#hope is poison (drink deep)
Text
Cheating Heart
Pairing: John Price x F!Reader
Synopsis: Your feeling for John were wrong -- horribly wrong -- but when you see your current boyfriend in bed with another woman, what's to hold you back anymore? (18+)
Word Count: 20.8k
Warnings: Cheating, toxic relationship, angst, fluff, depictions of violence and gore in flashbacks, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smut, breeding kink, praise kink, Protective!Price, vulgar language, porn with an incredible amount of plot
A/N: Literally just supposed to be smut practice and I turned it into a novel lmfao. I should be getting back to requests after this.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You slap a hand onto Soap’s bicep as you slide past the Scot, laughing loudly. The C-17 was still whirring behind you, the engines rumbling and shaking the air over your heads like great waves. Soap had asked you to go out with everyone for drinks at a local bar here in your city, not a moment prior. He was being quite persistent about it.
“Ah, c’mon, Little Lady,” The mohawked man grumbles, jogging to catch up to your fast form. Shit, you really needed a shower – your pores were packed with blood and dirt, “It’s just a few minutes from Base! We’ll all get steamin’ in no time.”
“Hell,” Your body aches, but there’s a promise of hot water and clean clothes in your Barracks, making your feet move over the tarmac faster. Showering after a tough deployment was better than sex, “I’d love to, man, but you know that Leon makes me homemade meals when I get back home. Sorry, but I hope I make up for it by saying I’d take a bar burger and a drink over his lasagna any day. That thing could kill a horse.”
Soap chuckles, eyes sparkling, and you send him an inquiring glance, “Price’ll be out with us.”
Your lips thin, the M13 strapped over your back suddenly ten times heavier and digging into your shoulder blades. Inside your chest, your heart sparks to life.
“MacTavish…” You warn, eyes narrowing at the stocky male, “Careful where your words go – I have a boyfriend. Plus, idiot, whatever it is your implying is insanely against workplace policy.”
“Yeah, but that boyfriend of yours treats you like shite.”
“Hey!” Yelling, your eyebrows turn in with a glare, finger pointing at his chest, “That was uncalled for, Asshat.”
Frowning, you watch Soap’s hand go scratch at the back of his head as his optics dart away, grumbling, “I don’t think it was if I’m being honest. Not exactly a prime choice in a partner you’ve got there.”
The two of you make it to the front doors of the Barracks building, and you huff in annoyance. You were quickly deciding that not even a shower would make you feel better if this conversation continued. It was bordering on too much for your tired brain, sinking needles into your heart and dripping poison.
Soap wasn’t lying, of course, your boyfriend was a piece of work and everyone knew it. Not only did Leon get pissed when you had to go on deployments – which you didn’t have control over – but he had also made a habit of being a bitch when you came back lately. There was never a chance to relax anymore, and what was worse was that it hadn’t always been like that. Part of you had tried to empathize with him because it was probably hard for someone's significant other to be away most of the time.
Like that gives him an excuse, You think, face heating with resentment as you remember the last argument Leon had dragged you into.
It was the day before your current deployment began nearly four months ago. Leon had gotten angry that you weren’t able to tell him where you were being shipped off to, and, like usual, had made the last day you saw him pure hell.
“Oh, so It’s my fault that I’m concerned?!” He was screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice bouncing off the ceiling, “I get it – I’m the problem for wanting you home and safe.”
“My job is important, Leon!” Attempting to keep your cool, you take deep breaths. Teeth nash against your bottom lip and rip it to pieces as you use the pain to call away from the tears stuck in the ducts of your eyes, “You’re acting like what I do doesn’t affect the world. I need to go, otherwise, bad people are–”
“Is that what you tell yourself? Fuck me, how goddamn stupid could you be?!”
Leon growls, sending you scathing glances as he begins to pace the living room.
“Now you’re just being rude,” You whisper, whipping at your cheeks and gathering teardrops on your sleeves, “You know I can’t control when John sends me out with him and 141! They’re my team!”
Mentioning your Captain was a mistake and you knew it just as John’s name came out of your mouth. Leon pauses – his body going very still.
“John,” He whispers, eyes lit with burning fire, “Since when have you started calling him by his first name?”
“Leon–” You tried to salvage the situation but it was already too late. Your boyfriend snarls out accusation after accusation.
“I knew it! You’re cheating on me–”
“No, I’m not!” Pleading with someone to listen can only get you so far, “We’re close because we're always together – just like with the rest of the boys!” Leon shakes his head, hands clenched at his sides and vibrating with rage. Loyalty meant so much to you, trying to imagine a world where you would physically go out and cheat on your boyfriend was like seeing a unicorn out on the street. Your feet take you closer to Leon as the tensions rise, “You’re not listening! Listen to me!”
“Why the hell should I listen to a fucking whore!?”
The memory leaves you tense, remembering for a moment the sound of a tossed lamp and the shattering that followed soon after as it hit the floor. It was silly, but that lamp that Leon had thrown in anger was a family heirloom; something immeasurably precious to you. It was the last object you had left from your Grandma. Now, the remains were probably stuffed in a garbage bag somewhere, but you wouldn’t know because you had left with your duffel bag and slept at Base. At the very least you could hope your Leon cut his fingers picking up the pieces of glass.
You had thought that everyone hadn’t noticed anything wrong, but had been catching concerned glances when you went into the cafeteria with thick bags under your eyes the next day; hair tangled and matted from your fingers.
Price had brought you outside, only pausing slightly before laying a heavy hand on your arm and squeezing. The man had bent slightly to look you in the eyes, head tilting so his hat blocked the sun from your eyes.
“Love?” His eyes had been warm, creased with concern around the edges – an emotion you never received from Leon. When you just stared at your Captain, he hummed in the back of his throat, “You alright down there?”
Before you could do anything you might regret, you shook off his grip and disappeared back into the cafeteria. You didn’t eat that day and the next you were off on deployment.
“--soon?”
You blink, noticing Soap had begun walking ahead of you, his gear clinking.
“What?” You ask dumbly, “Sorry, I spaced out.”
Soap smirks, looking at you strangely, “I said I’ll see ya soon…hopefully out with the rest of us tonight?” He raises an eyebrow expectantly with a grin and you force out a half-assed huff. Trying to mask the unease in your blood.
You had been gone four months instead of the intended three with Soap out in Russia on a Black Op, fighting back in a war that no one would ever hear of. Distinctly, you wondered if John was mad at you for how you acted toward him before you left.
“No promises, Suds,” Striding down the hallway you take the turn on the right leading to the women’s barracks, your back turned as Soap continues to subtly plead to you.
If you took the time to look into it, you would have realized that the man was concerned for you; his thought process was to keep you away from Leon for as long as he could so you might come to your senses.
“I’ll see you at 0900, then! Don’t keep everyone waiting, yeah? Been too long since you’ve been out with the rest of us!”
His voice falls away as you open the door to the joint female changing room and showers. Only when the hum of the air conditioning overhead blocks out everything else do you speak.
“You’re nothing if not persistent, MacTavish,” Putting your palms into your eyes, you press until you see stars and take a deep breath.
Filling your lungs you hold the air trapped and begin to count to five, letting the tension in your shoulders leave as you breathe out. The room was empty of anyone else, white-walled, and tiled floors with rows of metal lockers you needed a key to get into. Digging into your vest pocket, you produce the one you would need to enter yours.
It was the one in the middle of the room, with access to the emergency door in the back and a clear view of the front door as well. Some traits stick with you when you join one of the best forces on the planet.
Since you lived around here, everything you would need was already in the locker, including a gray shirt, baggy sweats, fresh undergarments – thank God – and spare boots. Your duffel bag of belongings was still on the C-17 and set to go through inspection before you could get it back.
Groaning and deading the inevitable stack of reports you would have to go through, plus the thoughts of what to do tonight, you sit on the rickety wooden bench and begin to take off strap after strap of your uniform.
“This is gonna be one hell of a problem, Isn’t it?” You mutter, body slouching with more and more fatigue as the seconds draw on.
Maybe I should just stay here, You wonder to yourself, Say the hell with it to both of them and have a girl's night in. Watching a sad movie and crying over a bucket of fucking ice cream sounds better than fighting with Leon or trying to ignore John.
Chucking off your combat vest, you clench your jaw in agitation. Why couldn’t things be simple? Why couldn’t you just break it off with your boyfriend and be done? It was obvious the love that was there before was gone…but you had known Leon since high school. You bite your lip. There were so many good memories.
John, as he usually does, weasels his way into your mind from the gaps.
You unlock your locker and slam the door open so that the hinges rattle back in anguish. Shucking off your M13 your shaking hands all but toss the attached strap on the hook inside as you try to force the brown-haired Brit from your consciousness. You can’t call it love or lust, but somewhere in the spaces between missions and spent bullets you had grown fond of him in a way you couldn’t describe. John. Your Captain.
As your knives and pistol are placed in the above cubie you run over hand over your face once more, pausing to breathe deeply before regaining motion. Putting your head on the locker’s cool metal corner, your eyes close tightly.
The Black Op with Soap had been hard. You had been trying to strangle every emotion down like the ball in your throat when the Scot brought up Price or Leon during muttered conversations.
“That’s why the Captain likes you so much, then!”
“The boy of yours is a pure dafty – why the hell would he say that to you?!”
“Price’ll have my head if you take another shot for me.”
“The two of you would make a fine looken’ couple, y’know. No missin’ the way he looks at you…Hey, now! I meant it as a compliment! Stop hitten’ me woman!”
You shouldn’t be feeling like this. Why were you feeling like this? Leon was a dick sure, but you both had fond memories together – you’d known him for more than half of your life! When you thought of someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with it was always…
Your eyes harden as reality sets in.
John.
“Fuck!” Reeling backward, you curl your left fist and send it right into the locker beside your own.
Immediately a sparking of pain ripples down your limb like lighting, firing off nerves and heating the skin as blood rushes to the affected area. Hunching your shoulder’s in, you bite your tongue and tip your head down.
Your heart is hammering so hard you hear it echo through the room, bouncing off the tall ceiling – Knock-knock.
Blinking, you look up, staring in confusion into the depths of your locker before you realize that wasn’t your heart at all.
A distinctly male voice calls your name from behind the barrier, and suddenly you know why they weren’t coming in. Closing your eyes and sighing, you back up and stare at the door silently. The man calls your name again, accent muffled as knuckles rasp.
Someone’s knocking on the door…? Why would they do that? You wondered, It’s unlocked.
“I know you’re in there – the Sergeant told me where I could find you,” You could imagine the person you had just been thinking about nodding as he always does during conversations; dark eyebrows animated, “ We need to have a word before you clean up, yeah?”
“Price?” You ask, face tightening as you recognize the speech pattern before he even finishes talking. Could you really not get a moment's peace around here? Shaking out your hand, which was bleeding by the knuckles and leaves droplets on the floor, you stutter out, “W-what are you doing in the girl’s barracks?”
Your heart was already running faster than it had a moment ago. You didn’t want to talk to him right now.
The Captain sighs behind the door, and under the crack you see a shadow shuffle from one foot to the other. His voice lowers, losing that formal tone for a second. Your body reacts even as you tell it not to, and your breath gets shallow and your pupils are blown wide. “Would you open the door so I can talk to you, please, Love? I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
Sucking down a breath your large muscle palpitates heavily behind your ribcage. Did you really have a choice?
John, separated from you but still sensing your hesitation, feels his eyes narrow. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your last interaction before you left; the way your eyes were red-rimmed and dull. It had weighed on him more than he liked to admit for those few months, and it wasn’t like he could call to check-in.
Black Ops meant no contact, and your safety was always his priority before anything else. He waited. So when Soap had knocked on John’s office door, the two of you back at Base unannounced, and had looked at him with creased eyes he had known immediately something was wrong.
For a moment, his heart had stopped, thinking you were injured. But Johnny’s next words stopped him.
“The girl’s been acting strange, Price. I can’t find any sense behind it – been that way damn near ever since we shipped out. Little Lady’s worrying me. She’s not right and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Maybe this was a mistake, John thinks, eyes narrowing as he itches at his beard, forcing the heated image in his mind away like it burned him. He didn’t know what he felt about you, but the knowledge that you had a boyfriend didn’t sway his sense of loyalty. Even if being around you made his chest tighten and his thoughts run.
If you were in the right headspace the door would have already been open. But then again you were in the locker room. The Captain’s head jerks back, trying not to imagine you naked just behind a thin barrier as his chest sucks in a sharp breath.
It wasn’t his place to think of such things. To imagine you beautifully naked, laying under him and gasping out his name was…it was immoral. You deserve better than that. But damn it if the thought didn’t make his pants tighten.
A shadow moves under the door and Price straightens his spine, taking a step back before bringing his attention back to the present. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly.
Your hand lays on the door knob stiffly, shirt already untucked and boots unlaced. You probably looked a mess, you thought to yourself, sticking your tongue out of the side of your mouth with nerves. Freezing, your heart skips a beat.
Why did you care?
Growling under your breath, you swing the door open and plaster a smile over your bitten-to-hell lips that wouldn’t convince a blind man.
“Sir,” You say, body coiled as your eyes trail your Captain’s figure.
John Price was the same man you remembered. Tall and fit, wearing an army green long-sleeved athletic shirt and cargo pants tucked into boots mirroring your own. Watching his muscles writhe, he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head – where the old bucket hat sits covering his shorter brown locks.
The hallway lights were doing wonders for his complexion.
“Do…you need something, Price?” Maybe if you didn’t look at him your head wouldn’t get fuzzy?
Your eyes shifted up and down the hallways as if you were doing something illegal, listening to his breath and the rattle of his throat as he made a sound.
If people saw the two of you rumors would start; you could almost hear them now.
“Did you see her talking to Captain Price outside the locker room?!”
“Lord, doesn’t she have a boyfriend here in the city? I feel bad for him...She’ll start one hell of an internal investigation.”
“No loyalty at all. I bet she likes sneaking around. Hey, do you think she’s sleeping with him?! Holy fuck I bet she is!”
“--Love? Hey, hey, Love, look at me, would you?” You blink back to reality, clearing your throat and tensing as a hand levels on your shoulder.
Staring at John’s chest, you shake your head.
“Sorry, Sir, just tired,” You attempt a chuckle but it sounds like a balloon deflating, “Long mission, you know?”
Your eyes are boring holes in John’s chest, not willing to move anywhere else as your face begins to burn. His hand was so firm, warm, how would it feel when it was digging into the flesh of your thighs? Your waist? Would he be rough like the calluses on his hands would imply? Or would he handle you delicately like his guns, flicking over the safety and caressing the cool metal?
Shut the fuck up!
A moment passes before you notice your Captain hadn’t responded to you. Frowning, you throw him a quick glance and see him intently looking at your clenched, shaking, left hand. His blue eyes are dark, lips frozen in a thin line that has your lungs shriveling and a shiver running down your spine. You try not to follow the tensing of his lower abdominal muscles or the shifting of his large hips as his feet move.
Stop it, You plead with yourself, Please just stop. This isn’t right. What’s wrong with me?
That was the moment you noticed the blood dripping down your fingers, flooding from split knuckles and dotting the floor in red. Widening your eyes, you snap the hand behind your back in panic, clothes rustling.
“Uh,” You fumble, pulse so loud you can hear it in your ear as sweat slicks the back of your neck. Stuttering, you can’t find the words to continue before John speaks.
“Tell me,” He orders, voice so baritone and raspy you feel it rattle in your stomach; at that moment it’s not John you’re speaking to – it’s your Captain. You move out of his hold but he takes a step forward anyways, “Now.”
Freezing, you gape like a fish, mouth moving but no words come out to grace the man’s ears. John’s heart is pounding, snapping from the hidden hand to your eyes that lack the spark they usually had. He hadn’t seen that bit of light in your eyes for a long time and ached to find out why. What had happened? Why were you avoiding him? You usually went straight to his office after you got back from being separated from him – even if you were full of blood and dirt with bags lining your eyes.
John’s hands clench, jaw following suit.
You sigh shakily, swallow down saliva, and try not to throw up.
“I-I…” Moving your head, your fingers shake. How could you explain your situation? Tell your Captain – who you have complicated feelings for – that you wanted to end things with Leon because of him? Fuck, do you tell him how shitty your boyfriend’s been? That wasn’t his business and certainly not his problem. It was better if you held your tongue and suffered, a part of you knew, because the infection of misplaced guilt was wrapped around your heart like thorns.
John would think less of you for staying with Leon for this long; probably put you on leave to figure it out yourself.
No, You try to tell yourself, He wouldn’t do that – this is John we’re talking about. He’s kind to me and, if anything, he’d be just as pissed as I am about it.
That you knew was true. John would go to war to make sure you were alright; he had.
The man was silently standing, patient with you even as the telltale sign of concern and muted irritation were painted on his face. John had always been a gentleman – holding doors open for you, letting you sleep in when the nightmares got to you and left you huddled in a corner for hours. He had found your favorite candy on an Op in Italy and bought you some for fucks sake!
But nothing made sense anymore and everything felt like it was at a breaking point. You liked Price – and hated Leon – and that fact nearly sent you spiraling into hysterics. You had been with your boyfriend for so long; he had been everything to you.
Leon had helped you get through deaths in your family, and before the fighting started, ordered you flowers when you came back from deployments; Leon cooked and cleaned without you having to ask. He knew your life story possibly better than you did, and you knew his.
Your entire life was spent with him. Who were you if all of it suddenly ended? Years of your life thrown away for nothing.
If there was one thing that everyone on Base knew besides that your boyfriend was a bitch, it was that you hated change more than anything. Ironic, considering the profession you were in.
You just needed silence – space to breathe without getting suffocated. But maybe what you really wanted was for John to fucking hug you. To feel his bear arms wrap around you and squeeze the stubborn tears out of your eyes as you sob. When was the last time you actually cried, anyways? John would make it better; hold you like he cared about you. Like how he had in Madagascar when a bullet got lodged in your side. You swore you saw him cry that day, beautiful blues shiny as your blood pooled out of his heavy, adrenaline-shaking, fingers. The body of the man who jumped you both lay dead and filled with more metal than a construction zone not a few feet away, gurgling.
That man was supposed to be the target – Hubert Antonin – and you were both supposed to bring him in alive; you never got execute authority.
But Price had unloaded the clip on him right as you cried out in pain.
“Stay with me, Princess, c’mon. Keep your eyes open for me…Look at me, Love. Hey, I promised I’d get ya’ back safe. Don’t make me lie, now, yeah?”
A weak, velvety, chuckle meets the humid air. It was startling, watching him lose his composure like that.
“It b-burns, John. I…I can’t–”
“I know, Sweetheart, I know. I’ll get you fixed up and good to go soon, Copy? Just like new,” His wild eyes snapped back and forth as your eyesight gets blurry, lids flickering like a candle’s flame, “Where the fucken’ hell is Evac?!... No, no, no…What did I just tell you – Keep those eyes open, Muppet!”
When you were stable in the Med Ward of the local Base, the man had brought you to his chest, letting you feel the rampaging of his heart and the uneven breaths on the top of your head. His hands tightened over you, fingers brushing up and down over your arms. Like he was worshiping you just for living. For being there.
“Attagirl. Just let me hold you for a minute, yeah?”
As you recovered, he never let you out of his sight.
If you thought about it too hard, that was perhaps the first instance when you knew something was very wrong with you for liking the feeling of his skin touching yours. His body heat melting into you in such a tight embrace it left you crying into his chest in thankfulness. You had never felt that when hugging Leon – Leon hated hugs to the point you had to beg him to hold you.
But thinking about that was just another pipedream. Nothing about John Price and yourself would ever come to light as being anything more than partners on the Task Force.
He was your Captain. You were working under him.
You had a boyfriend. John had a valuable asset.
But you really wanted him to be yours. And, never mind how Price felt about you and if it was the same twisted form of disloyalty or lust, you still hated yourself for it. For feeling so deeply.
“No,” You respond blankly to John’s request for an explanation of…everything, but can’t look into his eyes to see the shock that sparks.
John's shoulders tense, jaw going slack. He gains his senses, but it’s already too late.
Jerking back into the locker room, you slam it shut behind you and snap the lock in place, feeling the quivering of your lips as the first sob builds.
Your skin was dirty and layered with grime, hair matted, and gear in need of deep cleaning. But that feeling you carried didn’t change even as you took a shower, wiping away everything down a drain with red-tinged water as a shadow hesitated for a long moment before confidently moving away from the front door.
You still felt disgusting.
—
Nothing you did made sense to him.
John was walking away from the locker room with measured steps, head pounding. People passed by and gave him strange looks, but his eyes were dead ahead, glaring at everything and nothing at the same time. This wasn’t like you at all.
She’s been acting strange for months, why haven’t I bloody checked in sooner? Your actions reminded him of a ghost – walking around the halls at night and steadily dimming. The whole team had seen it; how there was a weight eating at you. Price and the others had tried to get you to talk to no avail.
I need to do something about this, He tells himself as a thought worms its way into his brain.
Could she be angry at me? Now that he thought about it, every time he was near you trying to engage in a conversation you froze and made some excuse to not speak. And with how you looked at him before you slammed the door in his face…John had stayed shell-shocked behind the barrier with half a mind to rush in and demand you tell him what was wrong.
But he knew that would only make it worse.
“She needs time to cool off,” He mutters under his breath, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers and holding his head for a moment, “Get her head on straight.”
But what if you never chose to seek him out after the fact? Could he handle that?
Why do I want her to come to me when she’s hurting? He wonders with a clenched jaw.
Taking a corner and leaving the Women’s Barracks, John sighs as he walks on. His feelings were getting in the way again – his feelings about you that he had tried to choke down like whisky. Ironic, that it left the same burning sensation in his neck. There was only so much he could do about them, truth be told, because everything about you made the Captain want to disregard every order he’s given.
It wasn’t right, it was the definition of wrong in both of your lines of work, but this was the one situation he didn’t know how to fix. So he kept silent.
You had a boyfriend, and that was enough to stay his tongue and keep him watching from a distance.
John made it back to his office quickly and quietly, but would soon find that trying to get reports done was impossible. When his pen would hit the paper his mind would blank, and many times he would have to re-read the contents over and over to retain anything.
“Fuck,” He breathes out, baring his teeth and leaning back in his chair.
The most he could do was sit there and wait until tonight; hoping that the bar that Soap was bringing the Task Force to had good Whisky.
Try as he might, he knows getting drunk would only make him think of you more.
—
The car ride to your house was spent in silence, a sheen of rain making the sky dark. Under you, the fake leather seats are cold, leaving you shivering even as you were wrapped in a thick sweatshirt and your spare cargo pants. Gripping the wheel tighter as the quiet road went on and on ahead of you, the street lamps shine on the old sidewalks corralling you in.
You had made the tough decision to surprise Leon when you got home.
Lips thinning, all you can hope is that the stewing anger that had been left behind had calmed and not worsened. But Leon held grudges, and, unfortunately, so did you. Your Grandma’s lamp still made your heart ache if you thought about it too much; left bitter tears and a bare esophagus behind.
He had stepped over a big line – one you weren’t sure you could forgive him for. Sighing and shaking your head, you watch the dark road as the chilled cloud of condensation is expelled from your mouth. It seems you had forgotten to turn the heat on too.
Taking a turn, you pull the vehicle to a slow stop as its brakes squeal. Months of sitting in the Base’s underground garage would do that to you, but you still grimace at the noise that makes your face tense. Maybe Ghost would fix up your car like last time so you wouldn’t have to fork over a fortune at the dealership downtown.
You can’t hide the small smile that comes at the idea. Simon pretended to be such a grump all the time, but he had his moments.
Coming to a full stop, you turn the car to park and look outside through the deluge.
“At least that hasn’t changed,” You utter, breath fogging the window as lashes of rainwater race down the glass, “It still looks as perfect as ever.”
The house was brightly lit, painted white, and had a large Oak door in the center. In the front, there was a black iron fence with a small gate and a latch. Looking, a prickly sensation enters your body and your fingers twitch over the wheel inexplicably. Your eyes run from one window to the other, all with warm light streaming out from behind the curtains, and furrow. With one hand you go to itch at your nose.
Why were all the lights on anyways? It’s like ten at night…Not the point, I’m stalling.
“Just go and speak to him,” You mutter to yourself, nodding firmly. But your lungs contracted in your ribcage in blatant retaliation.
You wished playing therapist with yourself was easier.
Turning off the car and stuffing the keys in your pants pocket, you unclipped your seatbelt and turned to grab your small carry bag. Since the Base was so close there was really no need to bring your duffel bag. You’d be back there tomorrow for de-briefings with Price anyways; writing out papers and sighing confidentiality documents until your eyes bled. Would John bring you tea this time to help you stay awake? Or would he give you that look that meant – ‘Go to sleep right now, or do I have to order you to your bed?’
John would give in occasionally, and sit with you as you worked. He would read, or, you would take a break and play trivia with him; sometimes you asked him to tell stories. You really liked his stories.
On even rarer cases, when the contents of the report brought up bad memories that left your face blank, he would tell you one of his tales unprompted. Usually, after that warm and selfless event, you would wake up back in your bed without the knowledge of ever falling asleep at all. But there would always be a note. Handwritten on your nightstand.
John Price hand wrote you notes on crappy lined paper with his chicken scratch lettering. You remembered blushing every time you got one and had your favorite memorized word for word. It had meant so much to get one, Leon never wrote letters.
“Guess my stories are more boring than I knew, Love, you passed out nearly immediately into the first one. Do me a favor, yeah, and sleep in today? Don’t worry about morning drills. I’ve already dismissed you. Sleep tight.
– John”
Clenching your jaw, you shake your head and close your eyes. Thinking about seeing him tomorrow makes you sick.
More opportunities to make a fool of myself and cause him to hate me. God, I fucking slammed a door in his face because I couldn’t get a grip. What’s wrong with me? He doesn’t deserve that.
You can’t keep living like this anymore, you try to tell yourself as you dig through your bag. Grabbing your phone, you’re about to shove it in your pocket beside the keys when it lights up, showcasing the wallpaper of you and the boys on a past Op from years ago.
Everyone had their full gear on, weapons around fronts, and armed to the teeth. Full of blood and other substances.
It was your favorite picture and you even had it printed out on your nightstand at Base.
John had his arm over your shoulder, staring at you softly with his head covered by his hat – which had burn marks on it – as you pointed a finger into Gaz’s smug, smile-split, face. Soap’s laughing and holding his stomach as Ghost at his side has a hand to his masked face in exasperation.
You blink in surprise at the text message from your Sergeant as it pops up.
“Soap’s texting me?” Your mind wonders, and you roll your eyes, “I already said I wasn’t going out.” Not looking and turning your phone off, you shove it in your pocket but can’t hide the small sense of annoyance, “I spent four months with the guy in Russia, sorry, but I need a break from him before my brain explodes.”
Opening the car door, you flinch as rain batters your head and stains your clothes, but you just swing your bag over your shoulder and slam it shut behind you. Locking it with the fob, you make your way quickly to the front door, slipping past the metal gate without mishap and jogging over the lawn to the two front steps. Scaling them, you stand under the portico and look behind you, gazing up and down the street. You watch for a moment the family who lives across the street – they were watching a movie in the living room, huddled on the couch.
Jerking your head back, you take out your house key and insert it into the lock with a grim face. Twisting, your skin shivers once more as a bout of wind shakes your baggy clothes just as you hear the familiar click of the front door unlocking.
But that damn lamp. Grandma’s lamp. And John’s blue eyes filled with concern for you. His hands.
When had this place stopped being home for you?
“Just speak to him,” You repeat a second time, gripping the doorknob, “Get it over with like an adult and forgive each other…”
You clench your jaw and wrench the door open, shaking your head to dispel the water weighing the locks down like a wet dog. Stepping inside with heavy feet, you close the door quietly behind you and lock it.
“Leon…?” You wonder out loud, slipping your gaze from the empty couch to the blaring TV as you slip off your boots. Muttering under your breath you add, “Where are you?”
“--And in more local news, the grand opening of the downtown café “Four Horseman” has wracked in a whopping profit of–”
Your fingers flicked off the news, the woman’s voice suddenly halting from the speakers. Frowning, your ears twitch.
What’s that noise?
“Oh, Leon!” Freezing, your legs tense, hands at your sides gradually tightening into fists. Blinking in surprise, your heart begins to pump adrenaline through your veins with the efficiency of a racehorse. You don’t know that voice, “Just like that!”
But you weren’t stupid.
A certain type of dread infects your brain that leaves your mouth opening in shock; eyebrows peeling back to travel up your forehead. Before you tell yourself that it was better just to leave the house now, while your mind is unbroken, you can’t stop your already moving feet.
You barrel down the hallway to get to the master bedroom, where you shove on the already partially open barrier with a heavy slam. Rage burns in your gut, spreading like a disease into the thin tissue and bleeding out; proliferating with relentless reach.
Leon was over a random girl in your bed, half-naked and pants already being dragged down his hips by feminine legs. The woman was already bare, perfect skin glowing in the low light of red candles.
Your rage freezes with a layer of thin ice, and your heart hammers. Sweat gathers in your clenched palms as the stranger’s scream enters the room. Both were already watching you in horror. Leon halts his actions of being knuckle-deep in the girl – the woman had seen you and snapped her hands to the ruined sheets of your bed to try and cover herself with a desperate scream.
“Leon?!” She yells out, face becoming bright as the scent of expensive perfume makes your nose twitch, “Who the fuck is that?!”
Blankly, you turn your head to look at your boyfriend – former boyfriend.
“Yeah, Leon,” You’re surprised by the firmness of your voice, the dead tone hurled out with no remorse. It betrays how you really feel. Tears burn the backs of your eyes, and your lungs hurt when you suck in quiet breaths to help your composure, “Do you wanna explain who I am? Or just how you’re fucking another woman on our bed.”
Leon’s eyes are comically wide, mouth agape and fluttering. Cruel satisfaction brews in your heart as your lips flicker into a dark smirk; anger was better than tears, you decided.
“Our bed?! You said you were single!” The woman gasps, snapping her head to the man still above her, “Get the hell off me!”
Shoving Leon, you watch the girl scramble to grab her clothes all over the floor as she apologizes to you.
“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that he had–”
“Just get out, please,” You mutter under your breath, and the lady zips past with her shirt only half on and her bra hooked between her fingers.
“Baby,” Leon looks like he’s about to cry, getting to his knees on the mattress and you catch a glimpse of his boxers with cows printed on them.
Before you had found those enduring – maybe even cute in a dorkish sort of way – but now you realized it was just pathetic. He was pathetic.
“Baby, I swear this isn’t what it looks like!” His fingers are glistening, and his pants are stained.
You blankly stare at the stranger who inhabits your ex’s body and say nothing back; watching as Leon scrambles for an explanation that changes nothing. There was an absence of anything you loved in this house.
“Hope it was worth it,” Blankly speaking, you turn around and leave, feet slamming into the floor as Leon calls to you pleadingly.
“Please! I didn’t–” His voice cuts out as a thump echoes over the home, like someone falling out of a bed before a yelp takes its place. Not slowing, you slip your boots on and unlock the front door.
Just as fast footsteps rush to the foyer you slam the door behind your back and descend the steps, no longer caring about the rain as you walk in a trance-like state. It hadn’t really hit you yet what had happened, but it was starting too.
Your breath was getting thinner, hands shaking as your shoulders hunched and waterfalls down your face and neck. The bag over your shoulder is now ten times heavier than it was before.
The door slams open just as you exit the black-iron gate and unlock your car.
“Babe, come back inside, let's talk about this!” Leon screams, and his bare feet seem to slap over the drowned lawn, “You just need to sit down and I’ll speak and explain why I’ve been sleeping with Maxine!”
Your hand freezes on the car handle, slick metal stuck under your grip.
You whirl around with fire in your eyes, lips snarling.
“Sleeping!?” With your face contouring, your loud voice carries over the storm as Leon – who had gotten quite close by now – reels back a step, “As in this has happened before, you goddamn prick?! How long have you been cheating on me while I’ve been risking my fucking life to get back home to you?!”
Leon’s face twists as you look him in the eyes, nose scrunching.
“Oh, don’t stay on your high horse,” He growls, hands animating his words as you try and keep your cool, “We both know you’ve been cheating far longer than I have.”
“Do we?!” It’s past the point of sense now, and the other lights from the once-dark houses begin flickering their outside lights on from all the noise, “I’ve never fucked anyone while I was out, Leon. You can’t say that, can you?!”
“You don’t need someone to stick their dick in you to cheat. You’re just as bad as me – John Price must be one helluva guy to ruin a relationship that started when we were teenagers.”
Your breath stutters, and after a moment of shocked silence you shake your head in disbelief, “You’re a bastard, Leon…I wish I’d never met you. Wish I’d never wasted my time with a pathetic man like you. Maybe John is one helluva guy, hm? Maybe I’ll have to tell him that myself.”
Leon’s eyes were red, and his lips, just like yours, quivered as he tried to come up with an answer. You turn around before you can sob and reach for the door once more.
A heavy weight settled on your arm, your Ex’s fingers suddenly squeezing your skin so hard your lips let loose a muted gasp. Trying to rip your arm away, you tilt your head to look back at Leon.
“Let go of me,” You say the words slowly, feeling rainwater travel down the bridge of your nose and splash to your shoulder, “Now.”
Leon’s hand only tightens, and you hiss, feeling blood vessels pop under the pressure.
“You’re coming back inside and you’re going to listen to what I tell you,” Leon leans closer, eyes dark, “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an–”
Your fist connects with his cheek, and a second later you’re nursing your sensitive knuckles, shaking out your hand and grimacing. Whining reminiscent of a wounded duck rips over the night, and, gripping at his face, Leon lays on the ground half-naked and less of a man than he’d ever been – which was an achievement, to say the least.
You should have broken up with him years ago. John would never treat you like this.
Getting into your car, you sit down and lock the doors behind you as you insert the key, twisting and feeling it jerking to life. With morbid curiosity, you turn to the opposite window and look at the house across the street.
The family was at the window, no longer enraptured by their TV, and the mother had a hand over her mouth. She was in the process of turning her children away from the scene as the other parent stood watching, slack-jawed.
