo, Vodka, Rum,” you point towards the ice bucket, a bottle of Dom Perignon resting in the chips, “Champagne. I also have some white wine.”

You glance back at him, your braids dangling over your shoulder, swinging gently with each little movement you make. Steven Grant Rogers is a sight for sore eyes— and a sore pussy. He’s tall and lean, chest and shoulders wide and broad, biceps thick. His waist is small, but it adds a little allure to his frame, giving him a little shape. He has a sense of style about him too, another tick in the ‘pro’ column for him. His suit is a simple one but it reeks of great expense. Black, slim fit, no tie. Crisp, white button down with the first couple of buttons undone. Black red bottoms, and a titanium, black faced Hublot watch.

Creed Aventus fills your nostrils as you breathe in and your muscles clench again. You like a man with lavish taste.

“Champagne, please. Not too much though, I don’t like to drink when I’m with a client.” Curious eyes follow you as you move towards the ice bucket, staying on you as you pour two flutes, “I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings?”

His thick fingers brush along yours as you step close, handing him the tall, thin flute. They’re soft, his fingers. He nods gently, clinking the rim of his glass with yours before he lifts it to his pink lips, licking them slowly, “Gotta keep a clear head.”

A sharp inhale of air fills your lungs; a sly smile tugs at your lips. Through hooded eyes, the two of you keep watch of the other as you both down the bubbly champagne. Your lips tingle as you rub the glass along your bottom lip, your eyes bouncing around his handsome, heavily bearded face. His eyes twinkle underneath the lights as they roam— down your chest and stomach, down your long legs— slowly. Drinking you in. Taking stock of each curve, each dip, each line.

His eyes snap back to yours suddenly, but they’re different. Hungry. Aggressive. You take another breath, holding it in your chest for a tick before you exhale and cross your legs, squeezing them tight.

He takes a step forward, closing the already small distance between the two of you to a mere inch, maybe even less than that. He drops his eyes again, his eyelids closing to slits, the dark, delicate, long eyelashes lining them splash out on his cheeks. He inhales deep, a small, thin hum vibrating in his throat as he’s filled with the sweetness of your perfume.

“Nervous?”

The word greets your ears softly, just as it left his pretty mouth. You lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth, chewing as your eyes bounce between his. He smiles, pushing his face closer so the tips of your noses touch. He rubs your noses together slowly, up along your bridge, and then the tips again, his smile growing.

“There’s no need to be nervous. We’ll take it real nice and slow, okay?” his voice steady and smooth, low and soft, “You’ve never done this before?”

Two mammoth hands push along your hips, slowly dragging up and down, up and down, up and down. You swallow, a pathetic tremble sounding in your throat that gets him to smile again, “It’s that obvious?”

He chuckles, “It’s okay, honey.” he answers, hands pushing over your ass, “I’ll get you warmed up.”

He squeezes your behind; you inhale again, your hands settling on his chest. Your body is moving, swaying gently back and forth at his insistence, his hands pushing up to the small of your back. Blue eyes stay on deep browns as his warm palm settles in the center of your back, holding you in his orbit. You start to rub his chest, feeling the bulk, the muscles of him— the thick. Your index finger drifts; drifts towards the open buttons of his shirt, playing with them; eyes settling on the sliver of skin and dark hair showing through.

A knuckle pushes just underneath your chin, pressing, pressing, pressing until your head, more importantly your mouth, is tilted up to his. Your eyelids instantly— instinctively— droop, lips part in wait, in want; in need. Hooded blue eyes gaze back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“May I?”

Shudders ripple down your spine as reddened lips brush along yours, “Please.” It’s desperate— the way you ask.

Steve licks into you with his tongue, groaning a little when he sucks your top lip into his mouth. He pulls you in, right up against his hard body, your hands sliding over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. This mouth is skilled— tongue slipping along your bottom lip and caressing your own. Not too rough, not too gentle, just enough to make you melt into him; to make you go a little limp in his arms.

He nibbles on your bottom lip, pulling softly until he lets go, letting it snap back to your face. A giggle bubbles up, filling the air surrounding you and you swear you feel his dick twitch.

“Feel better?”

You smile sweetly, pulling out of his grasp and sauntering towards your abandoned phone. Tapping into the short text stream with him, you snap your eyes back to him when his phone chimes seconds later. You watch as he digs it out of his pocket and another grin cracks his face as his cash app alerts him to the fifteen hundred deposited into his account.

“Does that answer your question?”

Those pretty white teeth of his dig into his bottom lip, trying and failing to hide the grin that’s been brought upon by your quick wit. He pulls his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it over the back of the couch before ticking his head towards the bedroom, “Bed please.”

You do not hesitate. You pass by each other as you move towards the bedroom, him towards the ice bucket, plucking it from the table in the center of the room and turning on his heel to follow you. You toss your eyes over your shoulder as you flounce, hips switching again, heels clink, clink, clinking against the marble floor.

The lights of the bedroom rise automatically from the sudden motion in the room. You feel weightless as you fall onto the mattress hands first, crawling into the center of the king bed. His footsteps continue to sound as he enters behind you, setting the champagne bucket at the end of the bed as you prop against the headboard, drawing your legs up, swaying them back and forth slowly.

Steve keeps his eyes on you as he starts to pull on his cufflinks, unclipping the double knotted, sterling silver Tiffany & Co. accessories to free his arms. He rolls his sleeves up his forearms, revealing hair and thick veins— more flexing muscles. Blue eyes bounce between the task at hand and you, that soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips never wavering, never leaving. Foreplay at its best.

Once his forearms are free of the constricting material around them, he grabs the champagne bottle by the neck and plucks out a crystal flute, dropping his eyes from yours as he pours another glass. He moves around the side of the bed, champagne bottle in hand as he sits next to you, handing over the full glass. Lifting it to your lips, you snap your eyes to him when he tuts quickly, wagging that thick index finger back and forth.

Your mouth drops open, eyes go large as you watch him take a swig, right from the bottle. He then leans over you, pushing his index finger into your chin again, tilting your head up towards his. Warm, pink lips crowd your open mouth, his eyes closing gently, the cool, bubbly liquid slipping from his mouth right into yours. You sound— sweet, tiny, pitiful— as you swallow his offering, him kissing you quick after, not giving you time to reel from the intimacy of it.

He’s gone again, just as quickly as he came, heading back to the end of the bed. He knees onto the edge, large palms sliding over your bent knees, fingertips slipping down your calves, gripping and groping as they go. He drops one hand— right to his pants— sends his eyes back to yours as he pops the shiny button and unzips them at a snail's pace. Steve lets his pants hang open as he slides his hands down your thighs, all the way down to the juncture of your hips and legs, pushing his thumbs into the creases.

Steve pushes forward, forcing your legs open as he settles in, resting that hard, lean, strapping body on yours— kissing you again. Deep this time. Bruising. Tongue kneading yours, smacking and sucking your lips into his wet mouth. Moans, both his and yours, thrum and vibrate in your chests and throats. Your muscles clench again.

Lips and mouth are on the move— down your chin, nuzzling into the soft, sensitive crook of your neck. He licks, slow, before sucking the skin, finding that one little pesky spot that makes your hips jut up into his quick. He’s hard, and that makes you whimper again. You hold the champagne flute up high in your right hand, trying not to spill the contents as your hips start to roll, free hand wrapping around and digging into his thick bicep— but you aren’t so lucky. A few drops dribble from the glass and onto your chest, slipping down between your cleavage.

You shiver when his hot tongue slides between your tits to collect the cold droplets, his hands prying the silk material of your bra down. There’s a sound, a grunt, that cultivates deep in his throat at the sight of you, bare and wanton— nipples thick and perky. He slips his hands behind your back to unhook your bra, tossing it without a care to the floor once you’re free.

He inhales sharp, a hiss slipping through his teeth, “Fuck, these are beautiful.”

