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captainsimagines · 3 years

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the warmth of winter || three

Summary: You’re home for the holidays after landing your dream job. When your dad’s old army friend stops by for the month, he makes waves immediately. Your little vacation is disrupted... for better or for worse? Nobody has to know.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) Reader

Based on the Song: ‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift

Mini-Series (3/6)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; unprotected sex; oral sex; strong language; slight exhibitionism; suggestive language; clingy/creepy male co-worker; age difference kink (Reader is 25, Bucky is 39)

Word Count: 9,000+

Author’s Note: Well, we gotta fast-forward to Christmas, no? Yes? It’s a yes. :)

You wake with a content groan and a couple snap-crackle-pops throughout your back and elbows. You stretch as far as you’re able, completely not remembering sharing the bed last night. But you don’t touch anything as your leg makes it all the way across to dangle over your full-size bed and your right arm knocks a couple pillows off.

You sit up, throat dry and with heavy eyelids. It only takes a few moments for you to completely replay last night’s events, and you’re more than happy when the satisfaction outweighs the guilt. Because if there’s anything you are right now, it’s satisfied.

There’s the tell-tale noise of plates and glasses being stacked in the kitchen. You figure it’s now or never — time to face the music — and that it’s probably not healthy to think too much about it first thing in the morning. You’ll get your answer once you go down there.

But an answer to what? Two things, really: Did Bucky sneak out your room during the middle of the night, or is this more to avoid suspicion from your dad? You’re really hoping for the latter.

You clean your face, smack your cheeks to wake yourself up more fully, and throw on your oversized, forest green cardigan. The voices from the kitchen are hushed but seem to be engaging in a regular conversation, and you have to stop yourself from blushing just from looking at the staircase you almost tumbled down last night.

“Bumblebee! How you feelin’? Better?” your dad asks. He’s already dressed for work. The clock reads 8:01 and you’ve barely caught him before he leaves in the next nine minutes.

You clear your throat awkwardly and send Bucky a quick once-over. He’s back in his cliche checkered pajama bottoms and has seemed to swipe the sweater Clint forgot last night. It fits him nicely, you think. They’re about the same size. “Feeling better, yup.”

“You were feeling bad last night?” Bucky asks, smug smirk hidden as he raises the coffee mug to his lips for a long sip. The glare you give him is minimal, carefully calculated, like you’re really simply dismissing him.

“Horrible.”

Your dad exhales and stands to wash his own mug. “They haven’t been that horrible since your teens! You wanna see a doctor before you head back to New York?”

“Dad!”

“What? Oh— stop it. The menstrual cycle is nothing to be ashamed of and should be openly spoken about without the threat of backlash—”

You groan playfully, “Mr. Feminist over here preaching—”

Your dad cackles and places his mug on the drying rack. He grabs a towel to dry his hands. “Back me up here, James!”

Bucky mimes a ‘cut it out’ motion near his chest, but he’s more nonverbally stating ‘cut it out, don’t include me.’ He sits down in the chair beside yours. His right knee knocks with your left.

“Go to work,” you tell him, and roll your eyes as your dad dips down to kiss the top of your head.

He mumbles as he picks up his winter jacket and briefcase. “Didn’t know I was living with such a misogynist…”

You kick softly at his ankles, your smile straining your cheeks. He laughs again, “Sorry, sorry. The information was private. Sorry. Make sure she doesn’t tire herself out today, James? Please?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her.” It sends a delicious shiver up your spine, rigorous in its speed and wrecking each of your battered nerve endings. Suddenly all the amazing feelings from last night cloud your mind. You struggle to push them back down, even as your dad and Bucky have a few more seconds of small talk with you sitting in between.

Finally, your dad leaves and locks the front door behind him. The smell of coffee is inviting, comforting even, but you only make it half-way out of your seat when Bucky tugs you by the waist, lifts you up, and sits you on the table. His lips immediately attack yours.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, immediately tugging Bucky’s sweater up and over his head. You didn’t expect such fierce kissing this early in the morning — last time you were kissed this early was forever ago. Bucky tastes of strong coffee and you minty toothpaste, and it should be such a weird combination, but it only fuels you both.

Your cardigan slips over your hands because of how long it is and it warms Bucky’s neck as you grip it from the back, pulling him down rougher so he’s basically plastered against you. You wrap your legs around his waist and revel in the small groan Bucky gives when your heels accidentally stab his tailbone. “You really gonna fuck me in the kitchen?”

Bucky nods eagerly and goes to lick a swipe from your exposed collarbone to the underside of your chin. Now the electric currents your body produces travel like brutal shivers down every single one of your limbs. Bucky’s got your willing body on fire, but it isn’t enough to ignore the cold seeping in from outside. The fireplace and heater aren’t turned on, and it seems more snow fell during the night.

“God, yes,” Bucky groans, and plants several more kisses along your chin. He slips his hands underneath your cardigan, careful in keeping his metal appendage away from your skin, and pushes it off. He also takes off your shirt, leaving you bare in your childhood kitchen, but before you can protest against the cold, Bucky makes quick work of pulling your heavy cardigan back over your shoulders. He even helps you slip your arms through.

It’s such a pure gesture and it’s got your stomach curling for different reasons.

With a breathy sigh, you help him by slipping out of your shorts and underwear. It feels naughtier being bare except for the cardigan, and Bucky in nothing but his pajama bottoms. He’s in a hurry, sort of frantic, and you want to tell him ‘hey, we’ve got all day’. Right?

Bucky pulls down his pajama bottoms to the middle of his thighs and strokes himself a few times, gaze running from your flustered face, heaving chest, stomach, and inviting mound. He groans half to himself, half to anyone who wants to listen in, bends to his knees, and mouths the top of your mound like a hungry man, breathing in deep. The hair slightly tickles his nose, which is turning a wonderful shade of pink, and he pokes his tongue out to get a tiny taste. You gasp, hips rocking up and knees threatening to close around his head. Bucky swears to the heavens he can live down here, licking the juices seeping out of you and pulling every delicious noise from your chest, but he set a rapid pace for a reason.

To put it softly, he’s got shit to do this morning.

“It’s wrong that you—fu..fuck—oh, it’s wrong that you’re eating me out immediately after we’re left alone in the house.” Bucky pulls another tight scream from you when he licks a long swipe from the bottom of your cunt, up. You grip his curls tightly, guiding him up to your mouth, and it pulls a ragged breath from his throat.

“Wrong how?” Bucky asks, and his voice turns shallow and shaky when you curl your hand around him. He’s hot and heavy in your palm, leaking from the tip and begging to be taken care of. “I’m not eating you out, doll. I’m, ah, but I am gonna fuck you.”

You release a moan that Bucky’s mouth immediately swallows. He chuckles and pulls back a little, wanting to dirty talk you further and see if you’ll absolutely crumble from his words. He doesn’t get to say anything because you pull him back to hold him in place. Just from that he can tell how needy you are, greedy groans smothering his parting lips, and decides to tear you apart with only his voice some other time.

Bucky lifts you from the surprisingly sturdy table, turns you around, and pushes you down. Your breasts make rough contact with the cold material below that it causes you to gasp loudly and writhe to create quick friction. Bucky makes sure your arms are comfortable and stretched over your head, sleeves pouring over your cute little fingers, before he pulls the cardigan up and over your ass.

The sudden coldness startles you again and you whimper to voice it. But you’re horrified that when the sound comes out of your body, your hips decide to do a little wiggle at the same time. “Bucky.”

Bucky lays over you, his naked chest making you somewhat warmer even over the fabric, and he hushes you. It’s so soft against your ear, breathless and ragged. The restrained rut of his hips tells you that you’re not the only one struggling with resistance.

“You’re being so good for me, doll,” Bucky praises. It makes you whimper again, but this time you move to rub your thighs together. Bucky allows it to happen and the feeling of excitement literally drooling out of you is embarrassing. Your thighs stick together momentarily until you reluctantly separate them. The soft rub on your clit was nice, but you want Bucky more than you want to handle yourself. “Guess what?”

Bucky moves to kiss between your shoulder blades, teasing. He only does it to smother himself in your sweet scent. The cardigan smells of fireplace wood and the same perfume you were wearing yesterday morning when you went shopping. It’s your sweet scent.

“We’re all alone now,” Bucky voices, and this time decides to angle his cock with his hand, gently sliding it between your wet folds. The action causes you to jump a little and your hands clutch at nothing but air. Instead, your knuckles just drag over the fancy wood. “You can be as loud as you want.”