Blinking, you don’t know if it’s tears or rain that you’re forcing away from your eyes, but the burning tells you which option you should put your money on. Wiping at your face and sucking down shuddering breaths, you press on the pedal and peel away from the white house with a large Oak door. Taking a peak at the mirror, you spy a man trying to get back to his feet but stumbles, falling once more and slamming into a puddle.
Driving, you only make it to the next street before you park on the side of the road, your whole body shaking and gasping for breath. With the adrenaline dying down, the pain in your arm becomes prominent, making pain spark as you shift it. The area would most likely bruise.
Your lips twist and a small whimper leaves your mouth. You smack your forehead to the wheel, hands falling like lead to your lap as a sniffle weasels its way out; tears begin to smack your thighs, gradually increasing until you were concerned your car would flood.
Crying was never your thing. With all the sights you’d seen, tears felt so small compared to every other horror – they meant nothing in the grand scheme of events taking place. All they were good at was making your nose run and your skin get hot.
John’s seen me cry before, Your thoughts are running so fast it’s a strange circumstance that they stop when your Captain’s name is filtered through.
Price had found you in the bathroom, covered in dried blood and shaking just as you were in the present. There had been an accident on the recent Op – a kid had gotten caught in the crossfire and had taken a bullet to the stomach. You had held him as he died; seen the light in his eyes leave in one fell swoop as you drowned in his blood trying to stop the bleeding.
That was what led up to you rushing off the Helo, finding the first bathroom on Base, and rushing inside to throw your guts up. John, of course, had followed close at your heels with fast feet.
“Love,” He said from outside the door slowly, “I’m coming in.”
Shell-shocked, your hands were strained as you gripped the sides of the toilet, not even picking up on the concern leaking from his tone. Wide-eyed, you stare blankly at the vile contents inside the bowl – throat burning with acid as the image of that dying kid plays on repeat.
The door opens hesitantly as if any major noise would break you, the hinges squeaking. A pair of feet carefully pad over the tile towards your hunched figure. When his hand slides over your back, his shadow comes to encompass you, shrouding you in its comforting darkness. He made it better.
John’s grip slides back and forth over the gear and other objects along your figure. You hadn’t bothered to take anything off, in fact, your gun was still strapped around your chest and weighing you down. It hit against the toilet with a ‘clink’ every time you moved.
“Sweetheart?” John mutters, body curling around yours.
“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” You say the words numbly as you glance at the blood on your hands with muted horror, “I…I…He should have been with the other civilians. He wasn’t…”
“I know,” Price whispers, grunting, watching you as your mind breaks to try and think through this, “I know, Love.”
When he knows your stomach has settled, you feel him carefully grab your shoulders and lean you back against the opposite wall. It was like a ramshackle hug, but the feeling of his body pressing into yours made you fall limp. You were safe here. Protected. His fingers go to your weapon, taking it off of you and setting it on the ground as he knees at your side. Soon after goes the combat vest, John pulling at the velcro with confidence. Your body jerks as he peels it off.
“Lift your arms for me, yeah?” Doing as he says, the article is set by your gun and pushed aside, “Attagirl, just like that.”
The man keeps a hand on your arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth. He was closer than he needed to be, but that was alright.
Looking down, your thousand-yard stare locks to the blood staining your skin, getting stuck in the grooves and the beds of your nails. Would water even wash it off? You had wondered in silent panic. What if it never came off? John’s other hand gravitates to your cheek and the increased sound of your breath is accented by a sharp inhale.
Blinking to push back the nothingness of your gaze, tears dribble from your tear ducts as your eyes lock with his.
John looked so sad.
His expression was pained, lips downturned and eyes painfully narrowed on your form; his eyebrows were pressed in on his forehead, curing in the center and creating creases over his flesh. The beard – still filled with dirt and grime – moved as his lips did.
“Focus on me, alright?” You nod, shakily, and watch his optics flick from one part of your face to another, “That wasn’t your fault.”
“John,” You whimper, the dam breaking every moment his fingers move and caress your skin. His grip travels to the back of your neck and brings your face to his shoulder, letting you sag into him on a dirty bathroom floor.
“It’s okay,” He mutters into your hair, lips moving as your hands snap to dig into his vest. His hat was pressing into your scalp – grounding you in the present just as his heartbeat was. The muscle was strong in his chest, pounding, “It’s all gonna be alright, Kid. I need you to know it wasn’t your fault,” John sighs, trying to draw you closer, “You did the best you could. I’m proud of you.”
“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” You sob, and repeat the sentence once more, like, if you did, whatever God out there would bring the boy back to life. Your lips pull back in pain, wails exiting.
“I know,” John responded, voice so low your sounds of anguish almost covered it up. His grip tightens, and he lays a kiss on the top of your head.
You knew, then, that John would give anything to take away your pain. But what he didn’t know was that you would replay his words in your mind to stave off the nightmares – use the image of his face to bring you stability when you woke up mid panic attack.
It was the only time you didn’t hate crying, because John’s warmth had made it better. Had made it mean something.
You both spend a long time on that bathroom floor.
When you had spent at least an hour collecting your thoughts in that frigid car, you finally checked your phone.
Fifty-seven missed calls and thirty-five texts from Leon. Chuckling humorlessly and shaking your head in disbelief, you block him with a quick tap; it was over. You’re about to chuck the phone and go back to Base, but then you pause, eyes locking on a single text notification left on the screen.
Soap: If ya change your mind….’Bottom’s Up Bar’… ;)
He lists the address just below, and your eyes bore into it.
“Fuck it,” Your hoarse voice echoes out in the cool car air, “I need a drink anyways.”
—
Price sits on the bar stool in a black woolen trench coat and a dark beanie, nursing a glass of whisky in his hands that rests against the counter.
“What’s with the long face, Captain,” Gaz sits at his side, the stools under them uncomfortable and threatening to give out from under them if one happens to take too deep a breath. Soap and Ghost are over playing pool, and the TV behind the counter was showing reruns of some hockey game that was absent of watchers. No one else was there beside them, “Whisky not up to par?”
“It tastes like piss water,” John mutters but still brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, “But I’ve had worse, Sergeant. You?”
Gaz smirks, “I’ve had worse…Just tell Soap that I’m never letting him pick the bar ever again. Man’s bloody taste buds must be burned off if he calls this quality.”
John grunts, tilting his head to the side in an affirmative nod.
The area lapses into silence, the sound of billiard balls connecting to a cue stick loud as the smell of tobacco and cheap beer perforated the air. There weren’t any civvies left in the old-style building, and outside the rainstorm pounded against the front windows deterring anyone from venturing outside. The group probably should have stayed on Base, but Johnny had been insistent to the point everyone just gave in to the Scot’s demands.
After all, what harm could one drink do? They were all tired.
“Do you think she’ll show?” Gaz asks as the TV erupts with cheers; someone had scored, apparently. The Captain was never one for hockey – Liverpool was his go-to for football teams, and that was about it. In fact, he had a game to catch up on later if he could get the hell out of here in a timely fashion.
Gaz’s question makes the man lightly startle, sliding his gaze to his Sergeant with a sharply raised brow. He brings the glass to his lips once more and takes a swig, missing out on the burn that was found in his own Whisky stash back at his flat in London. It’s not hard to tell who Gaz is talking about.
“Unlikely,” John speaks through a sigh, going back to mindlessly watching the television as the bartender filters past to clean a table in the far corner. Soap cheers from the pool table, “Her…boyfriend’s making her dinner. Always does when she gets back.”
“Hm,” Gaz chuffs, “Lucky sod,” The Sergeant pauses, and John takes a deep breath at the mischievous tone the man beside him earns. It was too late at night for this bullshit, “I bet you wouldn’t mind having the girl in your home while you make her supper, eh, Cap?”
“Garrick,” Price says the last name slowly, fingers tightening over the cup on the table, “You want to be on sanitation duty for a month – two?”
“...Sir?” Letting out a nervous chuckle, Gaz sends a quick glance to Soap whose ears had quirked at the conversation a few feet away.
“Then I suggest you stop acting like a Muppet and mind your damn business. The girl is her own woman and deserves her privacy,” John sends a narrowed glance with a quirked eyebrow and a warning in his suddenly darker eyes, “Copy?”
“Copy, Sir…Apologies.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” John levels, twirling his glass in his large fingers before tossing back the last remnants inside. Swallowing, he stands and fixes the position of his beanie, feeling his bones creak with fatigue.
To everyone at the bar, Price looked annoyed that you had been brought up, but those who knew him best could tell that much more was going on. The man had kept the side of his eye on the front door the entire time 141 had been at the bar, shoe tapping against the dark wood floors as hours passed. Even more telling, Gaz had noticed that John had only had one glass of Whisky tonight – even if it tasted horrible the Captain was bound to drink at least three when they all went out.
It was tradition; everyone knew it. Captain Price of the 141 always had three glasses. Always. You would attest to that, considering that when you tagged along you made fun of him for it.
“You always have three glasses – I’ve never, for the life of me, figured out why it's always three! Do you never think ‘Oh, gee golly, maybe I’ll bloody have another lad, be a merry good Muppet and pour me another, yeah?’’
Your horrendously exaggerated British accent led to a few snickers that night, and Gaz had seen his Captain’s full body laugh for the first time; watching John sputtering as he coughed down the drink he had been sipping from.
“Love,” The man had stared at you with a deep smile, eyes crinkling, “Whatever just came out of your mouth, yeah? Never do that in my presence again. Accent’s shaken’ more than your hands when you have to stitch me up.”
“My stitches aren’t that bad, Asshat! You just move too fucken’ much!”
John scratches his forehead in the present and brushes off his jacket.
“Alright, Muppets…I think that’s it for the–”
The bell at the front door jingles.
Snapping his head over, Price freezes just as he sticks his hands in his jeans pockets, the grumbled words dying on his parted lips.
A figure was standing at the entrance, soaked to the bone and shivering like a sphinx cat in a snowstorm; water dripped from her nose to the rug. John’s jaw slightly slackens, eyes wide and snapping back and forth.
You were standing there, eyes gravitating from Soap and Ghost’s pool game – which had halted immediately at your sudden presence – until you blink a raindrop from your eyelashes and lock eyes with John.
“Sorry I’m late,” Your voice sounds like gravel, Price notes, head slowly tilting to try and understand why His legs had to tense to stop him from rushing over, his training alerting him to the redness of your eyes. You had been crying, why? “Storm’s coming down pretty hard, huh?” Attempting a chuckle, it seems to fall flat.
“Holy shit, Love,” Gaz mutters, snatching a rag from behind the counter of the bar and ignoring the complaints from the worker. He rushes past John, who continues to stare at you and fight his own subconscious, “Did you walk here?”
The Sergeant blinks at you in concern, eyes filtering up and down your body as he stands close and holds aloft the fabric.
“Nah,” Price watched you snatch the towel, going to pat it on your face and neck – running it over your hair and gripping, “Was outside for a little bit, but I came in the car…Oh, speaking of that, Simon,” You turn to the large man who bores his eyes into your face, “The brakes are acting up again – you think you could fix it up back on Base in your free time?”
Ghost taps the cue stick against the ground, lips behind his balaclava shifting as he speaks, “You goin’ to make me fix it up every time you get back? What do I look like, Bird? A mechanic?”
A weak smirk flickers over your lips, but John notices a particular bleakness in your eyes. Soap, who thus far had been strangely quiet, looks at him with flat lips and a small shake of his mohawked head.
Enough is enough, Price decides with a stubble tilt of his forehead, I’ve given her the space she needs – she’s telling me everything. Tonight.
His jaw clenches, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets just to cross them over his chest when you respond to Simon.
“I’ll clean your clothes for a month.”
“...Two.”
“Deal,” Nodding, you smile at Gaz in thanks and splay the towel over the banister beside you to help it dry, “Thanks, Gaz.”
“What happened to dinner with the Stoter?” Soap finally speaks as you make your way farther into the building. You send him a quick glance as you walk closer to John at the booth. The Scot levels you with a heavy stare, feet shoulder-length apart and jaw clicking, “He do something?”
A tense silence falls, and all the men send each other looks as you slink to the bar, jumping up on a stool and clearing your throat. You itch at the side of your bicep as you lick your lips in hesitation.
Why were you not saying anything?
John buries his fingernails into the meat of his arms, taking your lack of answer like a knife to the chest. It was like a switch had flipped as he saw your expression drop for a millisecond, layers cracking like you were barely held together. The veins in the Captain’s arms were flooded with blood, and his hands showed white knuckles.
There was a terrible reality settling behind his eyelids, and the man wasn’t in his job position because he was anything less than an observer. He was angry, that much was obvious by his tight jaw and dangerous eyes on the side of your face.
But there was something more important than revenge, and she was sitting right in front of him.
Your clothes are still dripping with water, and without hesitating when he spies you shiver, John shakes off his jacket and spreads it softly over your shoulders. When you jerk back in surprise he feels a part of him break, but steadies you with a thin quirk of his lips and pulls the front of the woolen material farther over your form.
What’s that fucken’ prat done to her? He growls internally, Mark my words…
The Captain’s eyes carefully narrow, orbs sliding over your face. His thumb goes to swipe a tear of water from your hairline and breathes out a sigh when your eyelids flutter.
Looking at your Captain with vulnerable eyes, you answer Soap’s question with a muttered, defeated, tone. It was like you were talking to your superior and not the man at the pool table.
“We...uh, I, broke up with him,” A moment of silence. Two.
John feels like he’s frozen in time, his body stiff, and his lungs shell-shocked. But in the farthest, most forced-down bits of his consciousness, he thinks there’s a part of him that’s…Christ, is he happy?
He nearly has to turn and leave to take a breather – gain his composure at his own disgusting thoughts – but your eyes hold him captive, unblinking despite the revelation.
You had…broken up with Leon. Your boyfriend.
John’s eyes slowly widen.
Oh.
Oh.
—
“Well, It’s about damn time,” Soap interjects into the moment, gleeful, and you feel your eyes slip away from the cerulean blues of John’s widened sockets, in favor of the table-top, “Erm, no offense, of course, but that’s great news!”
“Shut up!” Gaz hisses, going over to slap at MacTavish’s arm, “Can’t you see she’s bloody gutted about it – idiot!”
“Hey, now. That excuse for a man was in no way worthy of being with a beauty like her–”
“Johnny,” Ghost utters lowly, the only one able to see your quickly deteriorating state besides the Captain who tries to comfort you, “Shut your trap.”
“C’mon L.t, you had to have seen how he…” Soap stops, finally looking at you, and the chuckle that had been building in his throat dissolved.
A hand settles on your shoulder, and you blink out of your trance, slowly turning your head to look out of the corner of your eye. John squeezes, and you find that his grip over his gifted jacket is warmer than anything you remember. But you don’t look at his face, instead, you tilt your head down and fold your arms on the counter, slotting your skull in the middle of them.
John’s hand gravitates to your back and rubs small circles, and above you, he mutters, “Talk to me, Love.”
“He…” You interrupt, hands tightening into fists. Your eyes burned something fierce, but you can just blame the shaking of your body on the wet clothes, “I was going to surprise him. He didn’t know that I was back in town yet, anyways. But, uh, he’s been cheating on me, I guess…Found ‘em in bed.”
Price’s hand stutters over its coarse, but he clears his throat and continues as your stomach tightens,
“Son of a fucken’ bastard,” Simon’s the first one to speak – which would have surprised you if you’d been paying attention, “That prick did what?”
Gaz murmurs, “Shit..,” off to the side, but your hidden gaze doesn’t bother to move as Soap lets off a string of curses and insults on Leon’s name.
The hand over your back is intoxicating, and you feel drunk as you focus on it. John’s fingers dig into his jacket, but just enough for you to feel his nails create a light stimulation through the layers. There was a sense to his actions, you know. He was trying to ground you; he wanted you to focus on his caress.
You didn’t want to admit how well it was working.
But it was a good thing he did because you have a feeling if he wasn’t there you’d be replaying the events of tonight in your mind one after the other like a fucked up movie.
Leon really did that, You suck in a shaky breath that leaves John moving closer, and you hear muttered conversations from above you, All of those years…Did I really miss something as obvious as him cheating on me?
It couldn’t be helped.
When you came back from deployments your mind let go of the hyper-focus that was ingrained into you – that Price had ingrained into you – and settled into a haze of sanctity. Home meant food, sleep, and a place of comfort. But when the fighting started you suppose a part of that focus came back to you, blocking out everything that didn’t matter.
Missing pictures, clothes stuffed where they shouldn’t be, your hair products hidden. They were pointless in the grand scheme of things because you were at battle in your own house. It was small compared to your breaking relationship.
Maybe that’s when I stopped loving him, You reason, and it’s the first time you admit you didn’t care about Leon in that way anymore, When the fighting started. Did I unconsciously know what he’d done?
You had been more irritable when you were back at the house, some fights even instigated by you.
“But how did I miss it…?” You can’t help but whisper, strained, into the woodgrain of the counter in your cocoon.
“None of that,” John suddenly says, voice low, and his hand over you halts, “That’s a good way to mess your head up, that is, Love. Just stay here.”
Shivering, you sniffle, lungs stuttering and with a hot face stained with embarrassment, you whimper out, “I’m such an idiot.”
The stool beside you screeches as it’s pulled out.
“You say that again I’m leaving you on desk rotation for a week,” John grunts, and from your hiding place your head shifts, one eye peeking out from over your arm. You find the man glaring at you so heatedly you pause as tears start to leak down your cheeks once more, “I mean it. None of that bullshit – you are not at fault – that,” He pauses, and you see his chest sputter as he tries to collect himself. Price’s eyes flash with rage before it’s gone in an instant, “That’s the bloody bastard’s cross to carry, Love. Understand me?”
You stare at him; at his boiling blue eyes as the sound of a hockey game plays in the background of this shitty bar. The warm lights overhead gather in them to flicker like stars when he blinks, creating constellations for you to memorize when his eyelids once more pull back.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” He levels, head with that black beanie tilting closer, “Copy?”
“Copy,” You croak out, blinking to clear the fuzziness of your eyes. Reaching one of your hands, you pull the jacket closer around your neck. It smells like John, and whether you notice it or not, the tension in your muscles leaks when you inhale smoke, pine trees, and gunpowder.
Patting you on the back, the man stares into you, optics stuck on the image of your tear-stained cheeks and dripping hair. His trench coat was most likely going to be soaked, but he found he didn’t care. If it brought you comfort, the outrageous price he paid for it would be made back tenfold. Maybe he’d even let you keep it; didn’t matter if it was his favorite, he would give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it.
Not able to stop the words coming out of his mouth when you meet his gaze with fluttering eyelashes, John speaks once more as he feels the gazes of his teammates around him. But the words came easily.
“You didn’t deserve to come home to that. That boy doesn’t know what he’s just lost, alright?” When he sees your cheeks move in a small, barely-there smile, and the way your eyes lit with embers at his teasing tone, the Captain let a smirk of his own fall. But he still refused to speak Leon’s name aloud – his own anger was held on a thin string that was fraying by the moment. You? Getting cheated on? Who in their right mind would do that?! The Muppet didn’t deserve to have your perfect ears twitch at his name ever again, “At least tell me you ripped him a new pair, Love? If not, I’ll have to review your training exercises. Maybe add in a bracket for hand-to-hand.”
“...I might have sucker-punched him.”
John’s chuckle is velvet as it slips through your eardrums.
“Attagirl, I’d have paid to see that, I wager. Everyone knows you throw a heavy hand,” Your giggle makes his heart soar; beat violently in his breast.
He’d give everything to hear you make that noise again.
“Did it down him?” Your head slowly peaks up farther, perfect chin now visible. Your short-lived tears had stopped.
“Twirled like a dancer on a string.”
“Bloody brilliant, my girl. Bloody fucken’ brilliant.” Nodding, John smiles, beard pulling back to show pearl-white teeth, and claps your shoulder.
You love the way he makes you feel, like everything you do is well-thought-out and not just spur of the moment. Creasing your eyelids, you rub at your cheeks to try and wipe away the heat of them, knowing that wouldn’t work but still trying. John made your brain pump with dopamine, giddiness striking you in the chest like a bullet with a simple smile and his hand on your back.
…Why was his hand still on your back?
“This place got any good drinks?” You ask, trying not to look so entranced by the man in front of you.
John’s grip slips away and you hate that you want to snatch at it; feel the calluses burn your skin and dig into sensitive flesh. Breaking up with Leon had given you an adrenaline spike, one that lasted so long you were still riding it – only just now was the raging of your heart beginning to still.
It was a bad thought, you told yourself, a horrible thought to have right now…but damn it if John didn’t look like the solution to all of your problems, that yearning urge to feel good.
Leon was gone.
“Hm,” Your Captain murmurs, and your trailing eyes snap from his tight athletic shirt to his face. John turns himself to the front, grunting and setting his elbows on the counter, he lifts one finger up into the air to the frowning bartender and sends you a glace, “Unfortunately, MacTavish picked a place before I could verify,” The bartender thumps over and the Captain confidently says, “One Old Fashioned for the lady, and a refill for me, yeah?”
The bartender's eyebrows furrow, “Old Fashioned? What the hell is that?”
John’s body stills, and his face blanks as if he’s been personally offended. Laughing, you move back from the counter, hopping off the stool and going to stand near your Captain. Resting a hand on his shoulder, you tilt your head when his full attention whips to you.
His eyes glance at your hand before they settle; softening around the cold edges as the pupils widen. You nearly lose your breath at the sight…It made you want to snatch that hat off his head and make him chase you down for it; hold you to his chest and squeeze.
Stop it.
“I think I’m gonna head back to Base,” You say aloud, “Hang out in the Rec room and go to bed early. Maybe get a headstart on reports for tomorrow,” Looking back at the boys, you begin taking off Price’s trench coat, small hesitations in your nerves showing how much you wanted to keep it around you. But you needed to leave – clear your head without John’s scent making you hazy, “Don’t stay out too long, boys, I’m not coming to drag you back.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Simon utters, knocking a billiard ball and watching the ricochets. He sends you a guarded look, numb eyes running over you, “Drive safe. Weathers looken’ like it's letting up, but don’t trust it.”
“Right,” You nod. You know what he really means.
Gaz is watching you and sending quick glances to Soap with his dark eyes, and you see the Scot clenching his stick with a white-knuckled grip – blue eyes glaring at the table with a clenched jaw and tensing biceps. Like he was itching to lay someone on the ground and wale on them.
Your lips twitch. Soap had been by your side for four months; watching your back just as you had his. That creates a bond of brotherhood that can’t be overlooked. The stocky man was perhaps more upset about this ordeal than you were, now that you thought about it. The Task Force didn’t even know the extent of your fights with Leon – they’d kill him if they did.
If you even mentioned your Grandma’s lamp, the boys would rip your Ex apart.
“Suds,” Calling out, you fold John’s jacket over your arm. Soap whips his head to you, blinking back to focus.
“Yeah, Little Lady. You need something?”
“I need you to stop strangling the Cue Stick. You’re gonna break it before Simon can beat you, and that would just be embarrassing,” Soap stares at you, mouth slightly open, before he snaps to his iron grip and unclenches his hand.
“R-right,” The Scot’s eyes crease, and he itches at his mohawk with his free hand. A pause, “Are you…alright?”
You hesitate, looking to the floor as your feet shuffle before your right yourself, “I will be.”
Turning to John, you hold out your arm and feel heat on the tips of your ears when he’s already meeting your line of sight.
“Sorry about the water,” Trying not to let out a weak chuckle, you fail, “It looked pretty expensive just to be ruined by me. I’ll pay you for the dry cleaning bill.”
Price grunts, already shaking his head and lightly gripping you by the arm to push the jacket back to you. He stands up and you suck in a quick breath, nose nearly brushing his peck from how close you both were.
“You’ll need it,” Your eyebrows crease, not understanding, as he smirks at you, “What kind of Captain would I be if I let you drive back alone after all this?” John grumbles, shaking his head and pulling out his wallet, “I’m driven’ that’s an order.”
He tosses a fifty on the table for the bill and nods to the boys over your head, an authoritative tone leaking out. You don’t move away from him, letting his body heat leave you shivering and taking in shallow breaths. Try as you might, your mouth denies to refuse him.
“Be back on Base by 0100 and up for drills at 0500. It’s your fault if you Muppets only get five hours of sleep,” John lays a hand behind your shoulder blades and you let him guide you to the door, “Soap – you’re due for debriefs at 0800 in my office. I expect you to be punctual.”
A quiet grunt carries over the space.
You slip on the jacket, clearly seeing that John wouldn’t let up on this. Maybe…maybe you wouldn’t mind the company of the large-bodied Captain. Already the pain of being cheated on was dull when he was around. But would you be able to focus if he was right by you like this? You doubted it.
Slapping Gaz on the shoulder as you pass him, he sends you a soft look and utters, “Get some sleep, Love, alright? It’ll all be better in the morning. I’ll make sure the boys are back at Base soon so you don’t have to worry about ‘em.”
“Thanks, Garrick. Means a lot. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“You bet.”
“Behave, Sergeant,” John makes it to the door, opening it for you and feeling the draft enter, “Ghost,” The manchester man tilts his covered head from where he stands bent over the pool table, “watch these two, yeah?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hey–!”
“What in the–!”
Price lets the door slam shut and whispers past your smile-split face, watching through the window as Soap and Gaz level offended gazes out at the Captain through the racing raindrops on the glass. Simon stands a bit straighter and once again scores on Johnny.
“They’re going to hold a grudge for weeks, John. Putting Ghost in charge of them when they’re on leave? Really? He’s never going to let the two live it down,” You say above the rain as you lead him to where your car is parked on the street, cheekiness littering your words.
“Let ‘em,” Price scoffs, and you feel his hands go to the jacket, puffing the collar up for you. Blinking away the rain, you smile shyly at the action, “not goin’ to change that they still have to get up tomorrow. After a twenty-mile run, I’m sure they’ll be too knackered to care, eh?”
“Hm,” You affirm, envisioning the future in your head with sadistic pleasure, and reach into your pocket. Tossing your keys into the air, John catches them effortlessly with a fast fist, only a small clink of the metal connecting heard.
You feel his eyes on you as you walk down the street, steadying you with a hand on your back even if he knew you were capable of walking by yourself. Above all, John was a gentleman – whenever you were with him, he always walked near the road, kept a hand in the small of your back, and watched the street with roaming eyes.
This was the first time you’d felt his gaze completely set on you. Had he always done that? No, you knew, but recalled something from the back of your mind as you side-stepped a puddle, moving closer to John unconsciously. His hand’s weight becomes more prominent, angling you into his hold.
After Madagascar was when he had started looking at you more often...you had thought it was because of the injury, but was it?
Shaking away the thought, you quickly make it to your car and leave Price’s steady side, hand resting on the handle. The familiar sound of the lock clicking open has you rushing inside to escape the pitter-patter of rain on your skull. Snapping the door shut, John in the driver’s seat does the same.
You both look at each other, and can’t help the chuckles at the disheveled looks you both share.
“Wind-swept hair would look dashing on you, Captain,” You tease, nose crinkling as you shake your head. The beanie on the man’s head was weighed down and John grimaces at the feeling, glaring up at it before peeling it off his head.
His free hand goes to his hair, ruffling it to dispel some of the water.
“Bloody rain,” He mutters, sparing you a look only to find you’re watching intently with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
A tension grows, and for the first time, you don’t push the feeling away. Your smirk slowly slips, going slack as you watch water drip from John’s nose. The world outside the car seems to blur, and nothing but the pair of you exist in this state of perpetual stillness. John’s eyes are such a shade of blue you have to wonder if you could ever look at the ocean again and not think of him, or even smell smoke on the street and not search him out.
You shouldn’t be feeling like this about him, but how could you not?
“You’re staring, Love,” John mutters, and you blink, shocked, but the man makes no move to stop looking right back at you in turn. His beard shifts as his jaw moves, bristles accented by the light of the street lamps.
“Well, so are you,” Teasing, you send a nervous smile before shifting away to clip your seatbelt in place.
His hand stops you halfway, covering your own with a large grip as his fingers glide over your skin leaving white-hot sparks. Freezing you watch as Price’s hand squeezes yours and helps you lock the seatbelt into the clip. The man’s hand stays there a moment longer as you, wide-eyed, feel your fingers twitch under his; memorizing the feel of them.
“Thank you, John,” You breathe, and your grip moves, turning to capture his own and curl his fingers into yours. He flinches, before loosening and he studies your face, cerulean blue jumping from one spot on your visage to another, “For everything.”
The man’s body stills and he blinks down at you. His breath is shallow, rattling in his chest. Something was in his eyes you couldn’t name.
“...Anytime, Dear.”
Price’s hand falls from your hold and leaves to gravitate toward the keys in the ignition. He twists them, and immediately the shaking of the car tells you it’ll survive one more day. Settling farther into John’s jacket you nuzzle your head into the fabric, curling your arms around your middle and resting your eyes. You try to calm your raging heart as the car peels out into the road, breathing through the stuffy air that smells so much like the two of you.
The ride to Base is quiet, but not at all like the kind of silence that had suffocated you on the journey back to Leon’s home – this was a comforting silence. Once you might not have understood what that meant. After all, how could a lack of sound leave your eyelids heavy and a floating feeling in your head?
When the parking garage gate opened, you had blinked awake.
Did I fall asleep? Rubbing at your eyes, the crick in the back of your neck told you all you needed to know. Groaning, a small chuckle to your side leaves you turning to face John, who carefully drives down the ramp as you swallow down the dryness of your throat.
“Sleep well?” He raises an eyebrow, observing out ahead of him.
You scoff in retaliation and don’t answer as John picks a free spot and parks.
“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Your ears twitch at his low tone and the rumble like a lullaby in his chest. Was he trying to put you back to sleep?
He gets out of the car and goes to your side as you continue to wake up, opening the door and unclipping your seatbelt.
“Steady,” John whispers, taking your hand and helping you out as your yawn, “I’ll give your keys back tomorrow afternoon, eh? You’ll lose ‘em like last time if I hand ‘em over to ya’ now.”
“Will not,” You retaliate, stumbling over nothing and causing your face to heat when John smiles, eyes crinkling in a tease.
“Will…You’ll get them back tomorrow. That’s that,” Grumbling, you huff but stay by his side as you both go to the main entrance, sliding past the door and nodding to the guard posted for watch duty.
“Captain, Ma’am,” The guard greets and a second later you’re both striding down the dimmed hallways with John sending you glances every so often.
“What is it, Captain?” Asking after it becomes too prominent to ignore, you send him a small smile, “I know I look like shit but I can’t be that bad to the point you have to ogle me.”
John’s face snaps forward and he clears his throat, hands going to slide into his pockets. You pull his jacket closer, eyes turning to silk.
He’s cute when he’s flustered.
“...Just makin’ sure you’re not going to pass out before you get back to your Barracks,” He blinks, and a blush hidden under his beard makes his ears turn red. You notice with a start that he had left his soggy hat in your car and that his messy hair made him look like he had gotten into a catfight. It was…an attractive look on him, to say the least, “...and you don’t look like shite, Sweetheart. You’re a beauty no matter what happens. Don’t say that about yourself.”
Your breath catches, and in that moment of struggling to breathe, you can only let out a tiny, “Oh, o-okay,” and try to walk straight as butterflies litter your stomach.
Did…did he call me beautiful? John called me beautiful.
A true, giddy, smile flickers over your lips even as you try to force it down; and just as simple as that, any hurt that Leon had left behind disappears. Everything is replaced by John’s large frame, blue eyes, and grunted words.
You get to your room and open the door, standing in the opening with dizzy thoughts. Turning around with a content expression, you’re forced to take a deep breath when your nose almost connects with a firm chest. Standing straighter, you snap your head up to find John towering above you, body heat melting into you and causing a reactionary shiver.
“John…?” You ask, head straining to stare at his down-turned face. Something lies hidden behind his eyes, flashing every so often as his gaze narrows. It was the same look as the one in the car, “What are you…?” His lips are thin, and something swirls in your gut when you see how his muscles tense. He’s holding something back.
If you moved any closer your breasts would brush against him, and under your water-heavy sweatshirt, your nipples harden at the idea.
Stop it, You warn yourself, but when he’s looking at you like that – bathed in the hallway light with wrecked hair and widened pupils – you can’t help the way your body reacts to his. Not anymore.
Leon was gone.
“You mind if I come in, Darling?” Your Captain’s raspy voice sings to your heart, pulse skipping a beat, “Wouldn’t want you to be alone right now, understand me?”
Taking a shallow breath, your hands at your sides start shaking, subtle actions making it all the more apparent of the growing fire.
You should say no. Tell him it wasn’t appropriate. But…there was no hiding the attraction you had for Price, not when your boyfriend was out of the picture. You should be mourning the lost relationship of your high school sweetheart, not just hopping into another confusing situation with your fucking superior!
Frowning, your shoulders hunch. If you said yes – which you really wanted to – that was the final signature on your self-respect and dignity. It would mean a whole stack of paperwork and many late nights. You could lose your job, get John kicked off the Task Force and demoted, the list was endless.
“Your thoughts are too loud,” Price comments, and he smiles down at you as your eyes widen, tension leaking away as you focus on his words like law, “It’ll be alright. You can say no if you want. You know that. It won’t hurt me.”
But it would, wouldn’t it, because it would hurt you too.
It was more than what was on the surface – the tension in the car that had festered ever since Madagascar told you already what would happen if you let him in. This had been the result of a number of years of pinning building one day after another into a mountain of need and lust. But there had always been a barrier in the way. Leon.
But Leon was gone now; where did that leave you with this stone in your stomach and a want to be with a man you now knew wanted you back?
And John was still giving you an out if you wanted it. A layered warning that this wasn’t the smartest decision for either of you.
“John,” You breathe, “I shouldn’t.”
“No, you shouldn’t. Neither should I.”
So that was ultimately why you grabbed his shirt, dragged him into your room, and finally smashed your lips to his.
John’s arms immediately wrap around your body and peel back his jacket from your form, kicking the door behind him closed so hard the wall rattles. You help, letting him grab the cuff and rip it off as your lips dance in needy kisses that leave your teeth clacking together and air falling from fast breaths.
His tongue runs over your lip and you open your mouth readily, not caring about how the floor’s going to form a puddle from the soaked jacket or the other water-clogged clothes when they inevitably hit the floor as well. John’s kiss was so intoxicating that when you first felt his hands steady you around your waist you pulled back in surprise, a trail of saliva leaving the two of you connected before it broke.