Your back arches up into his hands as he grabs your tits, squeezing gently, him moaning all the while. He thumbs your nipples before taking one into his warm mouth, tongue flicking and swirling, teeth grabbing. Your body jerks up into him, hips and chest, mouth falls open before your face twists in pleasure. He gives your other breast the same attention— kissing, licking, sucking before he ventures on, his fingers digging underneath the thin band of your tights and pulling gently.

Reddened lips follow his fingers, down your waist, down your hips, down your thighs, calves, ankles, toes until you’re free of the sheer garment. You sip on the bubbly champagne as his hot tongue pushes up the inside of your calf. Sweet kisses are pressed against the subtle curve of your knee, blue eyes through long, dark eyelashes on yours the whole while. Deep, stormy eyes— the kind of eyes that make you wanna think they’re only for you; aroused by you and you alone.

He draws that red bottom lip between his teeth, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief as he nuzzles into your thigh. His fingers curl around the strings of your thong as his eyes dip quickly. You close your eyes and take another sip of your drink when he starts to pull, a soft smile of your own spreading on your face as he exposes you.

There’s fingers— suddenly. Softly. Rubbing. A low hum vibrating in his throat as he touches you. A soft moan slips from between your lips as your hips start to roll, meeting each pass of his digits. Your slick already; clit hypersensitive, almost pained from going so long without. His touch is experienced, slow and deliberate as he presses soft, warm kisses against your thigh, rubbing his bearded cheek against the delicate skin.

The tips of his fingers start to drift. Down, down, down, away from your nub and to your slit where he rubs— caresses— gently. Then they’re pushing, his fingers, index and middle, sinking into you deep, pulling a sharp gasp from you.

He smiles wide before pushing out a breath, “That’s a tight fit, honey baby.” he purrs before blowing softly onto your hot, wet cunt, “It’s been a while, huh?” his voice soft, fingers pumping slowly, “Yeah, it’s been a while. Look at you squeezing down on me, baby.”

Your body jerks when Steve presses his lips to your pussy. He hums as he kisses you again and again and again, before he flattens his tongue against your clit, rubbing gently. He sucks you into his mouth, his eyes closing, eyelashes spreading over his cheeks. Your thin fingers thread into his long, blonde hair, gripping and tugging as your hooded eyes watch his head bob left and right, up and down while he devours you.

Heat blooms in your chest and stomach as you take another sip of champagne and it settles in your belly. You rest your heavy head against the headboard, licking your lips as uncontrolled moans spill from your mouth. Another sharp gasp fills the room as a third finger slips into your eager body. You can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up in your chest, and the satisfied groan that follows.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?”

His voice is as smooth as silk, the deepness of it rattling your fragile bones, “This isn’t all that I wanted, but this is a good start, Mr. Rog—” you pant, words cut off as you lift your hips when he starts to hit that little spot, “Ah, fuck.”

“Mmmm,” he purrs again, “I know this isn’t all you wanted, greedy girl.” Greedy girl. Your cunt clenches at the words, “Oooh,” he smiles as sitting up a little when he feels you tighten, “You like that? Are you Daddy’s greedy girl?”

The champagne flute slips from your fingers, the liquid spilling over your chest and stomach, pooling in your belly button, “Uh oh,” he coos, slipping his tongue up your body, sucking up the spill with his lips as he goes, “Responsive little thing.”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you empty, causing a frustrated, childish grunt to rumble through your chest. Steve tuts at you again, although smiling all the while as he starts to work himself out of his shirt. You bite down into your bottom lip as you watch him, more and more of his buttery, tanned, smooth skin coming into view.

His chest is wide, thick with conditioned muscles. Dark hair is splashed across the pallet of his pecs, the little happy trail spreading out across his lower stomach. There’s a deep v carved into his hips— hard abs and biceps flex as he moves. His weight leaves the mattress as he stands and shoves his fingers into his pants, pushing them down sturdy, hairy thighs. Your eyes instantly fall to the dick print in his black Armani stretch boxer briefs. Fuck.

You slip your hand down your side, over your hip and right between your sticky folds, hissing gently as you start to rub yourself, impatient and needy.

“Good girl.” he praises, making your heart sing.

He drops his hand to his dick, squeezing himself as he smirks at you. What a fucking tease— but nonetheless, your pussy clenches around absolutely nothing from just the sight of him. Those fingers of his push underneath the stretchy band of his boxers and start to tug, slowly, slowly, slowly, exposing more and more of his wiry, dark hair and skin. You drag in a deep breath when his cock finally springs free, an impressive girth bouncing as the material pushes over it.

He steps out of his boxers and starts to stroke himself, long, slow drags of his hand up and down his shaft as he watches you dip your fingers into your pussy. You tilt your hips upward as you pump your fingers, the heel of your palm pressing against your clit. Your mouth falls open, your eyes flutter, air chokes up in your throat as you fuck yourself for him, enjoying his hungry eyes on all of you.

But when he’s had enough, he’s had enough. He falls onto his knees, his weight dipping into the mattress and inches towards you, pulling your hand away. His fingers replace yours, rubbing your clit, pushing through your folds, teasing your slit quickly before he slides his hands underneath your butt and pulls you down the bed. His fingers dance over your knees before he pushes them apart and your legs fall open, pussy on full display.

Steve falls over you, hands on either side of your head, as he leans downs and captures your lips again, kissing you sweetly. There’s a sharp taste on his lips and tongue— it's you. You lean into his kiss, deepening it with your tongue as you push your hips upward, shivering when the tip of his cock glances over your clit. Shivers wrack your body again, prompting him to laugh, “Okay greedy girl, okay.”

He pulls back, rolling his shoulders as he slips his fingers between your breasts. You reach for him too— raking your fingers down his chest and stomach as he starts to push at your opening. You grip his side, digging your nails into his thick skin as the head of his cock breaks into you. He slides, agonizingly slow, his long fingers wrapping around your throat as he disappears into you, his own mouth dropping open as you envelope him.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head fall as he pushes a breath out of his mouth, his grip around your neck tightening slightly, “You fit me like a glove, honey.”

You push your hips, urging him to move as you wrap your small hand around his wrist and push it up his long arm, stroking gently, “Come on, baby.” You murmur, using your head to push away from the mattress slightly.

“What’s that, honey?” he asks, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

You mewl, husky, hips still pushing up into his, “God— fuck me, Steve. Please.”

You push your hips down into the mattress, his dick drawing out of you just slightly. You thrust back up, pushing him back in, deep, before you pull back again— over and over and over. He watches the connection, watching himself disappear and then reappear as he squeezes your throat, a steady, gentle pressure. You keep a hold of his large wrist, gasping and whimpering as you fuck up onto him.

“That’s right, doll,” he whispers, “You fuck my dick, baby. I should be paying you, shouldn’t I?”

You roll your shoulders, moaning loud, “Please,” you beg— nearly cry, “Please, fuck me. Please!”

He thrusts into you hard— biting off the words in your throat. You squeak when he fucks into you again, your tits bouncing with the force.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, thrusting into you a third time, “Hmm? Is that what you want, honey?”

You nod quickly, your face breaking, a long, strangled noise spilling out of you as he pushes his hips into yours. He sets a bruising pace after the first teasing thrusts. Hard, fast pumps of his hips into yours, skin against skin, the sound bouncing off the walls. Wet, choked sounds squeak out from you as he keeps a hold of your throat, your small hands still wrapped around his wrist and forearm. You swallow hard, the pressure from his hand making it slightly difficult but the sheer power— or the restraint he shows despite his obvious strength— makes you want to melt into the mattress.

Steve leans down, licking into your mouth with his tongue as he fucks. He kisses you hard, releasing with a loud smack before he grabs your face and chin, squeezing your cheeks as he shakes your head back and forth gently, “Does that feel good, baby?” he taunts, his red, full lips brushing along yours, “Come on sweetness, don’t go all quiet on me now.”

“S’good,” you grunt, slamming your eyes closed, “Fu— ah! Fuck!”

“That’s right, girl. This is exactly what you needed.”