Your eyes widen a little as you look up, chin resting on wood, and see that the window drapes are pulled open. You’re exposed to the whole neighborhood and the sunlight is dim but bright enough to illuminate the household if anyone were to peek in. You’re suddenly even more grateful that Bucky kept you layered up. What if someone were to knock? What if the mailman comes? What if your dad forgot something? What if someone catches you and decides to watch—

“Let’s give the world a show, huh kid?” The nickname catches you off guard, and that’s why it’s a delightful shock when Bucky pushes his cock deep inside your already fluttering walls. He feels bigger and harder to take than last night but that could be because the two of you didn’t really get into the nitty-gritty of foreplay as much as you did the first time around. But Bucky rocks slowly, his hands gripping your hips to slightly elevate them so they’re not smashing against the tough wood. Suddenly all the pleasure within you rushes to that one special spot, greedy and true, and you push back so you can take him deeper.

Bucky takes it slow for the first few pumps, enjoying the way it drags out your moans and makes you clench down harder. He watches you watch the window and it takes everything in him not to throw the front door open too.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, and takes a handful of your ass in his metal hand. It’s cold, but not too cold that you throw him off of you, and it sends you forward into the table. Bucky’s abandoned coffee mug sits idly by, half full and just waiting to be spilled. “Fuck, you’re so warm… goddamn made for me, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you gasp out, shutting your eyes involuntarily as Bucky starts pistoning his hips. Now the nasty sound of skin-slapping-skin erupts, wet and sloppy and so fucking good it has you screaming for more. Bucky obliges and has to bite his lip to keep from yelling your name when you clench down particularly hard.

“Yeah, just like that, doll. You want me to fuck you? Hmm? Fast?”

You extend your arms out further; they reach past your head, but there’s no leverage. Bucky has full control of your body. If he wants to toss you around, he can. If he wants to flip you over and shove into you with more force he’s giving right now, he can. If he wants to pull you to the floor and fuck you into the tile, he surely can. All you can do is lift your chin up slightly so it doesn’t rub against the table harshly as the impact of his thrusts makes you bounce back and forth.

“Please, Bucky, baby— o-oh, shit!” Bucky leans down for only a quick moment to bite into your shoulder, not too hard, as a response to the pet name you’ve just given him. He’s a sucker for them. He comes back up, purposefully ignoring your plea for him to continue marking you, and fucks into you until you’re seeing white stars. His thrusts make the table creak, its legs slightly sliding against the tile beneath. Bucky’s coffee mug is inches from your right hand and with one particular thrust, you shove your hand out to hold it down. The tips of your fingers touch (thankfully) mild temperature coffee and two things happen at once: Bucky lifts one of his legs up to steady it on a nearby chair, angling his hips to perfectly hit that sweet spot inside of you, and his rapid pace causes the coffee to slosh and spill. “Fuck, yes, yes!”

Bucky grins and watches you in increments: first, how you lift your head and arch your back, the perfect position for him to grab a fistful of your hair; second, the way the cardigan is slipping down your left shoulder, bunching up near your elbow and exposing just a little part of you to the outside world; three, the way your ass jiggles as he fucks deeper into you, disappearing and reappearing with even more slick than before. He pieces all these increments together, makes a series, then chooses other things to focus on. Your voice, the goosebumps on your skin, the words you say. If he thinks about all these things at once, which may seem like the normal thing to do, he’ll implode — both literally and figuratively. So he takes his time.

You’re surprised you get this loud. You’ve never been so loud that you start comparing yourself to a pornstar. But it’s the vibe you’re getting. You sound almost pained, out of breath, completely fucked-out and close to coming four minutes into the video. You’re more or less past words, only able to formulate those animalistic grunts and high-pitched whines. The sensation of Bucky firing into you, through every one of your sparked up nerves, has you wound up so tight it’s almost painful to think about. You need to come. You need Bucky to fill you to the brim again, like he did last night, all forbidden, hungry, eager, and true.

“Yeah, that’s it, doll. You close?” Bucky pants, slowing down momentarily to catch his own breath. He rocks slow, alternating between long strides and deep ones, grinning when it makes you mutter a multitude of curse words. “Fuck, I’m close. I want you to come with me… can you do that? So goddamn fucking beautiful like this, you wanna come?”

You nod frantically. “Oh, my god! Yes! Yes, fuck yes!”

Bucky pulls your hair back harder than you expect, causing you to yelp and clench down. With his slower pace, his cock massages all your deep crevices, the burn unbelievably wonderful and just this side of oversensitive. Bucky’s force stands you up, back arched and stray strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky mewls in your ear, licking a quick flick against your earlobe. His hot breath paints your cheeks, then your neck, and Bucky moves his way back to your parted mouth. He accepts your gasps and shares his with you, tasting the minty freshness of your spit that you’re having trouble swallowing. He lets go of your hair to reach down, trailing his hand lovingly and a little chaotically down your front, until the pads of his rough fingers meet your swollen clit. He rubs expert circles, holding you up as your thighs begin to shake. “So goddamn good for me. Only me.”

After that, you basically devolve into nothing but a mess of short whines and failed limbs. Bucky’s got your neck angled in a way so he can kiss you, all uncoordinated but definitely one of your top five favorite things in the world. You sneak a glance out the window, suddenly aware again that you’re on full display. The cardigan has dipped dangerously low on both your elbows and Bucky’s left arm is wrapped tightly around your waist. He’s got you held solid, safe and exposed all at the same time and — fuck! — Bucky shifts and hits that spot just right, electric and sensitive, and somehow you take him even deeper. You vaguely hear yourself begging.

“Best fucking lay you’ve ever had,” Bucky grinds his hips and it makes you groan out loud, “Huh?” His breath hitches and he holds you impossibly closer, his sweaty chest against your now exposed back, and he shudders as he nips your neck. “Best I’ve ever had, that’s for sure.”

You tremble against him, now on the very edge, walls fluttering uncontrollably and stomach uncurling, parted lips kissed-out and numb. Bucky pushes in slow, deep, deep.

“I’m—” Your arch and gasp, mouth dropping in an inviting oval as Bucky presses against the tender spot and rings an earth-shattering orgasm from you at eight in the fucking morning. Your nails scrabble against the table, coffee mug now knocked over and contents spilled, and you push yourself back multiple times to help Bucky milk your release. Bucky groans loudly as you come around him, jerking into you fast and dirty as he chases his own sudden high, until he’s coming too. You grit your teeth as the feeling of his warm release coating your insides sends another excited thrill up your tight spine.

You two slump together, Bucky over you as he trusts the miserable table to still have some fight left. He presses lazy kisses along your shoulder blades, quiet chuckles escaping here and there, until he lifts himself up. He carefully removes himself and you hiss from the overstimulation. Bucky cups his hand over your mound before his release can drip onto the floor. He doesn’t exactly clean you up — instead, he spreads your mixed releases all over. You grunt in both annoyance and horniness.

“Seriously?” you say, voice scratchy and used. Bucky only laughs, turns you around, and presses a chaste kiss against your tired lips. It’s such a contrast, a well-received one, and it makes your stomach turn pleasurably all over again. Then Bucky pulls back, looks at you through his long lashes, and sucks each individual finger — with both your release, and his.

He knows exactly what he did, because he only laughs louder when you start dragging him to the upstairs shower for round two.

Wanda and Clint are both near the cash register when you burst through the door, almost ripping the holiday bells off their hinges, with an exclamation of: “Well! We fucked! Thrice!”

Clint scrambles over the counter while Wanda flutters her hands over him as if that would help him from toppling over, but he messily achieves it, and lifts you from the ground. You don’t know how he does it — Clint’s had more experience lugging around inanimate boxes than people — but he throws you over his shoulder with ease and proceeds to bounce on his heels. You’re screaming ‘put me down!’ while Wanda encourages him. They chant and chant and congratulate you, and when Clint finally puts you down, he hands Wanda a twenty.

You huff and shoot her a glare. “Aid and abettor...” you mumble.

She sticks her tongue out and pockets the money.

“I bet on next weekend. Not this weekend,” Clint clarifies.

“You know, it makes me insanely mad at myself that I couldn’t hold out for that long.”

“Not even forty-eight hours,” Wanda mumbles.

After a couple smacks to her shoulder and a litany of curses, she holds her hands high up in defense. “I’m not judging! I encouraged you last night!”

“You encouraged me to get fucked. Not get fucked by my dad’s best friend!”

“Is he the best?” Clint smirks.

You suck in a long breath and send him a glare. “The thing is, I’ve had time to think about it since he fucked me in the shower this morning and on the walk over here. I think I’ve created quite a fuckin’ pickle.”

Wanda chuckles low, still scared about annoying you further. “We all joked about it because we could see the tension at the bar. In all honesty, we didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You grumble, unsatisfied, and throw yourself down onto the couch. You glance around the store for the first time since barging in, surprised that it’s empty this late in the morning. Usually the shop is full during the weekends. Date nights and all.

