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roosterforme · 8 months

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The Younger Kind Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was deploying, and your insecurity started getting the best of you. He wanted to leave provisions for you and Noah, but you didn't want him to think you were taking advantage of him. As you initiated role playing and goodbye sex, you realized you were trying to guarantee he'd be thinking about you as much as you would be thinking about him. But Bradley was considering a lot more than that.

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

Length: 6500 words

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

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

With just a few days left before your boyfriend's deployment, you found yourselves touching each other at every opportunity you were given. When you cooked meals, Bradley's hands were on you as he stood behind you, whispering sweet nothings or amusing commentary. After Noah was in bed, you were undressing each other. And all of the times in between, you and he were holding hands or sharing kisses with such earnest sincerity, you didn't know how you'd make it weeks without him.

There was a small part of you that feared Bradley was expecting round the clock sex before he left. How were you supposed to keep a deployed boyfriend faithful to you unless you let him do whatever he wanted? You'd heard horrible things about guys in the military. Yet he wasn't initiating sex with any more frequency than before. And when he said he wanted to snuggle with you, that's exactly what happened.

You spent most of your time in his arms, just talking about what was important. "We should figure out these jobs, Princess," he said one night, sipping a beer on the couch and patting his thigh.

You were frustrated and having a hard time deciding which job was best for you, but as you settled down in his lap, the tension melted away. Bradley wrapped his arm around you, and when he pressed his lips to your neck, you stole his beer and took a sip.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly, running his fingers leisurely along your body until you handed him back his beer.

You sighed. "I know which job I want, but I don't know if it's the best decision to make right now."

His eyes were so sincere, you could tell he was focused on your every word even though you were straddling his thigh. "What are you unsure of, Baby?"

"I just..." you said, trailing off and looking at the scars on his neck. "I have a lot of loans to pay back. I did everything by myself after I turned eighteen. And the job at the hospital pays more."

"You said you'd constantly have different shifts. Sometimes you'd work at night?"

"Yes," you confirmed. "So I wouldn't get to see you and Noah as much after your deployment. Between my commute from my place, plus the times I might be staying here, I'd be in the car a lot." You wanted to move in here with them permanently. Your place felt like a rental; his felt like a home. But you were hesitant, still concerned he would think you were trying to take advantage.

Bradley examined your face, his expression neutral as his hand on your body pulled you a little closer. He sipped his beer before finishing the rest of the bottle and setting it aside.

"I don't want you to worry about your loans," he told you as his other hand settled on your thigh. "We got that covered, okay?"

"But-"

"No," he said a little louder, cutting you off. "You want to take that job with the private practice. I know you do. You told me days ago that it seems like a better fit. So what's holding you back?"

Your gaze dropped to his chest as you muttered, "The loans."

"Stop talking about the loans, Baby. Pretend they don't exist." His voice was a little rough, and you had to squeeze your thighs around his leg to keep from moaning. "And while we're at it, let's assume you'll be doing all of your commuting from right here."

"Right here?" you asked, trying to make him laugh, because he sounded very serious. "From your lap?"

He pulled you close with both hands, and you squeaked, bracing your hands on his shoulders as his lips met yours in a hard kiss. When his tongue slipped between your lips, you tasted his beer. He was relentless, with one calloused hand at the back of your neck, as you moaned against his mouth.

He released your lips, but kept you so your face was centimeters from his. "Right here. My house. My lap. In my arms. This is where you belong. Okay? You take the job you want more, Princess. And I'll take care of the rest."

"Daddy-" you gasped, already feeling the need to protest.

He rubbed his fingers along your neck, and you let your forehead rest against his. "You do so much around here, and you ask for nothing in return. Stop arguing with me. Accept the job you want. It has better hours. It's closer to Coronado. Sure, the pay is a little lower, but it has great benefits, which will help in case we ever have a baby."

"Oh," you gasped, kissing him before you really realized what you were doing. You knew another child was something he had been thinking about. He told you he would be excited if you got pregnant. But just knowing that's what he was thinking about right now was making you a little lightheaded.

A minute later, he had you underneath him on the couch. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips and breath were just barely almost touching your neck. You needed more, but he wasn't going to give you anything else until you gave him some answers.

"You gonna call and accept the job you want?"

"Yes," you gasped. "I'll call them tomorrow."

"You gonna stop worrying about your loans?"

You hesitated, and he started to pull away. "Yes," you whined until his nose brushed along your sensitive skin.

"You gonna move more of your stuff in here?"

"I will, Daddy," you confirmed, and you were rewarded with the soft pressure of him sucking on your pulse point.

"That's a good girl," he praised, pushing your shirt up and kissing your belly. "I want you here. You can have as much space as you need. Nothing is off limits. Tons of room up in the attic."

But you were barely listening as his fingers found your zipper, and then his mouth was on your pussy. You realized as you started begging him to make you squirt that in a lot of ways, Bradley was more cunning than you were.

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When Bradley was leaving for work the next morning with Noah in his arms, you were dressed in one of his old shirts and sipping coffee from his Trust me...I'm a pilot mug. He was delighted to hear you say you were heading up to the attic. You claimed you wanted to see how much room was available to store your textbooks, and he thought that was a very good sign. Then he reminded you that you could sort through anything you wanted, but not to throw away anything pertaining to Noah without running it by him first.

You kissed Noah before reaching up to kiss Bradley as well. Then he paused to grab his checkbook and you snorted.

"What?" he asked. "I need to pay the daycare for this month."

"You can pay on your phone. Using an app." Now you were raising your voice like he couldn't hear you. "Do you want me to show you how, grandpa?"

Bradley kept his expression neutral as you giggled and almost spilled your coffee. "First of all, my name is Daddy. Second, I don't like using apps for everything. And third, I was going to leave you my checkbook so you could pay Noah's tuition next month. But if you're going to make fun of me-"

You kissed his lips with a big smile on your face. "I can pay with a check next month," you assured him. "You better go before you're late. I love you, Daddy. Love you, sweet Noah."

Then Bradley dropped Noah off and continued to base. He had one of those days that was just too busy for no reason, and he wasn't getting anywhere with the things he needed to get done before he left for deployment. Your credit card hadn't arrived yet, and Tracy hadn't contacted him about the order of protection paperwork.

"Hey," Jake drawled, walking over to annoy Bradley during lunch when he was trying to read the texts you'd sent him. Apparently you found an old polaroid camera in the attic and wanted to know if you could mess around with it.

"What do you want?" Bradley asked Jake while he let you know you could do anything you felt like.

"Just wanted to see if you were going to need any help with Noah while you're deployed."

"I would sooner trust my child to babysit you than the other way around," Bradley replied with a smirk.

But Jake was undeterred as he smiled and said, "Nat told me your babysitter is going to be all alone at your house, watching your kid. Just thought maybe I could swing by and check on her. Give her anything she might need."

Two months ago, Bradley would have been ready to throttle his coworker. But now he just smiled back. "And what do you have that you think she might need?"

"I can think of one thing," Jake replied with a shrug.

Bradley rolled his eyes. "I've seen it in the locker room, and I doubt she would be interested."

"Well, maybe I'll let her decide for herself while you're away."

You wouldn't even humor Jake, and Bradley knew it. You promised it would never happen. You'd barely even spoken to him when you were at the Hard Deck. You belonged with Bradley. But the idea of another guy with his hands on you, fucking your sweet pussy...he didn't like thinking about it at all. Especially not Jake.

"Enjoy the rejection," Bradley snarled as he went to get some lunch.

Now he was annoyed. Jake could get under his skin too easily, and he was in a bad mood because of it. And to top it off, Tracy told him she had no updated information when he texted her. He just wanted to get home to you and his son and his delicious dinner that he would clean up after.

When he picked Noah up and carried him to the Bronco, he was already whining for you and some ants on logs. "Honestly, bub, I feel like whining for Princess, too. Let's just get home."

When Bradley got home and unlocked the front door, you called out, "Hey, boys!" You weren't even in the living room, but the sound of your voice excited him. He and Noah both ran for the kitchen where you were pulling a lasagna out of the oven that smelled so good, Bradley's stomach growled louder. He recognized that you were wearing the dress you had on the day he met you, and your lips were glossy and perfect. "Hi, Daddy."

Fuck. He couldn't wait to get his hands on you later. Pull your dress up and kiss off your lipgloss.

"Hey, Baby. How was your day?" he grunted.

"It was so good!" You had one of Noah's brand new coloring books out with some crayons, and you pulled out the chair for him to sit. "I moved more of my stuff in. I hope you don't mind," you said with a little smirk.

Bradley looked at you with one eyebrow raised and gently backed you up to the counter. "Mind? You know I'd be happiest if you moved all of your stuff in here." Hadn't he made that clear? He wasn't about to change his mind about you.

"I know," you whispered, draping your arms casually around his neck and kissing him. You just wouldn't give him a firm answer either way, which was infuriating. "I also accepted the job that we talked about."

He grinned as you kissed him. "You excited?"

"Very. I start a few days after you leave."

"Damn," he whispered. "I won't even get to be here to drive you on your first day and pack you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch."

You giggled as Bradley ran his hands down along your dress. And then Noah asked, "Princess? Can I have some ants?"

"Lasagna first," you told him. "Then some ants."

Bradley cleaned the kitchen after dinner while you played on the driveway with Noah and the bucket of sidewalk chalk. When he came back inside looking cute with pink and green chalk smudges on his face, Bradley took a few photos of him before escorting him to the bath. "Why don't you relax, Princess. I'll get him in bed."

"I'll be in the living room," you told him with a coy smile before you kissed Noah goodnight. Bradley watched you walk away, and he knew you had something up your sleeve.

He tried not to be impatient, but by the third book, Bradley insisted Noah close his eyes and go to sleep. "Seriously, bub. It's time. Love you."

"Night, daddy." And as usual, his son was asleep before he was out of the room. Bradley pulled the door closed and made his way into the living room where you were standing, waiting for him with a smirk on your pretty lips.

"Daddy," you whispered, and he was right there kissing you.

He grabbed your ass in both hands, and between kisses he asked, "Did you use the old camera that you found?"

"Mmhmm."

"Did you take some dirty polaroids?"

"Yes," you replied, suddenly pulling out of his grasp. "But those are strictly for you to take away with you."

He grunted in approval and watched the thin strap of your dress as it slid down your shoulder. But when he reached for you again, you backed away and shook your head. "What?" he whined. "I wanna fuck you, Baby."

Your teeth sank into your plump lip, and you moaned. "I know you do, and so do I. But I have an idea. And I think you might like it."

"You gonna tell me?" he asked softly.

Bradley was plainly hard in his jeans, and when he put his hands on his hips, you glanced down and grinned. "Okay... I've... never done this before," you whispered, and he throbbed for you. "But I thought you might enjoy some... role playing?"

His brain short circuited. All of the thoughts in his head were gone as you worried your lip with your teeth. It suddenly made sense why you were wearing that particular dress. Role playing. Role playing. You wanted to try some role playing. With him. Right now.

"Tell me more," he rasped, and you took a step closer to him.

"Well, I already know you have a thing for your babysitter..."

"That's an understatement," he whispered, his voice harsh and his heart pounding.

"You can be as rough as you want," you whispered. And then he watched you take a deep breath before you cleared your throat. "Oh! Mr. Bradshaw! You're back early. I already put Noah in bed for the night."

You were looking up at him with a somewhat nervous expression as you ran your index finger along your bottom lip. Oh fuck. You were going to let him role play all the filthy shit he thought about when he first hired you to babysit for him.

"Hey, thanks for watching him tonight. I know it was short notice," Bradley said, and you looked up at him through your eyelashes, somehow looking even more innocent than you usually did.

"I didn't mind at all, sir. I like babysitting your son. And I... like it when I get to see you, too."

Oh hell, you were too good at this already. And when Bradley reached out to run his knuckles softly along your cheek, you whimpered softly. "I like getting to see you, too, Baby. Getting to look at you was the best part of my day."

Bradley watched you run your fingers down your neck and across the tops of your pretty tits which were on display in that dress. "You're so handsome, Mr. Bradshaw. I think you're sexy."

When he took a step closer, you turned away from him shyly, gazing up at him over your bare shoulder where the strap had fallen down. Bradley got as close to you as he could without actually touching you, and he whispered, "You're gorgeous. Will you let me touch you?"

You whimpered for him. "Yes, sir."

Bradley slowly wrapped his hands around your hips and pressed himself against your ass. "You always smell good. Like wildflowers." He pressed his lips to the side of your neck. Jesus Christ, had he been thinking about this shit from the beginning with you? Pretty close to it. He couldn't believe you were letting him get away with this.

"Sir?" you whimpered as he brought his hands around to the front of your body, bunching up the fabric of your dress.

"Tell me," he whispered next to your ear, tasting your neck before brushing his mustache along your pulse point. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," you whispered, and Bradley's lips paused.

He kissed you once and cleared his throat. "Princess, can we crank that age up a little bit?" he asked, out of character now. "I mean, it's bad enough that you're only twenty four."

"Okay," you replied with a soft laugh. "I'm twenty one, Mr. Bradshaw."

"Twenty one," he grunted, kissing a path down to your collarbone where he licked you, grinding his erection against you. Then he spun you in his arms so you were facing him. "Pretty face like that, you could get any guy you wanted. Make them do anything you wanted them to do. Love you just the right way."