You’re hoisted up, right up into his lap, your legs curling around his sides. Not missing a beat, you start to bounce and rock freely, throwing your head back as you hang on to his broad shoulders. His large hand wraps around your throat again, but his fingers creep up over your chin, the tips pushing into your mouth. You hum as you suck on them, sucking the salt of your slick right off the pads of his fingers.

Your wet muscles squeak with each push of his cock. Quick, hot spurts of precum dribbling into you as his hips thrust to meet yours. His free hand grips your hips, hefty fingers pushing into your skin, helping you move. Your nipples brush along his chest, the gentle sensation sending flashes of heat and electricity through your body— shudders racing down your spine. The hand around your waist snakes up your back, his fingers playing with the ends of your braids.

He pulls gently, then backs off, mouth agape and eyes wide as they search your face, seemingly asking permission. He tugs again and you let him— your head falling back as your tongue pushes down the length of the index and middle fingers still shoved in your mouth. Your scalp prickles with pain as he pulls harder, craning your head back further, exposing your neck. A screech explodes from your lips when his pearly whites sink into the crook of your neck before he sucks hard, pulling blood to the surface.

Faltering hips, wet smacks, damp skin to damp skin— it’s all so filthy. So crude— but exactly what you’ve needed. His hands leave your hair, leave your mouth; one wraps around your throat and the other thumbs your nipple. He keeps his eyes on you as he hisses, his hips pushing, fingers tweaking, hand tightening to push you closer and closer towards a release. Your pitch heightens, your grunts and cries shaky and desperate as he eggs you on.

“You gonna come for me, sugar?” he asks sweetly, kissing you quick and hard, “It’s okay baby, you can let go. You’ve earned it, sweet girl. You’ve been such a good girl.”

A broken moan chokes in your throat. He ruts harder and faster, each thrust pushing deeper, touching that sweet, vulnerable spot until—

Red hot is the orgasm that ripples through you. You wail as it blooms across your flesh, your toes curling and fingers digging into his shoulders. He grabs your hips as you come, guiding you down onto his cock, and then helping you rock back and forth to drain every last drop of your release. His grip around your waist tightens, his own grunts growing louder before a burst of heat swells in your cunt.

Steve punctuates his spurts with deep, sharp thrusts, hissing and groaning with each one until he’s spent. He murmurs sweet nothings into your neck, hot breath sticking to your damp skin. Your limbs turn to liquid, your head fuzzy and warm as he guides you down to the mattress. He slips out of you, strings of silk following, trickling down your hot, trembly cunt. Sweet, soft lips press against your chest and stomach, over your hips and down your legs as large hands massage your thighs and calves.

A calm washes through you as your eyes grow heavy, your breaths getting deeper and longer as you melt into the soft mattress. You feel Steve moving around, crawling back up to where you are. A long arm slips over your stomach, pulls you close, right into his warm chest and stomach. His beard and lips brush over your temple and cheek, soft fingertips run up and down your arm, pretty epithets lulling you into a gentle sleep.

You’re just as sweet as sugar, honey baby. Such a good girl.

~~~

You roll your shoulders as you shift, eyes fluttering as you start to wake. It takes a few long seconds before your eyes adjust, the room lights having long since dimmed. The moon is high in the jet black sky as bright stars smatter across the canvas. You're still cocooned underneath a heavy arm and crushed against a burly chest, a soft smile spreading on your face as he snores gently.

3:12am flashes on the digital clock on the nightstand as you feel him roll away from you in his sleep, rolling over onto his side, exposing his wide back. Your fingers instantly glance over his smooth skin, skimming down his spine before they curl over his bicep. You should have been sated, but there’s another pull— deep in your belly; still eager, still wanting. Closing the distance between your bodies, you push your bare breasts into his back as you slide your hand underneath the sheets and down his chest and stomach.

You push up onto your elbow and thread your fingers into his dirty blonde hair as your other fingers brush over his soft cock. You wrap your small hand around him and stroke him gently, right from his stomach to the tip of his pretty dick, your palm sweeping over his cockhead and slit. Another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as he stirs after a few minutes but doesn’t fully wake; just pushes his hips languidly into your hand.

His deep breathing soon turns shallow and choppy, soft moans scratching at the back of his throat but he never opens his eyes. Warm droplets of precum bubble from his slit and you brush the pads of your fingers over the wetness, dragging it back down his quickly hardening shaft. You rile him up, make his cock rigid and angry before you pull on his hip, rolling him over onto his back.

You throw your leg over his body and settle on top of him, ass up, lips mere inches from his hot sex. In one fell swoop, you follow your hand down his cock with your mouth, his hips jerking softly from the wet warmth surrounding him. Humming, you flatten your tongue along him, the tip tracing the thick vein that runs the length of his shaft. You bob your head up and down, sucking and swirling your tongue over his tip, teasing his slit as more drops of salt-sweet cum dribble on your tongue.

Steve’s hands slither up your thighs, grab your ass and squeeze as you suck him off, his hips jutting upward into your velvet mouth. Your mouth goes slack, your eyes fluttering when he slips two fingers into your wet cunt. He fingers you slow, his thumb pressing against your asshole as you start to writhe, rolling your hips against his hard abs to massage your clit.

You pull off of him, your hand still moving up and down, squeezing him as you pucker your lips— letting them gently brush against his cock. His hips rock up into your hand, his moans growing louder by the minute, deep gasps and sighs making his chest tighten underneath your body.

“Goddamn, baby,” his voice low and groggy from sleep.

Your muscles clench around his fingers as they delve and prod, his thumb pushing and circling your warm rim. A hot breath and a quick groan push out between your teeth, his dick jumping in your hand as the air tickles his skin. You swallow him again, taking every inch, relaxing your throat to accommodate him as you bury your face in the dark blonde hair at his groin.

Steve curls his fingers, lightly scratching at your insides, making you clamp down on them, squeezing them tight; holding them in.

Steve shifts underneath you, sucking in a sharp breath, “Get up here, baby. I wanna taste you.”

The sound of his voice rattles through you. His words still slurred with sleep, voice husky. You oblige, wanting his beard between your legs once more, sweeping along the inside of your thighs. You clamor up to him, straddling his face, your thighs closing in on either side of his head. Steve flattens his head on the pillow underneath him and opens his mouth, pushing his tongue out in anticipation of you.

You push your hips forward, rolling your cunt over his lips and tongue. Your head falls back, jaw goes slack as you start to ride his face, his tongue pushing through your sticky, puffy folds with ease. A wet noise fills the room— both his tongue and lips smacking and sucking on your messy flesh. Your hand finds his cock again, your fingers fondling his tip and that pulsing vein.

A chorus of whimpers and whines, quick gasps and deep growls roll through your chest as you grab his hair, pulling his face— if it’s possible— even closer to your cunt. Steve's face is flushed red in the moonlight. He balls the sheets in his hands as he flicks the tip of his tongue against you before he sucks your folds and clit into his mouth, his head shaking gently back and forth. He only releases you to drag in quick, wet breaths before closing back in on you, humming and moaning.

A soft burn spreads through your thighs as you canter your hips, using his chin and nose, along with his tongue and mouth to cop a feel. You’re close again, hips jerking with unexpectancy, your core also starting to burn as your body strains with its need.

Steve isn’t done with you yet. He rearranges you quickly, lifting you right off of him. Your knees sink into the mattress as he grabs your wrists and flattens your hands flat on the headboard.

He fucks into you from behind, not wasting a second in setting a brisk pace. He holds your hips in his hands, fingers digging into your skin as you drop your head, your braids swinging. Your tits bounce with his thrusts, your head knocking into the velvet headboard as you hold yourself up against it. Steve’s hips and balls slap against your ass as he gruffly pulls you back into him. A hand curls around your hip and travels up to your tits, grabbing your nipple between his index finger and thumb to tweak and pull and roll the thick nub.

You’re panting again, cursing and howling as your stomach tightens and your heart leaps, heat rippling through you. A quick sweat pops up on your brow, goosebumps prickle up along your body as your toes start to curl again. Steve’s hips are relentless, driving, driving, driving hard, his girth filling every inch that you have to offer. His fingers start to prod your asshole again, pushing gently against your rim as it constricts and relaxes.

It doesn’t take much. The soft pads of his fingers against your rim, and one, two, three more strokes of his hips and you’re gone. Your mind going blank as your orgasm rushes. Steve fucks you right through it, dropping a hand to your clit as it jumps with the contractions of your cunt. He teases it— your clit— slapping and rubbing quick circles as your walls squeeze around him, finally coaxing him to come again.

You decide that you like the way it feels when he comes inside of you. His silk ribbons coating your squeaky muscles. You collapse against the mattress after your release washes through you. Steve falls beside you, rolling over onto his back and flattening his hand in the middle of his chest as he catches his breath.

“Gettin’ your money’s worth, huh?”

You dissolve into laughter, pushing your face into the blankets as you lay on your stomach, “I am a shrewd businesswoman, Mr. Rogers.”

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