“Look,” Clint sighs, shushing Wanda as she tries to stop him from talking. He looks at her with a soft smile, like a promise that he won’t tease. Yet. “You’re a woman. Not a baby. You have the right to do whatever you want. We’ll tease the shit out of you but we’re not judgin’ you. It’s not like you’ve fucked all your dad’s friends. Just this one.”

He shrugs nonchalantly and it actually makes you huff a great laugh. He continues, “Is this a fling? Serious?”

You open your mouth to reply, but find that you’re seemingly unable to. You haven’t really thought about that yet.

Wanda answers for you. “Don’t ask her that the day after she fucked her first older guy.”

You side-eye her. “I think I like him.”

“I think you like him too considerin’ you’ve just ridden his dick thrice,” Clint says.

Wanda holds in her laugh. It’s nearly impossible, and a few cut off gasps of air leave her mouth. She says, “Get to know him. You’re here together for the same amount of time and then it’s off to New York for you two. You can see where that leads.” She shrugs. “Maybe once the adrenaline dies and the secrecy goes away, you find you’re better off as friends.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Yeah, that’s good. I’ll lead with that.”

“What? You’re gonna talk to him now?” Clint asks, standing up from where he was crouching down in front of you.

“Why not?”

“Dude just got his dick wet, give him an hour.”

Wanda fails to hold in her laugh this time, as do you. You all order sandwiches from the cafe and talk about a number of different things. You realize just how much you’ve been neglecting since you arrived. It’s refreshing to talk about work, flower shipments, the holidays, politics, and even old times. The shop starts filling with customers, a rush around mid-afternoon, but you decide to help out rather than leave. You’ll worry about Bucky and the situation later, but for right now you’d much rather enjoy Clint’s random rants about streaming service prices being too high.

Once, when Bucky was fifteen and took his dad’s car for a joyride, he ended up slamming into a fire hydrant and had to work all summer to repay his dad for the damages. It taught him a valuable lesson in personal responsibility and to always second guess decisions that don’t make total sense.

Now, at thirty-nine years old and having just taken another joyride (this one obviously fucking metaphorical), Bucky wonders if a summer job can cover the consequences.

It’s not that he regrets it — hell fucking no, he would commit that deadly sin all over again if the opportunity arose — but he does realize the fucked up things that can follow after his actions. Bucky Barnes, who has always prided himself with having his head screwed on straight most of the time, has just fucked his friend’s daughter.

And fuck, it makes him shiver and get hard at the same fucking time. It’s depraved, immoral, so fucking wrong to take pleasure in it, in remembering the curves of your body while he showers again that morning, cock in a tight grip while he wrings out a third orgasm.

And he has to remind himself of the three simple facts: you are not underage, you consented, and he took care of you. You may be fifteen years younger, but you’re a full adult. You had one drink and a shot last night, most of the buzz drowned with water anyway, and he was clear-headed as well. And, as fucking weird as it sounds, he treated you with respect and care while he fucked you. You are his friend’s daughter after all… it’s the least he could do.

But now Bucky’s faced with a wild predicament. He didn’t mean for this to happen, at least not so suddenly, because let’s face it, the tension was there ever since he first called you sweetheart. And the predicament is complicated: One, do what he doesn’t want to do and call it quits, or Two, continue fucking his friend’s daughter when he’s an invited guest staying rent-free.

Bucky thinks of this, even as you burst through the front door, an urgent question on your lips. “What are we doing?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he mutes the television as he turns on the couch toward you. “I was about to ask the same thing.” It’s a lie, of course. Bucky has never been one to talk about his feelings much, but he figures he’s got to do it sometime. Especially with you, considering how many invisible boundaries you two have already crossed.

“This is crazy right? Like, spur of the moment type of thing?”

“Exactly that! Yeah!” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, fuck that, but he’s a guy and you’ve just caught him off guard while he was in his own head.

“Because what we did was wrong! Taboo. Wrong.”

Bucky stutters, then clears his throat. “I wouldn’t say taboo but uh—”

“And you must regret it because well, I’m just a fucking kid like you said and—”

“Woah, hey, woah.” You’re talking a mile a minute. Bucky stands from the couch and reaches out, holding your shoulders in place so you can stop pacing. “Do you regret what we did? I admit we’re both fucking crazy but you don’t have to stress about it.” He sighs. The good in him will always outweigh the sins of the bad, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. “If you wanna pretend it didn’t happen, then it didn’t happen.”

The words get stuck in your mouth. You had it all planned out. Tell him you both have to stop, that it was a mistake and that it wouldn’t happen again, that it was all lust and not true. Tell him you two can pretend it never happened, that you didn’t feel what you so obviously felt, that the rest of his stay doesn’t have to be tainted because of what occurred. But Bucky looks so sad as he proposes the solution that it damn near breaks your heart. He’s got this crease in the middle of his eyebrows, deep and rough, and you want nothing more than to run the pad of your thumb on it to smooth it out. Your conversation with Wanda and Clint earlier starts to seep through and you decide that Bucky, and even yourself, deserve the truth.

Suddenly, unpracticed words spill subconsciously. “I don’t wanna pretend that.”

“So it happened.”

“It happened.”

Bucky nods slowly. “I think… that we both think it’s wrong because of who we are to another. But us as individuals—”

“It doesn’t feel wrong.”

It's barely the morning after, and yeah he’s fucked you three times, but he honestly didn’t think you would bring up this conversation now. Granted, he wanted a few more days of absolute x-rated fun before he had to speak of the consequences. Fuck logistics.

If he had met you anywhere else, he promises the same thing. He would have flirted, gotten your number, maybe even asked you out sometime. He hasn’t dated in a while. He’s rusty and unbalanced and doesn’t know the first thing about making a situation like this work, but he’s willing to try. “So what happens now?”

“I’d like to continue if that’s alright with you.”

“You’d like to continue?” Bucky smirks.

“You’re really gonna make me say it out loud?”

“I’m really gonna make you say it out loud.”

You roll your eyes. “If I met you at a bar, a bookstore, a coffee shop, even a grocery store, I probably would have flirted with you.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“It’s not just attraction?”

“Bucky,” you sigh, and take his metal hand in yours. “I have the sudden urge to find out what your favorite breakfast food is so I can cook it for you. I want to dance stupid little old-timey dances to those old-timey songs I heard you playing on your earphones yesterday. You made me smile five seconds after meeting you. I think I like you.”

Bucky smiles to himself more than to you, looking down at his feet to contain his blush. You sound corny, your confession a little cheesy, but Bucky was always a sucker for a good rom-com. “I think I like you, too.”

You bite your tongue to keep from squealing. His grin is so bright you have to look away and at the ceiling. “So, what? We keep this a secret? Sneak around? See where it goes?”

Bucky inches closer and lays his metal hand over your warm cheek. He says, gently, “I’m up for it if you are.”

You breathe in deeply, his soft voice like salve on a wound.

It’s crazy, but you’ll think about that later. Right now, you tell yourself that you deserve this. You deserve to live out your Hallmark movie. Or rather, an R-rated version of one. “What do we tell my dad if he finds out?”

“He won’t. At least, not now.” Bucky places a chaste kiss against your lips, which are slightly open and ready to protest. He hushes you softly, “If this works out, we’ll talk about it then.”

You’ve always been good at keeping secrets.

When you were six, Sam got the passenger door of Steve’s new car torn clean off and when you found him frantic and embarrassed, he made you promise not to tell another soul. Bruce helped replace it in under an hour. Steve still doesn’t know.

When you were thirteen, Wanda finally kissed her crush and made you promise not to tell anyone — she thought she was bad at it. Then her crush moved across the country and no one knew why she was depressed for a good month.

You even keep secrets at work. Some of your clients have published best sellers and when the sequels are in the works, you get to read about the secret new characters, the secret new plot twists, the secret new endings and beginnings.

You’ve become so good at keeping this secret that it’s getting kind of scary. Your dad leaves the house and both you and Bucky can’t keep your hands off each other. It’s a race to kiss stretch marks, to make the other produce a new sound, to see if the other has the ability to change the Earth’s axis. Then, strangely, it becomes domestic. You make him laugh, tripling the lovely crinkles by his eyes, and he’ll read you a chapter from one of his favorite novels while he breathes in the scent of your shampoo.

It’s two weeks of this: domesticity and a sense of normalcy. You watch television together; you fuck or take it slow (depends on the mood); you take walks at the nearby park with your hands tucked in your own pockets, feeling the invisible string that calls you together when you have the freedom of being in private; you visit the bar together most nights to greet everyone. In front of others, even if they know about the two of you, you both keep it chaste and practically nonexistent. You’d get the side-eyes from Wanda, the smirks from Clint, the thumbs-up from Kate — it’s light and carefree but you both know you have to be careful. They’re the only people who know. And Pietro and Peggy. But Peggy doesn’t speak to or know your dad so she’s in the all-clear.