Your eyes fluttered closed as he brushed your neck with his fingers, and it didn't seem like you were having to try too hard to play along. Which was great, because Bradley was loving this.

"I don't know about that, Mr. Bradshaw. I've only ever kissed one boy before."

Bradley grunted and wrapped his hand around the front of your neck, angling your face up and stroking your chin with his thumb. "What else did you do with that boy?"

Your eyes were wide as you whispered, "N-Nothing, Mr. Bradshaw."

"Nothing?" he asked, cock throbbing as he waited for you to answer.

You just shook your head gently and said, "No, sir. I'm... I'm a virgin."

The way you were so goddamn convincing was really fucking with him. He would have believed you if he didn't know better. But he was ready to beg for it right now. "Baby," he groaned, wrapping his fingers around to the back of your neck. "I don't want you to think about him anymore. I want you thinking about me." Then he rubbed his nose along yours and listened to the pretty sound you made. "You gonna let me kiss you?"

"Yes."

His lips met yours, and everything felt familiar and yet totally different. You weren't his girlfriend right now. You were his new, virgin babysitter he was about to fuck the living shit out of. Bradley pulled you close, let you really feel his hardness against your belly, and you moaned into his mouth.

"You're so sweet, Baby. You gonna let me take you to bed?"

"I want you to, Mr. Bradshaw!"

"Fuck." His hands were up under your dress, easing it higher and higher, confirming you wore no underwear. He kissed you rough and hard, his tongue tangling with yours before he pulled your dress over your head and dropped it onto the floor. Then he proceeded to touch you everywhere. Every pinch of your nipples and soft caress of your ass had you grinding your pussy against the front of his jeans.

"Daddy!" you whined, and oh, that didn't sound like you were playing along at all.

He pulled your bottom lip between his and sucked on you as he pressed his fingers to your clit. You were soft and silky. "You're so wet for me." And as he slipped one finger inside you, he whispered, "You gonna let me fuck you, Baby? Show you what you've been missing?"

You looked up at him with parted lips and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Will you be gentle, Mr. Bradshaw? I'm so nervous."

"Oh yeah, Baby. I'll be so gentle." Bradley had no plans to be gentle with you tonight, and he took one of your smaller hands in his and guided it to the fly of his jeans. "I'll stretch you out and fuck you slow. Take you for my own. Make you mine."

You were clinging to his shoulder and riding his hand as you rubbed him. "Mr. Bradshaw," you whined softly. What a sight.

Bradley pinched your clit and asked, "You ever sucked a cock before?"

Those pure, innocent eyes were back, and when you shook your head, Bradley started pushing you down to kneel in front of him. "Good girl," he crooned. You watched him unzip his jeans, and you licked your lips. When his cock was free of his underwear, you gasped.

"I don't know how," you said, and Bradley almost laughed. You were so good at sucking his dick, it was just impressive.

"Just give it a try," he whispered, and you took him slowly between your lips. "You're smart. Such a good girl. I'll teach you."

But he didn't need to, because a minute later, you were expertly giving him head and running your own fingers through your pussy. It was mesmerizing, and he tried to stay in character. "That's it. Nice and slow. Suck a little harder. Perfect."

He didn't want to cum in your mouth, even though it felt so good. So he hauled you up to your feet and said, "I want you to show me how you touch yourself in my bed."

You nodded and said, "Okay, Mr. Bradshaw," and then he was carrying you to his room. Once he had you on your back, you came apart further at your own touch, and Bradley started stroking himself.

You moaned and said, "I think you would do a better job, sir. You always make me cum with I daydream about you."

Bradley smirked and spread your legs wide before he lowered his face down to your pussy. You pushed your wet fingers back into his hair as he got you clenching almost immediately. He was going to make you cum on his tongue. And then he would fuck you, get himself off with your body just the way he needed to right now.

When he put a little more pressure on your clit, you cried out. He could feel you gushing, and your cum ran down from your pussy to your asshole. "You're a fucking angel, Baby," he grunted, and you just moaned as he kissed along your slit and started begging. "I need to fuck you. I need to feel your pussy. Please, Baby? I need to be the first one inside you like that."

"You promised you'd go slow," you managed to say.

"Of course. Anything you want." He kissed his way up your body until his lips were on yours. "You ready for me?" When you nodded beneath him, he ran his cock through your wetness. God, you were probably leaving a spot on the bed. "It might hurt, Baby." And then he pushed himself inside you slowly until you took all of him

You moaned in pleasure, back arching off the bed as you tugged on his hair. He started out nice and slow, giving you time to adjust. "Think you can take a little more? Get a little rough?"

"I-I think so, sir," you whimpered.

He fucked you hard and fast, and you kissed his lips. "Mr. Bradshaw! You said you'd be gentle with me!"

"I don't think you want me to," he replied, bucking harder against you.

"I-I don't?" you gasped, wrapping one leg around his hips.

"No, that's not how you need it. And you feel too fucking good to go slow. Such a tight little pussy," he growled, pushing your legs wider. "Look at you. Taking me so well for your first time." He was rocking into you harder now. "Breaking you in, just the way I like."

He took your nipple between his lips as you whined, "Daddy."

Then he sucked on you hard until you tugged at his hair. "Come on, Baby. I'm still your boss," he said, withdrawing from your body and getting you onto your hands and knees with your butt in the air. "Let's be professional." He landed a solid smack to your ass and added, "Call me Mr. Bradshaw."

Then he ate you out from behind, his lips and tongue connecting with your pussy until you buried your face in the pillow, your cries of pleasure muffled. God, he was painfully hard now as he got himself in position to take you from behind. As he fucked you, he wrapped his hand around your neck and gently guided you back until your face was away from the pillow. He peppered kisses along your shoulders and the back of your neck as he rode you hard.

"Shit, Baby. I'm gonna cum," he groaned, grabbing at your hips as he ran his nose along your spine. The slapping sounds were so pretty, he started losing himself now. But he kept it together the best he could as he asked, "Are you on birth control?"

"No, sir," you gasped.

"You want me to cum inside your pussy? Or on your ass?" He squeezed you there as you whined.

"Please, Mr. Bradshaw. Inside me."

His thrusts were erratic as he felt himself reach his peak. "You better hope you don't get knocked up."

"Oh!" you groaned. "It doesn't matter. I wanna feel you do it inside me."

Bradley filled you up with his cum as he braced himself above you, palms planted next to yours on the bed. As you caught your breath, he pressed kisses to your neck and rubbed his nose along your ear.

"Did you like that, Daddy?"

He didn't know if you'd ever understand just how much he liked that. "Probably too much, Princess." Carefully, he eased you down on your back next to him, and you curled up on his chest.

You yawned and whispered, "It was hot. We can do it again sometime. If you want to."

Bradley kissed you and whispered, "I love you," over and over until you fell asleep.

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Over the next few days, you had taken to calling him Mr. Bradshaw. Every time you did it, you looked at him like you had no idea why his cheeks were flushed pink. Bradley really loved roleplaying with you. He made sure he told you several times just how much.

But as the days wore on, your insecurity returned. Part of the reason you initiated the virgin experience for him was to try to keep his interest. He was leaving soon, and you wanted some sort of guarantee that he would be thinking about you beyond just your ability to care for Noah. Having a serious boyfriend was one thing, but having a serious boyfriend in the military was starting to make you nervous. What if you weren't enough when he was deployed? What if he lost sight of what was waiting for him at home?

While you were making dinner, he wrapped his arms around you from behind. "Your credit card's here," he whispered, setting the purple card with your name on it on the counter next to the cutting board.

"Thanks," you whispered, suddenly even more insecure. "I can keep track of when I use it, especially for things for myself. And I can pay you back in a few weeks."

"That's not what we agreed on," he said, voice laced with frustration. "Look at me, please." You sighed and set down the spatula and turned around in his arms. He was quiet until you met his eyes, but then he said, "You're smart. I trust you with my kid and my house and my Bronco for extended periods of time. Why would I not trust you with a credit card, Princess? I'm leaving you with a lot of responsibility here, and I need to know that you're buying everything you and Noah need or want. And that includes coloring books, Skittles, pizza, you name it. Whatever you want."

You opened your mouth to respond, but you just kissed him instead. It was hard to get used to the idea of someone caring about you and wanting to take care of you. "I'll just use it for the stuff we need."

"No, you won't," he whispered. "You'll use it for everything. Please."

The way he kissed you had you melting into him. You could probably do what he asked of you, just for two months. And when you finally agreed, you were rewarded with a pretty smile from him.

You whispered, "I just don't want to take advantage of you."

"You're not."

You closed your eyes and added, "And I'm worried you won't be thinking about me."

Bradley froze, brow creased in confusion. "What do you mean?" Then you immediately wished you'd said nothing. You were embarrassed, but he wasn't going to let it go. "What do you mean, Baby?"

"You know... while you're away."

Bradley started chuckling. His shoulders were shaking with amusement as he tipped his head back. His laughter grew louder, and even Noah looked up from his coloring to see what was going on.

"Are you making fun of me, old man?" you asked, elbowing him in the side as he roared with laughter.

"You're a riot, Princess," he finally said, pulling your reluctant body against his. "I don't think about anything else. Just you and Noah on repeat." And then all the laughter was gone from his voice as he ran one big hand down your back. "And isn't that why you pulled out the role play the other night? To try and guarantee that Mr. Bradshaw wouldn't be thinking about anyone else?" he asked softly before kissing along your cheek.

"Maybe," you replied softly.

"Hmm," he hummed, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. "You didn't need to pull out the virgin babysitter to get that guarantee, but I'm glad you did. I'll be thinking about that a lot. I'll be thinking about you all the time. I went a year without sex before I met you. I intend for you to be my last."

The way you whimpered at his words had you slamming your lips together so Noah wasn't distracted again. But that night, when he took you to bed, Bradley worshipped your body. His lips were everywhere, and he was in no hurry. You had no idea how long he kept you in bed, using his lips and words to get you soaking wet.

"I love you."

"I want you."

"I need you, Princess."

"Let me make you feel good."

"Let me take care of you."

You were at the point of no return when he whispered, "Come sit on Daddy's face."

"Oh," you gasped as Bradley lounged on his back and waited for you with eager eyes. "Won't I hurt you? Or make it hard to breathe?"

"No," he said right away, stroking himself through his underwear. "I'm gonna love it."

As you crawled over to him and carefully straddled his face, he wrapped his strong arms around your thighs. When you lowered yourself down, you asked, "Is this okay?" But Bradley pulled your pussy snug to his lips and ran his tongue along your slit, and after that, you had to work really hard to keep your volume down.

You were shaking with overstimulation by the time you realized what he was doing. When you tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on your thighs. "But Daddy-"

It was too late. You squirted for him, getting his mustache and lips soaking wet. He lapped you up which made you shake harder. When he helped ease you down on top of him, you tasted yourself on his face.

"I'm gonna miss you," he whispered as you ran your tongue across his mustache. "I love eating you out. I love making you cum. I love spending time with you."

You gasped and kissed him softly. "How am I supposed to go without you? How am I supposed to get off without you?"

"Use your hands," he replied. "That's what I'm gonna have to do. Just use your fingers. Or buy some toys with the credit card." He paused before adding, "That's actually a really great use of money. You should buy some toys."

"Stop trying to be my Sugar Daddy," you whispered, lounging on his chest and playing with his hair.

"I don't want to."

Good. You kind of didn't want him to.

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The weekend went by in a blur. Bradley helped you move more of your clothing to his house so you'd have it on hand when he was gone. He wrote out phone numbers for Penny, Maverick, Amelia and Nat. And then you called him old and poked fun at him for handwriting something you could have just added to your phone. And then he kissed you until you were moaning for him and insisting he actually wasn't old at all.

He spent the whole day on Sunday with you and Noah. The three of you went to the beach, and Bradley got to see you in a bikini. He insisted on taking some pictures of you. When you got bashful, he whispered that they were for his locked photo album, and he was going to use them in conjunction with his hand.

"You're filthy, Daddy. You can't get enough."

You weren't wrong.

As Bradley built a sandcastle with his son late in the afternoon, you and he went over the final list of things he needed for when he left in the morning. He saw you try to discreetly tuck an envelope into his duffle bag last night, and when he went to check, it was sealed. And you had written For My Daddy on the front of it. It took every ounce of his self control to put it back where he found it and pretend he didn't know it was there.

After the beach, the three of you picked up dinner and watched a movie together, and then Bradley put Noah in bed for the last time for weeks and weeks. He stayed in there a little longer than usual, watching his son sleep and counting his blessings. He had sole custody. You had temporary guardianship. The orders of protection had come through for you and for Noah. Tracy had been correct that he would be denied, but it didn't much matter. He was about to be isolated on an aircraft carrier with only naval personnel in sight. He would be just fine.

And then Bradley fell asleep with your hands wrapped around him and your soft voice telling him you loved him. But the next morning, it was a different story. Noah didn't fully understand what was going on, he just knew Bradley would be gone for a while and that Princess would be staying with him. But you on the other hand had tears in your eyes as you made breakfast in one of your cute little dresses. And you kept your arms wrapped around Bradley as frequently as you could.

"It's going to be okay," he assured you. "You have the orders of protection, and the credit card, and the checkbook. You can use the Bronco. You and Noah have everything you'll need."