~~~

“It’s a financial risk, for sure,” you reiterate, hands shoved into the pockets of your slim fit pants, your suit jacket open, “But I assure you, we can turn this company around. Carter & Danvers hasn’t had an acquisition fail in over thirty years. I will personally oversee this transition through— until it’s turning a profit.”

All eyes are on you in the boardroom as Hank Prym, CEO and pain in the ass that just won’t sign the goddamn contract, of Lang & Prym Inc. stares back at you, fingers threaded over his lips. For whatever reason, he doesn’t trust you or anything that you have to say, despite the fact that within six months— or less— his company will have to file bankruptcy. Natasha Romanov, CFO of Lang & Prym, sits to his left, green eyes sliding between his and yours. Her delicate fingers play with the pen between them, rolling it slowly as she tosses her short, red hair.

“Mr. Prym,” she starts, “We have to do something. We aren’t going to last much longer without their help. I crunched the numbers for you multiple times.”

He shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes glancing off towards the windows, “We have time, right?”

“We do,” Natasha nods, “But—“

“I’m not ready to sign yet. Not yet,” he stands, and everyone else placed around the table follows his lead. He moves around the table and up to where you are, extending his hand and shaking yours gently, “You’re good, but I’m just not ready yet.”

You smile softly, tapping the back of his hand with your free one, “That’s alright, this is tough, I realize that.”

“I’m glad they sent you instead of that Wade Wilson,” he chuckles, “How long are you in town for?”

“Indefinitely. Until you sign with us, Mr. Prym, I’m a Los Angelean.”

“Well,” he starts, taking a step towards the door, “Have Natasha show you around town. She knows this little taco place that’s to die for.”

You toss your eyes towards Natasha as she approaches and wink, “I’ll take her up on that. She’s already given me a tip or two about the lays of the land.”

You shake hands with the rest of the board members as they exit the room, finally leaving you and the smirking redhead alone. There may be a little underlying tension between you and her, you aren’t entirely sure yet, but you know that her eyes tend to linger on your frame just a tad longer than they should— not that you mind the extra attention, especially from someone as effortlessly attractive as she is.

Her arms are crossed over her chest as she sits on the edge of the mahogany table. A tight, black pencil skirt accentuates her shapely hips and long legs. A red satin blouse, unbuttoned strategically to show off her soft, pretty, full breasts.

“You’re looking a little more lively today.” Her silk smooth voice floats towards you, making you smile, “You gave my pal a call, eh?”

A devilish smile curls on your lips as you push your hands back into your pockets, “He was worth every fucking cent.”

“Glad to hear it.” She winks, and pushes away from the table, her manicured fingers reaching for your tie. She steps in close as she drags her hand down the length of the skinny tie, her big eyes following, “Maybe the three of us can get dinner sometime, hmm?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “You just name the time and place, Ms. Romanov.”

She hums approvingly before smoothing down your tie and turning on her heel, clicking out of the boardroom with her file folders in hand.

You plop down in the chair behind your open laptop, exiting out of your powerpoint and bringing up your email. You work for a while, but your mind drifts, back to the night before, back to one Steve Rogers. Broad shoulders, smooth skin, sweet, pretty mouth… soon, the thoughts keep you from working. Soon, you’re leaning back in your chair, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as you sway gently back and forth.

You slide your phone out of your pocket and thumb through your messages, landing on his number. Tapping the screen, you stand and bring it to your ear as you take a few steps towards the windows, your eyes scanning over the city as the phone rings.

“Back so soon?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as his warm voice fills your ears, “You make it hard to stay away, I must admit. How are you, I’m not disturbing you am I? I mean, you’re probably a busy man.”

He laughs, a warm, deep laugh and your body tightens “I do take breaks, you know.” You giggle, a sudden nervous energy filling you, which is strange. You usually have no problem asking for things you want, “Don’t get all shy on me now, girl.”

“God,” you scoff, tittering again, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I thought we were passed all this? Do I need to come over there and help you relax again?”

Muscles you weren’t even sure you had, clench tight, “Are you free tonight, Mr. Rogers?”

“You know, I like that. All that Mr. Rogers stuff,” You hear him moving around, then a deep exhale, “I wish I were, doll, but I’ve got a date. Dinner and a function.”

You click your tongue, your shoulders dropping as a quick flash of disappointment washes through you. It doesn’t last long, the disappointment— hell, you make deals for a living, “I’ll double whatever she’s paying you.”

“Oooh,” he purrs, “Jealous, baby?”

“Not jealous,” you point out, “I just don’t like to wait, and I don’t like to lose. It’s not in my nature.”

“That’s very flattering, but I can’t do that. I have a reputation in this city.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m sure you do.”

“I do! I can’t cancel on such short notice.”

“Then meet me for dessert.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He laughs earnestly, “Listen, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

You cover your face with your hand, laughing again, “Oh my god,” you sigh, “Well, fuck. I’ll get with Natasha and see if she can recommend another option for the evening...”

You hear him shuffle through the phone again, another deep sigh pushing out of his nose. He’s quiet for a beat as you tap your index finger against the edge of your phone, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Let me get back to you a little later tonight, alright? You and Ms. Romanov behave over there.”

“I told you I was shrewd.”

“You sure did. Wait up for me, babe.”