“John, we shouldn’t,” You say, breathless as air is sucked back into your red, shiny, lips. It was useless trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t what you wanted since you met him. Maybe Leon was right. Maybe you had been cheating this entire time. A traitorous, cheating, heart.
“No, we shouldn’t,” John growls out, accent far more prominent at that moment than ever before as his eyes darken; boring into your tissue to peel back the layers of your mind until all that remains is him. His lips were so red and shiny you wanted to bite them, “But I couldn’t bloody give a damn.”
His face once more slammed into yours, and one hand travels to the back of your head, firm. But, if you wished for it, it would leave in a millisecond and you could pull away without a word. All of this could end in a second and John or yourself would never bring it up again; forgetting the unprofessionalism and the way your body reacted to the swipe of his tongue over yours. The sounds you two were making were enough to make you cum right there – the panting, wet kissing. It was improper, dirty, but, beyond all of that…utterly addicting. How high he made you feel needed to be studied, you reasoned, no one could be like this.
Your hands snapped to his chest and you dig your nails into his shirt, dragging down and feeling his body jolt and squirm. John’s hand on your head tightened as you devoured each other, weaving into your hair as your fingers fall to latch onto his side, feeling the muscle tense and the man groan into your gasping mouth. His pelvis thrusts involuntarily, hitting your thigh.
The way he shutters against you leaves your legs rubbing firmly together as a pounding echoes in your navel. John drags you closer to him.
It seemed you made your decision, but you had a funny feeling you won’t regret it.
Heaving like a wounded animal, John peels back to twist you around, back connecting with the wall as his lips immediately hook onto your neck, saliva dripping down your pulse point in a long, slick, path. A wanton whimper leaves when you feel his beard scrape over your sensitive skin, leaving sparks in its wake that travel directly to your lower body. Using his right foot, the man shoves your legs apart, where you had them previously clenched together and pooling in hot, contained, desire.
“Don’t worry, Love,” He whispers, biting at your ear as your eyes flutter when he slides his thigh in between your splayed legs. You can’t help the loud moan you make when he snaps the thick portion of him up into your core and even through your pants you feel the instinctual, animalistic, urge to roll your pelvis. Fuck, you wanted to ride his thigh, come undone while he watched with those unwavering blues of his, “I’ll take care of you. Make you forget all about that poor bastard. Bloody prick doesn’t even know what he’s lost, but I nearly should thank him for it, yeah?”
“John,” You don’t know what you want, mind a hazy mess as one of your hands snaps to his head just like how he held yours and pulled at the strands tightly. Are you drunk? You feel drunk?
His hand on your thigh forces you to press down into his knee as he grunts in approval of your deteriorating state when you writhe with pleasure at the sensation.
“That idiot just gave me the best damn woman he ever could. Fucken’ fool, he is,” He’s muttering into your ear, head pressed into the wall, as your self-respect flies out the window at his next words, “I’ll fuck you better than he did, Love. C’mon, use me like I��ve wanted you to,” Your hips rut over the substitute for his dick with desperation to stimulate your needy clit, head rocking to the side in a heavy trace of puffing breaths.
Already the room was heating up, beginning to lose the scent of cinnamon from your old candle and reeking of sweat and carnal urgency.
“Just like that,” John whispers, words slow as the sensation of his tongue licking a stripe over your skin makes you pant and keen. Small jolts of pleasure run from the hard bud hidden behind wet layers, “Steady…Keep your head still.”
He goes back to leaving hickeys on your neck, and through your haze, you know he’s not thinking about how you’ll have to try and hide them tomorrow. John wants people to see the love bites, how they bruise purple and blue all over your throat and under your ear. He lays one on the junction of your shoulder and neck, and your eyes roll at the caress of a hot tongue and immediate sharp teeth digging into flesh a moment later; shuttering.
You hope he leaves some beard burn behind.
That's when you rip his head away by gripping his hair like a vise and then slam it into yours, shoving your tongue so far down his throat you listen to his chest rattle with shock at the action.
His knee jerks up, and you gasp with nerves that sizzle with lighting and a pool of slick in your core that leaks like a river before a strained plea is said into John’s maw, “Do that again.”
Your Captain doesn’t say anything, but his body shakes with need before doing what you ask. You could feel how hard he was through his pants as the weight digs into your stomach. The knowledge that you would get to feel him inside of you, stretching you open, served to confirm the fact that you would have to throw these panties away tomorrow.
God, he felt huge, thick, and firm.
John begins to jump his knee up and down, jolting your body as he pulls back to watch with awe at your body’s reaction; setting his forehead against yours. Whining, your back arches, and your shoes brush against the ground every other motion. Every movement sends your nerves alight. It was almost too much – oversensitivity threatening to pull you under with every perfectly angled jumping of your Captain’s knee.
You slick was staining his pants, completely soaking all layers.
“Fuck, look at you work, Love,” John was entranced as you got off on him, “Can’t believe that Bastard was getting this when you came back. See how soaked you’ve made me? Shit. Bloody temptress, you are.”
“Need you,” Your lips gasp out, legs shaking violently, “F-fingers. Inside. A-anything! Been wanting you for so long, John.” It was difficult to speak and focus on the pleasure at the same time, but you think he got the point.
Your pants were too tight, clothes grating to feel on your flesh. You want John’s hands on you. Now.
“Hm, what’s that?” Price grunts, still watching you move your clothed cunt against him with added fever.
Annoyance swirls.
“John,” Your mouth snarls, and his face shifts to look back up at you, noses squished together as you breathly sigh at another well-angled jump. Price’s chest rumbles with satisfaction, “Fuck me like how you stroke your cock to the thought of me.”
A moment of shocked silence at your vulgar language.
“Copy.” At once his knee is gone, and you’re squeaking as he grabs you by the waist and the world spins and dances around you.
John tosses you over his shoulder and the tension in your lower abdomen that had been building turns from a boil to a simmer. You’re about to complain before fingers begin working your shoe laces, tossing the boots off as the man strides to the bed in the corner.
He lays a heavy slap to your ass that makes you yelp out and hit his back in return. The sparks left behind make your legs clench and your stomach tighten; your hands tear into his back. John chuckles, smoothing over the spot before his grip travels, grabbing onto the waistband of your cargo’s. Ripping them down to your ankles, you moan at the sudden cool air on your cunt and shutter. Anticipation pools to produce a second pulse inside of you, getting louder and more ruthless by the second.
You were so horny it physically hurt to have his grip on you and not inside of you.
John tosses you to the bed and watches your tits as you bounce on the mattress, looking up at him with black-consumed eyes and a euphoric expression. He wastes no time – the man shucks off his boots and grips his belt with a veiny hand, ripping it from his pants and tossing it to the side. You had the best view of the large tent in his pants, violently straining the fabric in a way your hand can’t stop itself from clenching into the bed sheets.
“Touch yourself for me, Love, let me see you work that cunt of yours before I eat you out, yeah?”
Licking your lips, you moan, “Yes, Sir.”
“Ah, look at my good girl, listens so well to her Captain,” Your fingers aren’t as long or as thick as his are, so they can't do much as you slip them under your underwear and play with your weeping slit as you clench at the comment.
Your fourth and fifth fingers enter you, and your thumb presses into your stiff clit, moving in a tight circle as you stare into John’s eyes. Involuntarily, your lower body rocks in a steady motion as your eyes drink in the man and his heaving lungs...
You want him naked.
“Bloody Fucken’ hell,” Price throws off his shirt, and palms at his erection through his pants as his dog tags hit against his scarred and formed chest.
The sharp ‘V’ of his lower abdomen immediately draws your eyes downwards over the impressive physique, a trail of small dark hairs going lower and lower just to be shielded by the rough material of his pants. John’s skin glistens with sweat, and you want to lick it off of him. If possible, you get even wetter.
You smirk, hips jerking as you send a heavier motion on your nerve bundle; head rolling to the side and mouth opening as you feel yourself tighten around your fingers. That knot was returning, forming as you curl your digits in your slick heat, making your eyelids flutter.
When you open them again and force them to stay still, you find a heavenly sight beside you. Your eyes widen, and your slit tightens so violently your movements stutter and struggle like a noose had been tightened around your neck. The lungs inside of you gasp.
John’s pants and boxers were gone, leaving nothing on him besides his tags that clink and clatter as he jerks himself off at the sight of you. His sizable dick was red at the tip, lit with fire as precum dribbled out and splatted to the mattress right by your free hand – which clenches the sheets so hard you faintly hear a tear as your ears twitch. But your eyes don’t leave the magnificent sight in front of you watching like a hawk as John’s abdominal muscles tighten with every twisted motion of his hand.
He was so violent with himself, the exact opposite of how you were playing with your own body. That wasn’t to say the image was anything but fuel to the fire, though.
You whimper and writhe, wrist burning and palm completely soaked with natural lube.
“Ruining the show, Dear,” The tendon in Price’s neck flares, and a bead of sweat falls down his peck. Inside your sweatshirt, your breasts ache to be squeezed and abused.
Not processing his words for a moment, you pause your fast breaths to let out a high-pitched sound of confusion.
John doesn’t answer, because he moves his free hand and grips your panties, which stretch over your ministrations. He tears them down your thighs, and his touch is like a drug.
“There we go, Princess. Now I can see that pretty cunt of yours.” Keening at the praise, your back lightly arches from the bed, watching John continue to work himself and matching his pace, imagining him inside of you instead of your fingers, “You like that, yeah? You like when I speak to you like that, dirty girl?”
You bite into your lip, knot so tight you want to grab a pair of scissors and cut it before it tears you up. Fuck, you were so close, the erotic sounds of the both of you fucking yourselves are so wet it increases the pleasure spiking your veins.
A wet hand snaps to your wrist stopping you just seconds away from a release.
Gasping out in shocked desperation, your mouth releases a strangled plea of, “No, John, please.”
“Answer me when I speak to you,” You stare at your Captain’s bearded face as his hand keeps a heavy weight on your skin. He tears your fingers out of you and keeps them away from your core as you try and ferally move them back. John’s jaw is clenched – he holds you with the hand he was touching himself with not a second before, and you tense at the thought, “I asked you a question, Princess. I expect an answer if you want to cum.”
Tears of desperation form in your ducts. You were so close, but now the sensation was leaving again.
“Yes!” You yell, voice high, “Yes, John I like it when you tell me how good I am! It gets me wet for you… m-my cunt fucking needs you in it, please! I need you to fucking ruin me, Captain! I want your dick stretching me open like–”
His lips silence your rant, shoving the back of your head into the pillow and moving his body to shadow above yours. The action leaves you moaning so loud at the sensation of his athletic body you forgot the walls were thin and that you were sounding like you were in a pornographic film.
John smirks above you and replaces your fingers with his own, making your legs shake and twitch at the sensation of his callouses against your walls and his large digits burning as they enter you. He thrusts quickly, sopping wetness quickly making it easy, and the pleasure increases.
“Just had to say yes, Love,” His cock jumps and you feel it brush your lower abdomen, so painfully close but not quite. The man’s dog tags connect right above your face, swinging back and forth as he moves.
You gasp when his fingers curl, squelching echoes over the breathy chants of his name that you release.
“Look at how fucken’ wet you are,” John praises you, and your walls flutter, as he watches his fingers move in and out of you, “Gotta’ get a taste of that, Love…Take off your top for me so I can see those pretty tits bounce.”
Fuck you were on fire.
Your shaking limbs don't hesitate, hands snapping to throw the sweatshirt and your bra from you without a coherent thought in your brain. Completely bare before him, John’s expression darkens and swirls with lust. His fingers leave you and he moves down the mattress, leaving back on his knees and grabbing your thighs. Your chest heaves with adrenaline and bare need. This was better than any gunbattle – more thrilling than a training session, and far better than anything Leon had done to you.
John was focused on you. Entirely. The man was forsaking his own painfully erect cock just to go down on you; to taste your wetness like it was nectar.
Price hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, and your ankle digs into his back to bring him closer to your cunt.
“Easy there, Princess. I’ll give you what you need,” His breath spreads over your slit, and your hips jerk before his hand splays over your navel, thumb just brushing your throbbing clit. You try to buck again, whining, “Steady.”
He stares at your face as his tongue goes down to kitten licks your pussy, beard bristles poking your skin and leaving the flesh lit like a glowing ember.
“John!” You moan, and one of your hands snaps to your breast, squeezing as John explores your body, groaning deeply as he collects your slick on his tongue.
The man’s thumb goes to run circles around your nerve bundle, stimulating you as your body tries to move under his tight grip. But he has you under a tight rope, and the pleasure of it was nearly like being electrocuted over and over again. Your leg over his shoulder traps him there – eating you out like a man starved as his own hips begin to careen into the mattress. The pleasure of seeing you reduced to a blubbering mess that can only chant his name did primitive things to John’s mind.
And the way you were playing with your breasts…? Fuck, he was addicted to you; the way your body was perfect enough to devour.
John moans into your cunt, the vibrations biting every corner as the tension begins to shatter inside of you when his fingers go to assist his tongue. Your back arches as the muscle and digits work in tandem, pace increasing as the Captain curls over that perfect, spongy, spot that leaves tears falling down the side of your face.
“Fuck, just like that!” You wail, fingers flickering over your hardened nipple, “J-John just like that!”
The words were slurred, coming off as drunk as his beard leaves skin red and scraped on the inside of your thighs. Your cunt tightens, walls closing in around John’s tireless lapping and fingering. His thumb on your clit moves faster, and he lets your hips careen into his face over and over again as his large nose bumps against that same spot.
Tension builds and builds like an infection, and your free hand snaps to grip your Captain's hair, jerking his face farther into you and ruthlessly twisting the locks.
John whimpers into your slit, cock stuttering in its harsh rutting into the mattress, and your eyes erupt into stars, white light blowing up as your release makes time stand still.
Gutturally moaning into the hot air, you pant as you come down just to feel a tongue cleaning up your thighs, slurping up cum, and playing around with your sensitive flesh. Fingers still pump inside of you, helping you ride out anything that’s left.
You can’t speak beyond small whimpers and gasps at the movement, but when you look down you’re met with John’s ruined face.
His entire beard was stained, dripping cum down onto your navel as he licks at your clit once. Your hips jerk and you cry in protest at the oversensitivity of the abused area, eyes fluttering.
“Just as I thought,” John’s voice is velvet, dripping just like his beard and nose do as he licks his lips with a demented sucking noise “Boody perfect, doll. Could eat that cunt for hours, just to see you squirm when I’m fucken’ you with my tongue. Better than Whisky.”
You swallow as his hands caress your thighs, the grip traveling as his body slides up yours. His cock is heavy and leaking as it slides over your drenched slit. Thrusting up into it, the both of you gasp out. John lays drenched kisses all over your sweat-drowned body, leaving a trail of saliva and cum behind him as his own slots over you perfectly.
“Speak to me,” He groans, and your fingers still in his locks lightly pull as he pushes your still hand over your breast away with his nose. His hot mouth latches onto your nipple and sucks before laying a deep bite around it.
Writhing, he continues his expiration as a bead of sweat falls down your neck to pool at your bitten collarbone. John licks it up and continues like it’s nothing.
“F-feels good,” Is all you can say, not used to this type of treatment, “R-really good, Captain.”
“Yeah?” He sounds cheeky as his head pulls up to be above yours, hands pressing into the pillow beside your head, “Hm, think my Bird can take a cock? Want me opening that lovely cunt of yours up?”
Your heart pounds, hairs standing on end. The words were so vulgar, but you feel your arousal increase.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Y-yes, Captain.”
John lays a gentle kiss on your bruised lips, and you taste your own release as he sighs into your mouth; connecting your foreheads together when he pulls away.
“I want your eyes on me the whole time, yeah?” He grunts, one hand going to grab at himself as he shivers above you. Chest bursting with anticipation, your free hand goes to intertwine its fingers with John’s beside your head – the other still gripping his hair, “I wanna see the way you lose yourself on me.”
You can’t answer before he’s filling you up.
Your eyes widen at the stretch, embers of pain bordering on the ledge of pleasure as the man pauses at your expression, going to play with your clit. On your face, your nose scrunches, hesitance floating in your orbs as you let out tight breaths even as his finger does wonders.
“S’alright,” John whispers to you, squeezing your hand and feeling the mewls your lips let out at the sensation of deep callouses, “I’ll be careful, Love. You can take me. Breathe.” Muttering paise as his cerulean blues bore into you, he resumes moving.
How could you even fit him all inside of you? The tip already burned to take so far into your womb.
But you were plenty wet, the squelching sound resumed, and John tilted his head down to see the way he disappeared inside your cunt like magic. Your thighs have to move farther up his own to help, one locking around his waist as a ring of milky liquid forms over the joining.
The man’s eyes widen when he spies the bulge forming in your lower body, the indent popping out like a hole that’s been repacked with too much dirt. For the final last push, the man forces himself to look away and back up at you – he wants to see how you react. But at the last seconds, John’s eyes roll back into his head when he finally hits the base, a throaty groan mixing with your high-pitched moan as he bottoms out. Your chest flutters against his, and both of your hearts are going so fast they can be seen through your flesh.
You were so full, stretching around him so wide it was a miracle you hadn’t torn something. Both of your stay there for a moment, feeling your walls spasm around him and panting. Sweat falls from Price’s chin, splashing to your skin as your eyelids threaten to close at the stranger inhabiting your most sensitive area. It felt so good.
Your mind completely blanks, eyes glazing over with rapture at the feeling of John’s cock curving so far into you that you know he’ll push into your cervix when he moves. Every minute movement – even the deep breath John takes to steady himself – leaves you needing stimulation as the veins of his dick press into your soft walls.
“M-move, please,” Your numb lips flutter, and John’s eyes open from above you, jaw clenched and one orb more squinted than the other.
“Yes, Ma’am,” He whispers, expression soft as your hand in his hair tightens to ground yourself.
John begins slowly, letting you get used to him and the burning that he brings to your insides when he retracts and re-enters. His thrusts are measured, at first.
“Such a good girl,” He says above you, and your eyes refocus, body loosening as your form gradually adapts. But you were right, he’s hitting every corner of you as easily as he breathes. So thick it's like nothing you've ever felt. Your hips are canting up to meet his shallowly, but John does most of the work. He wants to. He wants to please you like Leon never could, to treat you right, “Taken’ me so well. See you grippin’ me, Dear…t-that’s it,'' Your pussy throbs, and you feel him move a little faster, “You’re gettn’ it down, eh? There’s that pretty little face of yours – all screwed up ‘cause of me. Hm, don’t go cock-drunk on me yet, Lovely.”
“John,” Is what you chant as he begins to fuck you in earnest, pelvis slamming into you as you feel him brush your cervix, “Oh, John.”
“That’s it,” He pants and angles his thrusts up. The action makes you yowl, head tossing back as Price goes to bite into your neck again, dog tags cold against your skin, “There’s that sweet spot, yeah?”
He hits it every single time, marksmanship training telling him to keep attacking the most important part; tears blur your wide sight, back arching as his hand at your clit goes to hike your leg farther up his waist, the limb uselessly flying out behind his back. The deep press of his blunt nails into the flesh adds to the overstimulation, and you can’t keep up if you tried. Too pleasure drunk, you let him do what he wants, as long as you can feel his veiny cock hitting that spongy spot again. His dick thrusts into you with such devotion, ringing out pleasure like how one does to a rag.
“Fuck…” He muttered into your neck, “Won’t last long with you squeezing me like that. You’re so bloody tight.”
The snake was coiling in your gut, tail rattling as John throbs inside of your heat, moving over your skin like he was water over a rock. Loosening your hand from his hair, your nails go to dig into the fletch of his back, raking down his spine as he growls under you; sending a sharp thrust up that has you seeing sparks in your vision. It was building so quickly you couldn’t properly speak, only moan and wail and wine.
You were sure your nails were biting into his skin, leaving long red scratches behind as some sick form of proof. Maybe they were even drawing blood. A sadistic part of you wanted them too.
“C-close,” Your gasp enters the thick air as your legs shake. John bites your earlobe, lifting his head from your skin to look at you from the side of his blown eyes.
“W-where do you want it, Love?” He gasps, his beard scraping your skin until it’s raw. You hoped you had lotion in the bathroom for tomorrow, “C’mon gotta tell me before I lose myself.”
“Inside!” You yell, not even knowing what you’re saying anymore. If you did a part of you would have died from embarrassment. The man’s eyes snap fully to yours, widening; you feel his body shaking above you, hands clenching too tightly around your thigh and embrace as the flesh turns a different shade, “Please, Captain, fill me up. I wanna feel you dripping out of me for days! Please, I need your cum! Please, please…”
Price only sputters for a second before he begins to move like a man possessed. He pistons into you with heated movements and you gasp out in response, not sure how much more you could take but please don’t stop it feels so good. So, so, good when you move like that. Fill me with your seed.
“Made for me, you were,” John growls, ferally kissing you as you try to do the same back as he relentlessly pounds away, “I said it before, bloody fucken’ perfect. Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need. Make you so full of me you’ll be leaking all over the damned sheets.”
The coil snaps and you clench around Price’s cock so hard he moans into your mouth as you do the same.
“Fuck..!” His hips jerk one more time before he spills into you, hot spurts of his seed coating your walls and leaking out of the ring you two had made.
Shaking, John lets you ride it out as he continues to shakily thrust into you, but it isn’t long before he has to stop and his dick softens inside of you. After a moment of violent deep breaths, he has to shift, exiting from your reddened and leaking hole. Shuttering at the feeling of his ridges once more leaving, the foreign emptiness finally settles into your bones, you feel his cum pooling from you to collect on the mattress; your lower skin feels wet to the touch as the liquid follows the lines of your body and sticks to every part available.
Lungs desperate for air, your body heaves and shivers; your eyes stay locked onto the ceiling above you, where you wished the metal was the same shade of blue as John’s eyes. You didn’t even notice the man himself had gone into your bathroom to receive a damp rag to clean you up until the rough material was leaving you flinching away from it.
“Careful now,” John speaks lowly, and you hear his dog tags below you as he swipes at your folds. Your eyelashes flutter, legs tensing, “Need to clean you up.”
He lays a kiss on your knee and continues for a few minutes, muttering compliments and kind words that you miss as your ears ring; he cleans your combined fluids from your spent cunt delicately, completely different from how he was abusing it a short while ago.
John leaves, and when he returns a second time, he slips into the bed in front of you, taking the wrecked covers and arranging you carefully so you were covered by them.
A moment of hot pressing bodies passes, and your head is pressed into the man’s raging chest, drawn back to consciousness by his heart when he shifts, “...Didn’t hurt you, did I, Love?”
“Hm,” You groan, and moving your legs results in needles digging into the fine tissue, “No. But you’re going to be carrying me tomorrow.”
Your Captain has the audacity to laugh, his hand going to rest on your ass, rubbing the skin as he draws you closer.
“Wanted to do that for a long time, Y’know,” He whispers, laying kisses to your hair, “Long time.”
“Me too,” You admit, sighing as your eyes flutter shut, “Since Madagascar, I think.”
John lightly flinches, “Madagascar?” It’s a question, but he already knows the answer, “What about…”
He trails.
“Leon?” You ask and Price grunts, knocking his nose down into your scalp as he draws circles into your skin. He didn’t like you saying that man’s name, “I think I wanted to break up with him…finding him with someone else just gave me an easy out, I guess,” You think over the event. Had you been relieved slightly? Perhaps, but it was easier to tell now than earlier, “It was just…”
Stopping you hum, and turn your head to lay a kiss on a scar on John’s chest in your vicinity.
“Easier.”
It’s not a question your Captain poses, it's a statement.
“Less complicated, yeah.” He breathes a sigh into your hair and fatigue leaves your lids falling quickly.
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” John mutters, “Copy?”
You don’t answer, because you’ve already fallen to sleep, body bruised and yet feeling far better than you had in years. John wanted to be with you, Leon was out of the picture – it was all turning up. But there was still that part of you that ached with betrayal, that bled when you poked at it with a finger; a wounded heart would do that. It bleeds for a bit.
Though, you knew John would be there with a bandage, to put pressure on the wound and catch the spills. Maybe that was selfish, but maybe you had a right to be for a little while. Your Captain certainly didn’t seem to mind.
John fell asleep quickly after, content for possibly the first time in years. He gets to hold you in his arms and wake up with you right by his side, even if the paperwork was going to be atrocious.
There was no doubt people had heard them, but it wasn’t like the Captain cared.
—
“Little Lady?” The knock wasn’t what woke you, John did. Looking up at him, he holds a finger to his lips and has a pleading look on his face. You raise a brow, about to go back to sleep before Soap’s voice makes you freeze, “I know you’re in there – you wouldn’t happn’ to have a clue where Price is, would you? Man missed the debriefing.”
Your wide eyes stay locked with Johns, Maybe If I don’t answer he’ll go a–
“That’s it, I'm coming in!”
“Wait!”
But the door was already opening – John hadn’t locked it, too caught up in the stupor of finally getting you into his arms and wetting his dick.
“...Steamn’ bloody Jesus!” Screaming and a quick rustling can be heard echoing out into the hallway, “...Well, well, well, Cap finally got the girl, did he? Bout’ time, I’d say! Tell me, now, how good was he in bed for an old man?”
“Stop lookn’ at her, you Muppet! I’ll hang you by the fucke–”
“How can’t I – her fucken’ tits are out and you’re about a bawhair away from her! Where else am I supposed to look, man?”
“Out!”
Soap rushes out, smiling wider than anything with gleaming eyes before stumbling and nearly careening into the wall as John Price rushes after, face red and snarling. The Captain had nothing more than a wrinkled, thin, standard white bed sheet around his tapered waist with dog tags fastened around his neck.
John’s clenched hand connects with the door frame and the rageful man leans out down the hall and yells, “When I find you, MacTavish, It’s your fucken’ neck under a goddamned rope! You hear me, Sergeant?! Your fucken’ neck!”
Vibrating laughter can be heard from the figure already disappearing down the corner of the woman’s Barracks.
“Wait till the boys hear about this!”
The door closes so loudly behind John that the wide-eyed bystanders in the hallway miss the lock being clicked into place with savage fingers. But the loud, chest-tightening, feminine laughter that forms moments later is none the clearer.
Well, secret’s out.
#john price#captain johnathan price#captain john price#john price x reader#John price x you#captain price#x reader smut#cod#cod x reader#cod smut#cod mw22#cod x you#johnny soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#MW#MW2#Call Of Duty MW2#mw2 2022#x female reader#female reader
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I would love if you wrote something with poly!marauders and they just being so protective over reader. Like maybe they’re at a party and one always has to have a hand on her and just like always holding her drink and watching out for her 🥲 maybe reader doesn’t even notice it because it’s so normal until someone else points it out
Thanks for requesting!
cw: alcohol
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 733 words
“Rem,” you nose at your boyfriend’s cheek. “Sip, please?”
Remus pauses his conversation to pass you your cup. You drink out of it for a moment, but the second it’s lowered from your lips he’s reclaiming it, fingers curled over the rim to keep the top safely covered with his palm.
“He’s so paranoid,” you complain to Sirius, who’s got his own hand wrapped around your thigh and is kneading the doughy flesh absentmindedly. “Where do you suppose James has run off to?”
Sirius takes a languid sip of his own drink, eyes skimming over the faces in the room. “M’not sure, darling. Kitchen, maybe? Oi!” He glares at John Leedy in the corner. “Your girlfriend know you’re looking at other tits like that, Leedy?” John goes scarlet, and Remus looks up to scowl at him too as Sirius stands, offering you a hand. “C’mon, babe, let’s go find him. Moons, we’re going to find James.” Remus nods, still holding your drink as he resumes chatting with the others.
Sirius slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk, casting noxious looks at John over your shoulder the entire way. In the kitchen, you find James sitting on the counter surrounded by half-empty bottles of alcohol and mixers. He’s deep in conversation with Lily and Mary, but his attention swings to the two of you as soon as you enter, his loose, easy grin brightening.
Mary sees it and turns around to find the source, calling you over. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all night,” she says, hugging you. “Want me to make you a drink?”
You nod eagerly, but James seizes up the booze before Mary can get to it. “No way, heavy-hand,” he teases, holding it out of her reach. “I saw you make your own, it’s at least half rum. I’ve gotcha, sweetheart.” He turns to you with an angelic smile. “What’ll you have?”
You give Mary an apologetic shrug before batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend. “A rum and coke, please.”
“Coming up, pretty girl.”
Mary watches his pour skeptically, and Lily scoffs when he puts down the bottle, reaching for the coke. “Okay, that was maybe a teaspoon of rum,” she says. “Think you guys could let her off her leash long enough to have some fun every once and awhile?”
“She’s having fun,” Sirius argues, gripping you around the hips to lift you onto the counter beside James. He pushes up between your legs, giving you a dazzling smile. “Aren’t you, babydoll?”
Laughter bubbles readily out of your alcohol-lubricated throat, and you clench your thighs around Sirius’ middle, giving him a good squeeze. “Whaddya mean, my leash?” you ask Lily.
“I’m just saying, maybe the reason we haven’t seen you all night is because these ones—” She slaps at Sirius’ hand where it roves the curve of your hip, and he pulls it back with a wounded look. “—won’t keep their hands off you long enough to let you go anywhere.”
“Nobody’s stopping her from going where she pleases,” James says. “We’re just keeping an eye on her, making sure she can have fun without anybody bothering her or giving her alcohol poisoning.” He sticks his tongue at the other two girls as he finishes your drink, giving the cup a good swirl to ensure it’s all mixed up, but when he turns to pass it to you, he’s all sweetness. “You don’t mind, do you lovie?”
You take a sip. It’s syrupy sweet and biteless on your tongue. “No,” you say into James’ warm brown eyes, “I don’t mind.”
“She’s been hypnotized.” Mary throws up her hands, but she’s smiling. “There’s no hope for her now, they’ve got her in their thrall.”
You laugh, and James grins at the sound, leaning down to press the tip of his nose to yours. “You agree with them, hm? You think we’ve got you hypnotized?” You press your lips to his, a lightning quick kiss that has your teeth clacking together from your mirrored smiles, and a denial is on the tip of your tongue before Sirius’ hand, the one on the opposite side of you from Lily and Mary, slips beneath your leg. His fingers roam wickedly over skin no one can see, nails just barely grazing your soft inner thigh.
You swallow, words lost to you, and Sirius grins. “I’ll take that for a yes.”
#poly!marauders#protective marauders#protective!marauders#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders oneshot#poly!marauders one shot#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders scenario#protective!james potter#james potter#james potter x reader#protective!sirius black#sirius black#sirius black x reader#protective!remus lupin#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#hp marauders
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The cold ground provided no comfort.
Felix Catton x reader
Summary: The reader finds Felix in the maze after a strange encounter with Oliver. They decide to drink their problems away.
Words: 910
Warning: drinking, death, poisoning, cursing.
Author's note: This was a request and DUDE IT'S GOOD! Here's the original ask: "hi! can you write something where the reader is Felix's best friend (they both have feelings for each other), and she finds him just as Oliver leaves him in the maze with the bottle of alcohol he drugged. neither reader nor felix know it's spiked so they're drinking it together and they die together? if it's too much you can totally ignore this!" Hope I did it justice!
Masterlist <3
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She pushed her legs to move faster as she ran through the maze in search for Felix. She had been to Saltburn many times, and she had been through this maze just as many, but now it felt like she knew nothing of the place.
But she knew Felix was there. Of course, he would be there. That’s where he goes to think or when he’s overwhelmed. They often shared intimate moments at the heart of that maze when things became difficult. She loved those moments with him. She loved the feeling it gave her when he wrapped his arms around him. She loved the look in his eye when she said something witty. She loved when his lips would pull into a smirk. God, she loved him. But, she would never admit so.
Her sprinting was interrupted by hitting what felt like a brick wall.
Oliver.
Oliver Quick was a confusing being. While initially she was excited to have him stay at Saltburn with the Catton’s, she slowly grew to see that he was a little more than strange.
She balanced herself, gawking at him slightly. “Oh, Oli. Thank god. Have you,” she paused, catching her breath, “Have you seen Felix?”
Though it was dark, she could still see the hesitant look in his eye. He turned his body to the side, pointing in the direction he had just come from.
She nods, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She began to walk in that direction before stopping. “You okay, Oliver?”
“I’m not sure.”
She nods. This party was becoming a nightmare. But she didn’t have time to make sure he was alright. She needed to find Felix first.
She needed to know he was alright.
Her legs began to sprint again in search of him. And, she finally found him.
She rounded the corner, letting out a soft breath at the sight of him. He was so beautiful.
He stood, leaning against the statue that lay in the middle of the maze. His angel wings were still on him. It was dark, but she could see in his stature that something was wrong. Very wrong.
She approached him slowly, her feet crunching the ground with every step.
He turned, an angry look in his eyes. They immediately softened seeing that it was her. “Oh, angel. Didn’t hear you.”
She nods, continuing to close the gap between them. “Sorry. Had to see you were alright.”
His lips pulled into the grin that she loved so much. “Yeah, angel. Just… had something happen.”
She rested her hand on his chest gently. “With Oli?”
He nods.
She wished she could take the heartache from him. The pain. She would carry it deep within her heart if she could, just to keep it from reaching his soul. He didn’t deserve any of this.
She looked down to see the alcohol bottle resting on the ground. “You been drinking, Lex?”
He nods again, his shoulders relaxing under her touch.
She shrugs, “Well, don’t let it go to waste, huh?”
He grins slightly. “I like the way you think, angel.”
Angel. Her heart always lept at the word every time it came from his lips. His angel. She was his angel.
He reached down to pick up the bottle, pulling it to her lips.
…
A little while later, and a few drinks later, they both sat on the ground. His back rested against the base of the statue, her back against his chest. Her head laid against his shoulder. She felt his lips began to kiss her neck. “…Fe..?”
He hums.
“W… what.. you doing?”
His lips grin against her neck, “Dunno. But… it feels… right.”
He was right. This felt right. It felt perfect. Like they were meant for each other.
She moved her head to look at him, their faces inches apart.
“I… I think I… I love you, Lex.”
Their lips were mere inches from touching.
He stared down at her lips, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. They were both quite drunk, and their friendship meant everything to each other. But they didn’t care enough to worry if this would ruin them.