You cried and looked up at him like he was very dense. "We won't have you!" The sound of the little sob at the back of your throat made him tighten his grip on you. He wanted to tell you that everything would be fine, and that you and Noah would have each other, but part of Bradley loved the way you needed him.

He held your hand the whole way to drop Noah off at daycare and even while he gave his son a final goodbye kiss. He held your hand as he drove to the shipyard where the aircraft carrier looked enormous in the water. And he was still holding your hand when you crawled across the seat to straddle his lap. God, you were perfect, shedding tears quietly and telling him you loved him.

"I love you, too. We can handle this," he promised, and you nodded as you traced the scars on his neck with your soft fingers.

As he ran his thumb along your cheek and kissed you there, he felt your hands drift down the front of his khaki uniform shirt. "One more time? Please?" you asked so softly as you pressed your core against his rapidly hardening cock through his pants.

Bradley glanced to his left and his right where the parking lot was starting to fill up. "Baby, I don't know if we should-" he started, but you already had his pants unzipped, and you were guiding his length toward your warmth. "Oh, hell."

You guided him up inside you, the illicit activity barely covered by the flimsy fabric of your dress. Anyone who could see would know what was going on inside the Bronco right now, but Bradley didn't care. He loved you. He was going to miss you. And you were sending him off with your sweet tears, lingering kisses and a slow fuck as the sun peaked over the tower of the carrier.

"I'll miss you, Daddy," you whispered, your lips brushing his mustache as his hands found your bare hips beneath the fabric. He cupped your body, guided the soft roll of your hips, and his mind drifted briefly. He imagined filling you with his cum with the added intention of getting you pregnant. He imagined you asking him to do that. He imagined getting married.

"Princess," he groaned, kissing along your chest as your pussy clenched for him. "I need you. All the time." He met your soft eyes as you came undone in his arms, your jerky little bounces drawing out his orgasm as well. There was only a minute left to clean up, and then you and he were walking hurriedly to the dock hand in hand.

He kissed you long and hard, trying his best to leave no doubt in your mind that you were everything. He let you cling to him as long as he could, but then he had to leave you behind with his cum in your pussy and his kiss on your lips. "I love you, Princess!" he shouted from the top of the ramp. "I love you so much!"

Your smile was just for him, and he knew it.

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

Oh, her nerves are getting the best of her. He doesn't want anyone else. But she thinks she has something to prove to him. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 30

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

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@xoxabs88xox

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elexaria · 4 months

Text

religious!johnny mactavish x afab! reader smut bc i said so

ONE LAST POST I SWEAR and then i will sleep except not rlly bc its 8am and i have to get ready for a virtual meeting RRR

ANYWAYS.

cw — afab! reader, nothing too spicy, foreplay, pnv, religious corruption ig?? idk, johnny is just too damn horny for his own good and hes a good christian boy n all but…. pussy go brr

johnny had always been devoted to his faith, going to church with his wee grandma ever since he could walk n talk. swears to himself and the big man in the sky when he came of age that he’d wait for the one, he’d save himself for marriage as god intended him to do.

you were agnostic at best, but that was fine to him. you respected his faith, you even attended church with him when he occasionally goes! a loving, supportive partner — that’s all he could ever ask for.

well, not really.

see, you’re so damn pretty. such a pretty thing, all snuggled up in the crook of his arm as you two lay in bed, watching a movie before you’ll eventually go to sleep. he told you from day one that he wants to wait until marriage, it’s important to him. and you respect that! you do occasionally find yourself pouting whenever your friends gloat about their sex lives, and you just kinda have to go “ahahaha yep, still haven’t gotten fucked by johnny yet. still ain’t married—“ awkwardly, and they playfully tease you about it but they don’t care. you’re in the most healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, they love him!

but i digress. his fingers gently stroke along the length of your arm, as they always do. he’s a bit of a fidgety fella, it’s the ol’ adhd, he tells you. so his fingers dance around the fabric of your tshirt, the texture is satisfying to the pads of his fingertips. the movie continues on, and you giggle at a snarky quip someone makes. it makes his lips twitch up into a small grin, the sound of your giggle. his fingers are still absentmindedly touching around, and that’s when he accidentally grazes your boob.

and oh my god.

wait, what? it’s nothing like he’d ever felt before— he slyly looks down at you, to see if you’ve caught on. and with another sneaky swipe, that confirms it. his blood is running hot, and my god he can no longer concentrate. two fingers run across the swell of your breast from underneath your tshirt, you shiver as you look up at him. and god, you had never seen him look like that before. flared nostrils as his breathing grows heavy, his jaw clenched. “johnny—“ you mutter as he now begins to slowly paw at your soft breast, and it makes you whine at how good it feels to be touched like this.

"it's no like we're daein' anything serious here, aye? just some light pettin'." johnny justifies to himself as he mumbles into the crook of your neck as his hand darts under your shirt, groaning at the soft mounds of fat that jiggle with each grope. how much you whine and gasp as he pinches a peaked bud between his fingers. his cock is rock hard, screaming for attention. but he stops, borderline panting as he looks down at you. he looks guilty, but he has to restrain himself. he’s saving himself for marriage, remember?

you shyly scuttle off to the bathroom to finish yourself off, the tap running to hide the obscene squeals you make as you sit on the bathroom floor, one hand pressed over your mouth while the other rubs intricately tight circles around your throbbing clit. meanwhile, johnny’s stroking his cock just from the thought of what had just happened, groaning as he spills himself into a tissue.

he swore he would keep his virginity in tact for when you two finally got married.

"i'm savin' masel' for marriage, ye ken." he mutters as his fingers stroke the glistening folds of your puffy cunt, sucking the air through his teeth as his fingers coax every last tantalising moan from you as he fingers you, your hands wrapped around his cock as you mutually pleasure one another.

“it’s no sex,” he justifies to himself as you suck his cock, eyes half-lidded as one hand cups the base of his shaft, the other cupping his swollen, full balls with a wanton gaze in your eyes. “fuck, ye have no idea whit yer daein’ tae me.” he growls, fucking into your mouth slowly as his cross pendant thumps against his hairy chest with each buck of his hips.

“it’s just the tip, yeah?” as his heart races, his swollen tip rubbing into your clit, and you swear you’re fit to burst when just the tip, like he promises, slowly sinks into your pussy. he grips onto the pillows besides your head, his eyes glossed over as he tries so hard not to cum right then and there. his breathing is rugged, his pupils narrow as he slowly sinks himself deeper inside you. you both moan together, sweat glossed foreheads pressed against one another as you two join in a debauched union.

“fuck me— ye feel fuckin’ divine.” he growls as he pulls out, slamming his hips right into you with a snarl. “gonnae cum so fuckin’ fast, baby girl. fuck, look at ye.” he says between rugged breaths, eyes bearing right down at you as you tighten and pulse around his cock, eyes fluttering as you cum right then and there. fuck, the wait— or lack there of it — was worth it. with a couple of lazy, sporadic thrusts, johnny spills himself inside you with a primal roar, his knuckles white as he grips the sheets while your velvety vice of a pussy milks him of every last drop of the thick ropes of cum churned from his now drained balls.

in the haze of it all, johnny groans as he pulls out, his eyes fixated on the sight of his cum dripping out of your puffy cunt. his fingers crook up into you, gently pumping his essence right back inside of you. “better have a wee chat with the big man upstairs about this. fuck, no that i could resist this. christ, look at the sight of ye.” he chuckles, his thumb grazing against your swollen clit with an affectionate smile.

“i mean, fuck me, am gonnae marry ye so fast if it means i get tae do this all the time.”

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #soap smut #soap x reader #soap mw2 #soap cod #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish x reader

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sassypantsjaxon · 5 months

Text

Kurogiri is not Aizawa's villain to take down

he never was, and he never will be, if for no other reason than because Horikoshi hadn't decided what to do with Kurogiri when he was first introduced.

Kurogiri and Shigaraki are the only two villains that we're introduced to at USJ who are part of the final war. because Horikoshi hasn't figured out Kurogiri yet There's nothing between Kurogiri and Aizawa. They did not recognize each other then. At all. There's nothing there. This is later confirmed at Tartarus, when Aizawa and Mic are told the truth about Shirakumo and Kurogiri.

Horikoshi likes foreshadowing. If he had intended for Kurogiri to have been Aizawa's childhood friend from the start, there would have been some sort of hint of it back then. Okay, so then when did he decide on Kurogiri's origins? Probably by the time we got the remedial training arc, because that's the first time we really get Mic as a character. Granted, we don't get a whole lot of insight into him, because he's not the focus of the plot. But we do get some glimpses of who he is. He's smart and sarcastic and weird and doesn't seem to like conflict or at least awkward conversations and most importantly Aizawa trusts him.

Mic is Aizawa's other childhood friend, of course he trusts him- No. It's not just that. Here's the thing. Mic and Aizawa and Shirakumo are so intrinsically tied together that when we first learn of Shirakumo-through their memories-they are both present in each other's memories with Shirakumo.

Mic had to be allowed to become a full character because he was going to be part of Kurogiri's story.

I would almost make an argument that Kurogiri is more Mic's villain than Aizawa's even. Okay? Remember how I said Kurogiri doesn't recognize Aizawa? He recognizes Mic. Or at least according to Garaki he does. He confirms that they were after Erasure, so if they were watching Aizawa back when he was a student, they should know that all three of them were friends, right? But he refers to Mic as Kurogiri's friend. Present tense. Kurogiri still knows who Mic is.

And this was confirmed back in Tartarus when they first confront Kurogiri too. This time Kurogiri recognizes them both (he only indicates that he knows Aizawa from USJ btw). Aizawa starts talking to Shirakumo, who tries responding, but he's not able to actually break through until Mic also calls out to him.

Aizawa's never able to reach Shirakumo alone. He confirms that he kept trying while they were both at central hospital, but was never able to get a response. If Kurogiri was solely Aizawa's villain, then he would have been able to get through to him then. Shirakumo would have been the heroes secret ace in the hole during the final war, there would be no need for Monoma to have learned to use warp gate. There would have been no reason to use Mic as an actual character. There would have been no reason for Aizawa to ask Mic to be at the hospital. Because again, Aizawa trusts Mic. He knows he's not able to reach Shirakumo alone and is hoping Mic can.

And he's not wrong. When it comes down to it, and Kurogiri wakes up, there's a part of Shirakumo fighting for control too. Because Mic called out to him.

Kurogiri is not Aizawa's villain. He is, at the very least, both Mic and Aizawa's villain (and maybe it's just me projecting as a Mic fan, but I'm almost inclined to believe Mic is going to play a bigger role than Aizawa in this plot) But the last time we saw any of the three of them, they were together, so we'll just have to wait and see how this plays out for them.

#bnha #my hero academia #eraserhead #present mic #kurogiri #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #oboro shirakumo #loud cloud #i promised i would post the evidence #so here it is #i'm half asleep so hopefully it's semi-coherent

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 1 month

Text

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 15

I can't believe we're at 15 already :O

MASTAPOST

Danny looked at Damian. Damian looked at Danny. They looked at the smoldering remains of the Atlantean barracks, the scores of soldiers whose feet were frozen to the floor or to each other, bearing incredibly precise scorch marks from the wrist ray (maybe he should take confiscate that soon). They looked at the retreating soldiers, some of whom were openly sobbing. Danny looked at the helmet Damian acquired from their poor Atlantean victims, and the bow and arrow strapped over his chest. He looked at the overflowing satchels full of plant-based food they had plundered from the town. The unluckiest of them sported Damian-shaped bite marks on their exposed skin, a very painful reminder to not enter the kid’s personal space.

“You said we were just gonna get a map.”

Damian crossed his arms and honest-to-god pouted. Or scowled. It was a scowly pout. “It was not my fault you lost control over your powers.”

Danny’s face went blank. “Who was the one who demanded to see the seahorses and stick around even after we got what we needed?”

And you know what? Danny could honestly admit the seahorses were pretty cute. Was it worth risking their lives? Probably not, even if with Danny’s powers, there wasn’t much risk to them at all. It was the principle of the thing.

Damian at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Is it truly my fault if I wish to admire our planet’s marine biodiversity up close?”

“Yes, Damian. Absolutely.”

“It matters not. Besides, the Atlanteans deserve what happened to them.”

Now that excuse wiped the deadpan off Danny’s face, leaving him in open-mouthed disbelief.

Damian continued. “We have done nothing to them, and yet they regard our mere presence with fear, and take up arms despite there being no hostility from us.”

Danny looked back to smoldering ruins. Granted, it was just a barracks and a few watchtowers, but still. The Atlanteans fear of them was starting to feel a little justified. Did the first settlement Damian raided yesterday suffer a similar fate?

He ran his hands down his face. Scratch the bloodthirsty theory. He was beginning to think Damian intentionally got them caught to have an excuse to wreck the Atlanteans. Then there were the weapons. One look at Damian’s satisfied face as he looked over the destruction practically confirmed it.

Man, kids really were menaces, weren’t they? Maybe he should’ve thought more carefully before agreeing to travel thousands of miles alone with this chaos kid. Was it the siren instincts? Youngblood was similarly unhinged. Maybe it just released his inhibitions.

His distress must have been visible, because Damian tutted once his silence went on too long. “I was being merciful to them. With my skills, I could have easily gut them like the fish I very reluctantly eat, but no longer have to thanks to having plundered their food stores.”