You smile big, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “Will do.”

~~~

His knock sounds through the hotel room, making you tear your eyes from your laptop. You finish your email before pushing away from the small table and padding towards the door, your lace, burgundy kimono flailing with the air. You pull open the door and step to the side instinctively as Steve traipses through the threshold. You let it close with a soft click before you lean against it, crossing your legs and tilting your head as you find two crystal blue eyes on you.

The two of you blink at each other, eyes traveling over one anothers frames. He shrugs out of his black velvet jacket and tosses it over the back of the couch before he starts on his cufflinks. You watch in silence as he rolls up his sleeves, one by one, exposing his forearms just how you like— all veins and hair. His biceps bulge in the white button down, chest rippling underneath his black vest. He keeps flipping his eyes towards you, peeking through those lashes as he smiles.

He beckons you with his index finger and without hesitation, you’re moving towards him, pushing away from the door with your hands. Once you’re within range, he reaches for you, wrapping his long arm around your waist to pull you into him. Laughter bubbles up in your chest as you crash against him, his lips capturing yours in a flurry of kisses.

His hands push over your ass, squeezing your flesh before his palms push up and down your hips, “You look beautiful.” He says softly, his eyes drifting down your matching burgundy and navy bra and panties

You toss your braids over your shoulder before placing your hands back on his chest, “Thank you. How was your dinner?”

“Filling,” he smiles, “But I left room for dessert.”

“Well,” you start, pulling out of his grasp and moving back towards the table, “Hopefully you like chocolate.”

You spin on the balls of your feet to face him again, holding up a small plate with a large piece of chocolate cake. You smile as he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps up to you, leaning down just a tad to take a whiff of the freshly baked German chocolate cake. He opens his mouth, flicking those big blue eyes up to yours again, waiting patiently. You pluck the fork that’s dug into the spongy cake and cut off a small piece before placing it at his lips.

He takes it slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he slides his tongue along the bottom of the fork, sucking the cake into his mouth. He chews it carefully, closing his eyes as he hums in satisfaction, licking his lips, “That is good.”

You pop a piece into your mouth, agreeing with his sentiments, “Mmhmm, this is really good.”

Cutting off another piece, you slide it into your mouth, closing your eyes and moaning again. You feel his gaze, drifting down your chest and stomach, down your legs and then back up again. It feels nice— having his full attention. You don’t intend to go without it for the rest of your stay in L.A. While waiting for him, you came up with the perfect solution— your greatest deal yet.

With a gentle flutter, your eyes are open again, finding his staring back into yours. A flush of red seeps into his cheeks and lips, down his neck as his eyes drop to your chest quickly.

“Something the matter?” You ask coolly.

He shakes his head slowly, sucking his teeth, “Rethinking my decision to have dinner, that’s all.”

A smile quirks onto your lips, “A man has to eat, Mr. Rogers.”

“I can survive on chocolate cake and champagne.”

“Not for too long; unless…” your words drift away with ease as you step away from him again, grabbing your phone and heading towards the bedroom.

The soft click of his Christian Loubotin slip ons against the marble floor greets your ears as he follows. You point the fork towards your champagne glass still sitting on the table but keep walking, passing through the threshold of the sprawling bedroom and plopping onto the equally big bed. He enters moments later, hands full of a champagne glass and bottle. The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge, right next to you, where he watches you chew on another piece of the rich cake intently, his gaze only leaving to top off the bubbly, golden liquid.

Steve waits until you pause to pass the square champagne flute your way, thick fingers brushing along your thin, manicured ones. That strong gaze stays on you as you sip, a lopsided grin pinching his cheek, slow blinks until you hand the flute back and cut into the cake once more.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

He clears his throat at your sudden aloof demeanor, “Don’t be coy, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He laughs, “Maybe a spanking will help rejog your memory.”

You cut your eyes towards him, inhaling sharply at the notion, “Do you charge extra for that?”

“Only for naughty girls.”

“Let me grab my purse, then.”

You throw your legs over the side of the bed to stand playfully, but he catches your calf with his palm and gently rearranges you on the bed. He takes the fork from your fingers and digs it into the half eaten cake before bringing it to your lips.

“Answer me, please.”

You accept his offering slowly as your body constricts at the firm tone of his voice. You bat your eyes while you chew before slipping your hand down his wrist and forearm, stroking gently, “I was just thinking that you could possibly survive off of chocolate and champagne if that someone indulging you is also offering other vital nutrients.”

His eyes squint as he goes for another piece of cake, this time eating the bite himself, “Ah,” he says after a minute or two, his eyes towards the ceiling as he works it over in his mind, “You’re saying you’d also like to be my dinner.”

“Precisely. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense to leave one restaurant after the main course just to go to another for dessert.”

“It is timely; and, as you know, my time is extremely valuable.” He nods slowly, “My clients are a demanding bunch.”

You smile, “And don’t like to share.”

Steve pushes in close, brushing his lips against yours just to tease. He drops his face and nuzzles into you, the soft hair of his beard caressing the sensitive flesh of your neck before his lips start to nip and nibble.

“So you are jealous.”

The husky fullness of his voice sends a targeted missile to your core— your heart skipping a beat as the air freezes in your lungs. The feeling sinks right to your bones. A devilish hand slips along your bare stomach and around your hip to squeeze, before pulling you closer. A pink, velvet tongue presses against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sliding up to your ear before he plants gentle, gentle kisses.

“How are we going to solve this problem?” He whispers, teeth nibbling at your earlobe.

“Mmm,” you hum, “Maybe we should talk when you aren’t so full. I’m a woman of class— I don’t eat leftovers.” Your sentence ends in a whisper as you lean up and get right next to his ear.

His chuckle is deep, vibrating through you. He takes a breath, his chest puffing up, straining his shirt and vest before he pushes it out slowly, “I still have two hands and a mouth.”

“I don’t know where those have been either.”

“Well then why don’t you give me a bath? That way you can be assured I’m clean.” He stands, extending his hand towards you, “Maybe I can work up a second appetite.”

Steve whisks you into the bathroom, only dropping your hand to start the bath. You lean against the long counter, crossing your legs as you watch him undress. He takes his time of course, flicking those eyes up at you every now and again as he sheds the rest of his Tom Ford suit, taking the time to fold it up and set it aside. Your eyes can’t help but drift, down that chest and hard stomach, over the smattering of coarse, dark blonde hair at his lower stomach, right to his thick, long cock.

“I usually make clients pay before letting them ogle me,” he winks, “You’re getting a freebie. Come.” He beckons again, curling his index finger towards you.

“Oh?” you purr, pushing away from the counter and sauntering to him, “Why am I so lucky to get such a perk?”

Steve inhales deep again as he slides his hands underneath your kimono at the shoulders, pushing it right off, “I like you.”

“You barely know me.”

He spins you around, fingers unhooking your bra before he crushes his chest to your back, “I have a feeling that’s going to change.” He whispers, pressing his cheek against yours as he stares at you through the mirror.

He pushes his hands over your hips, fingers curling around the strings of your thong, slipping it down your thighs. He bends to lift each leg, pulling the undergarment from you and tossing it atop his pile of clothes. A large hand encases yours and moves you to the edge of the tub, keeping a tight hold as you step into the hot water.

“My phone, please?” you ask sweetly as you settle down, resting your back against the porcelain.

Steve disappears momentarily only to return with your phone and another flute of champagne. He sits the items on the edge of the tub and slips into the opposite end, grabbing your feet and placing them against his chest. He lifts your right leg and starts pressing his thumbs into the bottom of your foot, rubbing firm circles, smiling slowly when you moan. Grabbing your phone, you thumb through your music before Prince fills the bathroom.

“I thought I was supposed to give you a bath?”

“We’ll get to that,” he says easily, lifting your toes to his lips, kissing them softly, “I want to hear this plan of yours.”

You pull your foot from his grasp and reach for your loofah and shower gel before pulling on his wrist to get him to move towards you. Steve slides between your legs as you separate them, wrapping them around his waist as he lays against your chest. You dip the loofah into the water, letting it soak it up before you squeeze it over his chest. A smile and a laugh bubble from you when you start to wash his chest as low groans rumble through his chest.

You push him up to sweep the soap over his shoulders and back, admiring the smooth canvas of tanned skin. He relaxes easy, muscles cooling and calming under your fingers, his breaths getting deep and long. The length of his body captivates you as you push the sudsy loofah over his bicep and down his arm, not able to reach his wrist without straining.

“You alright back there?”

“Shut up,” another giggle pushes through your lips, “You know, my legs are forty four inches from hip to toe, so that means you have eighty eight inches wrapped around you right now and you’re still longer than I am.” You kiss the tiny spot just underneath his ear, “Your mama fed you well.”

“She was a good woman, my mama. Hell of a cook.”

“Was?”

He sighs deeply as he runs his hands up and down your legs, “She died, a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, “That’s the meaning of life, right? You live, you love, you lose. I was lucky to have been able to take care of her until the end, some people don’t get that.” He tips his head up to yours, his eyes searching your face, “But that’s enough about me. How was your day?”

“Long,” you smile, anchoring your left hand in the middle of his chest as you continue to push the loofah around his body, “I couldn’t close my deal, so it looks like I’ll be in Los Angeles indefinitely.”

“We’re not that bad, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re not a Los Angelean,” you tease, poking him gently, “I can hear that Brooklyn in you, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

His laughter fills the bathroom, making you smile wide. It’s a nice sound, his laugh. It’s also nice knowing you can pull such a genuine response from him— the slight distance he’s worked so hard to build over the years slowly starting to slip away.

“I miss New York sometimes. I haven’t been back since—” he cuts the words off, but you know what he was going to say. He clears his throat, visibly catching himself slipping and tenses, trying to regain his control, “I’m sure this news has something to do with you wanting to be my dinner and dessert?”

“Yes, so,” you start, clearing your throat as well, “If it isn’t obvious, I quite enjoyed my night with you, and I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that I hate to share.”

“Only child, huh?”

“Shush,” you slap at him, “I don’t want to have to wait my turn for you, and I’m much too active, if you catch my drift, to go days between having you.”

He nods slowly, “I’m with you.”

“I’ll have business dinners and such, actually I’m attending a polo match on Saturday and I um, well, I’d like you to be… mine… while I’m here. Be at my every beck and call.” You click your tongue, “You know, like an employee of sorts.”

You peer at the side of his face as he sucks his teeth, nodding slowly, hands still dragging along and squeezing your legs, “That’s an idea, isn’t it?” he turns his head towards you, “You’re a very attractive woman, you could have anybody you want, for free. Ms. Romanov to start.”

“She talks about me?” you gasp, giggling a little, biting your lip, “But I can’t flaunt her around the way I want to, we’re technically working together, imagine if HR gets a whiff. No, I’d like a professional, although if you don’t mind, we could invite Ms. Romanov over to play every now and again.”

“Whew,” Steve chuckles, pecking your lips quickly, “I like the sound of that. Well, if you’re talking indefinitely, it’s gonna cost ya.”

You nod, “Of course. We’re both business people, we can work this out.”

He pulls in another breath, blinking towards the opposite walls, “That sounds lovely, and I’m flattered but,”

“Steve,” you whine, “Come on, you’re not even thinking about it.”

“I have dates lined up already.”

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t do that,” you scoff, “I can’t! Once you head back to New York, I’ll be the one dealing with a horde of angry women— if they’ll even want to see me again!”

“Okay,” you cut him off, “I’ll let you finish out your week. How’s that? Then, starting Saturday, you’re mine until my deal is closed.”

“That could be a month, or more.”

“It could be a day,” you shrug, “Name your price, I’ll pay it either way.” He grows silent, “The uncertainty makes you the real winner here.”

You walk your fingers up and down his chest, nuzzling against his cheek and wet beard as he thinks it over, “Let’s do some math,” you say after a while, grabbing your phone, “You charge fifteen hundred a night, right?”

“Yeah, but you want twenty four hours a day, and you want to show me off like some boy-toy,” he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows, “Price goes up.”

“Say it.”

He knocks his head around a few times, “Twelve thousand a week.”

“Fifteen hundred times seven is ten thousand and change, and even so, that alludes to you having a date every night of the week— which I doubt. Try again.”

“Fine, nine.”

“Five thousand a week,” you counter, “And I’ll pop for dinner on nights I don’t have a business engagement.”

“Eight thousand and I won’t charge you for threesomes with Ms. Romanov, which, I can easily talk her into.”

You laugh, “That’s not fair, we’ll both be enjoying those threesomes with Natasha. Six thousand, threesomes included,” you wink playfully, “You can stay here while I’m at work, and you can use up my thousand dollars a day per diem. The hotel has a spa, a gym, a world renowned five star chef in the twenty four hour restaurant— you can book a masseuse everyday for god sakes.”

Steve sucks his teeth, “Seventy five hundred.”

“Sixty five hundred.”

He smiles, “Seven thousand. You pay upfront, every Monday, and no refunds— no matter when your deal closes.”

You grab your phone, flipping over to your cash app. His phone vibrates in his pant pocket as you turn the face towards him, the seventy five hundred dollar transaction still lighting up the screen.

“A tip?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at the extra money.

“For humoring me. We got a deal, Mr. Rogers?”

He stands, water falling off his body as he steps out and grabs one of the fluffy, white towels, “Let’s fuck on it.”

You smile wide.

“You know,” he starts, wrapping your shoulders with the towel as you stand, “I would have stayed for five.”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “I would have paid twelve.”