He leaned in to her, their lips brushing before she pulled back with a horrid feeling. “Imma be sick…”
She crawled forward in case she would vomit. Something felt wrong. Perhaps it was alcohol poisoning. She already knew the hangover tomorrow would be horrendous.
He pulled himself to his feet ungracefully. He stumbled towards her, falling to his knees at her side. “Angel…?”
She let out a groan. “Just… hold me, Fe…? Pl… Please?”
Even sober, he would never deny her.
He pulls her to him, letting his arms wrap around her as her head laid on his chest. She could feel his uneven breaths in her hair.
“I feel… dizzy, Lex. I’m… tired…”
“Fuck. Lay… Lay down. Let’s lay down.”
He pulled her down with him, their bodies laying on the cold dirt. He rested on his back, his eyes closed and his hand still on her waist. She cuddled close to him, her arm laying over his torso.
His voice was a mutter, “Close your eyes, angel. I.. I gotchu.”
She didn’t need to be told twice.
Her eyes closed.
….
The two lovers lay dead in the morning, holding each other close, for the cold ground would never provide comfort to the lost.
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#felix catton#felix catton imagine#felix catton x reader#felix catton x you#jacob elordi imagine#jacob elordi x reader#saltburn 2023#saltburn fanfiction#saltburn#saltburn movie#oliver quick#felix catton fanfic#felix catton angst#saltburn angst#jacob elordi angst
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Spiderman | fratboy!harry
Continuation of this one shot - but can be read as standalone.
Summary: You’re at the big Halloween frat costume party and get to flirting with someone dressed as Spiderman. The tall, masked man with a deep voice just so happens to know a private spot to reveal his true identity to you.
Word Count: 4.2k
Warning: 18+ only, smut, slight mask kink, this is mostly just gratuitous smut
Tonight was your excuse to dress up like the supervillain Poison Ivy. A short green dress with patches of fabric leaves all over and a crown of ivy on your head. Mostly it was just something cute to wear to draw a little attention. Plus Poison Ivy is bisexual so you were hoping at least someone picked up the hint. All were welcome, so to speak.
When you got to the frat house you noted all the sexy and fun Halloween costumes. Lots of tit-bearing cats, a few she-devils, some baseball players in well-fitted jerseys, a Lego. The house was packed. The music was loud. Too many of your fellow university schoolmates had begun drinking early. You arrived late on purpose. Drunk wasn’t a cute look. At least you didn’t think it was. Not on you anyway. And you kind of hoped to get hit on and maybe get lucky. Tipsy sex could be fun. Drunk sex wasn’t memorable enough to be worth it.
“Haven’t seen you around in a while.” You looked over at a tall someone dressed in a Spiderman costume. The hood was covering his face so his identity was a mystery, though you thought you recognized the voice as someone you’d had a fun hookup with once.
You leaned your hip into the counter just as you’d finished pouring yourself a drink, “Is that so? I guess I wouldn’t know if I’d seen you around or not since I can’t exactly be sure who you are.”
His laugh had you grinning suddenly as he mimicked your stance, leaning his own hip into the counter facing you, though you couldn’t see his eyes under the spandex material.
“So, you’re telling me you can’t recognize me by my body?” He leaned his head down as if looking over himself before bringing his face back upward, “This costume hardly hides anything.”
You cocked your head, sipping your drink as you allowed your eyes to travel over the red and blue spandex. It clung tightly to his chest and hips, thighs… You didn’t miss the bulge either as you brought your eyes back up to the spot where you figured his eyes were under the mask, “Nope. Sorry. Should I recognize you by your body alone?”
You could tell he was smiling under the spandex, “You should. As I recall, you know my body rather intimately.”
Now you were certain it was the fun hookup you had a while back. You didn’t know him well. But you did know him to be quite popular. And attractive. And the time he went back to your dorm with you and your friend was quite memorable. But you decided to play coy a little bit. Just to get him going.
“Really? Hmm…” You feigned confusion as you slowly ate up his frame, inch by inch with your gaze. His heavy-looking bulge was a nice reminder of how sizable he was. You wouldn’t forget it. “Still doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t see any outstanding features here.” You waved your hand up and down gesturing at his frame.
He nodded and remained quiet. You were sure he was feeling you out. Trying to see if you were fucking with him or not. You were.
When he inched in toward you and placed his gloved hand over your forearm he leaned in and spoke quietly into your ear, “I’ll give you a hint. Would you like a hint, Y/n?”
You nodded as you felt his warmth. He was so close to your body as he spoke, “Had you bouncing on my cock, made you come, all while your friend watched us fuck.”
You swallowed. Yes. You remembered very clearly that night. It was the only time you’d ever done anything like it before. And now, he was clearly trying to get you in bed again. At least… that was the vibe you were getting. You looked down and realized his bulge was, well it was bulging. Was he getting turned on just thinking about it? You needed to have him again. Wouldn’t mind feeling that thick cock inside of you once more.
You sighed and turned to face his mask, “Hmm… maybe. I’m not positive, though. Might need to check a few things out to verify–“
Harry’s grip on your forearm tightened, “Can be arranged. Wanna go find a room so you can verify?”
You laughed as you looked around. You’d never been talked into something like this so fast in your life. Then again, Harry, you knew it was him, was quite convincing and he was good in bed from what you remember. You couldn’t feel bad for giving in so quickly.
Harry took your hand and you followed him upstairs, leaving your unfinished drink in the kitchen and long forgotten.
The good thing about the frat house was that it was massive and there were enough bedrooms that you were able to find a free room almost right away.
Harry locked the door behind himself and then suddenly he was pushing you backward toward the bed where you fell to your bottom the moment the back of your thighs hit the edge. You giggled as he put his spandex-covered hands on your thighs. Propping yourself up by your elbows you watched him take in your bare legs and then one by one, lift each upward to remove your heels. He was between your thighs and the erection he was sporting indicated he wasn’t wearing underwear. Or if he was he’d fully pushed his way up and out of the top band.
“M’gonna give you a little reminder. Take you down memory lane and have you sit on my face. Is that all right?” He climbed over you on the bed, hovering over your body and looking down at you. You really wished you could see his pretty eyes.
“Okay. But how are you gonna do anything with this on?” You plucked at the fabric covering his face.
You heard a breathy, amused laugh fall from his chest as he pushed himself off of you and laid down on his back, “You’ll see. Climb up.”
You adjusted yourself, straddling his torso, and then lifted upward, gently placing yourself over his face, not yet sitting all the way. You were still wearing panties and you were hovered over his mask so you weren’t sure what his plan was exactly.
“Lean forward a bit.” He spoke from under you.
Leaning forward, you put your hands on the headboard and he adjusted something underneath you and that’s when you realized he was lifting his mask to uncover his mouth and part of his nose before pushing your panties aside and grasping your thighs, pulling you down on his mouth. You laughed when you settled and looked at the Spiderman mask between your thighs. You couldn’t see much of his nose and his mouth was covered by your pussy but the whole thing felt ridiculous to you.
Ridiculous until he began mouthing at your pussy slowly, using his tongue through your crease and his hands gripped your ass, pushing you into him further.
“Oh!” You tightly grabbed onto the headboard again in a gasp.
His warm tongue slid up and down and his moans made you hot. You hadn’t quite been ready but with his mouth on your clit, you were quickly aroused and slowly wetting his face.
Kissing and sucking sounds below drew your eyes down to him. You could see his dark curls sticking out from the edges of his mask where he’d pulled it up, his pink lips were also memorable. How had you not reached out to him after that first night? He was good. And he was so fucking hot. But he was also really nice to you and to your friend.
You tilted your pelvis down and dragged your clit over his nose and moaned softly as he pushed his tongue into your entrance. The slow lathering of his tongue up and down your crease and his puckering lips felt just as good as you remembered.
He pushed at you and inhaled a sharp breath, “Starting to remember me now?” His shiny berry lips quirked up in a cocky smile as you panted and shook your head, “Nuh-uh. I’ve sat on lots of faces. Gonna have to give me something more if you really want me to remember you.”
His raspy laugh had his nostrils flaring and he pushed at you, causing you to move off his face, “Fine,” he breathed as he sat up, “Lie down. Looks like you need something a little extra.”
Your back hit the mattress as he sat back on his haunches and pulled at your panties, tearing them down your legs and pushing your dress up your thighs, exposing your cunt to him as he lowered his face over you, his shoulders bumping into the back of your thighs to hold you down.
“Y/n, you taste just like you did before. So soft and sweet,” he ran his spandex-covered finger through your crease and you gasped at the odd feeling of it. He laughed at your reaction, “You’re wet enough that this should still feel really good. Tell me if it’s irritating to your skin,” his mouth and nose, and ends of his hair were still exposed as he circled two fingers over your clit and had his face tilted toward you.
When he opened his mouth wide and lowered it over your clit you grasped onto his hood and sighed. It was so good. Just like before. His tongue and lips and the way he gently sucked you in made you quiver.
But it was the odd sensation of his fabric-covered fingers slipping through your wetness that kept you very much in the moment. You kept imagining that the shiny spandex would soon collect all your wetness and you’d be left dry and it would start to hurt but it was the opposite.
The smooth material became coated and the extra friction from the fabric felt yummy.
He slurped your clit and took a good long lick upward from your entrance to your clit and then held up two of his fingers so you could see, “Look. Just want you to see this before I start fucking you with them. Nice and slippery,” he scissored his fingers apart and you saw the strings of arousal stick together,” But tell me if you don’t like it.”
“Oh my god…” you moaned as you craned your neck up to watch him as he slowly plunged them inside of you.
You tightened your thighs, but Harry used his free hand to hold you apart and the grin on his face as he watched his gloved fingers slide in and out of you was lewd, “Hear that?” He increased the speed at which he was fingering you, your wetness being pushed in and out with his fingers was definitely audible, “Bet that feels so good, doesn’t it, Y/n?”
You nodded and moaned again, still trying to keep your neck tilted so you could watch.
When he wrapped his mouth around your clit once again, though, you cried out and your head fell back onto the mattress in surrender.
His fingers, his tongue, and his lips had you writhing and moaning pathetically, “Oh fuck…” you cried as he curled his fingers just right, and flattened his tongue over your clit, his face aimed toward you as if he were watching your reaction.
He continued fingering you as he lifted his face and planted a sweet kiss to your clit, “How’s it feel? Do you want to come, Y/n?”
You moaned and gasped as you nodded, “Yes, Harry…” and the moment you said his name you knew you were busted. Your eyes widened and Harry’s grin took over his face, you could see the beginnings of his dimples.
“Figured you’d remember me,” he kissed your clit again and spoke against your pussy, “Hang on, sweet girl. Gonna finish you off properly.”
And finish you off he did. Properly at that. He held you down with one shoulder and one hand as he fingered you with his other and sucked and dug into your clit. The noises were obscene. From the wetness you’d created, to the fast pace of his fingers pushing and curling into you, to his slurping and moaning…
“Come on baby,” he coaxed when he felt your thighs shaking and your moans turned into whimpers and cries.
His tongue flicked side to side quickly and then he dug in as if he was sucking the last bits of juice off a mango and the vibrations from his moans had you seeing stars. You gripped his head and shouted his name as you came in his mouth. You thought you heard a laugh come from him but you were so far gone in ecstasy that you couldn’t care. You knew you were being loud but it wasn’t every day that a man came around to give you head the way Harry was.
When you’d opened your eyes you noticed you pushed his mask up further with how you’d been hanging on, nearly his whole nose was exposed as he softly licked upward from your entrance to your clit. He removed his fingers and was cradling the underside of your thighs with both hands. Like a loving little gesture to help you come down.
Suddenly he was hovering over you and had his lips pressed to yours. Your first kiss of the night and it tasted like your pussy. But you liked the taste of pussy so it didn’t bother you.
You could feel Harry’s hard erection on your thigh as he licked into your mouth and cupped your face.
It felt so sweet and so desperate at the same time. You knew he needed to be taken care of too. He deserved to have the favor returned after the way he’d just handled you with such precision.
Pushing at his shoulders he gasped as he parted from your lips, “What do you need, Harry?” You asked him.
He moaned and rolled his hips down so you could really feel him, “You. Just you. Whatever you’re willing to give.”
You grinned and wrapped your finger around a chunk of his hair, “But what do you want? Want a blow job? Want to fuck me? Want my hands?”
Harry exhaled heavily and dropped his mouth open, “Can’t stop thinking about how good you felt on my cock. The way we fit together.”
You bucked your hips up and nodded, “I can’t stop thinking about it either. You felt so good. Stretched me out so nice.”
“Fuck.” Harry quickly moved off of you and stood at the edge of the bed before opening up the side drawer, “Need a condom.”
You rolled over and opened up the other side table drawer to rummage through it. Not finding anything other than pens and loose charger cables. You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel bad about rummaging through a stranger’s things when you had Harry Styles about to fuck you.
Harry adjusted his cock as he quickly walked to the dresser on the other side of the room and looked through the top drawer and let out a groan of relief, “Fuck yes.”
Holding up the condom he placed it on the dresser and untied the top of his spandex suit. He was still wearing the mask, though it had been pushed upward and his hair was exposed at the ends, slightly more grown out than the last time you saw him, but he was too focused on his task to worry about how funny he looked with his mask half covering his face. The moment he untied the top he began to pull at the suit and peel it down his toned and tattooed torso. You sat up and watched him undress. He had no underwear on just as you suspected.
You had to laugh at the spectacle. Just like a woman wearing a cute tight body suit, men had the same issue with needing to remove the entire thing in order to use the bathroom, or in your case, fuck.
“Heey, don’t laugh. Beauty comes with a price.” He grinned as he kicked the body suit away and opened up the condom, slowly putting it over himself. He looked over at you and tilted his chin upward, “Get your dress off. Wanna see those pretty tits.”
You giggled and pulled at your stretchy dress, easily removing it by the time he made his way back to the bed. He climbed over you, his mask still covering his eyes as he leaned down to kiss you.
The way his mouth moved against yours and his hands found your breasts and your ribs and your tummy as he moaned and licked at your tongue gave you a surge of need. You lifted your hips toward his and slid your hands down his torso to grab his cock.
He pushed himself down into your hand and then reared back gently to slip his shaft through your labia, wetting the condom, “This is gonna be better than the first time. No performance anxiety with a third watching.” He grinned down at you as he moved back to take you in below him.
You laughed as he pulled at your thighs and lifted your legs over his, angling your hips upward so your bottom was positioned on the tops of his thighs, “Were you nervous last time with Heidi? It was your idea? And… can we take this off?” You gestured to his mask.
“Heidi? That was her name?” He responded as he pulled the mask off from over his eyes and tossed it behind himself. “Sorry, I barely remember. But… I wanted you to think I was cool. Plus she was kinda cute. But it was really all about you.”
You pushed yourself up to your elbows at this revelation, “Wait. You only invited her because you wanted me to think you were cool?”
He shrugged and smiled shyly, “Yeah. Knew you liked girls too. Figured it might make you like me if I was cool with that.”
You shook your head, “And then you just never reached out to me again after?”
He puffed out a soft laugh, “I don’t know. Felt like maybe you weren’t as into me. Didn’t want to embarrass myself.”
You took his hand and pushed your fingers between his, “Well, after this it looks like we’ve got some talking to do. I kinda thought you were too cool for me so that’s why you never bothered.”
The look on his face was surprised, “Me? Too cool? That’s not… no way. If anyone is too cool it’s you, Y/n.”
You laughed and tugged at his hand, “Please, Harry. Just fuck me.” You were relieved to see his eyes and the top of his head finally. Just as handsome as before, hair slightly more undone from the hood he had over his head, but it was perfect for what you two were about to do.
Harry let out a shaky breath and looked down to where your entrance was wet and softly clenching for him already. His lips dropped open as he leaned forward, your hand still in his, pressing it down to the mattress next to your head as he pushed his tip in.
“Ohh…” you breathed out and watched his face scrunch up as he plunged in slowly.
“Feel that? This the reminder you needed?” He whispered lowly as he inched in.
There was a moment of silence between you two as you watched each other and he began to move in and out, deeper on each thrust. Heavy breaths and soft moans until he’d reached into you as far as humanly possible, hips rocking into you and fingers tightly squeezing around yours.
“Fuck me… Fucking condom sucks but you… holy shit…” Harry moaned and began to roll into you faster.
You reached your free hand up to move his hair from his face, “Harry… you feel so good inside of me. Oh, my god…” The snap of his hips wetly collided with you as the small bed creaked gently.
Harry held himself up with one hand, palm flat on the mattress as pushed into you, his muscles tensing and flexing above you, “Yeah? Feels good just like you remember? You’re so wet for me, Y/n. Didn’t know you needed me so bad,” he panted his words.
You were wet for him. So wet it was almost embarrassing, but you were glad in a way because he was quite sizable, and if you’d been any less wet it might have hurt. But as it was, the slip and the stretch and the way he could drag himself in and out was delicious.
You cupped his face and moaned loudly as he pounded into you harder. You could feel your tits wobbling and the bed dancing under your back. Harry was groaning and his eyes grew dark fast. Every time he bottomed out he ground himself into you deeply and you gasped at the ache, “Careful! You’re almost too deep!” You breathed out your words in a rush.
His cocky smirk meant that he took that as a compliment, so he did it once more, his eyes pinned to yours as he slowly stuffed himself into your cervix, “Ahh! Harry…” You widened your eyes and then he pushed himself back to his haunches.
“Sorry. Can’t help it,” he spoke, still grinning at you as he smoothed his fingers over your clit and worked his cock in from the new angle.
You knew he was long and that he’d reach deep, but that kind of deepness usually wasn’t achieved without you being on top. Even average-length guys felt deeper when you were on top. But Harry, of course, wasn’t average-sized. And you could tell he was very aware of that fact. Proud of it even.
With his fingers on your clit and the new angle his cock was nudging into your little sparkly, yummy soft spot inside over and over again. You moaned his name and he let go of your hand to fondle your tits. He continued a nice pace, slipping back and pushing in, long, exquisite strokes that filled you and stretched your insides apart. You could only imagine how he’d feel without the condom inhibiting the texture of his skin pressed into your skin. The friction, the way his foreskin would move inside of you, and his swollen tip uninhibited by smooth latex would really make the drag something.
“Yesss!” You moaned as he hit your spot perfectly, the repeated glide of his thick crown into your g-spot, had you trembling.
Harry breathed hard through his nose as he looked down to where he was fucking into you and back to your eyes, “Gonna come already, Y/n? Tell me how good it is.”
“Fuck, Harry… You’re so big and you're pressing into something inside of me that I can’t… I’m gonna… it’s so good… so full… oh fuck! Gonna come…” you babbled and moaned as the bed squeaked and the headboard softly tapped the wall in time with Harry’s thrusts.
“Shit. Was gonna fuck you doggy but if you come I’m gonna come, baby. I can’t help it. Your wet pussy is just sucking me in,” he pressed down over your clit and hastened his fingers and you could feel him shaking.
You tensed your thighs and cried out just as a knock came to the door. Someone was saying something but you were gone. Your ears were ringing and your loud cries and buttery, mouthwatering orgasm were all you could focus on.
Harry groaned and pushed into you a few more times, before he couldn’t hold back, dumping his come into the condom with a choked moan.
He could hear someone threatening to unlock the door but Harry was in bliss. There was no way he could stop his cock from twitching and coming and you were so sweet and pretty below him with your face scrunched and your cries of nonsense.
The cliché of time standing still had been true in that moment. You couldn’t stop trembling and clenching over him as you felt his cock throbbing inside of you. Harry’s own orgasm just prolonged yours. He had leaned over you, his fingers in your hair as he pushed into you with gasps and soft whimpers.
When you finally opened your eyes and Harry had caught his breath the door was opened and Harry turned back quickly, covering your frame with his broad chest, “Sorry! We’ll get out. Just… let us get dressed,” Harry’s words came out breathy and stuttered as he was still breathing heavily.
“Harry? God damnit! Just… Fine. You owe me, man.” The guy who was speaking closed the door. You never saw his face because Harry had covered you and when he sat back he smiled softly at you.
“Want to go back to mine? Stay with me tonight? We can talk a little.”
You grinned and sighed with a nod, “Of course. And then maybe if you’re up for it, you can fuck me doggy like you wanted.”
Harry breathed out a laugh from his nose, “Oh I’ll be up for it.”
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Neige: MC! *sniffles* You got hurt!
MC: I am alright, Neige... Though what are you doing here?
Vil: He insisted on coming with me when he heard about the news.
MC: ...
MC: *glances at Rook*
Rook: *smiles at them*
MC: ...
MC: *turns their attention back to Vil and Neige* Thank you both for your concern, but it was only a minor injury.
Vil: Your bandage on your arm says otherwise. *looking stern now*
MC: It's fine now since it's been treated.
Neige: MC, you should always be careful!
MC: I will. Thanks for reminding me, Neige.
Vil: ...
Vil: I checked the CCTV. You fought with the burglar.
MC: ...
MC: Yes.
Vil: Why didn't you wake me up?
MC: I didn't want to disturb your rest. Besides, I handled it just fine.
Vil: ...
Vil: You still got yourself injured. If it was Rook, he would—
MC: Yes. He's much capable to serve you. He was your vice housewarden when you were still studying in Night Raven College, right?
Vil: ...Yes.
MC: And I guess he has always been exceptional.
MC: He's the best for you, Vil. I'm sure he wouldn't mind working for you.
Vil: ...
MC's co-worker: Is your friend alright? I saw him walked out and dragged Neige LeBlanche with him.
MC: They had a schedule to follow.
Their co-worker: Ya veo. But Vil Schoenheit looked like he was fuming mad.
MC: ...
MC: That sounds like an exaggeration.
Their co-worker: Oh, yeah. Of course. What I mean is his aura, okay? It's burning.
MC: *shakes their head* Let's just get back to work.
Their co-worker: Oh wait! Rook. Rook just quit. I didn't know why, but he said that his job here is done.
MC: ...
MC: Vil must've hired him.
Their co-worker: That fast? Quite a privilege, no?
MC: *chuckles* *proceeds to continue with their task*
Rook: Roi du Poison, there must be a reason why Ami masqué refused your offer.
Vil: They've found out that we are affiliated to each other, Rook.
Rook: Oh! How could that be possible? I was certain I didn't raise any suspicion!
Vil: That doesn't matter now. My plan didn't work.
Rook: You shouldn't lose hope, Roi du Poison. I know deep inside that Ami masqué cherishes you. Maybe they just need more time to realize that.
Vil: ...
Vil: Rook, were you not listening to me when I told you about our story?
Rook: Non. I had listened intently. And my point still stands.
Vil: ...
Customer A: You lack energy today, MC. Did something happen?
MC: Huh? What do you mean?
Customer B: It feels like you're sulking about something. Or we could be wrong.
MC: ...
MC: You two seem to have been drinking a lot.
The customers: We're sober!
MC: It doesn't look like it to me.
The customers: Manager! Your concierge is judging us!
The manager: *chuckles and waves her hand dismissively*
The bartender: I think MC is sulking because Vil Schoenheit isn't here today.
The customers: Oh!
MC: No. That's not the reason at all. *carries the drunk woman*
The drunk woman: We're going home?
MC: Yes, miss. Is there someone waiting for you to be home?
The drunk woman: No...
MC: I see. We'll get going.
The bartender: Don't sulk! *as MC walks out of the nightclub with the customer*
The drunk woman: Looks like they're teasing you...
MC: Please don't mind them.
Vil: *staring at MC's phone number*
Vil: *decides to call them; not really hoping that MC would answer*
MC: Vil?
Vil: MC—
'MC~ You smell good~'
Vil: ...
MC: Please excuse me.
MC: Miss, you're inhaling the fabric conditioner.
'But this has never smelled so good before~'
Vil: Looks like you are in the middle of something.
MC: Ah, yes. Sorry. I will call you back. *hangs up*
Vil: ...
Vil: *smiles in irritation*
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You from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse
Read part 1 here
How to choose a pile?
Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.
For my female audience , I'll be using she/her pronouns in this post.
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Pile 1
When I'm with her, I feel an overwhelming sense of strength and confidence, as if I could conquer any challenge that comes my way. She embodies everything that brings me joy and fulfillment. Being in her presence makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world because I have her by my side. Her mere existence has the power to make my wildest dreams a reality. Not only does she inspire me to reach for the stars, but she also motivates me to become a better version of myself. Her influence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of life. Just knowing that she is there for me, supporting me, and believing in me, helps me heal wounds that were never caused by her. Her presence alone has a transformative effect on my well-being, bringing me solace and restoration. If her love were poison, I would willingly drink it without hesitation or remorse. Such is the depth of my devotion and the extent to which I value her affection. I yearn to be of assistance to her, to be a reliable pillar she can lean on. I aspire to be her rock, her unwavering support, providing comfort and strength whenever she needs it. Being with her fills me with an indescribable sense of empowerment and joy. She is my beacon of happiness, encouraging me to strive for greatness and inspiring me to become the best version of myself. Her love and presence heal me in ways I never thought possible, and I am eager to reciprocate by being her steadfast support and ally.
Pile 2
Describing her is a challenging task, for she possesses a depth that transcends the confines of ordinary words. She carries an aura that attracts wealth and prosperity wherever she ventures, as if they were faithful companions by her side. From a distance, she appears strong and bold, yet I sense a vulnerable little girl hiding within her, fearful of the harshness this world can wield. She has distanced herself from those around her, for nobody has truly comprehended her essence. No one has made an earnest effort to unravel the intricate puzzle of her being. My deepest desire is to be the one who unravels that enigma, the person who embraces the challenge of understanding her complexities. I yearn to discover every missing piece and gently place it in its rightful position, completing the beautiful picture that is her. I want to penetrate the walls she has built, to listen to her unspoken fears and insecurities, and to offer solace and understanding. By becoming the person who comprehends her deepest self, I hope to bridge the gap between her and the world that often fails to perceive her true nature. I want to be the companion who supports her unconditionally, providing comfort and encouragement as she navigates through life's labyrinth. It is my aspiration to create an environment where she can fully express herself, knowing that she is truly seen, heard, and appreciated.
Pile 3
The moment our eyes met, I was immediately captivated by her essence, as if an invisible force had bound my heart to hers. Prior to meeting her, I had been skeptical of love at first sight, dismissing it as a mere romantic notion. However, in her presence, all doubts were washed away by the sheer brilliance of her beauty. She has bewitched me completely, leaving no room for retreat. Even if her allure leads to my demise, I would embrace it willingly, for the privilege of experiencing her presence outweighs any consequences. Her presence has an intoxicating effect on me, causing me to lose my composure in the most enchanting way. It is as if she holds the power to unravel the layers of my soul, igniting a fire within me that I cannot control. My hands yearn to touch her, to explore every corner of her body, as if searching for an uncharted territory that only she possesses. Every flaw she may perceive within herself, I view as perfect imperfections, enhancing her unique beauty and making her all the more irresistible. Words fail to fully express the depth of my admiration for her. She is a work of art, a masterpiece without blemish in my eyes. I am eager to shower her with praise, to extol every facet of her being, and to make her feel cherished beyond measure. In her presence, I find myself stripped of pretenses and laid bare, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It is an indescribable sensation, this all-consuming affection, where reason and logic are overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to be closer to her. She has become the center of my universe, a gravitational force pulling me toward her. To love her is to lose myself willingly, surrendering to the magnetic power she holds over me.
#tarot reading#tarot cards#pick a card#free readings#free tarot#tarot#pick a pile#tarotblr#pick a picture#pick a photo#love tarot reading#future spouse reading#future spouse#pick a card tarot#tarotwithavi#tarot witch#oracle reading#intuitive readings#psychic readings#predictions#love reading#tarot pick a card
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part time lover; jjk (teaser)
➳ pairing: investigative journalist!jeongguk x daycare teacher!reader. alternatively, spy!jeongguk x assassin!reader
➳ genre: smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au
➵ word count: 484 (teaser) / 30.8k
➳ summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school.
only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time.
➳ warnings: themes of parenthood, raising a child, reader and jk are both orphans, reader has a past where she struggled with financially supporting her family, eldest daughter trauma, reader is insecure, fears of abandonment, mentions of violence and m*rder (but not explicit), mention of weapons (guns, knives, grenades, poison), jk has a bruise from boxing, descriptions of an explosion, blood is drawn twice (via kitchen knife and shrapnel from aforementioned explosion), (1) mention of weight loss, jk changes his appearance in an attempt to fit in, mention of a minor car crash, social drinking, scars (surgical/knife, bullet wounds), characters are liars for the sake of the plot, side characters are misogynists (satire), food descriptions, pet names (hers: angel, good girl, princess his: love).
➳ publish date: saturday, october 14th 8pm EST
➳ a/n: this fic is part of the "industry baby" collab hosted by the lovely @jeonjcngkook and @mercurygguk! i'm so happy to finally release this fic in honor of spy x family season 2!
smut warnings below the cut!
➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot
It’s well into the evening when Jeongguk walks you home. The path is quiet. It’s illuminated by the dim light of the street lamps. It feels like a scene from a movie you’ve once watched ー the origin of all your teenage fantasies. But this is real. You’re just a girl, standing in front of a boy, and that’s where it all begins.
“y/n?” The way he says your name brings you to a halt. His voice, although usually confident, is timid and uncertain. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We still have a lot to talk about.” He looks at you with stars in his eyes, although none of them belong to you, and they could never be yours.
Your lips press together in a tight line, nodding your head in affirmation. As you bid your goodbyes, you wonder if it would be inappropriate to give him a hug. After all, you’ve only just met the day prior, and this is nothing but pretend. Yet how will you ever grow accustomed to the touch of your husband?
Your arms remain crossed over your chest. You look down at your shoes, kicking a loose pebble at the front of your door, contemplating.
But he reaches for your hand, lightly grasping around your fingers. You jolt back as if he set your nerves aflame. Your gaze lifts toward his eyes, but it quickly lowers as Jeongguk descends down to one knee.
Your heart pounds against your chest, and you pray that he cannot hear it.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a proper ring…” He begins. “I hope you can accept this for now, and I swear I’ll get a diamond on your hand one day ー As big as you want.”
Jeongguk carefully pulls a small metal band from his pocket. It can easily be confused for the end piece of a keychain ー perhaps it’s something that his daughter had left behind in his coat, never to be remembered. But for Jeongguk, he knows perfectly well that it’s the pin from a grenade he had tossed the week prior on an escape mission. He slides the ring onto your finger, and although it is slightly too large, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I may not have been your first choice of a partner, and for all I know, I could have been dead last, but thank you for sticking by me. I swear I’ll take care of you. I’ll hold your heart with gentle hands, and I won’t ever let it break.”
After all, this is just pretend.
But for some reason, his voice sounds so earnest, and you almost believe him. To be frank, you never really cared about lavish weddings and seven carat diamonds. If you were to ever look for a companion, all you could ask for is an honest partner.
Too bad Jeon Jeongguk is anything but that.
check it out here!
#jungkook smut#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#jungkook x reader#jungkook scenario#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts imagine#bts scenario#bts fanfic#bts fan fic#bts fanfiction#bts fan fiction#spy x family au
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Retribution (Ryomen Sukuna X Reader)
˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • .
w/c - 0.5k
content warnings - MDNI!, 18+, fem!reader, dom!reader, attempted murder (lol), language, poisoning, Heian-era sorta sub!Sukuna, sorta smutty drabble,
Reader is a pissed-off concubine trying to kill the King of Curses. I dunno what came over me
˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • .
"Has the king heard the tale of the obedient emperor?" You muse, your tone an eerie tune that lingers in the dim chamber.
"What's in the drink, human?" Sukuna demands, his gaze locked onto his own fidgeting palms.
When Sukuna's fingers first wrapped around the cup, you scolded yourself for ever letting the other miserable concubines coerce you into believing that a mere poison in his drink would end his life. But as his body began to tremble, still trying to remain seated on the bed, and his pupils burst into black holes within his ruby irises, a glimmer of hope coursed through you like hellfire.
"Nothing, my king. It's nothing but wine." You hold your breath as his body falters, "Unwell, my king?" There is a hint of self-satisfaction in your words as his arm extends towards you. But then, like pulled by an invisible string, it retreats, falling back onto his side.
"They say a thousand years ago, far up north, lived the strongest emperor the world has ever known," You resume, watching the cup slip from Sukuna's grip, staining the wooden floor with remnants of the crimson drink, "It is said he had an army hundreds of thousands strong, servants to abide his every whim .."
Sukuna's eyes pierce through you. He attempts to speak, but his words emerge as nothing but deep grunts and growls. His mouth fills with taste of lead as the cursed energy flowing through his body already works on his recovery.
"Ah-ah, don't interrupt," your malicious grin sends waves of fury down his spine, "Or you might not get to hear the ending."
In the pleasure districts of your town which the king of curses burned to ashes, the brothel owner taught you thoroughly; all men who possess great power, crave to relinquish it as well.
Sukuna’s body wobbles, the thud of his torso hitting the mattress is like music to your ears.
"Where was I? Oh - the servants. Men and women who cowered in fear when he spoke, who built him a palace so vast that even the gods looked down upon it with envy. And so, the gods decided to curse him."
You approach the bed, watching his monstrous limbs sprawled across the mattress, enjoying the subtle twitches of resentment in his expression.
"They cursed him so that even with all his power," You put a knee on either side of his body, straddling him with all your weight, "He could not feel any pleasure until he would submit to another." You grind against his hips, a moan escaping your lips as you feel the bulge grow under you.
"You like this, don’t you? Like being powerless?"
"-Fucking Bitch." He groaned, interrupting your gleeful smirk; your eyes widen as you tip your chin down to watch his arms regain their vigor, shooting out to slam you on the mattress.
You gasp for air, freezing when his body towers over you. The thuds of your pounding heart deafen your ears as he stretches out his arm. Your breath halts as you brace for impact, and for a fleeting moment, you see the imminent end.
Instead, he slams his hand down on the mattress beside your head, his expression a flushed, panting mess as he thrusts his clothed hips between your legs. "Fuck you."
"Be nice," you chastise. As your initial plan crumbled, a greater wave of pleasure engulfed your senses at the sound of his breathless moans.
Maybe you’ll make him beg, just for fun.
#sukuna X reader#sukuna smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#ryomen sukuna X reader#ryomen sukuna smut#jjk x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna ryomen smut#sukuna ryomen x reader#ryoumen sukuna x reader#ryoumen sukuna smut#ryoumen sukuna#sukuna#sub sukuna#sub!sukuna
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Montero.