“You know what? I’m not gonna even try to unpack all of that. That’s a job for my sister.” The elder siren patted his shoulders. “Get on, we’ve got places to go.”

Damian beamed as he swam around Danny and latched on, head held high. And honestly? Danny would be an absolute hypocrite if he said he didn’t absolutely enjoy whooping the high and mighty bigots a new one.

“Hey B.”

Bruce could hear the strain on Tim’s voice. Even now, the boy was clacking away at the Batcomputer. He probably hadn’t taken more than a five-minute break.

“Tim.” Bruce said. He considered his next words. He was never one for talking much. It had become difficult to emote strongly after that night in Crime Alley.

“Still hacking into the GiW, and going over missing person cases. Haven’t found anything. I’ll post you when I do.” Tim said, all in work mode. Bruce sighed.

“Thank you, Tim, but I know it’s getting late at home. When was your last break?”

Tim didn’t say anything, but Bruce could practically hear the pout.

“I know you’re worried. I am too, but the Batcave will still be there in the morning.”

Tim hummed, still defiant to the last. “We’re losing valuable time. I can handle it. I handled Damian’s… everything. This is nothing. I’ve only been awake for sixteen hours.”

And wasn’t that half the issue.

Bruce took a deep breath. Countless hours of miming with Alfred, and talking to cardboard cutouts of his children.

“I’ve been worrying, Tim.” Just calmly. Just ease into the words. Don’t freak Tim out or scare him away.

“All you ever do is worry, and now it’s Damian so you’re worried even more.”

“I’m…” The lump in his throat grew. It felt like breaking glass to push through. “I’m worried about you.”

Silence on the line.

Bruce continued, stumbling into dark. “H-How are you feeling right now?”

A chair scraped on the other end., followed by retreating footsteps. “Nope. Nope. Not doing this.”

Bruce’s stress hiked. “Wait, Tim!”

The footsteps stopped, although Tim remained silent. Words, words, words, words. What did his manual say about this kind of situation?

“Thank you. I know you and Damian haven’t been on the best terms. But it… It’s…”

Bruce rapidly flipped through his manual, before deciding on the right word, before Tim could get away. “It’s… I’m proud of you. I always have been. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

The footsteps resumed, twice as fast as before. Bruce could barely make out muttering about coffee hallucinations. That was good, was it? Bruce looked over his checklist over and over again. Surely he hadn’t missed something?

Maybe he needed to review his notes before talking to Dick…

Arthur Curry, better known to the world as Aquaman, regarded the messaged sent to the palace from the Pacific frontier. The kingdom had benefitted immensely once the zeta system and advancements in instant communication allowed for him to easily communicate with every corner of the country in seconds.

The contents were worrying. Very worrying, in fact. He would almost have dismissed it as impossible, if he weren’t keenly aware of how much damage a clever enough child could do. Memories of the various Robins’ exploits around the Watchtower flashed through his mind, giving him goosebumps.

Never again.

It was a luxury which appeared unable to be afforded to him, as an attendant entered the room and handed him a second message, bound in twine and seaweed. Arthur thanked her, and opened the letter.

Another raid by the same child, this time accompanied by a young teenager. A young teenage siren. The local barracks destroyed, several watchtowers toppled, and food stores plundered. The two sirens fled soon after. About thirty injured personnel, but no casualties, and no civilian injuries either, thank goodness.

It was one of the strangest raids parties he’d ever seen. Usually siren pods descended on vulnerable border towns like a landslide, bringing dozens or hundreds of warriors charging through the countryside, pillaging farmland and razing whole buildings to the seafloor. Arthur transitioned to the archives to continue his research, pulling thousand-year-old records from their carefully preserved cases. His earliest predecessors had seen countless deaths to these war parties, before the Atlantean military was formalised and modernised.

The raids also occasionally took hostages. Sometimes adults or the elderly. Usually children. Arthur’s heart ached at his most vulnerable subjects being stripped away from their families. Those hostages taken were often never seen again, even as Atlantean forces made repeated incursions into siren territory to search for them. They would always be repelled back before finding any.

But one pattern was always clear with the raiders. Although those barbarians took Atlantean children for whatever sick purposes, they never brought their own children to fight. Some of his people believed they didn’t even have children, that they spawned spontaneously as fully formed spirits of destruction and rage.

It looked like those theories were untrue. But what circumstances could produce such a strange result? The first report only described a single siren child, who looked to be about five years old or so by Atlantean standards. The second report confirmed the reappearance of that child, now in tandem with a teenager who still appeared very young. Were they brothers? The reports stated the older one had translucent white and black skin, almost like glass, to the point where even his internal organs were faintly transparent. The younger siren sported a dark green coat, and golden fins and highlights. Neither before or after they struck did the soldiers ever catch a glimpse of an adult.

Could they be orphans? Arthur’s heart panged. Even if they were technically his enemies, he hated the fact that children were the victims of this continued conflict. Despite attempts to work out a peace treaty between his kingdom and the sirens, it could never work out. Atlantis was one kingdom with one king, but the siren pods spent as much time squabbling between themselves as with Atlantis.

Outside of their age and lack of supervision, the children also sported another deviation: Their choice in weaponry. While the capital invested in preferred to traditional weapons, favoring especially polearms like the spear, trident and javelin. Siren war bands in the past favored the bow and arrow, using their superior speed to outmanoeuvre and outrange Atlantean soldiers. Many men and women were lost to their feigned retreat tactics, to the point where every new recruit had to be drilled again and again to never pursue ‘retreating’ sirens.

The elder of the two raiders fought with only his magic, firing icy beams and throwing spears of ice. This was where the duo was most similar to typical siren warriors, contrasting against the disciplined and measured sorcery taught to Aqualad and others his age.

What was alarming was how the younger boy fought. He slashed at one poor soldier who got too close with a sword in his first attack. Mauled six others with his teeth in the second. At ranged he wielded a strange contraption on his wrist, capable of rapidly firing concussive energy beams that let him suppress and disrupt soldiers triple his size.

The sirens were never interested in technological development in the same way as the Atlanteans did, and never had they possessed a weapon even close to as advanced as the one sported by the tiny child.

Arthur’s eyes furrowed. Could it be that some third party was supplying Atlantis’ enemies? How long before another army gathered, before the kingdom faced another existential threat like Pariah Dark had once posed?

Arthur’s Justice League communicator vibrated. The king of Atlantis picked up the call.

“Arthur.” It was Bruce. “This is urgent.”

“What do you need?”

“What information has your kingdom got on sirens?”

“What a coincidence, because I’ve just received two new reports from the Pacific frontier…”

“… As for this Phantom character, the culprit of the attack seems to match your description perfectly.”

Bruce furrowed his eyes. He marked the location where Phantom had last struck. The boy was heading south, along the California Current. For what reason? Was he migrating according to his needs as a species, or was he searching for another haunt? Was he going further south or would he turn west once he neared the equator and follow the current there?

Six months of stalking a human town, fighting off other sirens, only to abandon it once the GiW came out in force, and then start marauding Atlantean settlements out of nowhere? Something extraordinary had to have happened. According to Arthur, Phantom had never been seen by his soldiers before. Perhaps Phantom had completed whatever goals he had in Amity, and was transitioning to his next move on Atlantis.

Phantom was young, or at least appeared young. Likely no older than fifteen. The fact that no records show any similar pattern of behaviour ruled out the possibility of it being some kind of coming-of-age ceremony. It seemed Phantom was an outlier among his species.

If sirens travelled in pods, then where was Phantom’s?

“It’s funny you mention that, since he wasn’t alone. There was a tiny child with him. I think he was about five years old or so. The boy carried weapons like a warrior, and blasted my soldiers with energy beams from a futuristic wrist gun. I’ll sent you the sketch the commander sent me.”

Bruce confirmed his receipt of the sketch. His eyes widened.

Emblazed on the gun’s side was a very familiar logo, a flaming blue F for Fenton.

The conversation ended soon after, with Arthur promising to forward him translated copies of the reports.

Bruce clasped his hands, holding them tight as he pondered (not brooded, despite what Dick insisted).

It seemed Phantom’s lack of morality couldn’t sink further. He had manipulated Amity Island teenagers into assisting him, and now he was leading what was basically a toddler half of Damian’s age into dangerous battles against trained soldiers.

Bruce’s will hardened with righteous anger. This Phantom was barely fresh off his last crime before preying on another child. He had to be stopped.

Suddenly he had three children to save now.

Please be ok, Damian…

#dpxdc #danny fenton #merman #damian wayne #dcxdp #merboy #angst #mermaid au #atlantis #atlanteans #good parent bruce wayne #arthur curry #bruce wayne is bad at feelings

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thcfountain · 3 months

Text

anonymous asked: "I saw requests are still open and was wanting to request a cute little friends to lovers with Matt? If they’re not open totally ignore this 😅 I love you work!!"

banner credit. to be added to my tag list.

Matt Dierkes x ace afab!reader. She/her pronouns. Fluff. 2,850 words.

tag list: @to-be-written @th4t-em0-k1d @cheyyyr @somewhere-diamond @ravieisunhinged @blackveilomens @sprokat @jilliemiw86

“Bryan is down for the count,” Noah announces and then he shrugs and adds, “well he's down for at least a week.” Their friend and on tour photographer and caught a nasty bug somewhere along the line, halfway into tour and the band was equal parts worried as well as wondering what they would do next.

“We don't need a photographer for the next few shows, right?” Folio asks, trying his best to be helpful.

“We could just ask y/n,” adds Matt in a tone that was way too nonchalant for the exchange of looks the band gave each other at his suggestion. “She does tour photography and she's really good,” he continues, pushing the idea of his friend, you, filling in for a bit.

The band cast knowing glances at each other - it didn't matter how often Matt referred to you as just his friend or how much he convinced himself it was true, they were all waiting for the moment that he inevitably realized that he was ass over heels in love with you. It hadn't happened yet, obviously, but they knew it was coming soon and the prospect of you joining them on tour for a short time would surely help him realize his true feelings.

Of course, you were almost as bad as Matt was. It was clear to the band that you had feelings for Matt too, but you didn't act on them, probably because you couldn't see that he liked you back.

“Well,” Noah says, looking at his bandmates for confirmation, “alright. Have her meet us at the next venue if she agrees and make sure you purchase her plane tickets,” Noah adds on.

Of course you agreed. There was no chance that you would have ever denied Matt something, especially if he needed you. Sure it wasn't just Matt who needed you, but it was Matt that mattered. You met the band at the venue, as per Noah, and rolled your suitcase towards their van, your camera back slung over your shoulder.

“You made it,” Matt greets you, taking your suitcase without being asked and pulling it onto the bus. “You get the bunk under mine, Noah made sure we made you space,” he gestures to the bunk in question and gives you a smile. “Right now we're starting to load gear into the venue.”

There's a moment of silence as you two get caught up in staring into each other's eyes, each of you searching for the right thing to say next. He wanted to mention how happy he was that you had come and you wanted to tell him how excited you were to work with him but somehow neither of you managed to speak.

“No fucking on the bus, that was your own rule, Matt,” the sound of Noah's voice breaks the silence as he pops his head in and both you and Matt go red in the cheeks as you both blush. “Come help us load, some of this gear is front of house after all.”

You both jumped to action, immediately going to load gear and constantly bumping into each other while giggling about it.

“$20 that we catch them fucking,” Folio pipes up as he, Jolly, and Ruffilo watch you and Matt giggling at each other and constantly finding ways to bump into or touch one another.

Jolly shakes his head. “She's ace, remember? So $20 that we catch them making out at most.”

“No way,” Ruffilo shakes his head. “They're both too dumb to realize they're in love.”

“Bets on,” replies Folio. “If you we win you owe us both $20 and dinner.”

“I'll take that bet,” Ruffilo agrees.

You are nothing but professional as the concert rages on. You move across the stage and sidelines with ease, taking shot after shot of the band and the crowd. As always, Noah knows how to hype up his fans, how to make them scream in excitement or shout so loud that people outside surely wonder what the fuck is going on. You grab a bunch of shots, knowing that many of them will end up looking super cool for their collective social medias. When the concert is over, you immediately go to help load gear back up into the bus.

A hand brushes your own, both of you grabbing the handle of a case at the same time and you look up into Matt's eyes and laugh. “Sorry, it's all yours if you wanna load it out,” you say with a joking lilt to your voice before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think it's the last bit that needs to be loaded back up.”

Matt's hand remains atop your own on the handle and he can't help the way that you make him smile and he's convinced himself that he doesn't feel those flutter of butterfly wings in his gut when you give him your attention. The very idea that someone as kind and beautiful as you could like him, the self proclaimed Hater King, just didn't compute in his mind. Here you were, a million ways different then him just in the very nature you had to be soft and kind when he prides himself on being a hater, on being mean when it was called for. In his mind, your very friendship was probably created out of kindness alone.

“I've got it,” he answers after a short moment, finally letting your hand free from where it was trapped between his hand and the handle. “You can go ahead and head back to the bus.”

When Matt finally made his way onto the bus, he was ready to crash. His days were pretty go, go, go since he was tour manager for such a successful band and so it went past his head when he crawled into his bunk that a few people were missing.

You, Folio, and Davis had wandered off in search of a quick, nearby place to grab food for yourselves and luckily the venue wasn't too far from a little restaurant that was open late, seeming to carry more towards the late night hungry drunks or people with the munchies after a show. Food had been purchased and the three of you began your journey back to the bus.