~~~

It’s been a little over a week since your deal with Steve was struck, and the two of you have fallen into quite a lovely little routine. You’ve already gotten used to falling asleep on his chest, his long arms wrapped around your middle. Waking up at random times in the night to find him rutting into you softly, his warm breath on the back of your neck, hot lips pressed against your shoulder, fingers digging into your hips.

The two of you get along well— having dinner together every night, laughing and talking aimlessly whether it’s down in the restaurant or curled up on the couch, you in Steve’s lap as a random show plays in the distance (not that you’re ever paying attention to it). He’s a charmer, becoming an instant hit with the businessmen and women at the polo match and business dinner you were invited to. He looks good on your arm, and you like having him there.

Waking up with Steve is also fun. You currently stand in the bathroom, brushing your teeth as CNN plays in the embedded TV in the long mirror. There’s a shift in the reflection of the bed, Steve rolling over and letting out a deep sigh as he drifts back to sleep. Blinking back towards yourself, you glance down at your phone, tapping it to illuminate the time. You’ve got a few minutes to spare.

You rinse your mouth quickly and pad back into the bedroom, pulling the white sheets away from his naked body. The mattress dips under your knees as you climb onto it and place your hands on his thighs, raking your painted fingernails down his flesh. You knead the muscles, squeezing gently as you massage each thigh, working your way up from his knees. Within minutes, he’s growing, cock twitching before towering up, the light from the bathroom helping cast its shadow over his stomach.

There’s a quick sound from him, a half grunt, half moan, and you can’t help but smile— you’ve learned he’s a light sleeper. You sink your warm mouth over the head of his cock, your tongue swishing and teasing his slit. He gasps, and it sends a quick shiver down your spine, your pussy constricting as you push down his length, taking him all in.

You only bob your head a few times before his hips start to join in, pushing up into your mouth gently. Soft little moans choke up in his throat. Breaths hitching before he squeaks, his body twitching with each pass of your tongue. Hums vibrate through his throat and chest as he licks his lips and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip— a deep red flushing through his fair skin.

Each tiny sound from him, long hisses, desperate pants, quick, sharp whines as you work him over, sends jolts through your own body, your pussy wet and achy, stomach tight. But you have an early Zoom meeting, and time is slipping away. You reach for his hands and place them on your head as you slow down, giving him a clear signal.

He slips one of his hands down your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently against your skin to get you to peek up at him. You nod quickly, and not a second goes by before he grabs a handful of your braids and fucks hard up into your awaiting mouth. You moan with him as he forces your head down with his hands, his hard, long cock slipping down your throat.

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks, spit and cum bubbling out of your mouth as he fucks your face. Steve leans up to watch you take him, his hips still grinding hard.

“Tha’s right, baby,” he slurs, pushing out heavy breaths, “You take my cock so good, baby. That’s s’good, sugar. That mouth is so fucking pretty around my cock.”

Your heart leaps in your chest at his praise, the stroking of your ego making your body clench. You keep your nails dug into his thighs as he fucks into your messy mouth, lips flushed red, swollen and slippery. Steve whines loud, his octave high, the sound bitten off and broken as he slams his head back on the pillow, his mouth falling open. His hips pulse as he nearly cries, your scalp burning as he grips your head and hair.

You fight the urge to touch yourself, wanting to keep the delicious ache with you throughout the day. Steve lifts his head to make eye contact with you again, his face strained and broken as he whimpers, “Fuck, I’m gonna co— ,” he groans, loud and drawn-out, “That mouth is perfect. Ugh, I’m gonna paint that pretty mouth with my cum, baby— ah!”

He freezes suddenly and then pushes his hips upward, pushing his rigid cock deep before he spills, your warm, rough, pink tongue helping to coax him. He slams his head back down on the pillow, chest and muscles tense hard as each pass of his orgasm grows stronger, his spurts long and hot.