And when you come back home and your dad is there, you have to act as if Bucky is nothing more than a new acquaintance, barely a friend; a small part of you freezes over when Bucky does the same. You’re merely friendly with one another — it does nothing to showcase how much you’ve come to know, nothing to demonstrate how much you’ve learned while paired like parentheses on your bed and twiddling your fingers together.

Bucky’s favorite color is blue. His cat Alpine is the most important thing in the world to him after his sister Rebecca. He hasn’t had a serious relationship in nearly ten years. He bought his bar at twenty-five when he didn’t know shit about running a business. Steve Rogers may be his roommate, but Sam Wilson is his best friend. His hair once reached his shoulders and he promises to grow it out again, just for you. His SAT score was just a few points shy from perfect (both math and reading). He’s right-handed, which he thanks God for everyday considering he lost his left arm. And he visits California each year and comes back with a new upgrade to his arm, courtesy of T’challa and Shuri.

It feels weird knowing more about Bucky than your dad does. So when Bucky repeats the same information sometimes when your dad’s around, you act as if it’s brand new.

Bucky feels the awkward shift when the days end as well. When he sneaks out of your room at the crack of dawn and has to tip-toe down the stairs to prevent them from creaking, he feels guilty. Every morning, he feels as if he gets his full and straight up bails. No matter how long he stays to brush hair from your forehead or count your tiny snores, he feels sick leaving the bed.

And he should have known better. It’s not like he planned on sleeping with his friend’s daughter. He especially didn’t think he’d fall for you either. If he were anyone else, he’d find this situation wrong. But then the rational side of his brain expresses the other known facts: you’re closer to thirty than eighteen, he’s single and ready to mingle, and you both live in New York where your relationship can possibly bloom further without having to censor and hide. Sure, this is an affair but it isn’t an illicit affair. He feels guilty for wanting to cut this vacation, where he’s supposed to be spending time with your dad, short.

And he has spent time with him, don’t get him wrong. They’ve gone out to eat, Bucky’s helped plan the Christmas party, and he’s even visited him at work — they’ve even discussed the war. They don’t go into immense detail but they do get their points across. Bucky doesn’t know if they’ll ever truly talk about it. Bucky makes sure to wear his gloves whenever your dad is around.

He feels guilty after it all, after a great day, when all he craves and prays for more than anything is to make you laugh and produce those sweet love-sounds.

“How’s this?”

Bucky hums and says, “Retro. 70s.”

It's a rainbow, long-sleeved striped shirt that’s loose on the bottom and form fitting on top. You lay it over your chest and model it a little, grinning shyly when Bucky blushes.

It’s not for you. Christmas shopping for your friends and family has been going well. So far you’ve bagged your dad’s gift, Kate’s, Clint’s, and Pietro’s. This little number is perfect for Wanda.

“What are you getting my dad?”

Bucky takes the shirt from you to place it in the basket he’s lugging around. “Oh you know, this and that.”

“Mm, my favorite kind of gift.”

“I think the real question is: What am I getting you?”

You send him a confused glance over the racks of clothing. He sends a similar glance just to mock you. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

Then Bucky’s left eyebrow cocks and he purses his lips. “Uh, I know a trap when I see one.”

“I’m serious! You don’t have to get me anything. But if you wanna get me something, I like Lamborghinis and Rolex watches.”

“For sure, doll. I think my bartender’s salary can swing that.”

“You own the bar.”

“I own a bikers bar in Brooklyn. All the important hippies go to Manhattan,” Bucky laughs.

Bucky, who’s shopping for Steve and Sam as you speak (even if he doesn’t know when he’ll next see them), does not need to buy you anything. Or, you think he shouldn’t. You’re in the middle: the relationship is new and he shouldn’t feel obligated, but also he’s technically your super secret boyfriend and it would be the nice thing to do.

“Whatever you think my heart desires then.”

“Give me a hint.”

Your mouth opens then closes with a snap. You don’t need anything so… “I have everything I need… get me something you think I’d like.”

Bucky scans the area you’re both in and points to the most hideous shirt you’ve ever seen. You stare hard, trying not to burst out laughing, until Bucky gets the message. He gives up. “Tell me three random words right now and I’ll get you something based on that.”

“Uh… Snow… couch… round.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Thanks a lot, doll. Can’t fucking wait to stress over that combination of words.”

“You asked!”

He’ll find you something. Bucky promises himself that. If you get this much joy buying everyone else presents, you must look even more perfect unwrapping your own.

By December 20th, it feels like time has passed way too quickly. You can honestly say that the last two weeks have been more exciting than all your past relationships combined. The ducking behind counters, the runs home when you think you’ve been spotted, the making-out in the hallway when you have guests over. The day Bucky bent you over the kitchen table, he had snuck into your room that night and asked you what your favorite food was. Then the next afternoon, he spent an hour making it.

It’s become routine now, being this close to Bucky. Your dad had even commented about how well you look, how happy you seem to be, that you’ve spoken more to him than you have over the phone this past year. It makes you take a moment for yourself in the privacy of the bathroom — overthinking and curious about how much your dad knows.

But you don’t think he suspects anything. And that’s what makes your stomach churn.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” you say, nipping at Bucky’s stubble-covered chin. He shaved a week ago, but his hair is growing back fiercely. You find that he goes crazy when you run the very tip of your tongue over his chin dimple, shuts his eyes and breathes low and everything. His reaction could be because of that, or because you’re sitting firmly on his naked lap, riding him slowly and tortuously. It’s still early, maybe five, and no one is supposed to be home until eight. So you take your time, rolling your hips for merely your own pleasure. Bucky tries to guide your hips with his own hands, but you keep slapping them away. You brace your hands on his shoulders. “C’mon, baby. For every question you answer, I fuck you fast and dirty. It’s what you want, right?”

Bucky groans deep and leans his head back into the cushion. He’s fully clothed with only his cock out, which is buried deep inside your cunt and practically pulsing. You can feel it each time you slow your hips down, clenching around him purposely to see if you can get him to accidentally come. No dice, Bucky’s a strong one.

“Mm.” It’s all he can seem to muster. He’s pliant and loose beneath you, turning red in the cheeks and licking his lips as if to distract himself from your sweet cunt squeezing him like it’s your god-given right. And the little noises that fall from his mouth are clearly unbidden — each time he makes a sound that resembles a tiny whine or plea, he grasps helplessly at your skin. All of it. Because you’re completely naked on top of him, tits right in his face, and he’s not allowed to touch unless he answers.

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Bucky chuckles, short and dry, and rolls his eyes as he realizes it’s better to answer than not at all. “Twenty. Okay? Twenty, jesus.”

You grin wide, lift yourself up slightly higher, then ride him fast. “I was nineteen!” Bucky throws his head back again, eyes lolling to the back of his head, your answer only barely registering. His upper pelvis is wet with your juices, and his clothed thighs shake from the impact of your bouncing. He gasps out your name, no pet name this time, and you watch as a satisfied smile lazily etches across his bruised lips. “Just like that, yes fuck, yes, just like that.”

You spring your hips fast a few more times, then stop to grind slowly. Bucky literally pouts, a small cry escaping his tight throat, and he struggles to open his eyes to glare at you. You giggle and peck the tip of his nose. “This is called edging.”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes challenging. He hooks an arm around your waist and fucks up into you, pulling you toward him as you shout from the sudden impact. He grinds fast, moaning every time he fills you deeply. You pull back, a rather difficult task to do as Bucky literally knocks the breath from your chest, but you achieve it. You rest your forehead against his, the tips of your nose brushing and rubbing as Bucky bounces you. “Oh, yes! Yes!”

He keeps this relentless pace, loving each mewl he pulls from you. “Got any other questions?”

You chuckle, then gasp, and inwardly tell yourself you’ve got the strength to keep this up. You’re the younger one here after all...

“You wanna go on a date?”

Bucky gazes up, hips stalling, eyes quickly scanning your face. Sure, your mouth is agape in a parted gasp and slight annoyance since he’s no longer moving, but you look genuine. He watches you watch him, then feels his heart swell when you smile. He rolls his hips up, a movement so perfect it pinches that coil in your stomach, and grabs the back of your neck to kiss you hard. It’s fierce, near brutal, but god, Bucky was going to make sure you knew how much you mean to him.

“Yes,” he breathes against your lips, the little puff of air tickling his own skin. “Yeah, let’s go on a fuckin’ date.”

You laugh and return your lips with his, and bring your hips up only to snap them back down. There’s no other way to describe it — you fuck him hard, fast, making sure his thrusts are quick and match yours. You fuck him as you wail, hands curled behind his neck as he buries his face in the slope of your neck and shoulder, where he plants sloppy kisses and muttered praises of ‘there we go, c’mon sweetheart, make yourself come on my cock, use me, use me, I’m yours.’