“So what's up with you and Matt?” Davis asks, ignoring the glances Folio was suddenly giving him because he was unaware of the earlier bet that had been placed. “You two are cute together.”

For the second time that day, your cheeks brighten, flooding with warmth. “I don't know what you mean,” you say quickly, avoiding Davis’ eyes. “He's my best friend, that's all.”

A disbelieving sound comes out of Davis and Folio cuts him off before he can even speak. “You and Matt should just make out and then go from there!” The idea was absolutely biased on his bet with Jolly and Ruffilo, which you didn't know, so all you could do was let your jaw drop open as you stare at him.

“Ignore him,” Davis says, patting your shoulder as the bus comes into view. “He's suffering from dumbass-itis.”

You scurry onto the bus, fleeing the conversation and head straight to Matt's bunk.

He wakes up a little annoyed when his curtain is pulled back, flooding light into his face but then his stomach growls as he catches the scent of food and his eyes land on you.

“Here, I got your favorite,” you tell him, holding up the pastic bag full of Styrofoam and plastic containers of food that you had purchased for him. His heart does a little sommersault in his chest as he hops out of the bunk and takes the food you offered. “Should we eat together?”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, letting you lead him to the sitting area in the back of the bus. Some of the band sits back there, doing their own thing, others are already crammed into their bunks. “This smells amazing, but I might just be starving,” Matt states as the two of you huddle together and begin opening up containers of food.

It's like you're both suddenly in a world of your own as you pass food to each other, sharing without asking as you settle into a comfortable atmosphere. The two of you are at ease with each other, an ease that had grown over years of friendship.

“Try this,” you say, holding up the fork to Matt's mouth, wanting to share how good the food you ordered for yourself was.

There's no hesitation or question, he leans forward, fully trusting you, and lets you feed him with your fork. “Oh, that's to die for,” he agrees before cracking open a Dr Pepper, handing it to you for you to take the first sip.

You're both so lost in your world together that neither of you even notice the way you're watched by the band. The knowing looks they share with one another, as if to say it's only a matter of time before you and Matt stumble upon each other's true feelings. In the meantime, you two sit and giggle together, literally feeding each other bites of food and sharing Dr Peppers. (Were you literally anyone else, Matt would have bit your fingers off for even looking at his Dr Pepper.)

It was also no real surprise to the band when the two of you retired to Matt's bunk to watch anime together, only to end up falling asleep in each other's arms.

“We're this close to winning the bet,” says Jolly upon the discovery that you and Matt were snuggled up together in his bunk, fast asleep.

Noah runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes and away from his face. “What bet?” He asks, stealing Ruffilo's hair brush and sticking out his tongue before running it through his short hair. “Maybe I want in.”

“We're betting against Ruffilo that Matt and y/n get caught making out,” Jolly replies.

Folio laughs. “I added the whole crew to a group chat for taking bets about this.” He waves his phone a little and Noah laughs.

“Add me to Nicholas’ side. These two are dumbasses,” Noah decides.

Your time with the band passes quickly. You spend your days working, taking photos and helping load and unload gear or pitching in a hand in different places where it's needed. Teamwork was important on tour and you were definitely a team player. After leaving the venue at night, you and Matt would take turns being the one to pick up and buy dinner for each other, followed by falling asleep in his bunk while watching anime. It was a comfortable routine, one in which you had reminded yourself over and over again, was a routine definitely made by friends. Because surely, Matt was probably interested in someone who just wasn't you…. right?

Nevertheless, with Bryan returning, you found everyone in both the band and crew acting strange. A little… antsy, you supposed. Except for Ruffilo and Noah, who seemed to be overly excited, though you really weren't sure why.

You stood outside the bus, waiting for an uber to come pick you up and take you to the airport. It felt a little bittersweet to return home.

Matt stood with you, holding your camera bag over his shoulder, almost like he was contemplating holding it hostage so that you would stay.

“I'll miss your company,” he says after a moment of quiet. “It's not the same with my other friends,” friends. There was that word again, giving you a little stab in the heart, one that you smiled through. “It's not like I can watch anime in bed with Noah after all, he doesn't even fit into his own bunk.”

You both laugh a little. “I'll miss you too,” you reply. “I'll email you all the shots I took once they've been edited.”

You and Matt stare at each other in awkward silence, both wanting to say more but too shy and nervous to do so.

“JUST KISS ALREADY HOLY SHIT.” You both whip your heads around to see Folio, among many others, watching from the bus’ windows, Folio had stuck his head out to yell at you and was now being yanked back inside.

Your uber arriving spared you and Matt from the embarrassment of having to deal with Folio's shouts and you slipped into the car without another word.

Matt watched you leave and then looked back at the bus, where his friends were slowly coming out, almost all of them looking annoyed as they began pulling out their wallets and handing cash over to Ruffilo and Noah.

“What the fuck?” was all Matt could get out, too many questions swarming his head for him to ask any individual questions.

“We took bets on you and y/n finally realizing you're in love with each other and making out about it,” Ruffilo says, proudly holding his stack of $20s. “Noah and I bet that you were both too stupid to admit your feelings.”

“Wait what. Are you saying she likes me?” Matt definitely felt stupid for having to ask.

“Fucking DUH,” says Folio, grumbling over his lost bet. “You don't see any of us looking at you with heart eyes,” he pauses, looking a little mischievous. “Run to her! Meet her at the airport and make out so Ruffilo and Noah lose the bet!”

“This isn't a romcom, Folio, he wouldn't make it in time nor would security let him through without a ticket,” Noah answers, shoving his wad of cash in his pocket.

“What if we ask the bus driver to put the pedal to the metal?” Folio adds and it was clear that in his head, he was imagining a high speed race in the tour bus, all the way to the airport.

The bus driver handed Ruffilo a $20. “Not happening, Folio.”

The rest of the tour passed Matt by, equally too slow and too fast. He loved seeing his boys on stage, watching them perform for hundreds of excited fans who screamed back every word, every lyric, with love. He also really wanted to get home and have a Hallmark movie moment with you.

Unfortunately, it was probably going to be less of a Hallmark romantic movie moment and more of a romcom given the fact that as soon as the band learned that he was going to your house to talk to you, all four of them crammed themselves into his car and refused to leave.

So he knocked on your door in the middle of the night with four grown men standing behind him, passing around fucking popcorn as if his life was a fucking movie. He had half a mind to turn around and tell them all off when your door swung open, revealing you standing there in pajamas.

“Oh, hey guys,” you greet, clearly a little confused at the party on your doorstep. “What's up?”

He had spent the entirety of the rest of the tour, planning what he would say to you and imagining out scenarios in his head where he was cool and suave and swept you off your feet. Instead none of that happened and Matt ended up blurting out, “I love you,” and immediately wanting to kick himself. “I mean - yeah, no, that's what I mean exactly but it was supposed to sound cooler and also there wasn't supposed to be an audience,” Folio waved, “and it was supposed to be-”

You cut Matt off by pulling him into a kiss, one that was met with cheers and even some pelted popcorn.

“Me too,” you say, parting from the kiss and grinning up at Matt as your heart did little leaps into your throat. “Wanna come in and watch anime?”

“I would love to,” he replies, taking your hand and letting your pull him into the house, the door slamming shut on Jolly, Noah, and the Nicks.

“So what now?” Noah asks, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Do we just go home?”

Folio hops over to a window at the side of the house and presses his face against the glass. “I can see into the living room!” He announces. “They're making out!”

Jolly, Ruffilo, and Noah exchange looks before immediately crowding around next to Folio, spying in the window and watching you and Matt make out on your couch.

They would have been content to stay and watch the “show”, if it weren't for the concerned neighbors who called the authorities because three grown men were peeing into windows.

“Should we call Matt and tell him that we're getting arrested?” Noah asks, climbing into the back of the police cruiser.

“No, he's gonna be mad. Let's call Bryan,” Ruffilo answers.

You and Matt made out for a bit and then settled into the couch to snuggle and continue binge watching anime together.

“So are we boyfriend and girlfriend now?” You ask with a giggle.

“I wouldn't wanna date anyone else,” he replies, giving you another little kiss.

#matt dierkes fanfic #matt dierkes x reader

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casuallyawkardd · 5 months

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiderkind Pt III

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Single Mother!Reader

Summary: Miguel and you get the chance to get to know one another better while on a mission

Warnings: fluff, mentions of drug use but nothing crazy, super evil villain watch out, not fluent in Spanish so lemme know if I mess up

A/N: Finally the long awaited next part of the series! Thank you all for being so patient with me and I hope it holds up to expectation 😊 Also I finally made a masterlist for this series!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

One thing you liked about Nueva York was that you could see the stars at night. In your universe's New York, the lights alone would drown out their natural light, something you missed seeing back in your hometown. But here, they were plain to see, sparkling down on you from the open sunroof. Maybe someone in this universe developed lights that didn't snuff out the natural light of the world, that or maybe the future was less smoggy.

This wasn't the Nueva York you were familiar with, not technically anyway. What had Miguel called it? Earth-928C? It was another version of Miguel's home, one where there were enough differences that they were their own separate universes, but not so much so that it was classified under a different number. Speaking of Miguel..

"Remind me why I was chosen for this mission?" you asked, breaking the silence between you two. The man in question gave you a sideways glance, not looking too happy with your tone.

"Because Jess is already on one with Peter B and she suggested I take you instead," he answered matter-of-factly, nostrils flaring as he let out a huff.

"And...why did Jess have to be the one to come?"

"You know, you ask a lot of questions."

"And you avoid a lot of them," you quipped back, shooting him a half-hearted glare before sighing heavily, arms crossing over your chest. "I get the whole 'mysterious leader' thing, but I don't think it's too much to ask for a little more detail-"

"I needed someone to pose as my date to this event," Miguel cut you off. You awaited further explanation, but the other spider seemed to think that answer would suffice. It certainly explained the given dress code for the mission. Miguel sporting a suit, appearing like a simple black, but was shown to be a deep red when the light hit it just right. His eyes gave you the up and down, as if just now seeing your ensemble for the first time. "You clean up nice."

"A simple 'I like your dress' would work, O'Hara," you huff.

"Fine, I like your dress, happy?" he retorts and you roll your eyes, the compliment not as sincere when you have to pull teeth to get it.

Yet another moment of silence followed as the car drove on, a divider keeping the driver oblivious to the conversation between you two. "What's the mission?" you asked finally, "I know you mentioned something with anomaly capture, but we were in a rush so..."

"Ay dios mío," Miguel pulled up an image on his gizmo. "A variant of Doctor Octavius was detected here," he pointed to the flashing dot on the map, "that building just so happens to be where Alchemax is hosting their annual charity event. Make sense?"

"Mmm," you hum, "and do you expect that they'll just let us walk right in?"

"Of course they will," he said, clicking the hologram away and leaning back against the seat, "the Miguel of this universe still works for Alchemax, he's expected to be there."

"And you plan to pose as yourself in this dimension?" Miguel nods to confirm your thought. "What if the Miguel from this universe comes too?"

"He won't."

"And you know that because..?"

Miguel didn't respond, looking out the window as the car came to a stop. "We're here, let's at least pretend we like each other."

Stepping out, Miguel offered you his arm for you to get out of the car with ease. The building before you was tall, much like the skyscrapers of your universe, only maintaining that futuristic quality most things seemed to possess in Nueva York. The lights you could see from the top floor told you of your destination, all that was left was to make your way inside.

"Why the cameras?" you asked, indicating with a nod of your head to the flashing lights and large crowd around the base of the staircase that led to the entrance.

The sight made Miguel grimace, "Paparazzi," he spat the word, "makes sense, these things usually attract that kind of crowd. Celebrities, billionaires, anyone Alchemax can sucker into funding their projects." His disdain for the company was evident, as to why he had such a deeply rooted hatred for it, you had yet to hear that story. "Come on, let's just go in. Try not to be obvious." Before you could respond, he was already leading the way; his arm linked with yours as the two of you managed to slip inside.

The way up was uneventful, one high tech elevator ride and you were on top of one of the tallest buildings in the city. According to Miguel at least. On the way up, Miguel had shared the plan: lie low and wait, plain and simple. It wasn't like his usual plans, Miguel seeming to prefer getting in and out as quickly as possible, anomaly captured and sent to HQ in the blink of an eye.

"There's too many people," he explained, "one wrong move and this building could come crashing down with everyone inside. Just act natural and let the target reveal itself to us." Just how dangerous was this variant?

You were reluctant, but chose not to argue with his plan, especially once you saw the venue. The event was being held in a ballroom of sorts, designed for events such as this one. The room was large, accented by a stunning silver chandelier. There were tables for guests to sit at on the borders of the room, many already occupied by elite figures chatting away about business and what have you. Horderves and cocktails were being distributed on metal trays that hovered about the room. The room, the people in it, all that you saw combined into a reminder of just how advanced Miguel's universe truly was.

"Miguel?" a man's voice called out, the owner coming through the crowd. He was an older man, tall like the man at your side and equally well dressed, if not more. "Well, isn't this a treat?" There was a teasing tone to his voice, offering a hand that Miguel stiffly shook.

"Mr. Stone," Miguel mused, forcing a smile to maintain the facade, "How are you this evening?"