Yan Gojo x F Reader.
Synopsis: It was easy to find you.
Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, and major power imbalance.
Word Count: 700.
*~*~*~*
Satoru left the door unlocked again. He also left the keys on the table and some money. It was so obviously a trap. But how could you resist such an offer to get away from a man who has taken control of your entire life and forced you to be his little stay-at-home girlfriend? When you think about it later, after you were caught a few weeks later, after emptying every ATM you come across, using Satoru's stolen credit and debit cards, after buying yourself a motel room and passing out drunk, after buying one train ticket after another with the aim of getting to Japan's border and either sneaking onto a boat or purchasing a pass to get on. You thought of how to divide your stolen money, whether to sneak onto the ship or buy a ticket to not be arrested and thrown back into Satoru's suffocating arms. Unfortunately for you, Satoru already knew where you were, what you were doing, everything. He was always one step ahead of you.
You never know what is going on inside his head. It is both a blessing and a curse. You never know what he is going to do to you. But you also are not broken because Satoru, ironically enough, still has enough self-control to let you have some independence. Emphasis on some. It is mostly shown through moments exactly like this. But the independence is still false, like a painting of a door on a wall.
It may look good from afar, but it is unusable. It is only good for looking at and hoping that whatever higher power there is will eventually turn into a real door because you are not God. You are not God, and you cannot create things, living or not. Satoru knows this. You come to know it. In this world, Satoru is the closest thing to a god, you think.
He expects you to worship him as one too.
You used to, long ago. How could you resist being captivated by him, with his radiant presence and gleaming white appearance, emanating a comforting warmth and possessing eyes as vast as the boundless sky? Though his teachings were cryptic and filled with bewildering references to cursed energy and haunting visions, you swallowed them like sacred doctrine, like the finest wine in all the land, embracing him as your rescuer. He had liberated you from darkness and vowed to keep you immersed in luminosity. Whatever his true nature, it was divine enough for your devotion.
But you don’t anymore. You don’t know whether Satoru misses your praising words or not. But you don’t see him as the devil either, anymore. You blame him for the bottles and bottles you drink and drink in those motel rooms, using abandoned restrooms infested with rats, and soon having nothing to eat because you used all of your money out of impulse, out of fear. But deep down, you blame yourself for being caught back in Satoru’s web. Because, against everything and everyone telling you not to, you tried to get past security and sneak onto a boat to South Korea.
It made finding you all the easier, Satoru told you. He knew what you were doing the whole time, when you bought enough beer to nearly give you lethal alcohol poisoning, when he came to rescue you from the nearest police station, from the police officers interrogating you and threatening violence and insulting you with every word in the book. As much as you want to blame him entirely, you know some of it was you. He didn’t force you to do anything. You could have just stayed where you were placed and waited for him to come back. You are human, not immune to sin indulgence, and selfishness. So is Satoru. Neither of you are God, and neither of you are Satan.
But oh how you wish that either of you were. No matter who gets the power, at least there is some difference between you.
Because Satoru and you are many things, but self-sacrificing isn’t one of them. Both of you know that, and you hate it. Satoru loves it.
#author aya#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere gojo#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#yandere satoru gojo#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere gojo x reader#yandere gojo satoru#yandere jjk#jjk x reader#jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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𐙚 the poets department.
— or in which i associate certain ttpd songs with (some) honkai star rail men.
— warnings: angst if you squint
— author's notes: notice how jing yuan is the only one who had a happy part? banner credits to @cafekitsune please check them out they make very pretty banners <3
𐙚 BLADE ; THE PROPHECY
blade has never known peace ever since his betrayal with an old friend.
he yearns and yearns for his time to finally come. howling like a crazed wolf at the moon whenever the mara trapped in his body strikes and every time he’d gaze longingly, wishing to be taken back to time where he and his old friends would sit under the moon drinking their sorrows away. blade didn’t care if the graying hairs on his head spoke of his eventual departure; so long as his friends would remember him fondly then he’d die in peace with no complaints.
but now, every waking hour, he waits for destiny’s slave to write down his death on his script.
he was a monster, cursed to eternal loneliness, and yet that didn’t stop you from treating him with kindness. little old you who frets over him like a nagging but loving mother. greeting him with a smile that made feelings he buried deep within his chest start to resurface.
maybe this was the “death” he’s been hoping for; blade would die from all the yearning he has for you.
all the times you would keep him company after tiring missions did his cracking heart no good. the urge to throw himself into danger just so you could patch him up; yearning for the arms that reminded him of a home that’s long gone. how he wouldn’t be ashamed to stare at you or your hands, wanting to hold them in his own calloused ones. he doesn’t shrug off the thoughts of you from his mind but he’d cut off his own arm before they could ever reach you.
in blade’s mind, you were too good for him. something he’ll come to destroy one day and he didn’t even dare to imagine how that would affect him. now, instead of waiting for destiny’s slave to write out his death, he hopes that he finds a few more reasons to stay longer, for your sake.
𐙚 DAN FENG ; IMGONNAGETYOUBACK
what petty rivalry you and the high elder had. always trying your best to one-up him at anything and everything but ultimately failing while dan feng laughed in amusement in your seething bitterness. but the high elder couldn’t deny the feelings of endearment whenever you show up with jing yuan and others to drink, or how you show him the new weapon yingxing had crafted for you. challenging him to another sparring session while the others watched in the sidelines with amusement.
oh how you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck when you caught wind of his plans to try and resurrect his fallen comrade, making yingxing his accomplice in the process.
the way his eyes started to crack with panic as you pulled your bowstring back and aimed an arrow straight to his heart. but dan feng knew, you knew as well, that you wouldn’t actually let the arrow go and kill him even if you say otherwise. in the end, you lowered your weapon as the high elder was escorted to the shackling prison.
before he was forced to be reborn into a new reincarnation, you visited him and how you wished to punch that knowing smile off his face. you exchange brief pleasantries before you ultimately get fed up with his nonsense. all the while you ignore the shouts of his promise in his next life.
sneak him out of the prison, run away somewhere far from the luofu or to turn your back on your first love, it didn’t matter. both choices were poison either way.
𐙚 DAN HENG ; PETER
how many years have passed since you thought of him? better yet, why do you still think of him? why do you feel a wave of ambivalent emotions when you see his new incarnation?
when your eyes met for a brief moment, you had turned away quickly. muttering a soft apology to the merchant you were speaking to a moment ago as you sped walked your way back home. oh how you wish your feelings for the previous high elder would die just like him.
how you hate the way your heart replayed the days spent with him under the sun as he argued that he’d recognize you in every lifetime; the ocean deep promises to find you in every life. you wonder if he remembers you now.
by the time the sun had risen again, he was right there. just a few feet away from you while you carry documents for the master diviner. you hated the way your feet refused to move as he strides towards you, a smile you remember all too well on his face as he offered you a hairpin.
“i remembered, like i promised.”
oh how pitiful was it of you as you dropped the papers in your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling him a tight embrace. you didn't want to admit that you had been waiting for his return, but truly, love is never lost when perspective is earned.
𐙚 JING YUAN ; THE ALCHEMY
it was quite a sight to behold really. the great apprentice of the luofu’s sword champion, on the ground with you pointing a wooden sword at his throat with a victorious smile.
you reveled in the compliments your peers gave you but eventually grew tired of how jing yuan would annoy to no end. you were this close to asking his master to cut him from the training sessions. but you don’t deny the way your cheeks flush after every sparring session jing yuan would win, he’d come running to you, asking if you were watching.
you’d hope that when he grew older he’d at least grow a mature bone in his body, oh how wrong you were. how was it possible that the same kid you’d beaten to a pulp would grow to be taller than you and even more annoying.
his relentless teasing when you couldn’t land as much hits as you did when the two of you were just kids nearly sent you spiraling over the edge. poor yingxing had to listen to your rants for hours on end, sometimes even kicking you out of his workshop so he could actually get some work done.
but despite all of his annoyingness and your wishes for him to mature, you will never grow tired of him running straight towards you after every victory he’s won under his belt. jing yuan has made it known to everyone that your name was etched into his heart, and really, who were you to fight the alchemy?
© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.
#✒️ — works#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail jing yuan#honkai star rail blade#honkai star rail dan heng#honkai star rail dan feng#honkai star rail imagines#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr headcanons#hsr blade#hsr jing yuan#hsr dan heng#hsr dan feng#blade x reader#blade x you#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x you#dan heng x reader#dan heng x you#dan feng x reader#dan feng x you
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I Know
(Second Part to Bunny)
Summary: It didn't take you long to figure out that your new co-worker, Javier Peña, is a former client from your days working a phone sex line. But does he know who you are?
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Word Count: 5.3k+
Content / Warnings: professor javi, former phone sex operator reader, professor reader, co-workers, seduction, yearning, dirty talk, smut, smoking, swearing, drinking
Notes: Hi, pals. LOOK I TOLD YOU I WOULD DO A SECOND PART TO THIS!!! True to my word, baby. Hope you like it.
There’s such camaraderie in a cigarette.
At the social hour after New Faculty Orientation, smokers gather on the sidewalk outside the University of Texas San Antonio’s John Peace Library. Liquor-fueled mouths babble on, letting off thick plumes of exhaust into the cloudless sky. Blue ribbons of smoke dance off the ashy orange tips of cigarettes between puffs.
All these academics broken off from the crowded meeting hall into bite-sized chunks, generally determined by field of study, familiarizing themselves with the colleagues they’ll come to rely on. Within this horde, you ask yourself: Who will have a lighter when I can’t find mine? Who will commiserate with me over a smoke when I have my first work-related breakdown? Facilitate those necessary micro-therapy sessions that get me through the hardest days?
Dr. Natalie King, whose poison of choice is menthol flavored, chatters on about her excitement to be working at her alma mater—a proud Roadrunner, through and through, eventually asking, “Where did you work before this?”
“This is my first job out of my doctoral program.”
It’s mostly the truth. You take a drag off your cigarette, then blow a chimney stack out the corner of your mouth.
“Oh, straight into academia, huh?” she smirks, and when you grin, she comments, “Brave girl. Well, if you ever have any questions about the clinical side of things, feel free to reach out to me. Lord knows us gals have to stick together in such a male-driven field.”
A flash of light catches your eye, the glare of sun off the library door opening. An attractive, dark-haired, mustachioed man steps out into the bright, buzzing Texas sun. He slides on a pair of yellow-tinted aviators and pats his shirt pockets, fishing out a little white and red box. He plucks a cigarette from the pack and meanders up to your two-person sample study in women’s psychology, asking Natalie, “Got a light?”
She nods and starts digging through the purse hanging off her shoulder while the man shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the cigarette between his plush lips. He takes a cursory glance around at the other smokers as Natalie curses under her breath.
“I got it,” you pull a lighter from the pocket of your slacks and hand it to him.
“Thanks,” he murmurs around the filter and lights the tip, inhaling until it’s a glowing ember, then gives it back to you.
“Dr. Natalie King,” your companion introduces herself, sticking her hand out to him.
He gives it a firm shake and says, “Javier Peña,” then turns to you and holds out his hand.
You take it and tell him your name through an exhale of thick smoke, meeting his dark eyes through the sunglasses. He holds your gaze for a moment, then steps back and brings the hand to his hip, jerking his head towards the library, “What’re you two in for?”
Natalie answers that you’re both Doctors of Psychology, then goes on to explain which classes she’ll be teaching when the 2002 Fall Semester begins next week.
While she does this, you tilt your head at him, trailing your eyes along the sharp edges of him. The steep slope of his nose, the squared off corners of his jaw, the defined muscles of his neck. He holds himself like there’s a restless energy burning beneath his skin, shifting his weight from leg to leg, eyes working over his surroundings. On guard.
There’s something about him that piques your interest. His voice, warm and deep and smooth, unearths nostalgia from deep within your gut. You mentally sift through acquaintances, friends of friends you might have met at a party, people from your hometown, et cetera, trying to figure out how you know him. It’s strange because you think you would remember meeting someone so handsome.
Your eyes flick to his left hand. No wedding ring. A shiny silver wristwatch catches your attention, though, when it jiggles a little. You glance up, find his eyes locked to yours, and don’t look away until Natalie asks him what he’s teaching.
He pinches the cigarette between his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling words warped by smoke, “Criminal Justice.”
“I see,” Natalie drops her spent torch on the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the toe of her brown loafer, then crosses her arms, “What were you doing before this?”
“Not much the past few years,” he cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, “Helping my dad out on his ranch down in Laredo, but I was DEA before that.”
“Oh wow, ok.”
You frown, “What did you say your name was again?”
He flicks his gaze to yours and answers, “Javier Peña.”
Recognition punches you in the gut. Your face gets all hot and you drop your eyes to the sidewalk, “Oh, ok. Well. Great to meet you, Javi.”
You stomp your cigarette out, turning to Natalie with a sigh, “Should we go back inside?”
“Sure.”
Don’t look don’t look don’t look—fuck.
Your eyes betray you. They snap to his. Those dark eyes, studying you with precision, narrowing just enough to twist your stomach in a knot.
Natalie starts towards the library doors, and you trail behind her, ignoring the burn of his stare following you inside.
—
Throughout the next couple weeks, when your paths cross, his gaze lingers.
Sometimes you don’t even notice he’s there until your brain’s ancient hardwiring sends out a primal pulse of warning, making your nerves to crackle. During workshops and interdepartmental meetings. While walking the halls. In the faculty parking lot. And, of course, on your smoke breaks.
You wonder what information he obtains in those small moments before your heart thuds and face flushes, urging you to put as much space between yourself and his meticulous gaze as possible.
Each instance summons the ghost of his voice as you walk away, greeting you with a cool, “How’s Bunny doing tonight?”
Asking you, “Can you do something for me, sweetheart?”
Asking, “Are you touching yourself? Let me hear it.”
It forces you to revisit the evolution of your intimacy, how the two of you gradually went from “It’s nice hearing your voice,” to, “I thought about you all week,” to, “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. Don’t suppose you make house calls, do you, Bunny?”
These memories start to bleed into your thoughts with alarming frequency.
You think about him when you brush your teeth in the morning. When you go to sleep at night. Every free moment in between. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you wonder, “Does he think I’m attractive?” Then scold yourself for giving a shit.
“It doesn’t matter,” you lie to yourself, “He wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to Bunny.”
—
Only a few students and staff roam the campus at this time of day, when overnight dew still clings to the blades of grass hidden from the sun. This particular spot, a tucked-away path between the Biosciences Building and a parking garage, usually only has one visitor each morning: you.
Every once in a while, the hum of a car engine sounds from behind the big oak tree you’re propped up against, followed by the slam of a car door, then the echoey shuffle of shoes against concrete as whoever makes their way to wherever.
Mostly, though, it’s peaceful.
You raise the 22-ounce styrofoam cup of watered-down gas station coffee to your mouth and pause, gauging the heat of the steam that brushes your lips. Too hot. Lowering the cup to your lap, you spot a robin a few yards away. It hops across some damp grass, tilting its head this way and that; its keen, beady eyes scan for movement below the earth’s surface.
A deep breath expands your lungs and your eyes drift closed. You concentrate on the cool ground beneath your legs. The oak tree holding your body upright. Your head rolls back against it, like you’re trying to soak up some of its fortitude for the day ahead of you.
The dry scuff of footsteps on the cement sidewalk tugs at the edge of this meditation. They come to a stop nearby, then you hear a familiar timbre ask, “Mind if I join you?”
Your eyes snap open, spine straightening as you squint towards the source: Javier Peña.
Heat trickles through your body as you survey him. The navy blue fabric of his fitted suit stretches across his broad shoulders in a way that’s really not fair. Sunlight douses him in brightness, and his dark eyes seem to glow in the warmth. He shifts his weight to one leg and plants a hand on his hip, glancing around before he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and plugs one into his mouth, then holds the pack out to you. An offering.
Against your better judgment, you nod in approval.
A little smirk makes the dangling cigarette bob between his lips. He saunters over to where you’re seated, visibly relieved when the shade of the oak tree falls over his body. With a quiet grunt, he sits down next to you, unbuttoning his suit jacket, resting his back against the sturdy tree.
Again, he holds the red and white pack of cigarettes out to you. You take one, murmuring, “Thanks,” as you shove the filter between your lips and light it.
He does the same and takes a sharp inhale, exhaling blue smoke, “Nice spot you got here. Quiet.”
“Yeah,” you chuckle, heart thumping loud and hot behind your ears, “How are your first few weeks going?”
“Fine,” he shrugs and flicks ash from the tip of his cigarette, “Pretty different from what I’ve been doing these past few years.”
“Right, on the farm?” you inquire, purposely getting the vernacular wrong to throw him off your trail.
He doesn’t correct you, just nods, “Although, some of these kids are stubborn as cattle.”
You laugh at this, “It’s been an adjustment, huh?”
He hums in accord, and you can feel his eyes on your profile, studying you.
Your insides twitch. Skin tingles. You take a drag off your cigarette, then say, “Yeah, same here. I’m straight out of school, so it’s pretty surreal being on this side of the fence.”
“I bet,” he murmurs, “Wha’d you do for work?”
“Customer service, call center stuff.”
You’re not sure why you didn’t just make something up. Say you did manual labor or clerical work or something.
Maybe it’s because you know how earnest he is, and any potential lie would feel like poison in your throat. Maybe it’s because the space between you feels electric and sacred.
Maybe there’s a small part of you that wants him to figure it out.
“How’d you like that?” he asks as he blows a cloud of smoke away.
“Well,” you sigh, looking down at the coffee cup pinched between your legs, avoiding his gaze, “I liked it, actually. I talked to a lot of different people. It was interesting. Plus, the paycheck was nice.”
Again, he hums in acknowledgement, then chuckles, “Hopefully this gig pays better.”
“Yeah,” you snort, “A lot better. It was fun while it lasted, but this… this is my purpose, you know?”
You glance over at him now, and his eyes lock to yours. The intensity of his stare inspires tiny flutters from deep within your core. Right when you start to ask yourself, “Does he—?” Javier nods, “I know.”
These two words give you a head rush. Your mouth gapes, and his gaze flicks to the open space between your lips. It lingers there for a beat too long before he looks away and takes one last drag off his cigarette. He crushes its glowing orange cherry into the earth and murmurs, “I better get going.”
“Oh—yeah, ok,” you frown, following his form as he rises to his feet and brushes grass from the seat of his pants, “It was nice talking to you.”
Javier smirks down at you, those devastatingly warm brown eyes softening when he asks, “See you around?”
“Sure thing,” you smile.
He stares at you for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then turns and leaves the way he came.
—
Later that night, your office phone rings.
You pick it up and pinch the receiver between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?”
“What’s up, Doc?”
A knot twists in your belly. Your eyes flick to your closed office door, then to the lecture notes scrawled on index cards all spread across your desk.
“Hi, who am I speaking to?”
Like you don’t know. Like the rich notes of his voice don’t instantly send shivers down your spine.
“Javier Peña,” he answers. In the background, there’s a clink, followed by the slosh of liquid pouring into a glass.
Nostalgia hums thick beneath your skin. Hundreds of conversations flash through your head and shimmer between your legs. You lick your lips and ask, “What can I help you with, Professor Peña?”
“Just wanted to hear your voice again like this,” he murmurs, then clarifies, “Over the phone, I mean. I missed it.”
A few things happen in quick succession within the confines of your body.
First, your heart swells. You curl the cord of your phone around your index finger and smile. He missed it. He missed you.
Then, an odd feeling dims your brightness. Like you’re naked in front of a crowded room. Exposed. You sit up straight and whip your head around the empty room.
Finally, the peacekeeper inside you tells you to calm the fuck down. This doesn’t definitively prove he knows. Maybe he’s confused you for someone else. Or maybe he’s playing a joke on you.
It’s fine.
A wet swallow sounds on the other end, then he continues, “I didn’t know you’d be so attractive in person, though… Bunny.”
Shit.
Electricity floods your veins and short-circuits your brain.
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you let out an exasperated chuckle and push your chair out behind you. The coiled cord of your phone works as a leash as you pace the width of your desk, “Professor Peña, I’m not sure who you think I am—”
“Don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t bullshit me,” he purrs, his voice sure and steady, “I know.”
Shock steals your tongue. Your eyes clamp shut. Chest aches. Hands tingle. You take a deep, shaky breath and try to harden your tone, “Know what, exactly?”
Javier ignores your denial, just says, “Come over.”
“Javi—” you start to protest, destroying all pretense as you stare up at the ceiling.
He doesn’t say anything. The line is silent as he waits for a better response.
Eventually, you ask, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this—What do you want?” you drop your voice to a whisper, “Look, if you’re trying to blackmail me—”
“Blackmail you?” he scoffs, “Do you really think I’d do that?”
You scoff, “Well, I don’t know—”
“I promise it’s not like that, sweetheart. I’d just like to have a drink with you in private, so we can… talk.”
“Now who’s bullshitting?”
The speaker crackles with an airy chuckle, “You got me there.”
“So… what do you want with me, Javi?”
You hear the metallic flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale. His words are fuzzy with smoke when he asks, “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like?”
Heat flickers deep inside you. You imagine his hands gripping your body. His mouth hot on your skin. You lean against your desk and shrug, “It doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not an answer.”
You don’t trust yourself to say anything.
He takes a drag off his cigarette, then says, “All that talk about what we would do if we were together. How well you’d take me. What that sweet little cunt would feel like wrapped around—”
“Javi, it was a job,” you whine. It holds little conviction.
He’s quiet. The low, airy hiss of his lungs drawing smoke. Then, “Are you saying it wasn’t real?”
Heat rises to your face. You open your mouth to lie, but you breathe the truth instead, “No.”
“Then come over.”
You bite your lip, looking down at your lecture notes with indecision.
“Please.”
With an exaggerated sigh, you concede, “What’s your address?”
—
Javier’s one-bedroom apartment is small and tidy. The stark white walls are void of decoration, but the tasteful home furnishings, all wood and bronze and leather, tell you this choice is less “sad bachelor pad” than it is “I want my fucking deposit back.”
What was intended to be a dining room area has been made into a home office. A large chestnut bookcase lines one wall, displaying various textbooks and whodunit novels alongside family photos. A matching chestnut desk butts up against the adjacent wall. Stacks of papers and notebooks, most aptly described as an “organized mess,” sit atop the deep wood finish.
You lean on the kitchen counter opposite him and watch him pour room-temperature whiskey into two low tumbler glasses. Each nerve ending in your body buzzes with anticipation. You try to think of things to say, small talk to make, but it all seems flat. Disingenuous. The words all die on your tongue.
This doesn’t seem to bother him, though.
He slides a glass across the counter, then rests his elbows on the surface, eyes flicking around your face as you take a sip.
“What?” you chuckle after swallowing the burning liquid.
He shrugs, “You’re just… much more beautiful than I expected.”
“Oh yeah?” you smirk, meeting his eyes, “What were you expecting?”
He licks his lips and smiles, this big, brilliant, sly smile, “Real answer?”
Fuck, he’s handsome.
“Always,” you grin in return, batting your eyelashes at him as you lean closer onto the counter.
“I imagined you so many different ways, and none of them seemed right,” he confesses, face falling into a frown, “I expected disappointment.”
“Oh,” you wince and nod, dragging the tip of your finger along the rim of your glass, “Well… are you disappointed?”
“No,” he tells you firmly. Your eyes snap to his, and he asks, “Are you?”
“No,” you breathe, searching his face.
A hum sounds from his throat. The air between you is thick and magnetic. It clings to your skin and makes you shiver.
“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he coos, his vocal cords catching an edge, “No bullshit, alright?”
Your heart gallops. You swallow hard and nod for him to continue.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
Everything seems to tilt. Marionette strings pull your spine taut. Your tongue traces your lips before you take a swig from your drink. You can’t look at him, but feel his gaze burning your face.
The counter creaks as he pushes off it. He works his way around it, slowly, deliberately, each step amplifying across your tingling skin, until he’s inches away, hovering there. Heat radiates from his body and pulses between your legs.
Javier purrs your name.
You look over at him and meet those warm, dark eyes, all hooded with want. They drop to your mouth and seem to study your lips. It’s like something tightens around your lungs and squeezes every ounce of air from them.
“I, um…”
It comes out barely a whisper.
His throat rumbles in response. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, making you shiver, and says, “Look at you, so shy all of a sudden.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He nods in acknowledgment, but he scoots closer. Drags the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. A shudder racks your body and you whimper.
“I didn’t ask you if it’s a good idea, I asked if you want to fuck me,” he murmurs, hot gaze flicking between your eyes and mouth. He slides his hand against your abdomen. It stays there as he steps behind you, pulling you into the heat of his chest, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, though, would you?”
“Javi—”
His lips press a damp spot into your shoulder, the warm tips of his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt, drawing soft circles on your bare skin, and he hums, “Hmm?”
You gasp as his touch ripples deeper, jolting your insides, making your eyelids flutter, “We really shouldn’t.”
But you reach back and place your palm on the nape of his neck, gently coaxing him to continue. He leaves a trail of slow, heated kisses to your thudding pulse. The wet velvet of his tongue rolls against you.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, threading his hair through your fingers, pulling him closer.
A pleased rumble sounds from deep inside him. His lips form a seal, sucking the tender skin of your neck. You moan at the wave of pleasure that gushes down your spine.
The hand at your navel slides over the zipper of your pants, following the curve between your legs, applying firm, flush pressure. He holds it there while dragging his tongue up your neck, then catches your earlobe in his teeth and tugs.
“Fuck,” you gasp, and he releases.
“Come on, sweetheart, say it.”
You let your head fall back on his shoulder and roll your hips against his hand. He draws it away and mutters in your ear, “All that dirty talk over the phone, now you can’t use your words?”
“Fuck me,” you whisper, pushing back into the bulge in his jeans, grinding into him.
He sucks in air through his teeth and grazes your cheek with his nose, “What’s that?”
You chuckle and drag a finger along his jawline, “You heard me.”
“Maybe I wanna hear it again.”
“Oh yeah?” you twist around to face him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck.
He drinks you in with this lustful gaze that settles on your lips and nods, then takes a step closer, backing you against the counter, pressing his body into yours.
“Is that what you want?” you drop your voice to a sultry whisper and tilt your head, “You want me to tell you how wet my pussy is for you? How it’s begging to be filled by you?”
A groan escapes his chest and you grin.
“That’s it, isn’t it, baby?”
“It is.”
Your teeth catch your bottom lip for a moment and you shrug, “Do you wanna feel how bad I want you?”
He nods.
“Go ahead, baby.”
Javi searches your face as a hand slips under the waistband of your pants, then under your panties. A thick finger slides between your lips, down the gooey middle of you, and he rasps, “Holy fuck.”
You gasp at the gentle way his touch explores you, moving up and down your folds, spreading your heat.
“That feels good,” you breathe, looking up through your lashes to meet his eyes.
He rubs your clit in soft, concentric motions, holding your gaze, his mouth gaping open when you whimper and nod in approval. Each flick of his wrist accumulates hot and sticky and alive at your core, prodding your pulse, warming your skin. Quiet gasps fall from your lips. Your eyelids flutter and you rake your fingers through his hair.
“Do you like that?” he asks, all rough edges, “Like the way I touch you, baby?”
“Yes,” you whine, “I love the way you play with my pussy, Javi, feels so fucking goood, oh my god—”
His lips crush into yours. You clamber closer, kissing him back, heated and needy, both of you making all these throaty, desperate noises as your mouths meet again and again, licking, tugging, kissing. His touch between your legs quickens, your entire body starts to sweat and tremble as pleasure twists inside you.
You’re overcome with this aching need for more.
“Javi—please,” you beg between kisses, hooking a finger under his belt, “I want you.”
His throat rumbles. He captures your lips in another kiss before grabbing your hand and leading you to his bedroom.
When he flips on the light switch, it reveals a few cluttered surfaces and a four-post bed. You pull your shirt off over your head and shuffle out of your pants as you absorb everything. The suit jackets hanging on the corners of his dresser’s vanity mirror. A stack of mystery novels on his nightstand. The white comforter, rumpled like he tried to make his bed but he’s not very good at it.
So much proof that this person who only existed as a voice in your life for so long is flesh and blood.
It’s surreal.
“Did you ever think something like this would happen?”
You turn to see Javier unbuttoning his shirt, gaze drifting along your body. His pants lay in a pile beside him. An amused smile spreads across your face when you notice his cock standing at attention. He shucks the shirt off his shoulders as you step towards him and slide your palms up his smooth chest.
“What, that I’d fuck a client?”
Javier nods. His hands land on your waist and he guides you back towards his bed, planting a few languid kisses on your jawline, mustache tickling your skin.
“No,” you chuckle, “I had a very strict no meeting policy… as you know.”
The backs of your legs butt up against the bed. You land on the bed with a soft bounce and crawl backwards to allow him space to follow. He does, running his hands along the curves of your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your sternum.
As you tell him, “You were my favorite, though,” he reaches around your back, unhooks your bra, and tosses it aside.
“Was I?”
His heated palms slide up your ribcage, over the slope of your breasts, and he squeezes them. You gasp, eyebrows threading together, and nod. He drags his tongue across your nipple, then closes his lips around it and sucks. A burst of pleasure soaks your insides, sharpening when his teeth catch the bud and grind down.
“Ffffuck,” you whine, meeting his eyes as he moves to the other nipple, licking, sucking, biting. Every motion drips hot down the middle of you.
“Do you like playing with my tits?” you coo while combing your fingers through his hair, making it stick up every which way, “You do, don’t you, baby?”
His eyelids flutter and he moans, nodding, then opens his mouth wider and takes more, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks.
Your head falls back with a moan, “So fucking good, yes—”
Javi comes off you with a pop and rolls your nipples between his fingers, “So hot.”
You watch him work his way up your body, leaving kisses on your sternum, your collar bone, your cheek, your lips. Your hands slip around his shoulders and you arch your back into him, wrapping your legs around him, soaking up the warmth of his skin, your lips and tongues meeting again and again, exchanging soft moans, hips grinding his cock between your bodies.
“I need you,” he says, eyes all wild and black, “Fuck, I need you—”
“Take me.”
He steals another kiss from your lips before sitting up to pull off your underwear. While tossing them aside, he drinks you in, sliding one heated palm up and down the curves of your body, purring, “Look at you. Fucking perfect.”
You whimper at his praise, at his reverent touch making your nerve endings buzz. He strokes your clit with his thumb, mouth hanging open as your whole body shivers and writhes in reaction.
“So sensitive, mi conejita,” he murmurs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, “Do you want it?”
“Yes,” you nod, arching your hips, “I need it—I need to feel you inside me, Javi, please.”
A noise surfaces from deep in his chest, then he breathes, “Fuck, say it again.”
You thread your eyebrows together and bat your lashes at him, shifting your voice into the lusty, airy tone you know gets him going, “I need to feel you inside me, Javi. Need your cock to fill me, make me whole—”
“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking forward just enough to breach you. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and you moan.
“Do you want more, baby?”
You lick your lips and nod frantically as he works your clit faster, the tip of him teasing you. Pressure builds in your chest and pulls your muscles taut. You roll your hips and try to get more of him, more movement, following the heat pounding through your veins.
“Need more of my cock, baby, that’s what you need?”
“I need more of your cock,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering at the growing fire deep in your belly, “Please please please, Javi, plea—”
“You’re gonna come for me just like this, aren’t you?” his voice only amplifies the feeling, making your heart race, and then he rasps, “Fuck, baby, do it, let me feel you, let it go.”
You do.
It overtakes you, flooding you with pleasure, your whole body shaking from the force while Javi strums your clit fast and hard, cooing, “That’s it, mi conejita, that’s it, come for me baby. Doesn’t that feel good?”
You whimper and nod, unable to form words until your orgasm peters out and leaves you panting, staring up at him. He meets your gaze. His cock pulses inside you.
Seeing him like this, his hair all disheveled, skin dewy with sweat, dark eyes fiery and enamored…
“Come here,” you sit up on your elbow and bring a hand to his chin, coaxing him closer. He follows you down to the bed and kisses you with force, a groan vibrating on your tongue as you drag it against his.
He starts to roll his hips, filling you more and more with each thrust, the thick length of him electrifying your walls.
His lips don’t leave yours. Neither of you pull back to murmur filth to the other. The only noise in the room comes from your humid bodies pressing together, from whines and moans traded through panting breaths as you renew the kiss again and again.
You push back against his thrusts, digging your fingers into the broad expanse of his shoulders, losing yourself in the feel of him stretching you, the heat of his skin clinging to you, his mouth against yours.
Pleasure builds, hot and demanding, between your bodies. He fucks you faster, pumping into you at a frenzied pace that makes you gasp and nod, pulling you higher and higher. His hand grips your jaw and he stares down at you, searching your face, his puffy lips forming an ‘o’ as he watches your face contort.
Neither of you seem in control of the noises escaping you. They’re frantic and breathy and sharp.
At once, it’s like you’re sucked up into a vacuum. All the air evacuates your body and your muscles clench. The noises stop when you reach the crest of the wave, and when ecstasy crashes down, you let out a choked sob, convulsing around him. He groans, low and guttural, hips stuttering as he captures your lips in his and spills inside you.
A few languid kisses pass back and forth before he rolls off you. You follow the persuasion of his arm curling around your shoulders and tuck yourself into his side. He holds you here like this for a while, staring up at his ceiling while your breathing returns to normal, and eventually he asks, “Why was I your favorite?”
You shrug and watch your fingertips draw swirls into his chest, “You wanted me to be me, not your idea of me.”
He hums, grazing his thumb against your shoulder, then says, “I think that’s true for both of us.”
“Yeah?” you shift to meet his eyes.
He nods, dropping his gaze to your mouth. You draw closer to kiss him, slow and soft, and when your lips part, he murmurs, “Mi conejita.”
#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña x you#javier peña x ofc#javier peña narcos#narcos fanfiction#narcos fic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character
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Parings: Jason Todd x Reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: You and Jason spend some quality time together on a balmy summer night amongst the flora and fauna. Things quickly heat up, as they so often do when the two of you are together.
Warnings: SMUT--MINORS DNI. fingering, foul language, Jason being stupidly strong and handsome and hot and hshsaksjfkhf!!