When his hips stop thrusting, he softens into the mattress, his limbs damn near liquid. His eyes flutter as he drags in deep, ragged, audible breaths, each one shaky and wet. You clean him up with your tongue, bobbing your head again, gripping his hips as filthy little noises and sweet cries squeak out of his throat. His body jerking and jutting. Once you’re finished, you kiss his tummy and smile before pushing off the bed.

“Where you goin’?” he mumbles, reaching for you as move back into the bathroom, “Hey, come’re”

You spin around to wink at him before closing the door a little to finish getting ready for your day.

“That’s not fair,” he shouts, making you giggle, “Fuck.”

~~~

One Zoom meeting turns into two, turns into three and beyond. You jot down notes, shaking your head slightly in agreement as you grab your phone, calculating a few numbers before you recite them for the rest of the group. It’s kind of amazing how you all deal with millions of dollars like it’s absolutely nothing.

You’ve had your nose so stuck in your laptop and phone all morning, you haven’t had a chance to pay any attention to the tall blonde traipsing around the place, shooting you little looks and quick smiles as you work, in hopes to garner a glance. It hasn’t worked so far; until now that is, as he saunters out of the bedroom after his trip to the gym and a late shower, chest bare, grey sweats hanging low on his lips.

Water still beads on his shoulders, a few strays slipping down his pecs into the dark hair that covers his chest. You cut your eyes towards him and slide them with him as he moves into the dining area, watching as he bends over to pluck a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. He stands back tall, rolling his broad shoulders a bit before he tips his head and guzzles the cool liquid, Adam's apple bobbing.

“Hello? You still with us?”

You snap your eyes back towards your laptop, a smirking Natasha Romanov staring back at you, “Sorry, I think my, uh, connection got a little wonky,” you lie, sending your eyes quickly back towards the chuckling Steve, “What were you saying, Ms. Romanov?”

“Scott Lang, our other CEO is flying in next week from Chicago, he wants to set a meeting with you but was wondering if you could carve out sometime to call him beforehand. He just wants a run down of the numbers you’re proposing.”

“Sure, I’ll pencil him into my schedule later today, if that’s okay? Around three?”

Natasha taps on your phone, “Perfect, looks like he’s free. Mr. Prym also would like to see you and Mr. Parker again to go over the construction plans of the possible new building.”

“Okay,” you nod, turning your attention to your phone to text Peter, “I’ll get back to you whenever Peter shoots me his schedule. He’s kinda busy though, so it might not be until next week.”

“That’s alright.” she answers absentmindedly, “Clint? Do you have anything for her?”

“Nope, I’m good I think.” The short blonde says.

“Nick? Wanda?”

After a chorus of no’s, you all say your goodbyes before you end the call, returning to your notebook, forgetting all about the burly man stalking towards you. Your phone buzzes, and you grab it up, skimming over Peter’s text message before you respond quickly, setting up a quick call with him for the following day and asking him to share his calendar with you. A soft ding sounds from your computer and you’re immediately turning back towards it, bouncing slightly when a weight pushes into the couch next to you.

The taps of the keys on your keyboard are followed by the swoosh of your outbound email before you grab your pen and start scribbling again. A constantly buzzing phone, more taps, more swooshes, and your gentle, random hums are all sounds you’re used to; not so much your sudden roomie. He’s bored and slightly annoyed by your snubs all morning— also wanting a little payback for your shenanigans so early in the morning.

You haven’t even noticed that he’s now completely naked.

You lean up a little, squinting as you study the growth chart on your screen, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as your mind crunches the information. A gasp fills your chest as you’re lifted from your spot and settled right onto his lap. Before you can protest, he shimmies the short shorts covering your lower half down your thighs and over your knees, and pushes your white satin panties to the side.

Steve sweeps your box braids over your shoulder as the head of his cock pushes through your folds. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, that soft beard brushing against your jaw as he rocks his hips slowly, teasing your clit and opening with his dick. He grazes his fingers over your thighs before he cups your hot sex in his palm and uses his fingers to spread you open.

With a firm press, he slips inside of you, pushing until he bottoms out. He wiggles his hips, just so you can feel him moving inside of you before he grabs your laptop and places it back in your lap, “Don’t let me disturb you.”

You squirm on top of him, your hips rolling slightly as he starts to play with your clit, rubbing slow circles against your soft, wet skin. Your mind is blank as you stare at the computer screen, breath light and choppy, body tightening around his rigid cock. You want him to move, to thrust up into you real nice and slow while he thumbs and pulls at your nipple, breathing hot, hushed words into your ear. Trying to coax him, you wiggle again, pushing down onto him but he doesn’t relent— he just turns on the tv and settles back into the couch, throwing his arm over the back like you’re not even sitting on his dick right now.

He continues to rub your clit lazily, keeping his eyes on Sports Center as your body tenses every now and again, tiny, needy moans vibrating your vocal chords. You try to focus on the numbers and emails in front of you, but your mind is mush— a dull ache throbbing in the pit of your stomach, your teased clit starting to sting from his gentle pressure.

Natasha’s name flashes across your laptop, sending a sudden strike of fear through you, heart dropping to your feet, “Steve—”

“Answer it,” he says gently, “I’ll be quiet.”

“She’ll see you!” You hiss.

He just chuckles in return, “Not if you stay still, she won’t. Answer it.”

Your fingers tremble over the mouse pad, the arrow hovering over the accept button. Steve reaches around and taps the button before relaxing back into the couch, sinking lower into it as Natasha’s smiling face pops up on your screen.

“Hi,” she greets happily, her chin in her palm, a pair of red, thick rimmed glasses over her eyes, “Are you busy?”

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat as your voice quivers, “Not, um, not really. What’s, uh, what’s—” you grunt when Steve finally thrusts into you.

Natasha’s eyes squint as she tilts her head, “You okay?”

Smiling quickly, you nod, “Yeah, sorry. What’s up? Does Mr. Prym need something else from me?”

“Oh, no, this isn’t work related.” She laughs lightly, “We’ve missed each other in the office this past week, I was just wondering if you were doing okay, see how L.A. is treating you.”

Steve shifts underneath you, pushing his hips hard. You tense hard, muscles quivering around him as you dig your nails into his thigh, trying to muffle the squeak that rises in your throat.

“It’s great,” you strain— high pitched and shaky, “It’s um, I l-like it here.”

“Have you seen Steve lately?”

Your eyes widen when Steve snakes his free hand up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your left tit. You turn the laptop away from you quickly as Steve leans up, resting his chin on your shoulder, another deep rumble of laughter falling from his lips.

He centers the screen on the two of you again, kissing your shoulder as Natasha feins shock, “She’s seen quite a bit of me lately.”

Embarrassment flushes through you— heat rising in your cheeks, but Steve rolls his hips slowly and jossles you on his lap and you can’t help but sound, a wet little whimper as he thumbs your nipple underneath your shirt, “S-Steve.”

“It’s okay honey,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, his eyes cutting back towards the laptop as Natasha leans back in her chair, teeth dug into her bottom lip as a pretty pink blush blooms across her cheeks, “Little Natasha has a voyeur kink,” he pushes his mouth right next to your ear, his octave dropping, “She loves watching me fuck pretty girls like you,” he lifts your top up, exposing your see-through bra as he turns his attention back to the screen, “Don’t you, baby?”

“Are you fucking her right now?” Natasha breathes, her voice thick and deep, “I wanna see.”

Steve sets the laptop on the glass table in front of you, pushing it back until your lower halves are exposed— his cock rooted deep in your cunt. You hear Natasha groan, watch as she starts to drag the pads of her fingers across her chest as she sways gently back and forth in her swivel chair.

“Does she feel good, Steve?” She asks.

“Oh,” Steve purrs, lifting your bra slowly so your tits fall out one by one, bouncing softly, “She is so tight, Nat. So warm. You’d fall in love with this pussy.”

You fall back against his chest, turning your head slightly to nuzzle into the side of his face as he gropes your tits in his massive hands, squeezing hard as he pinches your nipples between his index fingers and thumbs. Languid thrusts start to push you up and down, the fingers on your pussy spreading you open for Natasha as she stands, wiggling her hips to hike her skirt up.

She sits back in her chair and lifts her left leg, resting her foot against the edge of her desk. Her thin fingers push through her slick, wet folds as she watches Steve fuck you slow, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. You open your eyes just enough to watch her unbutton her blouse, slipping her hand in to pull her left breast out, exposing her pierced, pink nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan quick, before hissing as Steve pushes in and out, humming soft as he starts to let it go to his head, “You’ve been hiding those from me.”

“You can see them in person soon,” she purrs, her head falling back on the chair as she pushes two fingers into her cunt, “I can’t wait to feel your tongue on my tits.”

You tense at her words, Steve cursing as your muscles squeeze around him. He bites down on your shoulder as he starts to fuck into you faster. He rolls your nipples in his fingers as the sound of your skin slapping against his gets louder— sharper. Natasha blinks slowly through hooded eyes, her sweet mouth falling open as her hips buck, one hand slapping at her reddened clit and puffy, slick folds, the other pumping in her slit.

A shudder races up your spine— hips jerk unexpectedly, digging down into Steve’s, “Sugar’s getting close, Nat,” he breathes, sliding his hand back to your clit, “God, I wish you could feel how tight she’s squeezing me. Hear how wet she is?”

You should be embarrassed; how spread open you are, the wet, filthy squeaks and squishes of your cunt as he ruts into you. But watching Natasha as she fucks herself to you, hearing her mewl and curse, her fair, smooth skin blushing red while she loses herself. It’s all obscene. Sleazy; but that’s why you like it.

“Oh, make her come, Steve,” Natasha groans, her tongue slipping out to lick at her nipple, “I want to see that pussy quiver.”

Steve wraps his arm around your middle, holding you tight, breathing into your ear as his hips go into overdrive. He fucks into you fast and hard, bouncing you on his lap. He shoves his fingers into your mouth, hissing and groaning as you suck them. The sweet whimpers and whines of Natasha make you shiver, the sight of her hips thrashing and the sun glinting off of the diamond studded bar nipple rings accenting her perfect tits, send you right over the edge.

You throw your head back as your orgasm blooms, spreading through your veins like fire. You whail as you slam your eyes shut, Steve dropping his wet fingers to slap your cunt, teasing your clit as it jumps with contractions.

“Oh, God, yes,” Natasha pants, her fingers rubbing quick, hard circles against her clit, hips pulsing, “Yeah, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna... come, baby— you’re so fucking perfect, sweet girl.”

“You are perfect, honey,” Steve moans into your ear as wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, “That tight pussy feels so good around me. So sweet— that’s why I call you honey.” He wraps his fingers around your neck, “You want me to come in her, Nat? Huh? You wanna see my hot cum spilling out of her?”

“Yes!” She cries, hunched over as she thrashes her hand back and forth, her mouth hanging, “Yes, Steve.”

As if on cue, he grunts deep, his cock jumping as he starts to spurt. He keeps a tight grip around your neck as he fucks hard with each spit, the hot ribbons coating your slick muscles. He pulls out of you unceremoniously, cantering your hips to give Natasha the full view of his silk dribbling out of you, your spasming, tight cunt pushing it out.

Natasha comes hard, her moans growing louder and higher as the coil finally snaps. Her tits tremble with the aftershocks, her hips jutting upward randomly as she creams. Her fingers slow as her eyes close, her head tilts back and resting against the back of her swivel chair as she licks her lips. Deep, smooth breathes swelling her chest as her hips come to rest.

Steve kisses you deep— tongue pushing into your wet warmth to massage the roof of your mouth. He sucks on your top lip, smacks on you loud as he palms your thighs before kneading gently. Smiling against his lips, you let your body go limp; melt right into his burly chest and stomach, his cock resting against your balmy, used, sticky cunt.

“Goodness, me,” Natasha purrs, a sated, soft smile on her lips, “That was sweet. We really need to get together now.” She laughs.

You giggle, pushing your fingers into Steve’s hair, “Steve let me work threesomes into his base price, so you’re welcome any time, babe.”

“Oh, he did, did he? That’s not fair Steven Grant, you nickel and dime the shit out of me.”

Steve shrugs, “What can I say, she’s a better business woman than you.”

“I can see that. I hate to come and run, but I need to freshen up. I have a meeting with Hank in a half hour. Maybe we can all have dinner Friday night?”

“I’ll make reservations. The restaurant in the hotel is fabulous.”

She winks, her lips curled in a smile, “Text me.”

The connection ends and you fall back into Steve’s chest, brushing your cheek against his, “Now that your debauchery has ended, can I get back to work now?” you laugh.

“Nope,” he answers quickly, slapping your laptop shut and lifting you with him as he stands, “It’s lunch time.”

“Steve,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you back into the bedroom, “I have so much to do. I’m waiting for the architect to call me back, I have a presentation I have to put together—”

“Numbers to crunch, businesses to buy, blah, blah, blah,” he drops you onto the mattress and grabs the menu from the nightstand before plopping down next to you, “They got sushi today, yummy.”

Work becomes an afterthought. You and Steve lay in your nakedness, eating slowly as you stare at each other, rogue fingers reaching out and sliding along hips and arms and tummies. Lingering blue eyes skip along your face and body, his deep laugh rattling every bone, every muscle, every vein you possess. He opens up a little more, talking aimlessly about he and Natasha’s friendship, how they met through his friend, and fellow escort Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky,” you lay on your back, leg bent at the knee as it sways back and forth slowly, Steve curled around you, “Even his name is kinky.”

He nuzzles into your neck, exhaling deep as he rests his eyes. His long arm is slung over your chest, legs tangled with yours, “He’s a good guy. I might let you meet him one day.”

“Might?”

“I don’t want him stealing you away from me.”

The words hang over you like a cloud. You blink slowly up at the ceiling as they, the words, swirl around you, filling your chest and head. Maybe you’re thinking too much into it, putting too much weight on them. He probably says this to all of his clients while in a post sex haze. You’re being silly, you don’t even know this man… but you want to.

That scares you.

After only a week, you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. What started out as just needing some company every now and again, has turned into looking forward to seeing him after work. Not being able to wait until you're across a dinner table from him, being squeezed against his body while in the tub, not wanting to pry yourself out of his arms in the morning. There was a time where you thought nothing of work— buying, selling, making money, climbing the corporate ladder— you ate and breathed your work.

Now?

All you want to do is eat sushi and nap the days away, with Steven Grant Rogers wrapped around you like a blanket.