You twist your hips a little, slamming deep, all concept of time dwindling. You can fuck Bucky for hours, which is technically what you already do, but it’s just so brilliant to think about. It’s late in the day, Bucky was out, and this is the first you’re fucking him since last night. You’re young, hey, you’ve got drive.

Bucky can feel you reaching your end if the tight heat engulfing him was anything to go by. Your bounces were staggering whether you noticed or not, and Bucky has mapped out your body and its tells since you two started this little affair. Your nails start digging into his skin and he’s found that you mainly claw deep into his metal appendage, absentmindedly reminded to not hurt him. He thinks it’s sweet, no matter how heated it makes him. Your thighs also begin to shake, and when that happens, your chest starts to heave delicately. Then your nose does this thing, where it scrunches up like a miniscule sneeze, and your eyes go the slightest bit wide and your mouth drops and then… All that exists is Bucky’s cock deep inside you, ringing every last drop of your orgasm, the sensation one compared to Bucky claiming you, making you his.

Bucky slows down his strokes, not wanting to set you back on fire so soon. He holds you tightly as you recover. He relishes in your heavy panting.

“Use me, baby,” you gasp into his skin, trailing your lips down his neck like a paintbrush on a canvas. Bucky groans deep, but when he pushes up and into you again, you hiss in deep discomfort.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks, gently pulling your face away from his neck to see you. You bite your lip, studying him, and decide it’s better not to lie.

“I’m a little raw down there.”

Bucky chuckles and presses a sweet kiss to your chin. Ever so slowly, he helps you off him. Your mind swoops with the sight of his heavy and hard dick, red with want and slick with your come. It causes you to whimper with interest but you know for certain your body can’t take another orgasm. It’s only your first one today, but if you’re counting the amount of times Bucky fucked you last night, it’s like the ninth in twenty-four hours. Bucky has a firm grip around himself, using the self-made lubricant to squeeze around himself. You climb off of him and settle down on your knees. The carpet is a little rough, but a lot of things outweigh the itch: the warmth from the blazing fireplace, the smell of the pie in the oven (the wait is what led to this rendezvous in the first place), the sight of Bucky’s drooling cock just aching for your mouth.

“You don’t have to—” Bucky tries, but catches his unformed words once the tip of your tongue licks a naughty swipe into his slit, licking up the pre-come. He’s been fucking you raw for weeks and always went down on you, but this is first time he’s graced with the wonderful image of you with your mouth on him. He gives an aborted thrust, one he couldn’t stop. It makes you laugh.

“Oh, I have to,” you say, and lick a long swipe from the base of his cock to the red, drooling tip. Bucky gives up and throws his head back into the cushion. He shivers as you swirl around the tip, the self-made lubricant apparently not enough as you spit down on him. It takes everything in him not to grab you by the hair and push you down. But you don’t tease him any longer — how can you? You’ve already come and Bucky’s been such a good boy. “Bet I’m not the only one who gets too loud.”

He’s not expecting it, not even close, when you swallow him down. Once you begin to suck, up and down, tasting the saltiness of your own release and the taste that is so obviously Bucky, does Bucky gasp and lay his flesh hand on the top of your head. But he doesn’t press down, he’s got enough self-control right now, just lays it there. It’s a tight fit with how thick Bucky is, but you make it work. The tight suck of heat and saliva, you holding his thighs down and jerking what you can’t fit, sends tingles throughout your fucked-out body.

“Ah— shit, doll,” Bucky gasps, curling his fingers against your head when you give one particularly nice suck. His hips thrust up and he hits the back of your throat. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You pull off him for a second, catching your breath. You wipe your mouth. “Can’t control yourself, huh?” Your smirk soothes the tight coil at the base of his spine, its gratifying unraveling has him holding his breath and urging himself not to come yet. “Use me, Bucky.”

It’s not a hint, no, it’s a full-on fucking request. So he guides your head back and sinks into the feeling of your wet mouth engulfing him once more, but this time he moves his hips along with you. He doesn’t outright fuck your throat — he’ll save that for when you’re full of energy — but he does sink deeper as your mouth expands. You’ve got your tongue on the underside of his cock, massaging the protruding veins then the underside of his tip, and Bucky sees stars.

“Oh, fuck, just like that, doll. Taking my cock so well.”

You moan around him and fail to wholly grin when that pulls another deep groan from the middle of Bucky’s chest. You look up at him from your knees: little beads of sweat along his hairline, mouth parted with wet and red lips, cheeks and neck pink. He’s a beautiful sight, one you call yourself lucky enough to witness.

It’s when you bob your head in earnest, sucking him deeper and more clever that Bucky becomes a mumbling series of praises and incoherent words. One second he’s telling you how good you look, how well you’re doing, how his cock belongs in that perfect mouth of yours, and the next he’s blubbering all over the place, stuttering phrases of f-fuck, doll, I’m-I’m, please, please, please!

You trail your hand down in between his shaking thighs. It’s a tight fit with the cramped stretch of his jeans and all, but you’re able to shimmy his jeans a little further down. He helps you, completely gone to ask you what you’re planning, and simply falls in sync. Cupping his balls and massaging them, Bucky bites his bottom lip and tries to raise his hips to give you more access. You bob your head up and stay there, swirling your tongue around the angry head. Then you gently press the pads of your index and middle fingers against his perineum, and look at him. The breath catches in his throat and he flutters his eyes open. His rambling comes quicker. “Yes, yes, god yes!”

It’s all the permission you need. You suck him back down and angle your hand, rubbing with more pressure and milking his prostate from the outside. Bucky literally sings, moans and whines spilling from his mouth. His hips drive up faster, almost hitting the back of your throat, but you’ve got excellent technique. You press harder, rubbing expert circles like he would your clit, and hum around his pulsating cock. Bucky’s there, ready to come down your throat, and it’s the amazing combination of your hand pressing against his prostate and the sudden repeated swallowing around his cock, deep in your throat, that does it. Bucky shoots off, each stutter accompanied by vocal exclamation. You swallow his spent, bob your head a few more times to make sure you get it all, then come back up. You leave a small kiss on the tip.

“Holy… shit,” Bucky says, and lazily smiles down at you. You carefully lift yourself up, wincing slightly from the carpet burn. You snuggle into his side, legs dangling a little off the arm chair. He pulls you in close and scatters kisses across the top of your head. “I’ll never stop thanking you for that.”

You snort and turn his head to you. “So about that date?”

“Tomorrow,” Bucky confirms, still trying to get his breathing under control. “Dinner. Mini-golf. A show. Dancing. Movies. Whatever the kids do these days.”

You roll your eyes and watch how the grin expands across all his features. You’ll never tire seeing him happy, joyful, peaceful. You’ll never tire of how this man kisses you breathless or how he always seems to know just what to say. He stares back at you, all hot and electric, and you have to admit to yourself: you’re falling in love with him.

“No, no. I don’t think you realize it, doll. I cried my fucking eyes out.”

You stifle your laugh with flour-covered hands, smudges on your cheeks unnoticed. Bucky takes a moment to admire how it forms a half mustache.

“At what part? First time I cried was when she was forced to marry the guy and then when she had her son.”

Bucky whines softly, and rolls his neck. “I didn’t cry during the book, just at the end. I mean, she left her son but dedicated the book to him? Broke my fucking heart.”

You produce a little hum of agreement and finish mixing your ingredients. Bucky’s working on his own batch of cookies: his dough is already mixed and he’s just starting to roll them into balls to put on the tray. The store-bought pie sits on the counter, sizzling, apple aroma filling the house.

“Yeah, that killed me, too. But she had to leave. She realized if she stayed she’d end up like her mother or worse.”

Bucky nods and rolls a cookie quickly so he can turn back to you. “Ah, the irony! The fact that she hated her mother and saw her as weak when she was a kid, only to understand her when she herself was in an abusive relationship? Fuck, doll. Thanks for the great read.”

You giggle and move to swiftly kiss his cheek. He leans into the quick peck, and makes a noise to mock your cookies. You’ve slightly flattened them while Bucky made them round. He bet you his cookies would somehow have more flavor. Once your tray is filled, you put them into the oven and set the timer. “No problem! I love rocking people’s worlds with literature finds.”

Bucky abandons his cookie-making to catch your waist. He easily picks you up and places you on the counter. He’s let his beard grow out a little more: you count nine grays — five above his upper lip, and four scattered across his chin. You rub the pad of your thumb across his bottom lip, watching his eyes watch you.

Slowly, Bucky leans in and gives you a gentle kiss. Holding his cheeks while you taste him has become a habit. One second you have your hands to yourself, and the next they’re brushing his skin with both a sense of delicacy and urgency. It’s magnetic.