A/N: Hi hello! Since my old blog got deleted (I'm still not over it. Ten+ years of work and building up a following gone down the drain), I've decided to start reposting my old stuff here. This one used to be called Sweet Bitter, but I decided to change the name. ENJOY!
IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE REBLOG IT.
There’s something about the way the moonlight casts a silvery glow to your eyes, how it turns your dewy skin a pearlescent shade of indigo, that has Jason punch drunk, lips parted in silent awe while he watches you take in the scenery. You look ethereal, a goddess come down from heaven to fill the cracks in his soul with liquid gold until he’s overflowing—and fuck, he’s never been more in love with you than he is right now.
The midnight air is ripe with honeyed blossoms and earthy moss, a symphony of buzzing cicadas fills the silence as a balmy breeze tousles a few loose strands of your hair around your face. It has him reaching out to tuck them behind your ear, pulling your focus from the lush greenery around you to his glittering blue eyes instead.
Jason gives you a lazy grin, the kind that makes your stomach flutter, fingertips brushing the curve of your jaw before he settles back on his elbows across the blanket and your gaze lifts skyward. You’ve never seen so many stars before—the light pollution in Gotham almost blots out the moon most nights, and you want to commit this view to memory, to remember every twinkling ball of starlight scattered across the charcoal sky.
“How’d you find this place?” You murmur softly, fingers curling around the hem of your sundress, picking at the edge idly.
“Ivy owed me a favor.” Jason answers, laughing when your head whips around to look at him.
“This is Poison Ivy’s garden?” You hiss, eyebrows knitted together, and he laughs harder, his palm cupping your knee as he gives you a gentle shake.
“Relax, baby,” he teases, laughter still bubbling up in his throat. It makes his voice a little raspier, a little more gruff, and with it your pulse spikes, because goddamn if little things like that don’t turn you to mush. “There’s nothing poisonous here, I promise.”
You give him a skeptical look, but it quickly melts away into a smile that makes Jason’s throat tight with emotion. Yeah, he’s in deep, tilting back a swig of his beer in hopes that it’ll hide the heat that’s coloring his cheeks rosy. It doesn’t, your smile turning cheshire when you snatch the bottle from his hands and neck back what’s left.
His face turns sour, glaring at you while he folds those thick arms across his chest, his t-shirt struggling to contain the sheer mass of him, the cotton stretched to its limit. The sight has your cheeks warming, mouth going dry, because it should be fucking illegal to look like that. “I was drinking that, brat.” Jason chides, and you answer with a flick of your tongue past your lips, blowing a raspberry at him.
“Sucks to suck, I guess.” You retort, lifting your eyes back towards the sky, the distraction providing a perfect opportunity for him to wrap those massive hands around your waist and haul you onto his lap.
It’s no surprise to anyone that Jason is strong, he’s built like a brick shithouse—an absolute unit of a man from head to toe, and yet it still catches you off guard every single time he flaunts that strength. Like all of those early mornings when he’s just gotten home from patrol while you’re getting ready for work and he can’t help but lift you into his arms to fuck you in the shower, or those hazy nights when you’ve both had one too many and he’s got you folded in half against the brick wall of an alley, one hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds you make while he turns you inside out with the slow drag of his cock.
Your reaction is always the same though, an excitable giggle slipping out from behind your teeth as your hands settle on his shoulders, only this time your legs are spread open to accommodate the width of his stocky thighs. You bite your lip, and Jason’s bravado slips, if only for a moment, as his eyes track the movement, blood immediately rushing to his dick and—shit, why the fuck did he wear jeans tonight?
“Wanna say that again?” He goads, cocking his head to the side, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips until you squeal, wriggling around on his lap in an attempt to flee. “Nuh uh, you’re goin’ nowhere, baby.” Jason taunts you, his arms locking around your back, pulling you in until you’re chest to chest.
It’s a wonder, he thinks, gazing at you through hooded eyes, how he ever manages to keep his hands off of you in the first place, how the two of you even make it out of your bedroom. Someone should give him a goddamn medal or something, because it takes more self control than he’s used to practicing—resisting the urge he has to tear your shit up every minute of every day.
And that’s without mentioning how you look tonight, sprawled out on top of him in that little scrap of fabric you call a sundress, the hem riding up the tops of your buttery thighs, exposing the barest hint of your core, pussy lips peeking out from behind those lacy panties you’re sporting—taunting him, begging for the kind of attention he’s all too happy to supply.
You let your hands roam, gliding across the tops of his shoulders and around to the back of his neck, fingertips snaking up through his hair, the longer pieces curling in the sticky, nighttime summer heat. “You got that much right, at least.” You tell him, because even though you’re more composed about it, you’re still just as lovesick as he is.
“Sweet talkin’ me isn’t gonna make me forget your little comment,” Jason muses, palms dragging up the outsides of your thighs until his fingers disappear beneath the skirt of your dress, thumbs rubbing heated circles into the skin, “but I’ll let you make it until we get home.”
A promise for later.
His hands travel higher still, dipping under the lace stretched thinly at the apex of your thighs. He drags them inward, tugging the sodden material away from your slit, the rough pads of his fingertips tracing the crease where your legs meet your cunt. You keep your eyes fixed on his, hiccuping a soft breath in because you know exactly what he’s thinking when he leans in, nose skimming across your jaw and up until his breath is cooling against the shell of your ear.
“Wore this thing just to torture me, didn’t you? Been flashing me these pretty little panties all night. Think you’re so clever, hm?” You puff out a shaky breath, nodding softly, your hair tickling Jason’s face. “Shame m’gonna ruin ‘em.” His fingers curl and pull, ripping at the delicate lace until it tears apart and he pulls them clean off in one fell swoop, another pair of your underwear now lost to his impatience and show-boating.
Jason lets his tongue trace over your cartilage, teeth nipping at your earlobe until you shiver, a soft whimper forcing its way out of your mouth. “So proud of yourself, aren’t you? Got me all worked up—you and that smart fuckin’ mouth in this tiny fuckin’ dress. Know what m’gonna do now, baby?”
He cups your pussy and gives it a firm squeeze, pleased as punch when his palm is met with the oozing slick of your arousal, free hand trailing up your spine until he’s cradling the back of your head. It almost feels loving, and then he tightens that hand into a fist, tangling your hair as he yanks your head backwards, exposing the column of your throat to his eager mouth.
Plush lips latch onto your dewy skin until the blood vessels rupture while Jason runs his first two fingers over your slit, spreading you open, groaning at the heat he finds there. He knows exactly what it feels like to be swamped by that heat, wrapped up in molten velvet, and he ruts his hips up into you, cock straining beneath denim, the zipper catching on his sensitive head until he rips himself away to hiss.
“Gotta get you ready, yeah? Gonna fuck you dumb when we get home, princess. Fill you so full’a my cum that it’ll be leakin’ outta you ‘til tomorrow night.” Your answering moan makes him feral, growling as he hauls your mouth down to meet his in a kiss that’s wet and messy, no desire at all to make it pretty or sweet, and that suits you just fine.
Finally, Jason lets his fingers dredge through your folds, swiping over your clit, down to your hungry little hole, and back up—teasing you, feeling the way your sensitive pearl pulses under his touch. Sucking your tongue into his mouth, he groans, drunk off the taste of you, sweet as honeydew with a hint of bitter from the beer you stole. He hooks two digits inside you, swallowing the sound you make—shell shocked and breathy while he works you open until his palm is flat against your mons.
He keeps them there, deeply seated, and curls them against your gummy walls while your fingernails dig harshly into the meat of his biceps and you squeal. It’s too much—a sensory overload, barely any effort at all and you’re already wound so fucking tight, amazed by how quickly Jason can make you sprung. “Mhm,” he murmurs against your kiss swollen lips, hazy eyes bouncing between yours, “that’s my girl, lemme hear you. Know it feels good, baby, gonna make it all better just—fuck—just sit still for me, hm?”
Lust-drunk, you nod frantically, whining low in your throat as Jason begins to fuck you with his fingers, opening you up for a third that has you bouncing softly on his lap. Christ, he’s never seen you quite like this—so wild and free, wanton cries of pleasure drowning out the consonance of buzzing from the fireflies that flit through the air around you.
“Jay,” you pant, arching into him, pretty tits perched right in his face, nipples pebbled and peeking through the thin material of your dress, “fuck, s’good. Please—wan’ cum.” He bends forward to tongue at your tits, teeth catching on those perked little nubs, lavishing them with the attention they’re sorely missing. It makes your thighs quiver, his thumb joining in his efforts to shatter you right here and now, flicking tight and hard against your clit.
“Go on, pretty girl. Cum for me, make it nice an’ messy.” He coos, the tone of his voice is almost mocking, but you’re far too lost in your pleasure to care. You’ll worry about what this means for the rest of your night later, right now all you care about is chasing the release that’s rising quickly and you to meet it.
The wet squelch of you pussy is music to Jason’s ears, his forearm burning from his efforts, fucking into you at a brutal pace while your walls flutter deliciously around his fingers. Leaning back a little, he untangles his hand from your hair and grips your jaw hard enough that it pulls your focus and you wince. “Eyes on me, baby.” He commands, desperate to watch the way you crumble for him—only for him.
Your orgasm crests and then crashes, rocketing you into bliss so sharp that you see stars, an imprint of the very same sky you were just gazing at not twenty minutes ago, your entire body quaking as he corrals you by your hip, anchors you flat atop his thighs while he works you through it. He can feel your cum rolling down his wrist, cooing and praising you with sweet words as he kitten licks the sweat gathered above your lips, across your chin, salty and earthy.
“Good fuckin’ girl. Cum so hard for me, look so goddamn beautiful, princess.” He murmurs, biting at the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet while you ride out the final waves of pleasure, flexing out your fingers from where they were wedged into his arms.
Jason gives you a moment to breathe, gentle when he slips his fingers free from your swollen, gushy core. Bringing them up to his mouth, his tongue laps at the pearly droplets running down his arm, fingers webbed with your glistening release that he suckles greedily with a lascivious moan. The sound travels straight to your overworked clit, a gentle thrumming already starting up again as he cocks a brow at you and smirks, like he just knows.
“Better get you home, huh? Don’t think Ivy would take too kindly to us defiling her garden more than we already did.” You sock him square on his chest, and he laughs, pulling you close for another kiss that you smile into, cupping his face in your hands.
“Good idea,” You answer, the tip of your nose brushing his. “Apparently I have some apologizing to do. Sensitive little baby Jason Todd can’t handle a little ribbing.”
His smile widens, not bothering to call you on your jibe. “Damn right you do,” he says, lifting you off of his lap to start gathering your things. When he stands, he offers you his hand, and you slip your fingers between his—still damp from your pussy. Glancing down at you, Jason runs his tongue over his teeth and grins again, pulling you towards the path that leads out of the garden. “Plus you own me a beer.”
#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd smut#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood smut#batfam#batfamily#jason todd#red hood#smut fic#smut writing
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Okay so I have a fic idea and I’m a bit obsessed with it so hope you like it too!!
I was imagining that the reader is part of the crows and they do a job where the reader and Jesper get cursed or poisoned where they just stay in a coma like state.
The crows try everything to wake them up but nothing works and one day Wylan kisses Jesper and Jesper wakes up so they realise the cure is TRUE LOVES KISS!
Kaz is obviously in denial about his feelings and thinks the reader can’t possibly love him back so he doesn’t even try and the other crows start getting really mad at him and basically force him to kiss the reader and she obviously wakes up too!
I was thinking lots of angst and worrying and pining before the kiss because I love pain haha
I would absolutely love you forever as ever if you could write this! ❤️
'Fairytale' - Kaz Brekker x Reader
Prompt: Kaz sends you and Jesper on a heist, which results in the pair on the brink of death. Can Kaz face his trauma and save the person he loves most?
- Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader (pre-relationship)
- Warnings: Mentions of asphyxiation (gas poison like season 2), Jesper and reader fall into a coma like state, descriptions of Kaz's trauma, nothing too graphic i dont think?? Angst, angst, angst
A/N: Anon i just have to say i love you, this request is EVERYTHING. Its a long one but i just couldn't stop writing! Please keep requests coming, you guys have incredible ideas!!! P.S Thank you all for 5000 notes already <3
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The second the words ‘Jesper’ and ‘Y/N’ coincided with the word ‘heist’, fits of laughter and screeches of excitement escaped the pair in question. It was rare that the friends could spend a mission entirely alone, obviously working diligently, but stopping by for drinks afterwards, unbeknownst to their boss.
Kaz rolled his eyes, fixing a dull look at the two, lip curling up in what may have appeared to be disgust. However, you caught the playful glint in his eye, just illuminated by the club’s oil lanterns for you to notice. Giving the pair of you the meticulously laid out plan, Kaz offered a tight nod before watching you disappear into the crowd of pigeons, and out into the cool breeze infiltrating Ketterdam’s night air.
A pair of eyes lingered on your back, until you were far enough away that the raucous customers drowned out your angelic laugh, riding high above the crowd and penetrating the heart of the man you had just turned from. Clutching his cane fiercely, Kaz pushed all thoughts of you aside, burying deep the anxiety rising into his throat, and limping swiftly back up to his office.
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“Come on Y/N, we’re early anyway. Surely a tiny drink won’t hurt, I mean Kaz isn’t,” Jesper started playfully, but you cut him off with a look that could only be replicated with enough study of your boss’s face.
Jesper burst out laughing, infecting your chest with bubbles of joy, bursting out of you in a fit of giggles which set your partner off further. “Sorry Jes, Kaz’s orders. Plus, the sooner this is over, the more we can drink later,” you replied, your voice weakening at the end of the phrase as you suppressed a further attack of laughter.
Once the pair had battled through the biting conditions, gusts of wind cutting at their exposed skin like needles, the heist had run smoothly. Jesper successfully distracted the guards outside the small outlet, resorting to booming gunfire when even his charm had displayed no effect. You dissolved into the shadows, slipping through the doorway to the room that Kaz had suggested held the jewel, something, you supposed, worth far more than its underwhelmingly ragged appearance displayed.
The sound of guns clicking against their holsters alerted you, a shiver of anticipation creeping up your spine, however it dissipated as quickly as it came, once an outline of a ridiculously tall hat appeared on the floorboards. Within moments, Jesper joined you at the entrance of the room, eyes alight with adrenaline, practically buzzing next to you as his body twitched from the excitement of using his guns.
“Right then, lets go get this thing,” Jesper stated dramatically before striding forward with determined steps. Yet the strangled warning and the missed grasp on his wrist came too late, as a floorboard shifted under the sharp-shooter’s weight, concealing the entrance and your only chance of escape.
A soft light emanated from a half-burnt candle on the other side of the cage they now stood in, yet it was enough to catch a flash of regret seize Jesper’s face as he turned towards you.
“Uhmm, I’m guessing that wasn’t supposed to happen, right?” Jesper said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the trap he had triggered. A sigh escaped you, the previous joy from the early evening seeping from you fast, replaced with ice flooding your veins, heart hammering savagely against your chest. As you formulated a response to both calm you down, and relieve Jesper, a hissing sound disrupted the thickening silence.
The sound multiplied, surrounding the pair as they frantically searched for the source of the noise, like as snake threatening its victim before injecting its most lethal venom into its prey. Before the analogy of the snake could panic you further, something caught your eye, forcing you to strain your sight to make out the red shape slithering around on the floorboards. The candle flickered and dimmed, leaving the lightest of red glistens to illuminate the room.
“Jesper,” you choked out, finally comprehending what shape inching towards you was. Yet there was no need for a reply, as a sharp scent infiltrated your nostrils, forcing you to cough violently as the smoke burned your lungs, ripping apart your flesh from the inside out.
Jesper was forcing your name through his lips as he staggered towards you, gripping you tightly in his embrace as his lungs constricted. The pair crashed to the floor as each limb felt severed from the rest, the flickering candle now smothered by the red smoke.
Black filled both crow’s visions, as the gloom consumed them, relieving the burning sensation as their lungs gave out.
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There were truly very few things that could render Kaz Brekker speechless, however the sight of his two closest companions lying lifeless and frigid had utterly shattered him. Inej had shadowed the pair on their mission, under the command of their boss. “Just in case,” he had said to the wraith, but it was evident to her that he was simply worried for the both of you.
The crash of the city clock startled Inej into panic, leading her to the room where she discovered the pair, limbs tangled together and Jesper’s arms encircling your frame.
Dragging both of your limp bodies to a dreg’s owned carriage, Inej rushed you back to the slat, praying frantically to every Saint she could think of. The only sense of relief keeping her sane was the faint breaths emitting from you occasionally.
Now, you were both encased in warmth, the thickest blankets the crows could locate wrapping you up as you laid unmoving on makeshift beds in Kaz’s office. Nina insisted on you being together, allowing her to monitor your heart rates efficiently, the dread that your breathing could cease momentarily consuming the crows.
Wylan sat unmoving from Jesper’s side, constantly tending to him, bringing cool cloths to reduce his fever, or forcing sips of water down his throat, anxiety ripping into him each time he was made to leave.
The boy sat curled up next to his boyfriend, barely speaking apart from breathy rasps of thanks to Nina and Inej for food, or the occasional whispers to Jesper. It was unmistakeable from the minute Inej revealed your unconscious bodies that you had been poisoned, thrusting you into a border between life and death.
Kaz’s reaction differed vastly from the rest of his crows, his initial thoughts not moving to sadness, or worry for your conditions. All he could see was Jordie’s dead body, frigid and ashen, the feel of his clammy skin slipping underneath the fingertips of the younger Rietveld brother. The waves signalled no warning, violently crushing the air from Kaz’s lungs, forcing him to stagger blindly out into the alley behind the slat.
From that moment onwards, Kaz refused to see you. Not out of spite, or callousness, but simply because he couldn’t face it. Perhaps if it were only Jesper, he could summon the courage to venture into his office, maybe even remain for longer than a minute. But you?
It would kill him to see you in that sate again.
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Sleep drastically evaded Kaz, the lack of your warm presence during the early hours caused the bastard’s mind to saturate his thoughts with every shade of terror.
Images of your lifeless body crossed over with his brother’s, the picture burning into his eyelids each time he closed his eyes. Since that night, almost a week ago by now, Kaz had not slept more than an hour at a time, and his presence had not been noted once by any of the other crows.
They tried desperately to construct a solution to the venom flowing through your veins, trying the most expensive of doctors, a team of Grisha healers, even antidotes concocted in the slat’s kitchen, yet nothing woke you. Each day unnerved the crows further, the chilling stillness of your bodies showing no sign of regeneration. The lack of activity settling a deeply rooted static into the crows lives.
That was, until Inej burst into his office to break to him the news.
Snatching his cane, Kaz bolted past her, forcefully striking the floor with each heavy step he took as he ascended the stairs. Crashing through the door, Kaz swiftly wove his way past your bed, eyes locked only on Jesper, the sight of your body in his nightmares plaguing him so torturously that he could not bear to even glance at you. As he shouldered past a gaping Nina, the sight before him confirmed the heart-wrenching cries from Wylan, the boy sobbing uncontrollably, his fists grasping at the material on his partners shirt.
Kaz’s gaze lifted to his crow’s eyes, his heart hammering in his ears when a mischievous pair glinted back at him, a weak but lopsided grin painted onto the sharpshooter’s face at the evident concern seizing Kaz’s features. The relief was short lived however, as his veins froze over, the stillness of your body flooding his mind once again with overwhelming anxiety.
“How,” was all Kaz could breathe out, voice low and throaty as emotion took hold of him.
“Whilst Inej and I were downstairs fetching new sheets for them, Wylan stayed up here. He decided at some point he needed some air, so he gave Jesper a kiss before going. But it seemed to have woken him up, and, well, here he is?” Nina offered, the weeps still wracking Wylan, words unable to creep out through the tears that submerged him.
The information buzzed through the air, sinking slowly into Kaz’s consciousness, before his heart plummeted.
The expectant gazes of the others stabbed at him, each knowing glance wrenching at his heart.
What were they all looking at? Surely, they didn’t expect him to be the one to save you? What sort of fool would reciprocate feelings for the ‘bastard of the barrel’? Thousands of questions swarmed Kaz, constricting his lungs once more, as he exited the room as quickly as he had entered.
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Days had passed without a single interaction between the crows and their boss, no matter the begging they resorted to outside his door. Each sob, scream, or plead was met with a resounding silence, resulting in a chilling slash to their resolve.
Reality had escaped Kaz, his conscious and unconscious hours blurring into one, the chill of Ketterdam infiltrating his body, worsening the horrors that taunted him. Everything he touched became the decaying of rotting flesh, each shadow a haunting figure bearing either yours or his brothers features. At some points, Kaz could muster the strength to imagine something else, something he had pictured frequently even before the mission had failed.
Your eyes glowing from the gentle moonlight glistening through the window, lips slightly parted as your breath quickens at the proximity. Warmth enveloping the pair of you as Kaz reaches down to caress your cheeks, the heat radiating from them enough to seep through his gloves.
He leans into you, the waves calming at your presence, receding until they gently lapped at his feet. Your lips meet and streams of love radiate between the two of you, creating the only peace Kaz has felt since the fire-pox had plagued the city and stolen his family from him.
However, each vision of you was cut short just as he was finally kissing you, your eyes would gloss over, and your lifeless body would be pressed directly against his. Panic attacks always ensued, but Kaz was unsure of how long this could continue for. His body was weakening with lack of use, bones weighing him down with every movement.
By now the others were gathering downstairs to eat dinner, the sound of Jesper’s laugh signaling his recovery was flowing smoothly. Before his mind could register his bodies actions, he hauled himself up, grabbed his cane, and discreetly made his way up to his office.
To see you.
Every nerve in his body set alight at the sight of you, frozen in time as your chest barely rose with each shallow breath. Yet Kaz pushed through the terror threatening to root him to the floor, forcing himself to pull a chair close to you, knuckles whitening as he clutched his cane to ground himself.
When you didn’t start morphing into Jordie, his mind declared that it was safe enough to remain where he was, albeit on the very edge of his seat, waves smashing into his chest with each breath.
In order to stay with you, he needed to focus on the signs that you were at least somewhat there. Scanning your body, he fixated on the whisps of air escaping your parted lips, the rise and fall of the blankets which engulfed you, the tint on your cheeks from the fire glowing nearby.
You were alive, and it was enough reason for Kaz to stay.
For a long while, he sat silently, an undecipherable gaze glued to your form, thoughts racing through his mind but his body frozen. It was evident enough that the crows thought he could be the one to wake you up, in the same way Wylan had done for Jesper. The thought alone made Kaz outwardly scoff, not only was the idea of a ‘fairy-tale’ kiss as the sole remedy absurd, but the fact they believed you could love him enough for it to work.
Yes, you spent hours helping him through mountains of paperwork, bringing him sustenance when forgets to eat, clearing up his room when he is too engrossed in his work to notice, or even keeping him company with a book so he can rest peacefully. But you were kind, too kind for the Barrels harsh realities he thought, although it only rarely stole your spark. Your extra care for Kaz was likely due to concern, how could it be out of anything like love?
The evening drew closer, light fading as twilight enshrouded the city, the chatter from downstairs becoming quieter as the group parted ways to rest. Knowing his time was running out, Kaz Brekker did something he never thought he could.
Kaz Brekker lent down and kissed you.
Immediately sparks ignited within him, lighting him on fire in a way he had never experienced before, however the flames were extinguished quickly, as the freezing waves crashed against him.
They rose exceedingly swiftly, signaling him to retreat into his isolation, awkwardly stumbling out of the office and slamming the door to his room, body shaking violently at the action he had accomplished.
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The moment the door to his office shut, your eyes fluttered open, light scorching them from lack of use, head throbbing but the sensation of being conscious offering you some relief. Your lips tingled, a phantom feeling of something brushing against them consuming your thoughts.
Although you were slipping from the waking world constantly, the sight of your weeping friends and their grateful smiles in the intervals where you awoke granted you enough strength to recover quickly.
One face was unsurprisingly absent throughout your healing, the cold façade of the boss only gracing you once the others were gone, keeping you company in a strange but not unwelcomed silence. With each day you regained your radiant energy, even walking short distances with the aid of Kaz’s cane.
Once you had fully returned, you grew curious as to how you had awoken, startled at the revelation that Wylan saved Jesper with his love. There was no way the person you held affections for would ever do the same.
Could he?
Throwing a sly grin towards you, Nina stated, “Well we don’t truly know what brought you back, but I did catch a certain gang leader looking ever so shaky as he fled from the room. It just so happened that when I saw you next you were awake. What an odd thing,” using a dramatically exasperated tone, the mischievous spark in her eye confirming your suspicions.
Turning every shade of red, you buried your face in your hands, only peeking out from a small gap between your fingers. Just as a compass finds its bearings, your gaze gravitated straight towards Kaz.
As you peered up, you noticed he was positioned directly opposite on the far side of the Crow club, noting the pink tint that dusted his cheeks, just illuminated enough for you to catch. His gaze was unreadable but uncommonly gentle, and moments passed before you recognised what he was staring at.
He was fixated on you
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Kaz Brekker taglist: @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ell0ra-br3kk3r @swhisperer @sleepynightchild @atlasiiae @kaiinohh @sannunah28 @at-the-chateau @withbeautyandragendrage @animalistic00 @whos6claire @any-corrie (please comment if you would like to be added to the Kaz Brekker taglist)
#kaz brekker x y/n#kaz brekker x you#kaz brekker x reader imagines#kaz brekker imagine#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker#shadow and bone season 2#shadow and bone#shadow and bone imagine#six of crows x reader#six of crows imagine#six of crows#requests open#grishaverse
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ADDICTED || Max Phillips x f!reader || 3k
Summary: Max gives you everything you need but can you stop when the pleasure gets addictive?
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamic, biting, blood drinking (not graphic), f/m oral, mind control (dub-con, then very enthusiastic), slapping, unprotected piv, heartbreak, themes of addiction, obsession. Reader has hair. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no physical description.
A/n: this is for @iamasaddie ‘s Kinky May challenge with a prompt daddy kink for Max Phillips. Thank you for hosting it, Aly😘 Thank you @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and holding my trembling hand♥️ it’s my first time writing Max and I’m very nervous. Hope you all will enjoy it!💖
dividers by @saradika-graphics
MASTERLIST
You can’t get enough of him.
His fingers gripping your hair, his strong hips between your slicked up thighs, the burn his teeth leave behind, the pleasure his soft lips give you.
Yet most of all you can’t get enough of his voice.
It’s like the sweetest poison that seeps into your welcoming ear, tying you closer to him with every uttered sound. Making you addicted. Obsessed.
“You’re mine. All of you. Every drop, baby.”
“Yes, daddy,” you always agree with him. These are the rules of the game. You do what he says, he doesn’t leave you.
He gives you what you need. Purpose.
“You’re daddy’s hole. Nothing more. I’m here to fill you and feed on you. You don’t need anything else. Just daddy fucking his cum into you, load after load. While your blood satiates me. Drop after drop.”
“Yes, daddy…please, give it to me… want it…take it.”
You get so high on his voice telling you what to do, it’s euphoric. You’re always in a half trance. At work your mind is occupied by him; whenever you spend time with your family or friends, your thoughts are elsewhere. You don’t need them anymore. You are lost in him. In your mind you’re in bed, pressed by his heavy body. Limbs intervened, your sweaty skin flush against his as he’s claiming your body and soul.
It used to be easy. The first time you met at a club where Max tried to pick you up and succeeded. He was handsome, charming as hell, talkative, funny in an assholish way. Absolutely not your type, but you didn’t mind having fun. You two fucked in the bathroom and when he bit your neck and licked off the blood, you thought he was just kinky. The alcohol in your blood didn’t let you think straight. He made you come on his cock and you gave him your phone number.
Max came without a call, just appeared on your doorstep one night, and you let him in. You were cringing at your desire for some corporate suit, but he’d given it to you so good that night and you had never passed on a great fuck.
“I like you”, he said directly, lying on your sofa. He came right after work and told you that he was tired, at the same time exuding energy. You were staring at him, amused by his confidence. Max had an air about him like he owned the place and everything in it, including you.
“There’s something special about you,” he continued, pouting his lips in thought, “I don’t even need to command you. You’re so hungry. You do what I want all by yourself, baby.”
“Command me?”, you scuffed and snapped back, offended by his words, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, baby”. Max was hot but a man would never be the boss of you, you thought.
He bucked his hips, getting more comfortable on your sofa, and shot you a smug smile that made you want to slap him. Before fucking him.
“Get on the sofa. All fours,” He told you, nodding at the spot next to him. His voice was the same, deep and gruff but somehow different. As if he grabbed your will and caged it in his big hand. Made it his will instead. And to your astonishment your body followed the order.
“Take off your clothes,” he said, sitting up, as your hands and knees were already planted firmly on the surface.
He got up and made you stand still while his hands were exploring your naked body — kneaded your breasts, twitched your nipples, glided over your back, slipped between your folds and swirled your throbbing clit. Your head was absolutely empty, your mind already occupied by only him.
“Beautiful,” he praised you, spreading your ass cheeks and admiring the view, “daddy’s gonna have so much fun with you.”
You bit your lip when he called himself that and then whimpered when he latched onto your pussy. He tasted your desire for him as his hot tongue slid between your folds and traced your crying hole. A whine escaped your parted lips when his mouth stopped caressing your cunt and he stood in front of you.
With widened eyes you watched him perch on the armrest of the sofa, spreading his thighs wide.
“You know what’s my favorite thing to do?” He asked, smirking at you.
You couldn’t say anything, so you were just blinking at him while a myriad of emotions were swirling inside your chest.
“Oh, you can’t answer, right. Baby though she’s in charge, huh?” Max chuckled and then leaned closer to you face, bringing his lips to your ear and whispered,
“Let’s see who’s in charge,” and added, “Come for daddy.”
You felt burning in your stomach, your core tightened, pussy started clamping around nothing, and you cried out as a hard orgasm began shaking your whole body, making your limbs tremble. He was palming himself, watching your face twist in pleasure, loud moans leaving your lips as the waves of ecstasy were lapping at your heated body. It was hard to stand still and his previous command was the only thing that kept you from collapsing on the sofa.
“Relax,” he told you and you plopped on the surface panting heavily, while aftershocks were still going through your body.
He stood up and you felt his thumb brush your cheekbone.
“Do you believe me now, sweetheart?” He asked with a head tilt, as his bulge was looming over your head.
You looked up at his smug face, smiled a little and replied,
“Yes, daddy. Please, do it again”.
Now when he’s in your bedroom, time stops. Life stops. As soon as he sits on the edge of your bed, you kneel between his thighs, your big eyes full of deep admiration, a short sheer nightie barely covering anything. He often buys you new lingerie. He enjoys spoiling you. Also blood is hard to wash off.
If he wants you to suck his cock, all he needs to do is nod at his crotch. But tonight he wants all of you.
“C’mere,” he tells you, patting his thigh with his big hand. In a second you’re sat on his lap, your naked pussy soaking his black suit pants.
“Nearly snapped someone’s neck at work today, incompetent idiot,” He grumbles in a low voice and asks, “How was your day, baby?”
You’re pouting your lips. Who cares? Fuck life. This is what you need. This is what makes you happy, ecstatic, euphoric.
“-was ok,” you mumble, as your stomach churns with impatience. Your gaze is set downcast while you’re fumbling with his crimson tie. He nuzzles your neck and takes a deep breath of your scent. A shudder goes through him from the way you smell and you slightly roll your hips, rubbing your needy pussy against his thigh.
“So impatient, baby. Do you remember how Daddy punished you for your impatience?” his cold palm wraps around your throat and tilts your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, where his favorite vein is fluttering like a little bird under his hungry gaze.
You won’t ever forget that punishment. You have been kneeling at the foot of your bed, watching him languidly play with his cock and balls. Your mouth was watering whenever a drop of precum slid down the curve of his fat tip. He has been edging you and himself for what felt like hours until he gave you the permission to suck his cock and you came just from having him in your mouth.
“Yes, I’m sorry, daddy. I’ll wait.”
“Good girl,” he says before his lips start sucking on your delicate skin, right over the artery. He licks the patch of skin there as his hand slithers under the neckline of your nightie and squeezes your breast.
“I’m gonna take a sip and you’re gonna be a good girl and play with Daddy’s cock, ‘k?
“Yes, please”.
You tilt your head even more, offering your blood to him as your left hand slides between your bodies. You find his belt buckle and undo it, stopping yourself from rushing. You don’t want daddy’s punishment tonight. You crave his reward.
You open his pants and moan as he breaks your skin with his fangs.
You got so used to the feeling, you don’t even notice the pain. The pain is like a threshold that you step over to get to the pleasure. A small price you pay each time for the immense ecstasy he’s going to give you.
As he starts gently sucking, you take out his cock which is already hard as steel and caress its velvety skin with your fingers. It twitches in your hand and Max growls.
“I’m sorry, daddy.”
You hastily spit in your palm and return your hand to his twitching length. You wrap your hand around it and begin pumping with a rhythm you know he loves.
You flutter your eyes shut, getting lost in the feeling, ready, so ready to give and get more.
You feel his precum on your hand, and without looking, you spread it over his soft skin.
Max’s lips smacking against your neck, his growling that sends pleasant vibrations through you, his tongue, gathering the blood off your skin, mixes with the squelching sounds of your hand, dancing over his cock. It’s throbbing, pulsating in your little hand and you press your body closer to his torso, wishing to feel his length against your belly.
“Daddy, may I have it, please?”
He groans and his lips leave your neck as he commands without using his powers, “lie down.”
You can’t follow the order quicker. You need him more than air. Your empty pussy is weeping to be filled, used, stretched by his manhood. Your whole being craves to serve his needs and after satiating his hunger for some time, your cunt is ready to be fed.
Your thighs fly apart and you look up at him with pleading eyes. Max is not cruel but he’s also quick to punish you if you piss him off.
His cock bobs when he gets between your thighs and a drop of precum lands on your mound. You already whine at the sensation.
“So obedient, you really want it tonight, huh?”
“I always want it… but yes, daddy, please,” you add hastily, batting your lashes at him.
“What do you want?”
As soon as he uses this voice, the atmosphere in the room changes. He was your ‘daddy’, now he’s your god. He asks and you reply without a moment of hesitation,
“I want not to feel anything but your cock deep in my cunt, not to think. Be so cockdrunk I can’t keep my eyes open.”