~~~

Steve glances over his shoulder at your sleeping body as he sits on the edge of the bed. He stands slowly, running his hand through his hair as he moves towards the double doors and out onto the balcony. Night is falling over L.A., the sky dark as the moon and stars start to shine through. He leans over the concrete columns as he thumbs through his phone, casting his eyes out over the streets as he taps on a name.

“Steve,” a deep voice says, “Shit, I thought you died, man. Where have you been?”

“Sorry Buck, I’ve been with a client all week.”

“All week? Wow, big spender.”

“She’s from New York, in town on business.”

“That sounds fuckin’ awesome. Where are you?”

“The Waldorf Astoria, Presidential suite.” Steve turns, tilting his head as he watches you sleep.

“Oh, shit! You lucky bastard!”

Steve continues to stare at you, blinking slowly as you roll over onto your side, “You know, she hasn’t been out on the balcony once since she’s been here,” He says absentmindedly, nibbling on his bottom lip, “She’s afraid of heights.”

“O-kay?” Bucky chuckles as he draws out the word, slightly confused, “Why do you sound so sad? What’s going on?”

“I’m breaking rule number one.” Steve answers softly, dropping his head.

“Steve,” Bucky warns, his octave dropping.

“I don’t want her to go.” Steve answers softly, “I’m— fuck, I think I’m falling for her, Buck.”

~~~

Your phone vibrates softly against the couch, illuminating in the darkness as a text from Natasha slides in.

Good news! Hank’s ready to sign the deal first thing tomorrow morning!

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