“I’ll get started on the other one right away,” Bucky mutters against your lips. You tug his bottom lip gently, pulling until his whole body leans into it, and smile once his hands have found purpose higher up on your waist.

“You do that,” you reply, and finally move your hands lower to grasp the sides of his neck. His facial hair becomes slightly less thick the further down it goes. “You’ll only cry once for this one… or maybe twice.”

“You’re tellin’ me I’m gonna cry with the sex book?”

You ruin the kiss with a laugh and push him away by the shoulders. “It’s a book with sex!”

Bucky smiles, all ready to argue, but decides against it. He glances at the clock on the wall and once he calculates how much time he’s got in between now and when your cookies are ready, he leans you back onto the counter and reaches for the button of your jeans.

It’s nearly seven when a sudden knock at the front door practically flings you from Bucky’s lap. The knock doesn’t startle Bucky as much as it does you and he teases, “Kid, if it was your dad he would have just walked through the front door.” He holds you by the hips and even tries to drag you back down.

“Baby, stop,” you whisper-yell to him, smacking his hands away as he tries to claw you closer. Once you finally break free, he grunts in annoyance. “It’s probably the mail or something, now hush.”

Wanda, Kate, and even Clint would simply walk in. They have keys. So do Sam, Bruce, and Captain Rogers. And it’s a Saturday so mail is unlikely.

You smooth over your clothing to make sure nothing is out of place and pay extra close attention to the top of your head. The person at the door knocks again, a little harder this time.

It’s not even an exaggeration: Hell has just frozen over.

“Miss me?” Brock Rumlow announces, arms extended and with a large smile on his face. If there's a Hell, you’re in it. If there’s a Heaven, you’ve been barred from it. If there’s a purgatory, you’ve just been assigned one of the most insane plot twists for your ticket out.

“Uh— hold on,” you stutter, and suddenly slam the door closed. Bucky stands from the lounge chair with an amused grin. “It’s the guy from work. It’s Rumlow. It’s the fucking guy from work.”

“What?”

“What do I do?”

“What do you mean ‘what do I do’, send him away!”

“Bucky, what do I say?”

Bucky waves his hands around. He sees the way your face contorts, the way your shoulders sag, the way you're tapping your foot with uncontrolled nerves. You keep glancing at the door and back to him. It suddenly hits him: you’re scared.

“Answer the door. I’ll get him to leave.”

“Bucky—”

“I’ll get him to leave kindly,” Bucky makes sure to clarify. Satisfied, you go to open the door again after Bucky hops out of sight.

You hold your breath as you do so. “Brock, what are you doing here?”

Rumlow smiles and leans on the doorframe. He must’ve finished the project early. He’s confident, beaming, and obviously using up his vacation time on your front porch. “You said I should visit sometime! Well, here I am! Sometime!”

You blink as if it would help clear your mind. You rehash a thousand memories at once trying to pinpoint that exact phrasing. Nothing comes up, and Rumlow is starting to look past your shoulders and into the living room, and you still have no idea—

‘Yeah, I come from this small town where everyone knows everyone. It’s tiny but it’s homey.’

‘I’ve always wanted to spend a winter in a town like that!’ Rumlow had admitted.

‘You should!’ you had commented, pouring your coffee in the breakroom. ‘The holidays are just around the corner. You should look into it. I hear there are a lot of Airbnb’s.’

Rumlow had smiled, nothing too creepy. ‘Sounds like fun!’

That was it. That was the whole conversation. You never invited him. Hell, you didn’t even say where you were from. How does Rumlow know where you’re from—

Fuck. Work. Those stupid ‘Get to know me!’ presentations Pepper had you guys do when she assigned teams. Leave it to Brock Rumlow to take notes.

“Yeah,” you laugh awkwardly. “You are.”

“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“Oh, well, you see, my dad has guests every year and it’ll be a little rude to invite someone in while they’re sleeping or eating so—”

A hand settles above yours on the wall, and Bucky’s large body frames yours from behind. He makes sure to leave enough room for you to slip under his arm and stand behind him. “We having guests today?”

Rumlow stares at Bucky hard, scanning him from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet. It’s a silent war, one Rumlow is actually very good at fighting. It’s smooth, quick, and Rumlow’s back to smiles. “Sorry to show up unannounced. Wanted to surprise this little one!”

You cringe from the outside-in. No matter how much you adored pet names, the wrong pet name from the wrong person immediately shatters the wholesome nicety.

Bucky produces the fakest, most rehearsed smile in the world. “Well, that’s nice! I’d invite you in but her dad’s not home and he has this weird rule that if you’re not family or one of his best friends, you can’t breathe the air he pays rent for unless specially chosen.”

You turn to hide your sudden snort and slip behind Bucky’s outstretched arm. Quickly, you shoot a smile over your shoulder to Rumlow. “Catch up tomorrow! Text me where you’re staying, okay? Bye!”

Rumlow opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky claps his shoulder then says his own goodbyes. He shuts the door in Rumlow’s face.

“Fuck!” you whisper-yell. Bucky speed-runs over to you, clasps his hand over your mouth, then drags you up the stairs in an uncoordinated race to your room. Once in the safe confines of your bedroom, you both burst out laughing.

“Oh, shit. This is so goddamn weird that I don’t even know what I should say right now,” Bucky admits, collapsing onto your bed. You go to lay beside him, then drape one arm over his torso to hug him tight.

You giggle into his chest. “This is so bad. I don’t even think my brain is fully processing it.”

“Give it a minute.”

You roll your eyes. “I know one thing for sure, though. My boss is getting a very strongly-worded email tonight about personal boundaries and how I’m no longer tolerating the violation of them.”

xxMoni

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #dbf!bucky #holiday fanfic #captainsimagines #by Moni #bucky barnes AU #avengers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes miniseries #the warmth of winter

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libraford · 3 years

Text

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

#cw #pet death #death #workers rights violations #if you want to know everything #this is everything

413 notes · View notes

seita · 4 years

Text

— you love too easy | hitoshi shinsou (m.)

pairing: hitoshi shinsou/f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut

wordcount: 𝟾𝟹𝟾𝟶

cw: childhood friends!au, roommate!au

tags: unrequited love, pining, toxic relationship (oc x shinsou), brief kaminari x reader, cunnilignus, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, fingering, size kink, loss of virginity, light virgin kink, creampie, squirting, angst with a happy ending

note: sorry if u like kaminari. i made him a huge douchebag in this. i swear i like him i just needed a character to be,,,,well, a douchebag.

— all your life you'd been by his side. you've loved him since you could remember. you've always been by his side so why did he give his heart away to everyone but you; the one who would treat it right?

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He fell in love too easily. You knew that your entire life. He’d give his heart away to anyone and everyone, fully and with everything he had. He loved with every fiber of his being. And it always ended in disaster.

You couldn’t count how many nights you’d spent by his side rubbing his back as he cried because his girlfriend lied to him, comforting him as he hunched over a toilet after crying himself sick because his girlfriend cheated on him, or forcing him to eat because he got so depressed after she ignored him.

It was an endless cycle.

Yet you were always there to build him back up -- to pick up the pieces.

Ever since the first girlfriend he had in Kindergarten that lasted for 2 days and ended in his tears up to the girl he dated in senior year of highschool who cheated on him with her ex...you were the one to fix him.

Yes, Hitoshi Shinsou fell in love far too easily and way too hard.

The thought that kept you awake every night, however, was why couldn’t it be you? You were the one who took the best care of his heart -- being the one to piece it back together every time it was broken. He didn’t need to love anyone else. If he just loved you, he would never have to worry if he just gave his heart to you.

But he never would.

Because he didn’t love you like you loved him.

You’d known him since you were babies -- your parents were friends in highschool and it went on well into adulthood.

Naturally, the two of you grew close -- it was inevitable. Your crush on him developed in childhood -- you two got lost in the mall after you strayed away and he kept you safe and calm until you found your parents, his hand clasped tightly around yours as he let you cling to him. That was the first time you realized he made your cheeks feel warm and your tummy fluttery.

Your parents always joked that the two of you would fall in love and get married. It was nearly impossible for that idea not to be imprinted in your mind.

Except, it was never an idea he entertained.

Part of you felt foolish. You were a grown adult with a crush that you’d harbored since childhood -- pathetic, one-sided crush at that.

The thing was, unlike Shinsou, you’d never dated before. It was never something you desired. Sure, you had confessions and love letters but you’d never once accepted them. You just couldn’t see yourself being with anyone but him.

Upon graduating, the two of you realized how terrible it was to be 18 trying to make it in the adult world. After a few years of fumbling and nearly getting kicked out by not making your rent payments on time, you decided that rooming together would be the best idea.