"Well," Stone replied, looking in your direction, "And who might you be?"

"Oh, just Miguel's date," you tell him, throwing your name out there as well.

Mr. Stone smiled, taking your hand in his, "I doubt something as lovely as you is 'just Miguel's date,'" he said before planting a kiss on the back of your hand. A gesture that made you want to retract your hand immediately, but you kept with the pleasantries.

"Well...I'm-"

"My girlfriend," Miguel interjected, pulling the unwanted attention off of you.

"Girlfriend?" Stone seemed surprised by the bit of information. "Didn't know you had one. Thought you were becoming a sort of recluse."

Miguel just shrugged, despite the comment seeming backhanded, an insult hidden behind a pearly white smile. "Well I have to get out sometimes," was all he said and Mr. Stone nodded slowly in acknowledgment.

"You should spend some of that time coming into the lab. I'm sure your team's been missing you."

"I'll think about it." Before the older man could continue, Miguel placed a hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you forward and through the crowd, finding solace at an empty table.

"You know him?" you dared to ask, based on the sour expression marring Miguel's features.

"Tyler Stone," was all he said, huffing in annoyance, "He's in my universe as well, or I suppose was. This version doesn't seem to be as much of an entitled prick at least."

"Oh," was all you had to say, glancing around the party. Whoever this Stone person was, he seemed to have struck a nerve in Miguel, making him more irritable than usual. Something you didn't plan to tolerate all evening. "Miguel?"

"Mmm."

"Why the hell is everyone in every version of your universe so damn tall?"

Miguel paused, looking around confused before looking back at you, "I'm sorry?"

"I mean really, I've looked this room up and down and I'm pretty sure I'm the shortest one here. What's the average height, six foot three?"

He hummed in amusement, "Six foot one for women."

"Nuh uh."

"And six foot six for men."

"What the hell!?" you guffawed, your dramatics making a small smile appear on your partners lips. "What are they feeding you in the future?"

"Dunno, better food?" he shrugged, sitting back in his chair, posture more relaxed than it had been. "Anti-gravity tech is more normalized in my universe too. It's been proven to have an effect on the development of kids."

"And you know that because..?"

"Did a report on it in middle school."

"Of course you did."

"Keep the snide remarks to yourself," his tone hardened for a moment and you wondered if your attempt at lightening the mood had struck a nerve, but he continued on. "You know, I'm sure Vada could benefit from some anti-gravity therapy."

"Hey, my little lady is perfect at the size she is," you warned, the smile on your face keeping the conversation light hearted. "Plus, I want to savor her being small for as long as I can."

Miguel chuckled, "Ain't that the truth."

The air around you two seemed to shift with that little comment, your smile slowly fading in sync with his. You felt like you should say something, break the ice once more to relieve the somber air. "Miguel, I-"

"Es suficiente," he interjected, rising from his seat and adjusting his suit. "We need to stay focused. Start searching for the target, let's get a move on."

Complying, you rose to your feet as well, stopping after taking the first step to follow. "...No."

Miguel froze at the single syllable, turning to look at you over his shoulder, "What was that?"

"No," you repeated, his eyes now narrowing at you. "You were the one who said we needed to lay low, right?"

"...Yes, but-"

"Well," you interrupted and his jaw set in annoyance, "then we should take advantage of where we're at. Enjoy the party and all, yeah?"

"That's not-"

"If you need to get a hold of me, just call me on the gizmo."

"No, Y/N, we need to stick together," Miguel reached out to stop you, but you were already walking off, a platter of bruschetta catching your eye. Miguel let out a deep breath through his nose, "The anomaly could be anywhere, it's dangerous to be on your own."

"I'm not alone, I have you," you called back to him playfully, trying not to laugh at just how peeved he looked. "Let loose O'Hara, don't be such a stick in the mud. Is that whole wall an aquarium?"

You never knew rubbing elbows with the elite could be so...enjoyable. It seemed many found your conversation refreshing, a change of pace from the usual, high society vernacular. It helped that they had expensive taste as well. The food was immaculate and you regretted not bringing something to stash away extra. Something Vada could have tried when you got home.

Speaking of your little one, she had managed to get a hold of you through Lyla. You had been hesitant to let an AI watch over your daughter, but considering she looked to be in one piece, it looked like this little experiment worked out just fine. Vada was even ready for bed, hair washed and wearing fresh pajamas. The call was to simply say goodnight, you promising to tuck her in when you got home.

"Tell Miggy I said goodnight, too," your toddler demanded, making you laugh.

"I will. Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, Mama."

As soon as you hung up, the group you had found yourself in was bombarding you with questions. 'You have a daughter? How old is she? Sounds like she misses her mother, huh? Why didn't you bring her tonight? Who's her father, maybe we know him? Is it Miguel?'

"Oh no, nothing like that," you had to chime in, waving your hands defensively, "I had her with my ex, she's too young to come to something like this." When they pressed for more information, particularly about Vada's father, you provided some dodgy answers before making the executive decision to excuse yourself.

The balcony seemed to be the place most people were going to get a moment of peace. It was dimmer, the only light coming from the windows looking into the ballroom. Some were having a smoke break, while others used the fresh air to keep the alcohol in their stomachs. Miguel was among them, neither drunk or smoking, leaning against the balcony on his own.

"This doesn't seem like the place to find a Doc Ock anomaly," you teased, coming to stand beside him.

He acknowledged you with a sideways glance before looking back at the city below. "Didn't get the chance to investigate much. Too many people trying to talk to me."

"Oh no, whatever will you do?"

"You're hilarious," he matched your sarcastic tone with his own.

"It must be nice though, people seem to like you a lot here. Or.. I guess the Miguel of this universe, at least." You looked over at him, debating your next words. "Miguel, how did you know he wouldn't be coming tonight?" You could see his jaw set, eyes now purposely avoiding yours. It was frustrating to say the least. "Come on, Miguel. Why can't you just tell me?"

"It's none of your business, that's why."

"Oh, but it's yours? Cuz it's you in another dimension? Tell me, when do I get to know the 'business' of every other version of me?"

"You know what? I'm getting real sick of-" Miguel whipped to the side to face you, his shoulder bumping yours and you stumbled to catch yourself. That seemed to give him pause, Miguel going quiet once more as the two of you now stared at each other. You were trying to understand what was going through his head, but his expression was as hard to read as ever. Blinking slowly, he let out a heavy sigh, going back to leaning against the railing. "It's just personal, alright? The Miguel of this universe and I have... a lot in common."

You didn't say anything, not sure what you would say anyway. Leaning forward on the railing, your eyes focused on your fidgeting hands, looking up when Miguel continued. "He's addicted to Rapture, a disgusting drug that Alchemax developed, just like I was," reluctantly his eyes met yours, gaze softer than it had been before. "except I succeeded where he will inevitably fail. He'll perform an experiment to get rid of the addiction, but it'll backfire. He'll be dead by the end of the week."

"Oh, Miguel, I.. I'm sorry to hear that," you placed a sympathetic hand on his forearm. You bit your lip in thought, unsure what to say under these circumstances "That must be hard, knowing a version of yourself is going to... you know."

Miguel just shrugged off your touch, "It wouldn't be the first time," he replied, you frowning at how quickly he brushed it off.

"Still, I'm sorry," you repeated, Miguel only humming to show he heard you. The two of you didn't say much after that, but it wasn't awkward like the other periods of silence between you tonight. There was tension, but time seemed to help melt it away. It began to feel almost natural, the kind of quiet you were used to sharing with a select few people. The breeze came in, cool against your skin, save for the part of you that pressed against Miguel's side, welcoming the warmth he had to give. "Hey," you said, "this might be a bad time to bring it up, but Vada did want to tell you goodnight."

A puff of air escaped his lips, making a 'tch' sound, shoulders shifting in a mute laugh. "Did she now? Well that's awfully generous of her." Miguel savored the sights of the city a moment longer, letting your news sink in before pushing off the railing, standing to his full height. "Come on, we should head back in. We still have a mission to finish."

"Right," you agreed, following after him. You had forgotten how bright the ballroom was, squinting at the brightness invading your vision. After that, it was back to the mission. This time you stuck close to Miguel's side, there to diffuse the small talk as politely as possible while he continued to search the room.

"The anomaly is in this room, stay on the alert."

You nodded at his instruction, eyes peeled for any guests who might be glitching in and out of reality. However, your attention was limited, eyes drawn to the aquarium you had seen earlier. It truly was a sight to behold, Miguel had pulled you away before you got the chance to get a good look. Twenty feet in height and a blue that was equally unnatural and alluring. Decorated to perfection, because of course it was, with well placed rocks that had corals of various colors and shapes sprouting between them. The fish were just as diverse, shapes and colors that glided about the water. Some you had never seen before, while others were a familiar sight. A pair of clownfish nestling into some anemone, a whale shark swimming above the reef, an octopus with a monocle and- Wait a minute.

"Miguel," you patted his arm to get his attention, pointing at the discovery. Your eyes had not deceived you, there was indeed an octopus, sporting a monocle that was reminiscent of a cyberpunk style, the glowing green eye within darting around suspiciously. Upon second glance, you saw that this octopus also sported two mechanical tentacles, the style matching the device over its eye.

"You've got to be kidding me," Miguel groaned, "this was a high threat alert." As if to answer his question, the creature glitched, startling a school of fish that then scattered about the tank.

"Yeah, real threatening, he might take over the entire aquarium."

"Can it, let's just get the thing and- what are you doing?"

"Hold on, I want to take a picture. Vada's gonna get a kick out of this."

Tags: @l0sert0wn @deputy-videogamer @arctic4life @sasaleleselfships @autismsupermusicalassassin @snert-bees @qundadedingle11 @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @fangirlreice7 @mouse-teagreat @andr3wgarfieldsupremacist @yellieeeee @thesrtuggleisveryreal @escherichiacolli @sweeteaacorner @marvelouslovely-barnes @meeom @candlewitch-cryptic @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @melovetitties @ilovemycat6808 @vegas-writing-den @pippethealien @shibble @mommyhange1 @chiikasevennn @pokhouu @jenniferdixon05207 @m0sscr3ates @momos-peaches @insanelycrazyanddelusional @miggyoharaswife @justtnat @imliquidesmooth @thedevillovesflowers @mvc2019 @starrynightnight @risinglightmoon @charming4u @whitetearx @blueparadisecollection16s @idontknowwhatimgoinghere @ziyahshinez @migueloharaslxt @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @viriexo @futuristicpandakid @louderfortheback @tomhollandisabae @itzsab @blue-pears-blog @geraskier-thots @saintskully @johnny-pie @keenzinemugstudent @rizahawkeye1380 @realalpacorn @prettylittlebrowngirl @leahnicole1219 @i-feel-violated @fandom-ash @graysonshaven @qiaipia @3zae-zae3 @melovetitties @marcswife21 @the-silvercrow @erissco @stqrlightrs

#miguel o'hara #reader insert #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x you #x reader #close encounters of the spiderkind #miguel o'hara x single mother!reader

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ezziefae · 5 months

Text

Thoughts on Chap 2 of The Prisoner's Throne.

"Oak takes the stairs, careful now. He has the surreal feeling of being in a video game. He played enough of them, sitting on Vivi’s couch. Creeping through pixelated rooms that had more of the appearance of Madoc’s stronghold where he grew up than anywhere they went in the mortal world. Leaning on Heather’s shoulder, controller in his hands. Killing people. Hiding the bodies."

Okay, starting off strong already. I squealed when I read the part where Oak has his head leaning on Heather's shoulder. The "Killing people. Hiding the bodies" part was an obvious reference to Oak's blood thirst.

This is a stupid, ugly, violent game, Vivi said. Life isn’t like that. And Jude, who was visiting, raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

JUDEEEEEE

a few selkies hang around at the edges, no doubt gathering news of a rising power to take back to the Undersea.

These selkies are snitches. Holly did confirm that we were gonna see many familar faces from TFOTA, so I am definitely expecting to see Nicasia or Orlagh.

But after he and Vivi and Heather had to carry bags of laundry to the basement of their apartment building and feed quarters into a machine, along with detergent and fabric softener, he realized that someone must have been performing a related service for him in Faerie.

AWEEEE! how humble Oak has become. I'm so happy we're not only getting more Jude and Cardan but also Vivi and Heather.

He feels a bit foolish as he wades into a vat, naked. Should he be discovered, he will doubtless have to play the silly, carefree prince, so vain that he escaped his prison for a bath. It would be a crowning achievement of embarrassment.

LMAO! I can just imagine how hilarious this would be.

Oak knows it’s ridiculous, and yet he can’t help feeling as though they have an understanding of each other

Oak had the bridle placed on him, he was imprisoned for three weeks, he was starved and neglected, and he still thinks this way of Wren. This boy is soooo in love.

Nor is he sure what it means about him that he finds hope in the fact that Wren has kept him. Fine, not everyone would see being thrown into a dungeon as a romantic gesture, but he’s choosing to at least consider the possibility that she put him there because she wants something more from him.

Oak is absolutely DELUSIONAL, DE LU LUUU. LIKE BOY FINDS BEING IMPRISIONED A ROMANTIC GESTURE. THAT IS VERY CONCERNING. IM CRYING

since Hyacinthe was the one who stole Damsel Fly

NO! NOT DAMSEL FLY TOOO! Oh a war is definitely coming.