He smirks but there’s a trace of bitterness in his expression.
“I see.”
He sighs and grabs your thighs with his massive hands. He spreads your legs even wider, and when your pussy blooms for him he harshly spits on your throbbing clit, making you jerk and moan. The next second he lifts your hips up and pierces you with his cock. He’s either in a good mood which you doubt by his roughness or craves a release. With your ass lifted off the bed, you gasp suddenly feeling full as your walls are spreading for him. But you need more and he knows it.
“Do you feel me deep inside, baby?”
“Yeah, you’re so big, daddy.”
“Wanna feel more? “
“Yes, daddy, please. I’m begging you, I want nothing more.”
“ ‘k, baby. You’ve been such a good girl.”
Without a warning his voice changes and he starts ordering you.
“Listen to me, hear only my voice.”
The city noises from the outside are immediately gone. You hear nothing, not even ticking of a clock in your bedroom. Only his voice is in your ears as if he’s speaking right inside your mind.
“You feel nothing. Just. My. Cock. Deep inside your cunt. In your mind. In your veins. Everywhere.”
Your eyes roll back as you’re made to concentrate on his manhood in your trembling body.
“Your pussy is hugging me so well. Make her weep around my cock. Can never get enough of your juices soaking me, baby. You always feel so good. And you deserve to feel good too.”
“Yes, daddy, I do.”
You’re floating in a warm river, his voice, his being are enveloping you. Nothing exists anymore, just him and you are left. Then he rolls his hips and it gets almost unbearably overwhelming. His cock slowly slides in and out of your sopping pussy with ease and your brain, your core, your every cell light up brightly as you already feel yourself at the precipice.
He’s fucking you gently, then gets rougher and marks you with his teeth, drinking your blood. His cock is throbbing between your walls, his hands are sliding over your breasts, twitching your nipples and playing with your clit. His face flashes in front of your eyes and you’re kissing. That’s when you feel the explosion of pure, untainted ecstasy.
“Come harder”, he commands, and you know you’re crying at how amazing you feel. It’s all happening ‘there’, somewhere deep inside you, the place so wonderful you wish you’d never leave.
At the back of your mind you know that you’re getting obsessed. Sometimes you think there’s more of him in you than you. He’s behind your eyes constantly, his handsome face with a lopsided smile flashes there over and over. You could draw it by heart now. Day after day his teeth sink deeper into your neck, his cock pierces you harder and you welcome the pain. The high is so much better after a little bit of pain.
Max is careful with you. He knows his strength and knows the effect he has on you. He’s attentive. He sees your glazed over eyes, parted lips, your breathing almost stops. You’re not here with him, you’re nowhere. You start noticing fear in his eyes when it takes longer and longer to get you out of ‘there’.
Trickles of blood are seeping from two tiny holes in your neck. Your thighs thrown widely apart, his cum is glistening at your entrance as he watches you, sitting naked between your legs. His chin and mouth are red and he’s licking his lips, not wasting a drop of you.
“Baby, look at me.” Your eyes are staring up and to the left. You’re looking at something but don’t see anything.
“Look at me!”
He orders then calls for you, nothing, again and again, you don’t respond. He slaps your cheek, not hard, just to get you back but you refuse to return to him. In your mind you’re still coming on his cock, over and over, dripping, moaning, relishing the feeling of his cum filling you up to the brim. Why would you ever go back?
Suddenly it stings. He’s slapped you really hard and your cheek is burning.
“Daddy?” You murmur, gradually coming back to reality, blinking rapidly with tears in your eyes. He’s hovering over you, his hands gripping your shoulders, his black eyes under the furrowed brows look worried and sad. Then angry.
“I couldn’t get you back! Fucking hell! You were gone for a fucking hour. It’s never been that bad.”
“It wasn’t bad. ‘s good,” You mumble while your hand flies to rub your heated cheek. Your brain is still barely functioning and your whole body is tingling after such an amazing orgasm.
“I won’t do it anymore.” He throws at you, getting off you and sitting at the edge of the bed. “Fuck this!”
Your heart freezes, gripped by the fear, and you hastily sit up. You almost fall off the bed, drunk on the amount of endorphins in your blood and then slowly crawl to him.
“Daddy, don’t say it. I’ll get back alright.”
“Yeah, what if you don’t.”
‘It’s worth it,’ you think but don’t say it. Instead you lie to him. “I’m sure I’ll always get back. It just feels so good there.”
He’s shaking his head and your stomach churns with terror.
“You told me you’d killed people for fuck’s sake! Why do you care so much about me?!” You shout and he turns to you. His pained expression makes your chest hurt. Your heart is fluttering at how handsome he is, how much you love him but love quickly morphs into hate when he threatens to take away the best thing you’ve ever experienced. You beg again and again but he’s unyielding. Finally he gets tired of your whining and leaves.
Max visits you a couple of times after that. He fucks you but refuses to command you. He makes you come on his cock or tongue and every time you cry, beg and shout, demanding to tell you to stop feeling anything except him inside you. You unravel for him again and again but it’s just not enough. Not when you’ve been there, felt that much ecstasy.
“What if I turn you?” He offers at one point.
“Will you be able to tell me what to do?”
“No.”
“Then no”.
“But we can be together forever.”
“No, daddy, please, one more time.”
He curses and leaves and then he stops coming entirely. You text, call but he doesn’t respond. Your efforts to find him are fruitless. He’s never told you the details of his life. Or you just haven’t been listening. It’s like he has disappeared into thin air, like he was just a dream.
You cry and cry, not being able to sleep, eat, feel anything else except the void in your soul and life. Max has been filling it so well and now it’s sucking you in. Without that euphoria, without him controlling you, without your ‘daddy’, you have nothing. You wish for nothing else. Mindless hookups, rebound sex, numerous strangers in your bed— nothing can give you that satisfaction.
Max left and took your life with him.
Thank you for reading!♥️ Please, comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! It motivates me a lot!!🌸
Masterlist
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orange juice (steve harrington x fem!reader)
Summary: (Post Season 4 AU) Steve's world changes in the worst way when he loses you. He struggles to move on...but he learns he might not have to when he miraculously gets a second chance with you.
Word Count: ~8k
Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, death, grief, alcoholism, mentions of sex, mention of alcohol poisoning, and an allusion to a suicide attempt (in a miscommunication!!!! no one actually tried). the reader is presumed dead after the events of season 4. lots of angst and hurt/comfort with a happy ending bc if I ever wrote something without a happy ending my identity has been stolen. inspired by "orange juice" by noah kahan with some other references to his music sprinkled throughout.
a/n: i've been bouncing between this and bloom for the past few months and they are two very different fics tonally, but i hope you enjoy. please let me know if i missed any warnings because this one is kind of heavy.
🍊🍊🍊
ORANGE JUICE
MAY 1986
A ringing phone rouses Steve from a restless sleep.
A near-empty bottle of gin rests on the floor by his bed. He doesn’t remember drinking it, nor does he remember anything else from last night.
It’s been two months since you died. Steve’s not taking it well.
That horrible day, Steve, Nancy, and Robin ran from the Creel House and found Eddie and Dustin sobbing over you, your eyes lifeless and the wounds on your abdomen weeping.
I’m so s-sorry, Steve, Dustin had said through sobs. W-we tried to save her!
An aftershock of the initial gate-opening earthquake caused panic amongst their group. Steve wanted to carry your body back to the real world for a proper burial, but there was no time before the aftershock got much too intense. Dustin and Robin refused to leave the Upside Down without him. He wasn’t going to let them get hurt, so despite the fact it broke his soul in half to do so, he allowed his friends to drag him back to the gate in the Upside Down’s version of the Munson trailer, leaving you behind.
When the dust settled and reality set in that Steve was going to have to move on without you, grief overtook him. He turned to alcohol as a welcome distraction. He’s been consistently ignoring Robin’s desperate pleas for him to talk to a professional, to drink less, to try and really process his pain.
Steve should listen, but he won’t. Instead, he’ll grieve. He’ll wallow. He’d rather wither away into nothing than work on bettering himself, because you died and that’s not fair. To you, to him. To everyone who loves you.
Steve groans, a deep rumbling thing from deep in chest, as he stretches and rubs sleep out of his eyes. He blindly reaches for the phone on his nightstand.
“Hello?” he mumbles.
“Steve, hey.”
Steve sits up like a rocket at the tremble in Robin’s voice.
“Robin? Is everything okay?”
“Uh, kind of. I mean, yes! But no. Sorry, I just—can you come to Hopper’s?”
“What is it?” Steve asks. He staggers to his feet, getting tangled in the phone cord. “Is it Vecna? Shit, who did he take?”
“No one!” Robin says, voice way too high to be believable. “Please just come over when you can.”
Steve drives over to their basecamp at Hopper’s cabin, a million bad scenarios racing through his head. What if Vecna cursed Dustin? Or Nancy, or any of the others?
What if somehow he got El, and the Hawkins’ team was really doomed?
It takes Steve almost forty minutes to get to Hopper’s, due to earthquake damage and military roadblocks all over town. He raises his hand to knock on the door, but it swings open before he can.
Joyce smiles at him, but her eyes are mournful.
“Hi, Steve,” she says warmly. “Please, come inside.”
This isn’t what Steve expected. Hopper, El, Will, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin are sitting on various chairs and couches in the cabin’s main room. Usually, it’s frantic around here: everyone running around with mixtapes, weapons, and crudely drawn maps of the town with markings where the most frequent monster attacks are. It’s never this still.
When Steve and Joyce walk in, everyone looks at him, sympathy in their eyes.
Steve’s first thought: Shit, is this an intervention?
Before he can ask, Hopper says: “The gates are closed, Steve.”
Steve’s mouth twists into a frown, heart pounding in his chest. That wasn’t the plan.
“Wait, what? How?”
“We’re not sure,” Joyce says. “But Will—”
“I can’t feel Vecna anymore,” Will explains. “And El checked this morning, and she found Vecna in the Void and…”
“He’s gone,” El says quietly. “Dead. Finally.”
Steve sinks onto a couch cushion. That should be good news. Steve should be celebrating, toasting to the death of the bastard that ruined his life and took you away by way of the demobats. But—
“We were supposed to go back,” Steve says. The back of his throat burns when he swallows hard, trying to choke down the sensation of nausea that’s either from his hangover or his panic. Or both. “We were going to go back and get Y/N’s body.”
“I’m sorry, Steve,” Jonathan says, looking down at his feet.
Steve whirls to Hopper, eyes blazing with a flash of anger that never seems to leave him these days.
“You promised!” he yells. “You promised that we’d go back for her!”
“I know,” Hopper says, keeping his voice even. “But something—or someone—killed Vecna in the Upside Down and the gates closed. The fight is done. It’s over.”
Steve’s lip wobbles. He won’t cry in front of them. He won’t. But his head spins.
“What am I going to tell her parents?” Steve says, voice cracking.
“You don’t have to do it alone, Steve,” Nancy says. She reaches a hand to touch his shoulder and Steve bats it away. “Steve—”
“This is such bullshit,” Steve snaps, turning to Hopper again. “If you had let me go back down there before, I could have brought her body back. We could’ve given her a proper funeral. Given her parents closure! But you made me wait!”
“It was the right choice,” Hopper says firmly. “I didn’t want to invoke another Vecna attack on Hawkins until we were ready to fight.”
“Maybe there’s a gate that we missed and—”
“We checked the gates this morning,” Robin says softly. “They’re all closed.”
“I’m sorry, Steve,” Joyce says. “But it’s over.”
Steve doesn’t say anything else. He storms out of the cabin, ignoring Robin’s pleas to come back, to not be alone right now. Steve drives back home, not without stopping at the liquor store first and loading up on various spirits to numb the pain.
Over the next week, you go from declared missing to officially declared dead. Steve can’t let on to your parents that he had known for months, and Hopper doesn’t want him to tell them the truth about Vecna, demobats, and the Upside Down. It kills Steve to lie to their faces, to attend the funeral where they bury an empty casket, knowing what he knows. Knowing that your body is trapped in another dimension. Dead and alone.
🍊🍊🍊
NOVEMBER 1986
“Y/N wouldn’t want this.”
Robin’s words echo in Steve’s mind hours after she’s fallen asleep in the uncomfortable armchair next to his hospital bed.
An overindulgence forced Steve to spend his Thanksgiving in a hospital—not that he had any plans with his family to get ruined anyway. Although he had been invited to Thanksgiving with the Buckleys, Wheelers, Hopper-Byerses, Sinclairs, Hendersons, Mayfields, and Munsons, Steve declined every invitation. He resigned himself to a holiday alone without you, got heavy handed with a bottle of whiskey, and passed out in the neighbor’s lawn.
When he awoke, he was in the hospital. Joyce and Robin were there, the former fretting over him and the latter chewing him out for being such a dingus and scaring her so badly on a holiday.
Like a broken record in his head of the worst song Steve’s ever heard: Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this.
Robin didn’t say it to be mean. She said it to get him to wake up. To cool it with the drinking, because if he kept going at the rate he was going, he’d meet a worse fate than a pumped stomach.
Joyce quietly reenters the room and smiles.
“Oh, you’re still up!” she says. “I thought for sure you’d try to get some sleep.”
Steve shrugs.
“I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up.”
Joyce settles on the chair next to Robin’s, ignoring the sleeping girl’s loud snores.
“When I can’t stop replaying the past in my mind,” Joyce says, “I try to think about my future instead. What are my aspirations and goals? What can I do differently to achieve them?”
Steve chews his bottom lip.
“Is it bad if I have no goals?” he says, feeling quite sorry for himself.
“Why do you think that is?” Joyce asks gently.
Steve shrugs again, before rubbing his eyes.
“Shit, I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve spent the past 3 years on edge thinking I’m going to get killed at any minute?”
Steve barks out a hollow laugh. “Or maybe it’s because 2 years ago I met someone who turned my life completely around, and she did get killed, and I wasn’t there to save her or be with her when she died. And I couldn’t give her or her parents a proper end and every time I close my eyes, I see her laying there. And I don’t know what my future looks like without her. I don’t even think I want one.”
Steve hates crying in front of other people. But when Joyce wraps an arm around his shoulders, he breaks down.
“It’s going to be all right, Steve,” she says. She squeezes him a little tighter. “I know it’s hard moving on from loss, but you do have a future. You have so many people that love you and are going to help you figure it out. And Y/N would want you to keep going. She’d want you to go off and do wonderful things.”
Joyce was right. If roles were reversed, Steve would want you to keep going without him. Not waste away and drink yourself into a coma.
Steve’s life is changing. And despite everything, things might be looking up.
🍊🍊🍊
FEBRUARY 1987
There is a beautiful girl in Steve’s bed and she’s touching him all the ways he likes to be touched—but he can’t even enjoy it because she’s not you.
He tries to clear his mind of all distraction. The girl with him—Molly—is very, very hot. And the feeling of her hands all over him should be sufficient to keep him focused on the moment. But his mind keeps wandering to you.
You were the last person he was truly intimate with. Sure, he’s kissed girls at parties. But that’s different than what’s happening now. Different than being in bed with Molly and her wandering hands, her gentle touches, her salacious whispers.
Steve thinks maybe he’s finally done it. Found a girl that can help him move on from you, the girl to help him feel whole again. To not feel so alone.
But then, overcome with sensation, Steve makes the worst possible faux pas in bed: he moans the wrong name.
Molly ceases kissing him.
“What did you just call me?” she asks, sitting up suddenly with narrowed eyes.
Steve sits up as well, resting against his headboard and floundering for a response that won’t make him sound like a douchebag.
“I just, uh, well—”
“Who is she?” Molly asks. She widens her eyes in horror. “Oh my god, are you seeing someone else? Am I ‘the other woman’?!”
“It’s nothing like that,” Steve rushes to assure her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just got caught up in the moment.”
“Caught up in the moment thinking of someone else when I was about to blow you!” Molly snaps. She stomps off the bed and grumbles as she pulls her jeans and sweatshirt back on.
“Wait, hold on!” Steve says. He struggles to put a pair of sweatpants on, hopping around frantically one-footed to pull them up as Molly grabs her purse and yanks open Steve’s bedroom door. “Please don’t leave, Y/N—ah, Molly!”
“Unbelievable!” Molly scoffs as she stomps down the staircase of the townhome Steve shares with three other students at the University of Indiana.
Molly gets to the front door but stops, whipping around to face Steve as he catches up to her.
“Who is she?” she demands. “An ex-girlfriend?”
“In a sense, yeah, but—”
“If you’re still so hung up on her, maybe you should ask her to blow you instead!”
Steve thinks about being an asshole. About letting the anger that simmers in his bloodstream 24/7 rear its ugly head. About snapping at Molly, telling her that yeah, totally, he’d love to get a blowjob from a corpse stuck in an alternate dimension.
But then Molly would feel bad and give him the pitying look Steve hates. So instead, he says, “Yeah, I’ll do that. See you in class.”
Molly huffs before giving Steve’s cheek a sharp smack! He doesn’t wince. Upset at his lack of reaction, Molly storms out.
Just as well. Remembering how the love of his life is dead is a real mood killer.
Steve rubs his forehead and heads to the kitchen. He eyes the six pack in the fridge. He hasn’t touched alcohol in three months. The temptation causes his hand to graze a beer can, but he quickly pivots to a cartoon of orange juice.
He chugs the drink before stalking up the steps to his room. Steve drops to his knees and blindly reaches in the dusty space under his bed. He grips the corner of a box and drags it to the middle of the floor.
Once opened, two black button eyes stare back up at Steve. It’s Lambchop, a stuffed animal lamb that your parents gave him. After your parents held a small funeral and buried that empty casket, they gave Steve this box of your things.
Lambchop here was her favorite toy, your mother had said at the time, eyes glistening with tears. She always hoped to pass it on to her own children one day. I think she’d want you to have it.
Steve thanked your mother and father, gave his condolences, went home, drank enough whiskey to fell a horse, and passed out.
Shaking himself out of the memory, Steve climbs onto the bed and places the lamb on the pillow next to him. It’s one of few connections to you that he has left, so he’ll cherish it, even if it’s a little silly.
What Steve doesn’t realize is that in another dimension, the very person he’s yearning for lays in the version of her bedroom created by the Upside Down, holds a dirty version of Lambchop, and yearns for Steve right back.
🍊🍊🍊
MAY 1987
You and Steve used to have your futures mapped out: start at U of I together in fall of ’86. Move in together after your freshman year of college. Get engaged by fall of ’89, married in fall of ’90, and have two kids by ’95. Spend the rest of your lives together, happy and healthy, with the horrors of Hawkins far behind you.
That was before Steve’s world changed in the worst way. Before you died in the Upside Down, when you drew the bats away from the gate. You were a hero, trying to keep them from flying into your version of Hawkins and destroying it.
Steve struggled for a long time. He’s still struggling, but in a slightly better place.
He’s sober six months now. He thinks of you often, but he tries to focus less on how he desperately misses you and more on how you wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life miserable and drunk.
But he does miss you so, so desperately. And he would give anything to have you back.
It hurts being reminded of you, so Steve stays away from Hawkins. But he can’t say no when Mrs. Henderson invites him to Dustin’s sweet sixteen birthday party, so he makes the trek back.
“Steve!” Mrs. Henderson coos, opening the front door with a beaming smile. “Welcome!”
“Hi, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve says. She pulls him into a hug and he adds, “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s so lovely to see you too!” Mrs. Henderson says. She leads Steve through the house. “Please, come in! You can put Dusty-Bun’s gift on the dining room table. I have strawberry wine in the kitchen—ah, and orange juice, or lemonade. It’s yours if you want it!”
Mrs. Henderson pivoted to juice awfully fast. She must have found out about Steve’s Thanksgiving Break bender. Steve tamps down the feeling of shame worming its way through his mind and body, instead offering her another small smile before turning to the dining room to drop off Dustin’s gift.
Dustin and the rest of the Hellfire Club are in the den, playing a one-shot campaign that Eddie planned. When Dustin sees Steve, his face lights up.
“Steve! You made it!” he says, rushing over and giving him a bear hug.
“Hey buddy,” Steve says, hugging him back. “Happy birthday, Henderson.”
Dustin grins, and it lifts Steve’s mood immensely.
Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, and Erica greet him next, along with Eddie and his Corroded Coffin buddies. Eddie can barely look Steve in the eye, guilt from not being able to save you eating away at him. Steve’s told him multiple times not to feel bad about it—he knows Eddie and Dustin tried their best.
“Want to join the campaign?” Dustin asks Steve.
“Oh, I don’t know how to play,” Steve says. “I’ll just watch, okay bud?”
A short while later, Robin arrives. Once the campaign ends, Mrs. Henderson brings out the cake, and then gifts are opened.
“He looks really happy, huh?” Robin whispers to Steve, nudging him gently with her elbow.
Steve nods with a smile. Dustin took your death really hard—the two of you had been close ever since you helped him, Steve, Lucas, and Max fight the demodogs in the junkyard. Seeing Dustin smiling and laughing with his closest friends on his birthday makes Steve really, really happy.
Still, Steve’s heart aches. You should be here. You should be smiling as Dustin opens his gifts. You should be getting cake frosting on your nose, playing along with the campaign although you have no clue what’s going on.
Ice grips Steve’s chest. He gets a flashback of you lying on the cold ground, unmoving, and—
“You okay?” Robin whispers, brow furrowed. How the hell can she tell that he’s upset? It’s frightening how observant she is.
“Fine,” Steve says, throat tightening. He’s not. But he isn’t going to let his grief ruin Dustin’s big day.
At the end of the night, Dustin asks Steve when he’ll be back to visit again.
“My summer classes end in August,” Steve says. “I’ll come by then. Maybe we can hit the pool?”
Dustin seems disappointed that it’ll be a while before he sees Steve again, but he doesn’t push.
However, Steve ends up coming back to Hawkins much sooner. Three weeks after Dustin’s birthday party, Eleven calls Steve and tells him something that makes his heart stop:
“Steve, it’s about Y/N.”
🍊🍊🍊
Steve is a frantic mess.
He sits in the Byers-Hopper basement, knee bouncing as he intently watches El try to find you in the Void again.
El had told him that she’d sometimes look for you in the Void, hoping to give him some semblance of closure. However, she claims that a few hours ago, she finally found you for the first time and saw you not as a corpse, but fully alive. It’s a hope that Steve didn’t dare hold onto before, not until now.
As soon as she called, Steve got in his car and drove to Hawkins, going ten over the speed limit the whole time. He picked up Robin and Nancy along the way to El, Will, and Jonathan’s, and (unfortunately) Mike tagged along.
“Do you see her?” Steve asks, voice cracking.
“No talking, please,” El says, tightening her blindfold.
Steve purses his lips. Will gives him an apologetic smile and Robin squeezes his arm to offer a semblance of comfort. Jonathan looks between Steve and El, an uneasy expression on his face.
“I see her,” El whispers after a few minutes.
Nancy gasps. Mike’s eyes widen. Steve staggers to his feet.
“She’s okay?” Steve asks. “Where is she?!”
“I can’t tell,” El says. “But she’s holding a small, white fuzzy animal. Wait, is it dead?”
“Lambchop,” Steve says.
“Come again?” Nancy asks.
“Lambchop is her favorite stuffed animal,” Steve explains. His heart pounds in his chest at the realization that holy shit, you really are alive. “She must be in the Upside Down version of her house.”
“Y/N!” El calls. “Y/N!”
After a few more minutes of calling to you, El pulls off the blindfold and wipes her nosebleed away.
“She can’t hear me,” El says with a sigh.
“Maybe because the gates are closed,” Nancy offers.
“But if you open another gate,” Steve says, “we can get back through and find her. Right?”
“Hold on a minute,” Jonathan says, holding a hand up like a traffic cop. “Is that such a good idea?”
Steve narrows his eyes.
“Is it such a good idea to save my girlfriend’s life? Yeah, I think so, Byers.”
“Steve,” Robin whispers. “It’s okay. Just relax.”
“Relax?” Steve says, voice rising in volume with every word. “Relax?! You want me to relax? What about this fucked-up situation is relaxing! My girlfriend has been stuck in literal hell for over a fucking year! We’re going to rescue her, no matter what!”
“But opening a new gate could have major repercussions!” Mike protests.
“Screw the repercussions,” Steve snaps, glowering. “We can’t just leave Y/N down there to rot!”
“None of us want to do that, Steve,” Nancy says, keeping her voice level and calm. “But what if this is a trick from Vecna?”
“It’s not,” Will says. “If it was, I would feel his presence. I don’t anymore.”
“Boom!” Robin says, snapping her fingers. “If our human monster detector doesn’t sense any bad vibes, then we should be good to proceed.”
“Maybe we should ask El what she wants to do before we make any plans to open new gates,” Jonathan points out.
“Exactly,” Mike says. “El, what do you want to do?”
El looks down at her lap, before looking up. She locks eyes with Steve.
“I’ll do it. I’ll open the gate.”
Relief floods Steve’s whole being. He feels lighter. More hopeful than he has in a long time. But it all comes crashing down when—
“That’s not happening.”
The group turns to see Hopper and Joyce on the basement steps. Joyce looks worried, face twisted into a frown. Hopper looks angry, with his brow furrowed.
“But Dad—” El says.
“No buts,” Hopper says. “You are forbidden to open a new gate. You hear me?”
Joyce places a hand on her husband’s shoulder and says, “Now, Hop…”
Steve interrupts, walking over to the older man with a wild, panicked look in his eyes. “Hopper, please. Y/N is still alive in the Upside Down. We just need one gate so I can go through and bring her back. Please.”
Hopper fixes Steve with a sorrowful stare, the smallest bit of guilt etched on his features. Still, he remains steadfast.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper says. “I’m not putting my daughter at risk. She won’t do it.”
El, Robin, and Will all try to convince Hopper otherwise, their arguments overlapping into a cacophony. Nancy, Mike, and Jonathan share uneasy looks.
Steve can’t listen to this anymore. He quietly excuses himself, darting past Hopper up the steps and stepping into the backyard.
He sinks on the porch stoop and stares off into the quiet, cool night. He understands Hopper’s reasoning, but he doesn’t have to like it. He’s spent over a year mourning you, only to discover he might be able to get you back—for that hope to be dashed as quickly as it blossomed.
Steve picks a point in the tree line and focuses on it, putting all his energy into watching it so he doesn’t break down or cause any more of a scene than he already has.
He hears the squeak of the back door and Robin’s tentative, “Hey, how you doing?”
Steve shrugs absentmindedly, continuing to stare. Robin lowers herself onto the stoop next to him.
For a few blissful minutes, she doesn’t speak. She just rests her head on his shoulder and lets him stew in silence.
The spell is broken when she blurts out, “You’re not going to break your sobriety, are you?”
“Jesus Christ, Robin,” Steve grumbles, nudging her slightly so she’ll sit up. “You don’t have to ask that every time I’m in a bad mood.”
“Sorry,” she says. She picks at her fingernails. “Sorry. I just worry about you, you know?”
“I know,” Steve says softly. “I worry about you too.”
“Me?” Robin says. “No, no. I’m fine.”
Steve eyes the way her hands fidget. Before he can say anything, she blurts out, “I just don’t want a repeat of Thanksgiving. I mean, you almost died of alcohol poisoning. They pumped your stomach!”
“I know. I was there.”
“No!” Robin snaps, sounding awfully harsh despite the tears welling in her eyes. It breaks Steve’s heart to see. “You were unconscious! And it was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, including all the torture and monsters, because I thought I was going to lose another best friend. I already lost Y/N. I can’t lose you too.”
She sniffles and Steve pulls her in for a hug. He can’t stop a few stray tears from falling down his own face as well.
“You won’t lose me,” Steve says, voice thick. “I promise, Robin. I’m not going to do that again. Okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbles, hugging him tighter. “I love you, dingus.”
“I love you, Rob.”
“That’s not fair,” Robin says, pulling away and wiping her tears on her sleeve. “You have to call me a mean nickname back or I just look like an asshole.”
Steve barks out a laugh and shakes his head.
“You are an asshole.”
“Perfect,” Robin says with a small smile. “Now we’re equally jerks. Just the way I like it.”
The back door opens and Will steps out.
“Hopper changed his mind!” he says with a grin.
Hope pumps like blood through Steve’s cold, shrunken heart. He’s going to see you again. Fuck, he’s going to see you again.
🍊🍊🍊
The next day, the group stands in the basement once more, this time making their plan for a rescue mission. Mike squealed to Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, and Max about what’s going on, and they all showed up wanting to help too.
“Not happening!” Hopper barks, a fierce look on his face. “New rule: you have to be 18 to come along.”
Eddie pumps his fist in victory, thrilled that he gets to come and try to make things right after losing you the first time. The younger teens grumble.
“But El is going!” Dustin complains.
“El is going to stay in the Lab with Joyce,” Hopper says. “She’ll open the gate for us and wait.”
“I can keep the gate open for one hour,” El says.
“That’s plenty of time to find Y/N!” Robin says brightly. “We already know she’s probably at her house.”
“And she lives close to Hawkins Lab,” Jonathan says, pointing to a map of Hawkins. “So we’ll be in and out.”
“It’ll be easy!” Eddie says.
“Don’t jinx it,” Hopper warns.
Nancy turns to Steve and pats his shoulder.
“You feeling good about this?” she asks quietly.
He nods. Although, truthfully, he’s terrified. If they come all this way, only for him to lose you again…he’s not sure he’d be able to handle that.
🍊🍊🍊
The Upside Down is not what Steve remembers.
The alternate dimension used to be dank and cold, like an endless winter’s night. Now with Vecna gone, it’s brighter, with a yellow sky and actual green foliage, not the moldy, dry shit from before. It seems less dangerous than last time.
No matter how much it’s changed, the thought that you’ve been here alone for over a year makes Steve’s blood run ice cold.
“This way!” Hopper barks, tracing his finger on his map of Hawkins and leading the group toward your house.
Jonathan and Nancy walk side-by-side with Hopper, glancing around at the tree lines constantly for any sign of danger. Eddie and Robin hang back, Steve walking slightly in front of them. He hears them whispering about something, but when he turns his head to try and listen, they quiet down.
He’s not an idiot. He knows what they’re worrying about: if they can’t find you, will Steve have another breakdown? Go on another bender? Would Steve even survive it?
Steve’s been wondering the same things himself. But for now, he stays positive, his optimism increasing tenfold when the six of them turn onto your street.
He can’t help but pick up speed, jogging past Hopper and causing the older man to snap, “Hey, stay behind me!”
Steve ignores his protests, shouting your name and pushing through the front door of your house.
He’s been here many, many times. He’s walked the pathway from your front door to your bedroom over and over again. Steve walks that path for the first time in over a year, charging up the steps and tuning out the concerned warnings from his friends.
He bursts into your bedroom, calling your name. He doesn’t see you, but maybe you hid when you heard the front door open. So he checks the closet, the ensuite bathroom, under the bed, to no avail.
Steve’s eyes sweep the space for any clues of your whereabouts. Most of the room seems untouched, except for your bed, where the sheets are rumpled and a grimy Lambchop the Stuffed Lamb sits primly on your pillow with her soft hooves crossed over her lap.
Steve picks up the toy, heart stuttering at the sight. You were sleeping here last night. You must have been. But where are you now?
“Steve!” Robin calls from down the hall, bringing him back to the present. “We found something!”
Steve gently places Lambchop back on the pillow—arranging her the way you always do, because anything else seems disrespectful—and heads back downstairs.
Hopper, Jonathan, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin are crowded around the kitchen table. On it is a sheet of paper with a rudimentary sketch of the town.
“Check it out,” Jonathan says. He traces his finger across the drawn lines. “It’s a record of where the gates originally opened.”
Sure enough, there are big stars drawn over Hawkins Lab, Eddie’s trailer, the road by the trailer park, Lover’s Lake, and the Creel House.
“That’s why she’s not here,” Nancy says. “She’s out searching for an opening.”
“We don’t have long,” Hopper barks, glancing at his watch with a grimace. “El can only keep the gate open for an hour. We have forty-one minutes to get back to the Lab.”
“We could split off into teams,” Nancy says. “Jonathan and I can go to Lover’s Lake.”
“Steve and I will hit the trailer park and the highway,” Robin adds. “Eddie and Hop, you can go to the Creel House.”
“We find Y/N,” Hopper says, “and we head back to the Lab. No wasting time. We move fast, we stay vigilant. Got it?”
The younger adults all nod and agree to stay on their walkies in case anyone needs to get in touch. Then, they split off to their destinations.
As Steve and Robin sprint toward the trailer park, Steve can’t stop panic from enveloping him head to toe. What if they’re too late? What if you’re dead—again? What if you don’t remember him somehow. What if—
“Look!” Robin says, throwing out an arm to stop Steve in his tracks. He skids to a stop and sees where she’s pointing.
Behind the closed curtains of the Munson trailer is the beam of a flashlight moving around. Steve’s heartbeat quickens.
“Okay,” she whispers as the duo slinks toward the trailer. “We need to think about this carefully, and make a plan to—wait, Steve!”
He charges into the trailer.
A figure flinches and whips around, hunting knife raised. Steve almost falls to his knees in shock at the sight. It’s really happening.
“Steve?” you whisper, voice cracking. He stands in front of you, hands raised and eyes flicking between your face and your knife. The corners of his eyes burn, tears starting to form.
He says your name, and the look on your face cracks his heart into seventeen pieces. He starts to step toward you, but—
“You’re not real,” you say quietly. “You can’t be.”
“No, I’m real!” Steve says. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s Steve. We’re here to take you home.”
You step back, still pointing your weapon at him.
“Don’t come any closer!” you shout.
“Okay, okay!” Steve says. He steps back, slowly.
“Steve!” Robin shouts from outside. “What’s going on in—”
“Stay outside, Robin!” Steve yells, voice wavering as he eyes your knife.
“But—”
Steve swiftly locks the trailer door without turning away from you.
The two of you ignore Robin’s knocks and protests. Eventually, she gives up, and Steve hears the crackle of her walkie-talkie.
“You can’t be Steve,” you say, shaking your head frantically.
“I am,” Steve begs. “And I’ve missed you so much—”
“You can’t be Steve because there’s no way into the Upside Down!” you say. He notices your arm start to shake. “Trust me, I’ve checked and checked and checked and there’s no gates anymore. And since my Steve isn’t a corpse at the Creel House, I know Vecna didn’t kill him and he’s back in the real world. If you’re not Steve, who the hell are you?”