It was a foolproof plan; you’d known each other for your whole lives so it wasn’t like you’d suddenly hate each other, you knew he was responsible with his money and you were too, and he was a quiet, chill guy so there wouldn’t be any obnoxious ruckus.

What you didn’t think about, however, was him bringing girls home.

“This is Aoi,” he introduced, motioning to the smiling girl beside him, “Aoi, this is _____...she’s my best friend.”

“And his roommate,” you added, holding your hand out politely.

“Oh you...live together?” you didn’t miss the distaste in her tone as she reached out to give you a weak handshake, pulling away as quickly as she could. She immediately wrapped her arms around his and he leaned how to press a kiss to the top of her head.

Ouch. That made your heart hurt.

Of course, it was nothing new. This was something you’d been through time and time again.

What you hadn’t accounted for, was her dislike of you. Naturally, his past girlfriends hadn’t always been fond of you -- after all, you were a big part of their boyfriend’s life. And jealousy was a fickle disease.

But Aoi’s dislike bordered on hatred and disgust over you. Every chance she got, she was pulling Shinsou away from you with some thinly veiled excuse. It seemed your best friend was none the wiser as well.

You couldn’t blame him -- he was in love. Unfortunately.

Aoi’s glares were ice cold, often sending shivers down your spine when she set it upon you. It was uncomfortable to say the least. She was at your place often enough for you to take up the art of avoiding her.

That is until one day when things seemed to come to a head for her. You weren’t sure what you did but you found yourself cornered in the kitchen one evening while Shinsou was taking a shower -- leaving just the two of you alone.

“Listen to me,” Aoi spat, arms crossed over her chest, making her look petulant, “You need to back off of Toshi.”

“Uhh...what?” you grunted, looking up from the glass of chocolate milk you were pouring.

“Stay away from him!” she spat.

“We literally live together,” you rolled your eyes, capping the pint of milk, “I can’t stay away from him.”

“You know what I mean,” she hissed, clearly pissed off by your sarcasm. She marched up to you, grabbing your upper arm in a vice grip, her acrylic nails pinching your skin, “I see the way you look at him. I know that look in your eye. You love him.”

Your mind blanked, mouth opening but failing to produce any words. She smirked smugly, stepping back and crossing her arms again.

“I…” your brows came together as you shook your head, finally putting the milk away.

“I knew it,” she huffed, “You can’t take him from me. Toshi is mine so you better remember that. You have no idea what I can do to you.”

With that parting threat, she stormed out of the kitchen back to Shinsou’s bedroom. You felt tears sting your eyes, feeling utterly humiliated by her.

Another thing about Hitoshi Shinsou is he’s terribly dense sometimes. You had no idea how he managed to miss the horrifying tension between you and Aoi. But he somehow did.

The three of you sat in the living room -- the two of them cuddled on the couch while you curled up under a throw blanket with your phone open to Twitter on the loveseat. They were watching some movie Aoi picked out that you knew Shinsou hated, but he watched it anyway. The thought made you bitter.

You’d never make him watch movies he hated. That’s just selfish.

You let out a sigh, catching your best friend’s attention immediately.

“What is it, darlin’?” he asked, the usual pet name he used for you making your stomach flutter. Aoi’s eyes narrowed in distaste at it but he paid her no mind.

“Oh, I’ve just got a bit of a headache,” you mumbled, locking your phone to look over at him.

He frowned, concerned, pulling his arm from around his girlfriend’s shoulders. She whined at the loss, attempting to pull him back but he paid her no mind.

He disappeared from the living room to the kitchen. You could hear the refrigerator open before he began shuffling around the cabinets.

“You’re not slick,” Aoi hissed, keeping her voice low, “Why don’t you just go away. Don’t you think he’d prefer to be alone with his girlfriend? You’re just a third wheel.”

You didn’t get to reply before Shinsou returned, holding a glass of your chocolate milk and a couple pills. He smiled, handing everything to you before taking a seat with Aoi again. She immediately clung to him with a whine.

“Thank you Toshi,” you smiled, popping the pills in your mouth before taking a quick gulp of the milk.

“Anytime, darlin’” he smiled, turning his attention back to the movie he hated.

Part of you felt prideful that he was willing to pull himself away from his girlfriend to take care of you. She clearly saw you as competition and you couldn’t deny the giddy feeling it gave you when you proved to her that you meant something to Shinsou.

You noticed very quickly when Shinsou stopped calling you by his nickname. It baffled you and you didn’t hesitate to bring it up to him.

“Ah, Aoi mentioned she doesn’t like it when I call other girls pet names,” he rubbed the back of his neck in that familiarly anxious way of him. He was avoiding your gaze, further ticking you off.

“I’m not other girls, Hitoshi,” he visibly cringed at hearing his full name, “I’m your best friend. You’ve always called me that.”

He sighed, biting his lip, clearly torn, “Sorry _____,” you frowned at the sound of your name. It seemed so foreign hearing it where he’d usually call you ‘darlin’’, “She is my girlfriend and it’d be shitty of me to neglect her wishes. I want this to work, you know?”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossing over your chest, “This is stupid Hitoshi.”

He sighed, clearly growing annoyed as well, “Look, you’re just my friend, alright? So back off.”

Your jaw fell open at those words, tears already starting to sting at your eyes, “Just your friend? That’s low, Hitoshi. I am not just your friend and you know it.”

He groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair, “You’re starting to sound jealous and clingy, _____. It’s not a good look.”

Feeling that the tears were going to spill any moment, you shook your head and stormed past him, “Screw you Shinsou.”

You slammed your bedroom door, missing the sight of him burying his face in his hands. Hearing you address him by his last name was even worse than hearing his first.

Things remained tense between the two of you for a week. You had really been hurt by his words. You always thought you meant a lot to him -- that you’d never be the person who was pushed aside for a relationship. You never thought Shinsou would do that.

As a result, you made no effort to even speak to him. Sometimes you’d pass him while he sat on the couch, Aoi snuggled up to him. Whenever you made eye contact with you, she held this smug, superior look that made you want to clock her.

You’d never hated a girlfriend of his more.

Finally, Shinsou gave in. He couldn’t stand not having you to talk to. There was this heavy feeling lingering on his shoulders every time he thought about the cold way you called him by his last name. He never wanted to be addressed like that by you.

There were a series of knocks on your door and you paused, debating on ignoring him. He knocked again when you took too long to answer.

“Come in,” you groaned, putting your laptop aside to give him your attention.

“Hey,” he smiled half-heartedly as he slipped into your room, closing the door behind him.

“What do you want?” you asked, no bite in your voice.

He sighed, taking a seat beside you on the bed, “I want to apologize for what I said. I know that hurt your feelings so I’m sorry.”

You were quiet for a moment before you sat up straighter, “Hitoshi...I don’t want you to become a different person because of a girl.”

“What do you mean?” he frowned.

You sighed, “I think she’s a bad influence on you, Toshi.”

He softened briefly at your use of his nickname but it was quickly replaced by a cold stare that sent shivers down your spine, “A-A bad influence? I’m not a kid, _____.”

You frowned, “You don’t have to be a kid to be negatively influenced by another person's toxicity, Hitoshi.”

“You think she’s toxic?” he scoffed, standing up, “You don’t even know her. You’ve barely even spoken to her.”

“Well the bit that I have spoken to her was not pleasant,” you spat, moving to sit at the edge of the bed with your feet on the floor, “I don’t think she’s good for you.”

“What are you, my mother now?” he growled, spinning around to glare at you, “Maybe I was wrong...maybe you are just jealous.”

“How am I acting jealous?” you cried, growing frustrated, “Caring about your wellbeing is jealousy now?”

“Oh get off it,” he groaned, “What’s she done then, huh? Tell me.”

You paused, remembering her threat. But you were so pissed off you couldn’t keep it in anymore, “She’s threatened me to stay away from you. She’s so insecure about our friendship she threatened me over it! Said you were hers and I better remember that. She’s crazy!”

“She didn’t say that,” he argued, eyes narrowed maliciously, “You’re just making shit up to make her look bad now. That’s really low, _____.”

“You asked me to tell you what she did and then you just don’t believe me?!” you screeched, tossing your hands up in exasperation.

“I thought you’d tell me the truth, not make up some pathetic lie!” he shouted, making you flinch.

“Pathetic?” you breathed, shoulders sagging, “Is that what you think of me?”

He was quiet for a moment, jaw set. He seemed to be thinking his words carefully, which made his next even more painful, “Yeah. I do. This jealousy and lying of yours is pathetic. I get if you don’t like her but don’t make up shit about her,” he made way for the door, yanking it open, “Grow the fuck up, ______.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply before he was slamming your door shut. All at once, your emotions came crashing down and you buried your face in your pillow to silence your sobs.