Hyacinthe is now Wren’s second-in-command

oh this will not be a fun discovery for Tiernan.

Either way, he’d be free. Free to not need rescuing. Free to attempt to talk his sister out of whatever homicidal plan she might foment against the Citadel. Free to return home and go back to performing fecklessness, back to sharing the bed of anyone he thought might be planning a political coup, back to being an heir who never wants to inherit.

The way Oak believes he can talk Jude out of battling with Wren. Like does he not know his sister?

"Back to sharing the bed of anyone he thought might be planning a political coup" WHATTT!!! okay this is a huge deal, Oak has been sleeping with people to find out if they are a threat to him or elfhame. My poor boy, does oriona not watch over him??? or jude?? how did it get so bad that he had to start doing that???

Not that he knows how to stop either of them if he remains here. He’s not sure anyone knows how to stop Jude. And Wren has the power of annihilation. She can break curses and tear spells to pieces with barely any effort. She took apart Lady Nore as though she were a stick creature and spread her insides over the snow.

Yeah so when I finished The Stolen Heir, I feared for Jude and Cardan. Oak is right, Jude is dangerous and she will try to fight ANYTHING that gets in her way, but Wren is horrifically dangerous as well. I fear for both Jude and Wren. This is gonna be chaos.

Then he sees Wren, and longing shoots through him like a kick to the gut. He forgets about risk. Forgets about schemes.

OH OAKKK STOPPPPP.

“Not my future.” There is a hollowness to Wren’s cheeks, Oak notices. She’s thinner than she was, and her eyes shine with a feverish brightness. Has she been ill? Is this because of the wound in her side when she was struck by an arrow?

Oh no.

Bogdana does not contradict her this time. “You have need of my strength. And you have need of my companions if you hope to continue as you are.” Oak stiffens at those words, wondering at their meaning.

so wren is not doing so well, and bogdana hope she listens and gets help from her companions. the real question here is what is the problem?????

Mother Marrow does not seem discomfited in the least. She walks to Wren and deposits the white walnut in her hand. “Remember these words, then. To conjure it, say: We are weary and wish to rest our bones. Broken shell, bring me a cottage of stones.”

So wren can make a cottage appear and dissaper with the shell she received from mother marrow. Im assuming that this shell will be used in the story somehow. But what would get to that point? wren already lives in a palace of her own, so why give her a shell that can make a cottage house appear? will Oak use it when he escapes? will wren run away and use it???? im guessing this cottage house will be used significantly.

And yet, Oak notices that she sways a little before gripping the arm of her throne. Forcing herself upright. Something is very wrong.

Yikes.

The man steps forward. “Though I do not like to be outdone, I have nothing so fine to give you. But Bogdana summoned me here to see if I can undo what—”

So from what I'm getting, there's something more about wren we don't know about. something that's hurting her or affecting her deeply. Her power? stress and anxiety? I might need some time to crack this one.

Her eyes move restlessly under their lids, as though she doesn’t even feel safe in dreams. Her skin has a glassy quality, as though from sweat or possibly ice. What has she been doing to herself ?

I'm starting to feel very overprotective of Wren. With Jude and Cardan coming to the citadel to save Oak I fear for both sides.

But as though she can sense him, Wren opens her eyes.

SERIOUSLY THIS IS HOW THE CHAPTER ENDS??? At this point Oak is asking to be killed, he could've had the oppurtunity to escape, yet he chose to follow wren to her room. This chapter made me feel very empathetic of Wren, she looks like a villain, but she's really not. She has been betrayed, tortured, abused, neglected for many years, her actions of becoming queen and imprisoning Oak all come from hurt.

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sugar-grigri · 11 months

Text

Not really an interpretation, just a clarification!

ok little Yoshiden fan approaching... I'm afraid we're not happy with the same thing

If I'm shouting Yoshiden content, it's because it's been a long time since Yoshida last appeared. And even longer since he interacted with Denji.

What I loved about this chapter was seeing them in even more opposite positions, but still seeing Yoshida's slightly silly side. Always wanting to provoke Denji and trigger angry emotions.

Now... interpreting an entire scene in a sexualized way is disturbing. I've even seen people say that Fujimoto deliberately set up a strange yaoi-style atmosphere with consent bias. Fans see it as confirmation of a sadistic Yoshida who dreams of having a hold on Denji.

I hope I don't have to go on and on about how strange I find it to interpret these things in this way, not least because Yoshida and Denji are both minors, but also because to interpret the whole scene as gay bating or fan service is once again to miss the point of the chapter entirely.

Let's stop and think. It all makes sense, and nothing but absolutely NOTHING has been set up just for fan service. If Denji is almost naked, it's for two reasons in my opinion. A punishment from Yoshida, but like a frustrated teenager punishing another for not listening to him (Denji showed too much of himself as Chainsaw Man and came close several times to revealing his identity to Asa).

Then, in a symbolic way, to show Denji's vulnerability, as he's left with nothing. Far from Nayuta. Far from Asa. Far from his beloved dogs.

Finally, to contrast with the famous plan to do everything in his power to protect Chainsaw Man. Boom. On the next page, we see Denji in a rather humiliating and dehumanizing position. Symbolizing that NO, this isn't really in his best interest.

I don't want to unpack this old debate yet, but the reason I'm producing more content about Asaden is because fans see them more as a couple between two teenagers. I don't like the interpretation of Yoshiden fans, who are always on the verge of consent, imagining Yoshida as a sadist in his thirties when he's a teenager whose only way of communicating is through manipulation and provocation. I like Yoshiden because I think it's funny to see Denji explore an unexpected bisexuality. I'd like some sweet content in between.

Denji is a victim of abuse. Yoshida seems like a victim crushed by the equally biased system. I don't want them to hurt each other.

Queer content has to stop being tinged with violence, whether physical or sexual.

It can also just be cute.

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #my thoughts #yoshiden #csm spoilers #csm 132

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abarbaricyalp · 3 months

Text

Written for @sambuckylibrary Valentines Bingo. Free space fill (most of mine are gonna be free spaces) I guess it technically fills the Sam-Searching-For-Bucky fill too but not in spirit, so it doesn't count

Rated T/M, No Archive Warnings

Read on AO3 here

Bid Your Heart Goodbye

"You know why they put us up first, right?" Barton asked under his breath next to Sam.

Sam's gaze slid to him with only mild interest. "Because we're the people's princesses?"

They were standing in the wings of a fancy stage with velvet curtains that smelled like they hadn't been cleaned since they were installed. Beyond the curtains, an audience dressed to the nines wined and dined. That same dinner was waiting for Sam if this charity auction would ever get underway.

No matter what Barton said about the order of the night, Sam wouldn't be made to feel less than grateful that he'd be sitting down and digging into an expensive steak in less than half an hour. Hopefully. Steve, the poor sod, was the last bid of the night.

Buy A Date With An Avenger had been a fundraiser since before Sam was involved with them at all. This was the first year he was participating in it. If he'd been asked the year before, he'd have been more than excited to join, take a break from the Ghost Hunt and relax in a fancy hotel for while. This year, he had other things he wanted to be doing with his time. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that the Ghost Hunt was over and the ghost was accounted for, but Sam still felt like of he took his eyes off of him, he'd disappear into the night again. Perhaps it didn't. Who was to say.

"They're hoping people will bid high on us because they haven't spent big money on Steve or Tony yet," Clint said with some kind of sardonic glee. "Of someone spends million dollars to meet Steve, they're not gonna fork over anything else for us."

Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed Clint's arm. "Speak for yourself. I bet I hit 50k before the fifth vote."

The sardonicism melted away and Clint's eyes lit up. "I bet I make more than you," he countered.

"What're you gonna do? Strip?" Sam joked. Then he added, "Has Steve really gotten a million dollars before?"

"Couple of years ago," Clint confirmed. "Right after the whole thing in DC with you. That year. Super fan. They wanted the inside scoop on all of that for a book they were making someone ghostwrite."

Sam snorted. That sounded about right. There had been smaller opportunities for people to donate and win time with the heroes throughout the night. Steve was certainly a favorite. It might've dinged Sam’s ego a bit if he couldn't see how miserable Steve was with all of the attention.

Sam didn't mind this kind of thing. The VA held fundraisers all the time. He was used to the pleasant smiles and benign interest and the insufferable drone of rich people with money they needed. Actually, Sam was pretty good at it. Hell, he almost liked it, in a detached, out-of-body sort of way. He liked to be useful and he liked to be charming and gracious.

"Young man, you could've been a prince in another lifetime," an old woman had said to him once, patting his hand because she hadn't let go of it for five minutes.

"Only if you'd be my princess," he'd charmed back and gotten an extra donation towards their meeting spaces renovation for his time.

Tonight wasn't much different, though pocket books seemed to be a little fatter and held a little tighter. There were no promises made for nothing. Everything was about the spectacle of the bidding, the silent auction of memorabilia, the game of being allowed to tease time and attention from someone as important as an Avenger.

The proceeds weren't for the Avengers. They were all going towards charities around the nation. Each hero had picked one. Sam's was a housing program in Louisiana, to help people displaced after storms, year after year.

"How much did your date go for last year?" Sam asked.

"About 20k," Clint said. "But I wasn't the worst of the night. A science lab got Bruce's date, but they didn't have to be very competitive about it."

Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That's dirty, man."

"Hey, it worked out for them. He went to their lab, helped them through some results that weren't adding up, and they won some ridiculously prestigious award a month or so ago. Yet another paper with Dr. Bruce Banner's name on it too."

Sam had to give them that. That was a much better use of Bruce’s time than having dinner with someone who bought affection, someone who couldn’t be bothered to help people unless they got something in return.

This night could not be over quickly enough.

Sam was up first, as the newest member of the Avengers. He’d rewatched the livestream from last year to prepare himself, but there was still nothing like hearing his name echo throughout the room as the chatter of the evening lowered to a polite gust of whispers. The MC read off a list of Sam’s accomplishments as he walked on stage and gave a few easy-going smiles and waves. He listened as the MC explained what his charity was and how the money may be used.

And then the bidding began. It was a little slow going. It started at five thousand dollars, like all the dates would tonight. Someone upped it to seven, and then ten. A bright blue placard caught the corner of Sam’s eye. Everyone else had classy black and gold placards. This one was meant to stand out. It caught the MC’s eye too, apparently, because he gave a hearty chuckle and gestured to the man with the bright blue placard, sitting at a table with other event organizers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I neglected to mention that this year we are hosting the bidding online as well. We’ll entertain bids in real time from our website. What was the bid?” he asked the stand-in bidder.

“Fifty thousand, sir,” the man said. “From an anonymous bidder.”

A literal gasp went through the audience. Which, hey, a date with him was totally worth 50k, Sam thought. A little deliriously maybe. Fifty thousand dollars? From ten? Sam was absolutely not about to pass out on the stage. He just needed a lectern to hold onto for a few seconds.

The MC whistled appreciatively. “That is quite the statement. Does anyone want to say 55?”

The woman who’d been the first to bid raised her placard again.

“Great. 60?”

The blue placard went up again. “Sir, the same bidder has said 100,000.”

Someone was fucking with Sam. He turned to glare at Barton, because this was surely his doing. He’d just been telling Sam about how only Steve and Tony made any real money and him and Sam were just chum to get the sharks going. And somehow he had someone fuck up the online bidding site to do this.

But Barton looked just as confused as Sam was, and about fifteen times as gleeful.

The MC didn’t falter. He was a damn professional. Sam needed to send him a fruit basket or something. Sure, Steve and Tony’s dates went for more than half a million each last year. $100,000 was nothing compared to the rest of the night. But Sam wasn’t sure even he could’ve kept a straight face while talking about his company being worth more than a substantial downpayment on a house. But the MC just grinned at the audience and said, “Anyone willing to go for 110? $110,000 would change a lot of lives. Build a lot of houses, folks.”

Unbelievably, a whole new placard went up. Sam wondered if this was just someone trying to goad the online bidder into doing something even more outrageous.

Which they did. Before the MC could even decide on another number to challenge 110,000 damn dollars, the blue placard went up.

“175,” he said.

Sam blinked at him, feeling like a deer in the headlights while someone explained linear algebra to it. What the fuck was happening? Actually, was he in danger? Should he even meet someone willing to spend $175,000 just to have dinner with him? Was he going to end up tied up in a basement somewhere?

“Folks, I don’t know if anyone is going to be able to outlast our anonymous bidder. Do I hear 180? 180 on the room? How about 177? 176? 175-5? If not, Sam Wilson’s date has just been bought for $175,000. To our high bidder, you’ve helped a beautiful cause. Planning emails will be sent to the address on your bid form, so please keep an eye out for those. And now, please welcome Hawkeye himself, Clint Barton!”

Sam was only able to get himself off of the stage because he had Clint’s path to follow. Clint beamed at him, knocked the sides of their fists together as he whispered, “Bird bros,” and then waggled his eyebrows like that meant anything.

Backstage, Steve managed to find him before anyone who would need his help coordinating the date. He was cheesing about as hard as Clint was.

“I told you you’d be nothing but good for this,” he teased, giving Sam a half hug. “I wonder whose eye you caught so strongly.”

“Hopefully not a Christian Grey,” Sam muttered, which made Steve blush but laugh. Over the years, the number of pop culture references Sam was able to get away with had dwindled to mostly the obscure. Evidently Christian Grey was not obscure.