Steve swallows hard. The back of his throat tastes acidic and he feels desperation wrench its way through every cell in his body. When he imagined his reunion with you, he didn’t anticipate this conversation.
“El reopened a gate for us,” Steve explains patiently. “We thought you were dead. But El looked for you and saw you were still alive, so we came to rescue you.” He glances at his watch and his brows furrow. “But we don’t have a lot of time. We need to head back to the Lab because she can’t keep it open forever.”
“How can I trust you?” you say. “How do I know you aren’t a trick?!”
“I’m really me, I promise,” Steve says. He hesitates before stepping closer to you once more. This time, you don’t move away. “We’re safe now, because Vecna’s dead.”
“I know. I killed him.”
Steve’s eyes widen a fraction.
“You what?”
“I had to,” you say. You shrug and look a little delirious. How much sleep have you gotten in the last year, Steve wonders. “Vecna brought me back. He would've flayed me and sent me to spy on and kill all of you if I didn’t kill him first.”
Steve almost falls over. The haunting fact that you had to fight Vecna alone makes his stomach turn.
The pained look on Steve’s face seems to shake something deep down in you. Any resolve you had crumbles. You heave out a sob, dropping the knife to the ground. Your knees buckle.
In seconds, Steve wraps you in his arms as you sink to the ground.
You cry, limp in his hold. Steve cries too, choking on encouraging words and apologies and everything he’s wanted to say to you since March 1986, when he thought he’d never speak to you again.
The door rattles. You startle and Steve holds you a little tighter.
“HARRINGTON!” Hopper barks. “Get a move on!”
“We have to go,” Steve says, urgent yet gentle. “We can talk more when we’re home. Okay?”
You nod, standing on unsteady legs.
Steve squeezes your hand before leading you out the door.
The whole rescue squad is out there, and you look wholly overwhelmed at seeing everyone after so long alone.
“No time for pleasantries,” Hopper says. “We’ve got less than twenty minutes to get through that gate.”
“Or it’s a slumber party at Y/N’s,” Eddie jokes. He playfully knocks his shoulder against yours and you gasp at the sudden contact. “Oh, sorry—”
“RUN!” Hopper yells, clapping his hands.
Everyone bolts toward the Lab. Steve and you run side-by-side, hands intertwined.
Shock envelops Steve’s senses, but he keeps running. The one thing racing through his mind is to get you back to safety.
The Lab’s gate is not the gaping maw it once was. It’s about the height of a minivan door, but its width is quite smaller—and slowly but surely shrinking.
El and Joyce stand on the gate’s other side, looking relieved to see everyone.
“Hurry!” Joyce says, waving you forward first. You hesitate, but Steve says, “We’re right behind you. Go on.”
You crawl through the gate and stumble to your feet on the right side of the universe. Steve would normally let everyone else go in front of him, but he wastes no time following behind you. Next comes Robin, then Jonathan and Nancy. Eddie and Hopper bring up the rear.
As soon as Hopper’s crawled through the gate, El drops her hand and it sews itself up—for the final time.
Steve and the others swarm you, all speaking too fast and asking a million questions. Joyce opens a first-aid kid and tries to sit you down and asses your various cuts and bruises. They hurt Steve to see.
“Look at her! She needs more than bandaids and alcohol wipes,” Eddie says, nodding in your direction.
“He’s right,” Jonathan says. “Mom, we need to take her to the hospital—”
“No!” you say. You stumble toward the staircase. “I need to go home. I need to see my parents, let them know I’m alive. How long have I been down there? I’ve been keeping track, and it has to be at least ten weeks, right?”
Steve places a hand on your shoulder. You look at him, eyes wild. “Y/N,” he says softly, “it’s been 15 months.”
That seems to be your final straw. Steve catches you as you pass out.
🍊🍊🍊
SIX HOURS LATER
While you get checked over by Dr. Owens and his people, Steve paces the hospital waiting room. Robin chews her thumbnail and watches the doors to the ER. Nancy and Jonathan bend their heads together and whisper, and Eddie attempts to distract Dustin and the other teenagers by juggling snacks from the vending machine.
After you fainted, Steve didn’t want to leave your side, but Hopper said everyone except himself and Joyce had to go home.
If our entire merry band shows up at Hawkins Mercy Hospital with a presumed-dead girl, it’ll look too damn suspicious, Hopper had said. Go home. Clean up. Wait three hours, and then you can come check on her. We’ll keep you updated.
In exactly 180 minutes, Steve and the others charge into the ER asking the nurse on duty about you.
“She’s still being looked over,” the nurse tells them. “Her parents and the Chief are with her now. You can wait over there and we’ll call you when she’s able to have visitors.”
Another 180 minutes go by. Now, everyone’s getting antsy. Steve has half a mind to charge into the ER and find you himself.
“Simmer down, Steve,” Robin says, noticing the way he’s squeezing the lilac teddy bear he bought you at the gift shop. “You’re choking the life out of that thing.”
“Why haven’t we heard anything from Hopper?” Steve asks. He checks his pager for the fiftieth time. “He said he’d keep us updated.”
“She’s probably going through a psych eval or something,” Max says.
“Or an interrogation,” Mike says darkly. “Maybe they think she had something to do with the murders last year.”
“Shut up, Mike!” Nancy hisses.
Steve curses and pinches his nose. Last year, a cruel man named Colonel Sullivan swept into Hawkins, searching for the real culprit behind Vecna’s kills after Eddie was proven innocent (thanks to a bogus alibi cooked up by Owens’ team). Steve was one of the unlucky few questioned, due to his connection as Jason’s former basketball captain. The thought of you, disoriented from so long in that shithole, handcuffed to a hospital bed while Sullivan grills you makes him see red.
Another sinking realization hits Steve: he’s changed since last year. What if you don’t like him anymore, once you realize how much of a mess he became when he lost you?
Hopper emerges through a set of double doors. Steve’s charging over to him in seconds, the rest of his friends piling behind and all talking at once.
Hopper holds up his hands to silence the group.
“Owens wants to run some more tests,” Hopper says. “They’re checking for contaminants in her bloodstream. You all can see her soon.”
He points at Steve. “Except she’s asking for you right now. You ready?”
Steve nods and squeezes your new teddy bear again. He gives Robin a panicked look, and she gives him a quick hug.
“Go get her,” Robin says with an encouraging smile.
Steve smiles back before following Hopper down the hall. Joyce stands outside your hospital room and smiles when she sees Hopper and Steve approach. Steve freezes.
Through the plane of glass in the door, he sees you with your parents. All three of you are crying.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” Steve says, backing away from the door. Before he can fully chicken out, Hopper bursts in and says, “Hey, look who came by.”
You and your parents look up. At the sight of him, your mother and father beam.
“Hello, Steve!” your mother says, sweeping him into a hug. “Can you believe she’s back?!”
“It’s a goddamn miracle,” your dad says, wiping tears on his sleeve. “We’ve been praying for this for so long.”
“Let’s leave these two alone to catch up,” Joyce says. “Grace, Roger, why don’t we pick up some food for Y/N?”
Your parents agree and step out with Joyce and Hopper. When it’s just you and Steve, all either of you can do is stare at each other with awkward smiles.
You clear your throat and point to the teddy bear.
“Is that little guy for me?”
“Yes!” Steve says. “Uh, sorry.”
He hands it to you. When your fingers brush, it feels electric. Still, after so long apart—no matter how much he’s dreamed of what it would be like if he somehow saw you again—everything feels stiff. You’re the love of his life and he can’t think of one thing to say.
“How have you been?” you ask quietly, seemingly just as uncomfortable as Steve.
Steve can’t help but laugh and says, “Terrible. I mean, shit. I know what you went through is way worse—”
“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you say sharply. Steve recoils and you wince. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just—I’ve been through this like five times with Owens’ guys, and over a cover story two more times with the cops. I don’t want to talk about me. I want to hear about you. What’s been going on?”
Steve wants to know more about what happened. About how you killed Vecna. About how you survived. But he doesn’t. He would never push you to discuss anything you didn’t want to, but he hopes that one day you’ll feel ready to open up to him.
Right now, you want to hear about his life. Where to begin. Steve thinks of sugar-coating the truth but doesn’t when he admits: “For starters, I almost died last year.”
You gasp and sit up a little straighter.
“What? Oh my god, what happened?”
“I’m fine now,” Steve says, waving away your concerns.
“Was it Vecna?”
“No, nothing like that. I really missed you, and I was in a bad place.”
You swallow hard, eyes turning glassy.
“Oh, Steve. Please don’t tell me you tried to—”
“No!” he says quickly. “It was alcohol poisoning. I drank too much being too lonely on Thanksgiving. Had to get my stomach pumped. It wasn’t all bad, though. Robin and I watched ‘A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving’ on the hospital room TV and Joyce snuck in some pie for me.”
You ignore his attempts and lightening the mood and wave him even closer to you. He cautiously approaches and intertwines your fingers when you reach for his hand.
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I feel like it’s my fault—”
“Stop it.”
“Steve…”
“No!” Steve says. He shakes his head vehemently. “Don’t think like that. I just…struggled without you. But it’s not your fault that I’m a basket case.”
“You’re not a basket case,” you say. You squeeze his hand. “You’re the hero that crossed dimensions to come rescue me.”
You kiss his palm before scooching over on the hospital bed. You pat the spot next to you.
“What if your parents come back?” Steve asks.
“I’m not trying to hook up right now,” you say with an eye roll. “I just want you to lay with me.”
Steve is happy to oblige. He settles next to you. You rest your head on his shoulder and hug the teddy bear he brought you.
“So, you didn’t move on?” you ask quietly after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “Find a new girlfriend?”
“What?!” Steve asks, looking down at you, jaw dropped. “You really think I found someone else?”
You nod, fidgeting with the bow around your bear’s neck.
“15 months is a long time,” you whisper. “I don’t want to stand in the way if you're with someone else.”
“I couldn’t,” Steve says. He rests a hand on your knee cautiously. When you don’t flinch or move away, he keeps it there. “Y/N, I don’t want anyone else. I only want you, if you’ll still have me.”
You look up at him, noses practically brushing. The close proximity makes Steve’s cheeks flush rosy pink.
“You mean that?” you ask.
Steve nods. It seems to placate you, because in seconds, you’re lifting your chin to kiss him.
It’s a soft, gentle thing. An innocent brush of lips, like the kisses you shared very early in your relationship. Not the passionate “welcome home” kiss that Steve wants to give you, but he understands if you need to take things slow. He’ll move as slow as you need.
For the first time in months, Steve feels hopeful about his future again. Steve’s world is changing once more, in all the right ways.
🍊🍊🍊
EPILOGUE
You and Steve have your futures mapped out: after six months of physical and emotional healing, move in with Steve and join him at U of I in spring of ’88. Get engaged and subsequently married sometime within five years. No kids—at least, not biological ones, because your time in the Upside Down has caused lasting physiological effects that you don’t want to pass on to children. Maybe you’ll adopt a kid, or some dogs.
It's less of a map and more of an amorphous outline of what you two want to happen. All you two know for sure is that you never want to be apart that long ever again.
Steve’s heart and soul have changed, but they belong to you, and yours to him. Always.
🍊🍊🍊
a/n please lmk what you thought 🧡
tag list; @hollandweather @starry-eyed-steve @aloneinthehellfire @tvandfanfic @a-dealwith-god @stevebabey @keerysquinn @spoookysix @inkluvs
#st fic: oj#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things fanfic#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic
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Want Me
Ser Harwin Strong x Female Reader
Summary: You're Rhaenyra's lady in waiting, by her side at all times and thus leading you to spend many hours within Ser Harwin's company, drawing the two of you together
Warnings: Smut, mentioned violence, swearing, angst (if you squint), fluff
A/N: Hi, small warning, haven't written a full smut scene for a while so I'm a little rusty, but I hope you enjoy :)
"Want me to kill him?" You absentmindedly offer to Princess Rhaenyra.
She chuckles from behind you, her fellow ladies attempting to hide their smirks and smiles whilst they finish up her hair. "I know how much you crave violence, but I can not allow you to kill him. Besides, how would you even do it?"
You pause in the mirror, your eyes flickering to find Rhaenyra's. "Seduction is a woman's greatest strength." You whirl around to face her, a cruel expression etching into your face at the thought. "A simple poison into his drink and during the night he'd cease breathing and the Maestor would declare a heart attack. An easy kill, if I say so myself,"
The princess raises her eyebrows, her lips pursing together. Tonight is her name day feast, celebrating another year of her youth and thus drawing in all the potential suitors wishing to offer themselves. One of the Lannister twins made a fool of himself, offending Rhaenyra and thus resulting in you plotting his death, should your princess command it.
As her lady in waiting, you take your role very seriously. Though, you are oft referred to as her sister, the two of you becoming close at a young age and growing up together. It has solidified your relationship with her, and in turn, you know each other inside and out.
Your sharp words and cunning nature are a breath of fresh air as opposed to the customary expectations of Rhaenyra's fellow ladies.
You glance over yourself once more in the mirror, your attention spanning over the finer details of your gown and the excellent work of the seamstress. The dress accentuates your frame, the embroidery and accessories dating back to your House and heritage.
You look like a woman, a woman grown and of power.
"Are you ready?" Rhaenyra pulls you from yourself, twirling around to give you a full look at her.
"Indeed, and must I say my Princess, you look divine." You tell her honestly.
She smiles, the two of you making your way to the great hall. Heads turn at the sight of you both, the heir to seven kingdoms and her fierce lady, who would protect her more so than a knight.
Your stomach begins to twist as you near the hall, your teeth grinding together to keep the nerves at bay. You feel a reassuring squeeze on your hand, your dear friend sensing your change in behaviour.
"If he doesn't fall at your feet and beg for your hand, I'll feed him to Syrax myself," she whispers.
You bite your tongue, though a small smile creeps out. In the past moons, you've become acquainted with a knight, the two of you sharing passions and dreams. Nothing more of talk has happened thus far, but you can't help but think that maybe he will ask for your hand in marriage, as the two of you spend most days side by side.
He makes your heart beat rapidly, with the small gestures and whispered words when no one is close. Not to mention, the way he looks at you, like no one else exists but you.
Yet, you can't help but think that you're in way over your head, too consumed to see the reality.
You have no time to ponder Rhaenyra's words, as the two of you arrive at the hall, the chatter dying down instantly. Swallowing, you hold your head high, following Rhaenyra down the stairs and toward the high table where you veer off to your own.
His eyes were on you the moment you appeared, refusing to leave even as you sit down. You look absolutely breathtaking.
Of course, you avoid his gaze, even from across the room, as you begin to fill your plate. Your skin ignites under his heated stare, your desire overweighting your sense of propriety. Glancing up, you meet him, his deep blue eyes burning into your darkest depths and tearing down every wall you've ever built.
Ser Harwin Strong, renowned for his strength throughout the seven kingdoms and his proud house.
Your cheeks heat up under the intensity, neither of you daring to break contact. You admire how he's dressed, his fine threaded clothes making him look regal, his unruly curls neatly pulled back into a bun. Gods.
The grumble of your stomach brings you to your senses, your head bowing down to begin consuming your food. You feel him continue for a heartbeat longer, before he diverts his attention elsewhere.
As the night begins to progress, you drag Rhaenyra to dance, moving with the music and enjoying yourself. You change partners throughout, making yourself known and extending yourself to the other lords and ladies currently attending for the princess's name day.
For once, Harwin doesn't grace your thoughts, until he becomes your next partner.
Your eyes widen for a moment, your breath catching. "Ser-" you start, not expecting to see him.
"My lady, you look exquisite." His rasps, his body feathering your own.
His heat wraps around you like wild vines, pulling and tugging you closer, enticing you to become lost. You hit your chin out, refusing to fall prey.
"And you, good Ser,"
Harwin smiles, a hum of satisfaction rumbling within his chest. His hand brushes your own, a part of him needing to touch you, his resolve almost snapping from the softness of your flesh. His fingers itch to press firmly, to warn off any man or lord that dare think they have a chance with you.
"Are you enjoying yourself, this evening?" He asks, his lips close to your ear as to make sure you hear him over the loud music.
You turn your head, his breath fanning your cheek. Heat pools within your stomach, want gnawing at you and demanding to be free. "I'll enjoy myself once I've had my dessert," you dare.
His eyes narrow, assessing the situation. Little minx. Before he can conjure his own smart remark, a fellow knight of the city watch approaches, pulling him away from you. You watch him go without a word, a sense of humiliation washing over you as you continue to dance alone, searching for Rhaenyra.
You find her with her uncle, enjoying themselves.
Biting your lip, you move off the dance floor, standing on the sideline. You feel deflated, watching your friends enjoy themselves and even sneak out of the hall with their suitors, and your heart's deepest love couldn't even excuse himself. He just left you.
You see him, surrounded by his companions, and more so with an older woman hanging off him. Now you feel stupid, your usual confidence and ego a ghost. The woman wraps an arm around his waist, much like a partner, and him not moving.
Of fucking course, I'm just the plaything to keep him entertained whilst his lover is elsewhere.
Grinding your jaw in anger, you inhale deeply and begin to make your way through the crowd, ignoring Harwin and his group as you have to pass them to ascend the stairs out of the hall. Your hasty exit catches many people's attention, especially the one you were hoping wouldn't notice.
You don't realise he follows you, until you almost reach your quarters. His boots hit the ground harshly, as he tries to catch you, going as far as calling out your name. You pause in front of your doors, whirling around to face him once he draws near.
Fire dances within your eyes, making Harwin pause momentarily. "Ser Harwin?" You snap.
"I wanted to make sure you're well, you left in such a hurry,"
"I'm fine," you start, your thumb running over your fingers anxiously. "The hall became too much, so I'm retiring for the evening."
Harwin tilts his head. He calls bullshit. He knows you, he grew up alongside you and knows that you are one of the last to leave the party, oft enjoying yourself too much to notice the sunrise and thus requiring an escort, usually him.
He reads your body language, depicting your sudden mood change has something to do with him. He chuckles lightly, amusement etching across his features at your frustrated glare. "You're jealous."
"Jealous?!" You repeat in disbelief, your raised voice echoing the corridor. "Me? Of what?" You ask him incredulously. You naturally begin to step closer, "of that woman? Why would I be jealous of some wench when I am the Princesses lady in waiting, I can have almost any suitor I want, I have sway within these walls and no one quite realises the extent I'll go to if I'm pushed, not to mention," you stop just shy of him, your chest heaving. "One word to my Princess, and I can have whatever I want."
Harwin peers down at you, a small smirk gracing his lips at your outburst. "I never said what you were jealous of," he says lowly, almost inaudible if not for your closeness. "I'll be sure to tell my sister you think she's a wench."
Your world crashes and burns. Sister? That was his fucking sister?! Your heart ceases beating, your breath catches in your throat and your skin clams up. Realisation and dread wash over you, embarrassment etching into your cheeks. You become a wounded animal, and respond much as they do,
"Fuck you." You don't know what compels you or who takes over your body, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out and sending them straight at Harwin.
He blinks.
Quickly you spin on your heel and make haste to your door, pulling the handle to only have it slammed shut, and a large body pressing against you. Your throat constricts, feeling Harwin's entire front against your back as his hand looms over your head, keeping the door closed.
One small movement, and he could bury his nose into your hair. "Say that again," his chest rumbles, his mouth angling down to press on your ear. To make sure you hear him loud and clear.
You're frozen, your body shutting down. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. "Go on, don't go shy on me now, my lady," he presses, pushing you.
Licking your lips, you hesitantly shift on the spot, leaning your back against the door and tilting your head to hold Harwin's gaze. He pins you down, the entirety of his body caging you in, almost like a shield protecting you from peering eyes.
"Fuck you," you whisper.
Reflexively, his other hand snaps to your jaw, his fingers digging into the skin. Your lips part, your muscles relax and your body becoming a rag doll. He could very easily suffocate you like he was bunching up a piece of parchment, he wouldn't even feel your bones snap. Yet, in this very moment, your thighs press together, your garment becoming soaked with each passing second.
You know he won't hurt you. His hold on you is firm and delicate, the pads of his fingers gently holding you in place. He tilts his head, assessing you like he would an opponent, his dark eyes roaming your face and his brows twitching in thought.
You test the waters, standing straighter and in turn bumping your nose into his cheek. Harwin exhales shakily, his grip tightening if only a smidge, in comparison to his self-restraint. You nudge your nose against his, his hooded eyes following your every move.
Your breath tangles with his own, desire and hunger transpiring. Harwin's jaw clenches, his palm against the door closing into a fist. You want him, he wants you. Swallowing thickly, your lashes feather your cheeks and you take the plunge, pressing your lips against his own with uncertainty.
For a moment, you float, your body becoming weightless and your mind lost. His lips are softer than you imagined, despite his harsh reputation, soft and plump on your own. Harwin responds, before suddenly pulling you away by his grip still on your jaw.
A bucket of cold water drenches you, his sudden cold demeanour creating a crack in your heart. Not so much that he pulled you away, more how forcible it was, after he began to lose himself under the taste of you. That hurts.
Your eyes flash. You move to release yourself from his grip, but he tightens it, his head turning slightly as though to check for any movement within the corridor. With precision, he pulls you flush to his body and opens the door in one movement, shoving you inside to your quarters and locking the door behind him.
"You naïve girl," he starts, running a hand over his beard.
You scoff, creating distance between the two of you by standing at the window sill. "And they say romance is dead."
Harwin narrows at you. "You have no idea what you've just done, what if someone had seen?" His voice raises, his hand gesturing to the doors.
Confusion swirls within you at his sudden change of behaviour, at his switch from intimacy to frustration in an upsetting kind of way. "I don't see the problem," you cross your arms, raising a brow. "I want you, and I don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks."
"Well, you should!" You're taken aback by his sudden outburst, a sliver of fear creeping up your spine. "I am not good for you," he says your name with such emotion. "I have enemies at every turn, I can't be at your side protecting you every day and not to mention what would happen to your reputation-"
"My reputation?" You cut him off, your voice low in disbelief of what you're hearing. "You think I give a fuck about my reputation! About your enemies? Gods Harwin," you begin to pace, your hands running over your head and falling against your neck. "How fucking dense are you?"
He attempts to ignore the hiccup in his heart rate at the way his name rolls off your tongue. "I'm more than capable of protecting myself," you start after calming down a notch. You cross the room, standing before the brute and taking his large hands in your own. "Is it that hard to believe that I want you? That I don't care about everything else, about your history and reputation, about the fucking court gossip and your enemies? All I care about is you, your health and well-being, and that I know you'd never hurt me, physically and emotionally. I know you'd die protecting me, and you'd make me feel so loved, despite that shield you put in front of yourself every day."
Harwin brings your hands to his lips, brushing them over your delicate fingers whilst he closes his eyes, relishing in the moment. His coarse beard caresses your skin, planting the idea of how it would feel between your thighs.
He opens his mouth to speak, but you drop your hands down, beating him to it. "You want me Harwin?" your voice pulls to him, lulling him in. "I am right here, otherwise there's the door," you gesture.
Your chest clenches at the thought of him turning his back. You wonder how he could kiss you back, then cough up some bullshit about him being bad for you. It confuses and wounds you.
His lips part, the cogs turning in his head as he makes his decision. He surges forward, gently taking your head in his hands and angling you upward to capture your lips in a searing kiss.
He walks you back until you hit the pillar, careful not to slam you into it. His lips move against yours hungrily, his tongue begging for entrance and his breath meddling with your own. Your fingers curl onto the front of his jacket, squeezing out any air left between you, your fronts pressing tightly.
Your lungs burn, your actions becoming erratic as you move up to his hair, tangling his curls and removing the band keeping it back. You pull at the roots, emitting a deep groan from Harwin, his own hands gliding down your body to find refuge on your waist.
You pour all your emotions into the kiss; the hunger, lusting, anger and need. He dominates you, his mouth slowly moving down your jaw, his teeth nipping along your bone and travelling to your neck, unknowingly finding your sweet spot.
You bite your lip at the sound you release, a small sense of embarrassment flooding your body. Harwin immediately comes up, holding you still with his hard stare. "Don't you dare quieten on me."
"Like your girls loud, Ser Harwin?"
He chooses to ignore your comment. You smirk, your usual demeanour washing into the shore, a calculating look flashing in your eye. Before he can do anything you shove him back, pushing him down onto the lounge.
Surprise is evident on his face, his eyes watching you curiously. You crouch between his spread legs, your palms sliding over his thighs in a soothing manner, slowly making your way to his waistband.
You quite like this image; his unruly dark curls free and framing his face, his intense eyes swallowing you whole and his knees bent outward. He looks casual, yet so fucking handsome you have to restrain yourself from fucking him there.
"Don't look at me like that," you scold, tugging on his pants.
"Like what," he grumbles, lifting his hips.
His pants pool at his feet, his hardened cock free from restraints. "Like I don't know what I'm doing." He eyes you suspiciously, waiting for you to shut down his thoughts. "I've been fucked before, if that's what you're wondering."
He hums in dissatisfaction.
"I'll decide if you've been fucked, my lady." You raise a brow at the title.
He opens his mouth to say something more, but only a loud groan escapes, your lips wrapping around his cock. His hips reflexively jut, his hand moving to your head in response to your movements, your tongue flattening along the underside.
Harwin shudders, his chest rising in deep pants under your ministrations and his fingers flexing in an attempt to hold himself back from face fucking you. You work him steadily, glancing up at him through your lashes and feeling a sense of pride roll down your spine at his dishevelled state, his head lolling over the back of the lounge.
"Fuck," he curses, tilting down to hold your gaze.
You move a hand to work the rest of his cock that you can't fit in his mouth, momentarily pausing when he grabs your wrist, and quickly heaves you off him. "You do that, and this night ends very quickly."
"I find it hard to believe that Breakbones finishes in under twenty seconds," you muse, slipping out his grip easily and situating yourself on his lap.
He groans quietly, both in frustration and need. "Believe me, my lady, that when I cum, I intend on cumming in you and filling you up."
"Good."
You begin undoing his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and down his arms before moving to his shirt, heaving it up and revealing his toned stomach. Your fingers splay across his chest, feeling his hard-earned muscles and scars from various fights. You pause on a particularly large wound along his abdomen, feathering the pink tissue.
"Don't worry about it," he whispers your name, reading the emotion on your face.
"This is an assassination attempt, Harwin." You press, flickering up to hold his stare. "Someone almost succeeded in fucking killing you." Unwanted tears spring in your eyes, raw emotion thick within your voice.
The thought of Harwin being killed, frightens the fuck out of you.
He cups your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping a tear. "This is what I meant," he refers to his previous statement about his enemies. You still, your features hardening.
"Don't you dare, Harwin. Don't you fucking dare." You spit.
He stays silent, observing you whilst your fingers continue their path along his torso, grazing each other his scars. "Seven Hells help the next man that makes an attempt on your life," you vow, your hand splaying out over his heart.
"My little warrior," he rasps, pulling you down to him.
Your lips collide, the taste of him invading your mouth and stealing your breath away. You whimper at the feel of his hands sliding up your arms and resting on your collarbone, toying with your dress. Blindingly he reaches for the lace tying it together, pulling it apart and loosening the top section.
Goosebumps rise along your flesh as Harwin gently tugs the dress down your arms, exposing your breasts and stomach once it pools around your hips. You rest your forehead in the crook of his neck, gasping under the ministrations of his hands along your breasts, his thumb tweaking the bud.
You thread through his curls, your nails scraping his scalp and your lips seeking out his neck.
Suddenly he lifts you off him, placing you down on your feet. You raise your eyebrows in surprise and a little confusion, unsure of his next motive. "Take it off," he commands softly, the low rumble in his chest making your heart rate spike.
The dress falls to your feet and you step out of it, mindful of taking off your shoes and being left bare before him. He slowly takes his boots off, never breaking contact even whilst he removes his pants.
You watch him stand, tilting your head as he comes near. He doesn't speak, nor does he kiss you again. Instead, he hooks his hands under your thighs and hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and your arms coming to the back do his neck.
He walks toward your bed, gingerly laying you down. You stare up at him with adoration, every fibre of your body knowing you're safe with this man. Despite his reputation, you could almost laugh, knowing that there is a softer, more caring side to him than anyone realises.
No one has ever touched you like you're glass, like you could shatter and slip through his fingers. He kisses you with so much passion and care, in stark contrast to his daily goings. You've witnessed him in a brawl, smashing the men to the ground without a worry and pummelling them to an inch of their life.
Yet you know, these hands handle you with love.
You slide up to the head of the bed, brushing the hair from Harwin's face when he comes to hover above you. He descends, missing your face entirely and planting kisses along your neck, slowly travelling south.
Airy breaths leave you, your body responding to his attention, more so as he pauses over your breasts, taking an erect nipple into his mouth and tugging. Fire pools within your stomach, threatening to pour out. In a way it does, your head falling back into the cushions and your lips parting to release sounds of pleasure.
Harwin continues his way down, his eyes flickering up to you through his loose curls, intently watching your reaction as he nears between your thighs, softly blowing cool air on your sensitive region. You grit your teeth, glaring down at him.
"Hurry up."
"As my lady commands," he chuckles.
Your flush at the incredibly loud moan, not exactly expecting him to dive right in. Harwin drags his tongue up your slit, finding your clit and sucking. He switches between flicking your clit with his tongue and sucking, groaning lowly to himself at watching you writhe under him.
He draws more sounds out of you, snaking a hand up to tease your opening, carefully entering a finger. "Fuck!" You arch your back, your hands reaching for his hair.
He slowly pumps it out of you, enjoying the way you feel around him. He can only imagine how tight you'd be around his cock. The thought almost makes him fuck you right here.
Your stomach twists, your knuckles turning white. No man has made you feel like this, even with just his mouth and finger, the two bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
He adds a second finger, wanting to properly prepare you for him, and enjoying watching you lose yourself to the pleasure he's giving you.
He can feel you get close, teetering along the edge as he begins to increase his pace. You whimper at the ache, rutting your hips upward. "Harwin," you whine at the contact of his lips enclosing over your clit and sucking, hard.
The fire burns brighter, scorchingly hot and desperate for a release.
"Let go," he murmurs, gently nipping your clit. You do, your orgasm crashing down like a wave, engulfing you.
He slowly continues to move his fingers through, allowing you to experience your high as he draws it out. He can't help but clean you up before he even thinks about moving away from the safety of your thighs.
With ease, Harwin climbs back up, claiming your lips. You taste yourself, rummaging your hands through his hair and down his back, his muscles rippling under the pads of your fingers.
He pulls away from you, question shining in his eyes; do you still want this?
You nod, leaning up to kiss him again, solidifying your answer. He hums, guiding his cock to press against your slit, teasing you for a moment before he nudges your opening. You gasp on his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders at every inch.
Harwin falls into the crook of your neck, groaning at the sensation. He stops moving once you've taken all you can, pausing to make sure you're comfortable. You clench around him in reflex, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest, his beard grazing your neck.
"Harwin," you pant. "If you don't move in the next five seconds,"
He chuckles at your warning, slowly pulling back. You bite your lip, closing your eyes at the high pleasure rocking throughout your body. Harwin lifts his head, his forehead brushing your own. He intends to watch you complete shatter underneath him.
He slams home, somewhat slow but hard, rutting into you like wild waves against a rock, your back arching and pressing your chest to his. You can't help but rake your nails down Harwin's back, ignorant to the fact that you're close to drawing blood, desperate for a way to show how easily he's unravelled you.
"Gods Harwin," you cry out at each thrust, harder and deeper than before.
He grins, his lips on your ear, "I know quiet isn't exactly in your nature, but maybe don't alert everyone in the Red Keep of our rendezvous."
"Oh fuck off."
Harwin reaches for the headboard, his knuckles turning white from his harsh grip, using it as leverage to pound harder. You chant his name, subconsciously clenching and unclenching around him, causing him to falter each time.
That burning ache brews within you, gradually growing with each slide into you. His free hand comes down to your clit, playing with the bud and drawing you closer to the edge. Overwhelming sensations spark up your body, your legs starting to shake from the pleasure.
"Harwin," you whine.
"I know," he grits, picking up his pace. He hits parts of you that you never knew existed, fireworks erupting each time he enters you deeper, if that were possible. "Good girl, you're taking me so well, hmm?"
Your head is tilted up by his hand leaving the headboard to cup the side of your face, forcing your eyes on him. You struggle to keep your eyes open, a drowsy, drunken look coming across you.
Without warning, you let go, bursting around him. "Gods, fuck!" Harwin calls your name, following you over. He couldn't last any longer, not after feeling you come undone from him.
You gape in a silent moan, relishing in the feeling of him fill you up, his hips slowing but not yet relenting. You shiver from the sensitivity, thankful for when he stops. You struggle to hold contact, fatigue seeping in.
You sigh at the feeling of him remove himself, your muscles relaxing and your spine calming. You don't see where Harwin moves off to, until he comes back and murmurs for you to spread your legs, gently wiping his seed from your thighs.
For a moment, you wonder what happens now. Does he just leave? Does he stay? What happens between the two of you? Thoughts rummage, ruining your come down.
"Hey," he brushes your forehead. "Come here." He pulls the sheets back, indicating for you to crawl underneath. All those thoughts are momentarily thrown out the window when he slides in beside you, pulling you to him.
You lay in silence, your head on his chest and your hand playing with his loose curls. "What happens now?" You can't help but ask.
"Now?" He hums, his chest vibrating. "You become my lady wife, and I fuck you whenever I please."
You laugh, rolling further into him. "You better, now that I've given you my maidenhood."
He pulls away slightly, making you look at him. "What? You told me that this wasn't your first-" he stops, reading the glint in your eye and the expression on your face. "You cheeky girl, almost gave me a heart failure."
You grin cheekily, not quite saying anything whilst you comb his hair. You've found yourself with an obsession. "Leave your hair like this," you say lowly, loving the way it frames his face.
"But it gets in my way," he grumbles, swatting your hand away.
"And I like it like this," you counter, going for his curls again, but this time running your nails along his scalp, smirking at his groan. "And I think you secretly like it too." He gives you the side eye, taking your other hand and bringing it to his lips.
#ser harwin strong#harwin strong smut#harwin strong x reader#ryan corr#ser harwin x reader#hotd#house of dragon fic
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