“Maybe it’s someone who wants to know more about the Falcon tech?” he suggested. “Or someone who just knows you’re a really great guy. I’d pay 200k to have lunch with you.”

Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed Steve’s ribs lightly. “Lucky for you, you get me for free.”

“Well, sometimes the price of a burger.”

“Only when we go to that fancy place you like.”

“Mr. Wilson?” an event organizer said, interrupting them and looking very apologetic for it. “We’d just like to go over your preferences very quickly before we begin drafting emails. It should only take a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Sam said with a nod. He gestured for her to lead the way and then shot a look at Steve, trying to convey a suave ‘guess this is my life’ kind of energy. Steve’s laughter was not helpful in determining if he hit the mark or not.

. . .

The date was at a rooftop restaurant, near the beach. It was New York, so the hustle and bustle of the city was ever present, but the crash of the waves and the calling of the birds was a nice addition. Sam hadn’t forgotten how much he liked the peace of the beach. No amount of time away from home would ever pull the saltwater out of his bones. But perhaps he underestimated it until he was in the sand and the water again. Assuming his date was not obsessive and willing to follow Sam around, he was definitely going to get down on the beach before heading back to Steve’s for the night.

The restaurant was the kind of place Sam would never go on his own. He couldn’t picture a single reason to be at some place like this. He hadn’t even gone to Stark events like this yet. True, the rooftop part was his idea. ‘Get a bird's eye view with the Falcon.’ It was a stupid gimmick that he’d thrown down on paper at the very beginning of the planning for the auction. But, evidently, his anonymous bidder had been into the idea as well. Sam had expected some slightly upscale bar where young people looked at him like he was decrepit, but the bidder had suggested this place, which was definitely beyond upscale and had very few hip-young-person patrons.

Then again, this person had spent almost $200,000 to even get this date. What was several hundred more for food?

The foundation was paying for Sam’s food, so he was two glasses of a very good red grenache wine into the night when the waiter stopped to let him know his date was checking his coat.

A man? Sam was surprised. Everyone in the room who had bid on Sam’s date had been women. Even the last instigator had been a woman. (She had continued to instigate throughout the night. Sam kind of thought she might’ve been a plant by the foundation to drive up bids.)

He kept his eyes on the entry way onto the roof. In theory, he could’ve peered through the glass windows of the kitchen, but there was far too much going on in there for him to be able to see anything important. Instead, he kept an eye on the archway covered in roses and ivy, where a maitre d’ waited to guide people to their reserved seats–or fuss at her waitstaff.

It did not take long for Sam’s date to arrive. He knew it was him as soon as he came through the roses.

He was wearing a beautiful black on black suit, a black silk tie gleaming in the decorative fire light. His hair was pulled back in a slick, tight ponytail, sitting just a little higher than the nape of his neck so he could still tuck it into his shirt collar. Everything about him was powerful, the long sprawl of his legs, the breadth of his chest and thighs, even the curl of his gloved fingers as he circled one set around his other wrist. His blue eyes were impossibly piercing as they found Sam before the maitre d’ could even gesture over. And then he was smiling, wide and enamored. It made him look so much younger.

Sam scrambled to stand up as he made his way over, having to pause to let the maitre d’ know he could handle it on his own. By the time he did get to their little corner table, Sam still hadn’t convinced himself this wasn’t a dream.

Where have you been? Sam wanted to ask. Why would you spend $175,000 to see me?

“You could have just called,” is what he said in the end.

Bucky Barnes had not stopped smiling. It was really killing the whole mafia boss vibe he otherwise had going for himself. He brought his hands up to Sam’s face and then kissed him in front of every damn one at the restaurant. Sam’s hands went to his wrists, thumbs slipping below his sleeves and under his gloves to rub the inside of his wrists, his pulse point.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else getting this time with you. Talking to you. Maybe even touching you, even if it was just your hand or kicking your foot under the table,” he admitted under his breath, a confession just for the two of them.

“You spent almost $200,000,” Sam breathed back. “That’s more than a little jealousy.”

“Sam, you’re worth every damn dollar I’ll ever be able to find.”

Sam wanted to tuck himself against Bucky’s chest, hiding his face between his collar and jaw and just breathe in the other man. This addiction had grown faster than he’d thought possible. It hadn’t been long, in the grand scheme of things, since he’d last seen Bucky, but this moment felt like water after a drought anyway.

“I know you woulda made sure you were untraceable, but it's still very hot that you risked getting caught to make the bid,” Sam eventually said, pulling away and then pulling out Bucky’s seat for him.

Bucky gave a silly half bow and sat, waited for Sam to do the same before he said, “Someone else was bidding for me. Don’t look at me like that. I have friends.”

Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried,” he joked.

“Well, I think the metric is: if I’m this handsome, you should be flattered.” Bucky grinned at him and it took off about two decades worth of suffering.

Sam looked suitably appalled. “Who taught you about pretty privilege and double standards?” he asked.

Bucky laughed again and hooked his ankle against Sam’s under the table. Sam didn’t let himself react visibly, but he did run the toe of his most expensive shoes up the side of Bucky’s other leg.

“I heard the Bluefin here is exquisite,” he said instead of answering.

“We are not ordering Bluefin Tuna,” Sam nixed instantly.

“Okay, okay, what about the salmon?”

Salmon wouldn’t be so bad.

. . .

The date had not included a hotel room. Obviously. Even exploitation of superheroes hadn’t hit that feverpitch yet. However, Bucky had an expensive hotel room and Sam had nothing else to do with the evening. He’d texted Steve earlier that he wasn’t about to be part of a Misery remake, so there was no one on standby waiting for his return.

Even if there had been, he was pretty sure he would have forgotten about them by the time Bucky, a little shyly and endearingly, had suggested Sam come back with him for the night. He was perfectly gentlemanly as he greeted the doorman and bragged on his date a little bit and then led Sam to the elevator. He managed to keep his hands to himself for the upwards climb and the intentionally slow walk down the hallway.

“I hope your friend isn’t sharing a room with you,” Sam said as Bucky fiddled with his keycard, crowding Sam against the door like the sexiest predator cat the world had ever seen.

“Nah,” Bucky agreed, putting his forearm against the door next to Sam’s head as he curled his whole body inwards towards Sam. “She’s not even in the country.”

He unlocked and opened the door before Sam had even seen his hand move, then caught Sam up in his arms before Sam could fall back into the apartment. His feet barely touched the ground as Bucky carried him through the room. The door shut behind them with a soft click. The hotel room was basically bigger than the lower floor of Sam’s place in DC and definitely bigger than his room at the Avengers Compound, which is where he would’ve otherwise ended up tonight.

Surprisingly, the bed was near the window, blinds down but not all the way closed. The city lights twinkled outside and bathed the white sheets in a smear of intangible watercolor. Then, when Bucky dropped him on the bed, those lights painted over Sam too. He only got to stare at them, turning his hand this way and that, for a moment before Bucky was straddling his lap and staring down at him with an open hunger. Sam could do nothing but stretch out beneath him.

Bucky’s long fingers came up to the top of his dress shirt and slowly, carefully, undid the buttons. There was none of the frantic rush that always followed them when they came together. There really wasn’t even anyone who was expecting them in a certain place. Right now, the entire scope of their existence was this room right here.

Sam shivered pleasantly as his shirt fell open. Bucky settled back against his hips, running his hands down Sam’s chest–a contrast of warm and cool fingers.

“You’re so Goddamn beautiful,” he breathed. “It’s like something new every time.”

Sam rolled his eyes to distract himself from the blush racing down his cheeks and neck. “You could take a picture,” he suggested. “Would last longer.”

“Yeah, with my memory, that’s probably true.”

Sam snorted, he couldn’t help himself, and dropped his arm over his eyes. “How do you find the most supremely unsexy things to say while you’re undressing me?”

Bucky shifted over him and a few seconds later, Sam heard the shutter of his phone’s camera. “Goddamn piece of artwork,” he reiterated before throwing his phone aside and refocusing on Sam. He leaned over Sam’s body, resting his weight against Sam pointedly. He mouthed at Sam’s neck, traveling up to his earlobe, sucking it between his lips before he whispered, “I’m gonna take you apart all night long, doll.”

Sam shivered roughly and curled one hand against the back of Bucky’s neck, turning his head to catch Bucky’s mouth on his. “You’ve gotta put on a $200,000 show, Barnes,” he taunted.

Sam felt Bucky tense up for a rebuttal. Technically Sam ought to be putting on the show, he knew. But then he felt it all ease back out of Bucky as he decided to pursue better endeavors. With one last lave of his tongue over Sam’s, he sat back against his hips again, grinding against Sam in a subtle, smooth, teasing move, and began to unbutton his own shirt. Sam took the opportunity to shrug out his own clothes quickly.

He didn’t know who had taught Bucky to strip, but the man could do it like a professional. Sam was pretty sure he’d never been more turned on in his entire life. When Bucky reached for Sam’s zipper–his own pants already undone and hanging loose around his hips in a downright sinful tease, Sam couldn’t wait any longer. He flipped them over, pinning Bucky down to the bed so they could each shove their pants out of the way while Sam fell right back into kissing Bucky like it was the only way he could breathe.

“When you walked out onto the roof, I almost dragged you right back down,” Sam breathed, grinding his thigh between Bucky’s. “You looked so good, it was like a mirage. Like a magazine spread come to life.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, a cocky grin coming to his lips. “The suit do it for you, doll?”

“The suit. Your hair. The fact that it was you. I’d been dreading that date. And as soon as I saw you…”

Sam could practically feel Bucky’s self-satisfaction radiating. “As soon as you saw me, what?” he prompted, wiggling his hips until Sam ground down on him again.

“As soon as I saw you, nothing else really mattered,” Sam admitted with a slow, pleased smile of his own. He felt like he’d been holding his breath all night, waiting for Bucky to disappear out of this daydream. And finally something had slotted into place and he decided this was all real.

“Right now, nothing else matters,” Bucky promised with a kiss, then flipped them over again. “Now, about taking you apart,” he purred before putting his mouth back to Sam’s body.

. . .

“What if I just never let you leave?” Bucky suggested late the next morning. Room service was about to stop serving breakfast, which was a shame because they hadn’t made it all the way through the menu yet. Bucky traced a strawberry around Sam’s mouth, dragging his lip down with it before he replaced the strawberry with his own mouth and then started all over again.

Sam was more interested in the powdered sugar on Bucky’s fingers and lips, but he was being remarkably incapable of getting any of it onto his tongue. He’d have thought Bucky got all of the teasing out of his system the night before, but evidently not. “Eventually someone would come looking for me. I only gave Steve the all-clear for one night. And the world’s probably gonna try’n implode soon, so I’ll definitely be missed then.”

Bucky hummed, dragging the strawberry over Sam’s cheek and across his jaw. “$200,000 is a lot of money. I should get two dates, y’know?”

“You only spent $175,000. And I think I earned it last night, huh?”

“Now that’s a high end date,” Bucky teased. He tossed the strawberry back onto the fruit platter and crowded over Sam’s body again, hiding his face against Sam’s warm neck.

They were getting nowhere fast this morning. At least last night had had a plotline, no matter how often they distracted each other. There was a goal to be reached. Several times. But this morning? They were just lazing around, eating more food than room service should ever send to one room, and getting lost in pointless, teasing touches.

“In another world, this is our life,” Bucky pointed out against Sam’s shoulder. “In another world, I’m just wining and dining you all the time. We live in an expensive penthouse and we just have sex all day.”

“In this scenario, where are you getting all your cash for these nights?” Sam amused.

“I dunno. Trading stock. Investing in the 40s and not touching it,” Bucky said with a shrug that jostled Sam’s entire upper body.

“You didn’t know shit about the stock market in the 40s,” Sam argued. “You don’t know shit about it now.”

He felt Bucky grin against his skin and another monumental shrug shook the bed. “Who cares? It’s a fantasy. You’re the important part of it.”

“I live an expensive life, Barnes,” Sam defended simply.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky agreed, squeezing Sam’s hips until he had to stifle a laugh and shift until Bucky. “I know all about your all-organic fruits and veggies diet. I can handle it.”

“It’s a pretty thought,” Sam conceded when he’d freed his hips and gotten Bucky’s hands away from undiscovered tickle spots. “We could get close. If you came back. If you stayed.”

“I can’t,” Bucky sighed. He turned to lay on his side next to Sam, put a hand over his chest so he could circle Sam’s nipple with his thumb as he spoke. “Not yet. There’s too much to do. It’s better if no one knows where I am yet.”

“I could help. You don’t have to do any of this alone.”

Bucky pressed three kisses to Sam’s cheek and jaw. “You do help. You’ve helped so much, Sam. I used to run right towards precipices. Didn’t care how sturdy the ground was. Now I’ve got an anchor behind me. And a guy with wings who can catch me.”

“I ain’t catching you,” Sam argued quickly. “Do you know how much you weigh?”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. They laid there in that quiet for a moment, hearts beating together as their fingers tangled and came apart.

“I will be,” Sam eventually said. “I’ll be your anchor or your wings or whatever you need. You just need to remember that we’re connected. Every anchor has a line. You go down, I’m going down too. And, when you’re ready, you follow that line right back to me. Got it?”

Bucky shifted over him, held his face gently and adoringly. “Sold, doll,” he promised and kissed Sam again.

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