Your eyes fluttered open and you groaned, feeling your head pound. A glance out the window showed that it was nighttime. You had fallen asleep.

You climbed out of bed to your desk to find your packet of headache pills. You let out a sigh of relief as you swallowed them down with the bottle of water sat on your nightstand. Flopping back into bed, you closed your eyes and attempted to relax your body.

Just as it seemed that you were going to fall back asleep, there was a loud noise from past your door. You frowned, your eyes fluttering open in confusion.

It came again and it took you a moment to realize what it was. A woman’s moan.

“Toshi!” you heard her squeal, making you flinch.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, feeling those tears come burning their way back.

“That feel good, baby? Let me hear you,” he growled and your hands flew up to cover your ears to muffle the sounds of her pleasure.

This was low for Shinsou. Sure, he’d had sex with girlfriends before but he always made sure to keep it down for your sake. Now he was just doing it to dig at you.

He wasn’t wrong about your jealousy but you knew he thought you were jealous over his attention being taken away. But that wasn’t the case at all. It was because you were in love with him.

Now he was forcing you to listen to him fuck the girlfriend you literally had a fight over. This wasn’t like Shinsou at all.

She really was just a terrible influence on him but he was too in love to see it. She was making him into a different person and you hated it. It was happening so quickly.

As you laid in bed, tears wetting your bed as you hid your head under your pillow, you couldn’t help but think.

The stupid fool really fell in love way too easily.

Things went from bad to worse astonishingly fast. Aoi was over more often than she had been before. The snotty comments and humiliating words from her every time you saw her and the cold, deadly glare Shinsou set on you whenever you came anywhere near his girlfriend was wearing on you.

You were unhappy. It was an emotion you rarely ever felt around him -- Shinsou was always the one to pick you up, not put you down. It got to the point where he wouldn’t even respond to your greetings or questions, giving you the complete silent treatment.

It hurt.

To escape the suffocating negativity of your apartment, you picked up even more shifts at work. The video game shop became a place you found solace in.

If Shinsou noticed your absence, he didn’t make it known to you.

“Will that be all for you today?” you asked, plastering on a fake, customer service smile onto your face.

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, slapping down a few bills to cover the charge, “But I think I’d like to add your number to my receipt.”

You took a moment to look at him. He had blonde hair with a lightning bolt of black through it. He was dressed in black jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. He was cute, you’d give him that.

“Is that the best you could come up with?” you asked, opening the register with a brow raised.

He giggled, making you smile despite yourself, “I was on a time crunch I didn’t want to miss my chance.”

“Who said you had a chance to begin with?” you asked, passing him his change, “3.14 is your change.”

“Well, I was hoping you’d give one to me,” he shrugged, stuffing the change into his pocket before grabbing the bagged video game he’d purchased.

You gazed at him for a moment. He was charismatic and cute. He liked video games just like you. And he’d be a great distraction.

“Sure, why not?” you mused, watching his eyes go wide.

“Wait really?” he gasped, a grin stretching across his face.

“Did you think I’d say no?” you asked.

“U-Usually I get rejected so…” he shrugged, scratching the back of his head with a cute blush reaching his ears, “Anyway, when’s your shift end?”

“Um...closing time, so about 8:30,” you replied, glancing at the clock. 5 hours left.

“Sweet, I’ll pick you up!” he grinned.

“I-I’ll have to change though!” you complained, making him pause and shake his head.

“Don’t worry about it!” with those parting words, he bolted out the door, the bell chiming to signal his departure.

As he disappeared from view, you realized you didn’t even know his name.

You would come to find he was Denki Kaminari; a college student majoring in graphic design. He had a friend named Katsuki Bakugou who was as loud as he was angry. Eijirou Kirishima was a kind, chill guy who mellowed out the explosive Bakugou well. Mina and Sato, two friends-turned-lovers, were a common source of laughter for the group.

You were together for a little over a month and a half when he finally asked to meet your friends. Truth be told, the only person you could consider a friend would be Shinsou. You had acquaintances and those you hung real casually with but Shinsou was the only person you’d consider a friend.

Well, you weren’t sure if he could even be called that anymore.

Eventually, you gave in and decided to bring Kaminari to your apartment.

“Whoa, nice place,” he mumbled, looking around.

“You think so? Thanks,” you smiled, leading him towards the living room, “Like I said...things are...tense between me and Hitoshi so…”

“Who’re you?” a familiar voice came from the entry of the hallway.

Shinsou stood there, messy hair and tired eyed wearing basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt. His eyes burned holes into Kaminari, who visibly shrunk beneath the heated glare. You took note of how Shinsou didn’t even look at you.

That still hurt.

“I’m Denki Kaminari,” the blonde replied, approaching Shinsou to shake his hand, “I’m _____’s boyfriend!”

You didn’t miss the shift in Shinsou’s look, his eyebrows perking up ever so slightly. His gaze finally shifted to you before he scoffed from his nose, making you wince.

“Alright,” Shinsou mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets before turning his back to the both of you, stalking back to his room with a slam of the door.

Kaminari winced, “Boy, you weren’t kidding.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, motioning him to follow you, “Let’s head to my room. I don’t know if Aoi is here or not and I don’t care to find out.”

“I kinda wanna meet her too,” your boyfriend whispered, lowering his voice so it didn’t carry to Shinsou.

“No you don’t,” you chuckled, shutting your bedroom door once the two of you were safely inside.

You sat beside him on the bed, reaching for your remote to click the TV on for background noise. He cuddled in beside you, commenting on how soft your bed was.

“You smell really good,” he suddenly whispered, nosing at your neck.

You blinked in surprise, moving your head so he could get a better angle, “Th-Thanks…”

He hummed as you shivered once he pressed a few soft kisses against your neck. It tickled a bit but also sent a strange tingle down your spine the more he kissed. Your heart hammered in your chest and you briefly wondered if Denki could hear it.

He cupped your jaw, pulling you into a deep kiss. His tongue met your bottom lip, making you sigh against his lips.

You barely noticed his hand crawling up your shirt until it snuck beneath the band of your bra. The unfamiliar feeling of someone cupping your breast had you pulled away, tugging on Kaminari’s hand to pull him away.

“W-We shouldn’t…” you whispered, unsure of how to reject him, “W-With Shinsou the way he is…”

Kaminari looked skeptical for a second before nodding his head, “Got it.”

And that was that.

At least you thought until he began trying more and more. It became common for you to find his hand up your shirt. The feeling made you uneasy, making you realize you really weren’t ready to have sex. Kaminari was your first boyfriend and you weren’t willing to give everything up to him like that.

“Why do you always stop me?” Kaminari asked one day, voice soft and reassuring.

“I just…” you cleared your throat, biting your lip, “I don’t want to go that far yet.”

He was quiet for a moment before smiling and nodding his head, pulling you closer to him with a kiss to your forehead. Your body relaxed, thankful that he wasn’t angry with you like you had feared he would be.

He began following your wishes, no longer attempting to go past kissing. You were thankful.

Unfortunately, your bliss didn’t last long because next thing you knew, he was dumping you. Over text.

You had just got home from work, your feet aching and dread pooling in your stomach at the idea of being home. You were so tired of being scared to come home, it was exhausting. Shinsou was sitting on the couch, eating something he’d made himself for dinner with his back to you. He didn’t even show any signs that he knew you were home.

Lingering by the door, you pulled your phone out to check your notifications.

One from Denki made your heart stop -- the preview text already displaying what you feared. Your fingers were trembling as you unlocked your phone to look at the message.

As you read it, the words grew blurrier until tears began to drip onto your screen -- further obscuring the words there.

A small whimper escaped your throat, despite the way you tried to choke down any sounds. You quickly scurried to get to your bedroom when a strong hand snagged your wrist. Wide eyed, you were spun around to find Shinsou wearing a frown and furrowed brows.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, voice stern with concern.

You shook your head, feeling pathetic. You didn’t like Kaminari that much. Truthfully, you were mostly dating him to get away from Shinsou. But the idea that you were dumped because you wouldn’t have sex was utterly humiliating. Your first real boyfriend dumped you because you wouldn’t put out.

“You were right,” you sniffled, unable to hold back the sob that tore through your chest, “I am pathetic.”

He didn’t have the chance to even think of a reply before you were escaping his hold to hide away in your bedroom. You haphazardly stripped and changed into your softest set of clothes, deciding you were going to wallow in your own self pity for the night.

Your humiliation overshadowed the fact Shinsou had shown you the first sign of care in weeks. He had reacted to your crying just as he always had and instinctively moved to comfort you.

You could hear muffled voices from the hallway, one male and one female. The fact he brought her over after you just had a near meltdown in front of him irked you and only brought more tears forth.

A sense of anger rushed over you -- you didn’t want her there. This was your house and you didn’t want her there while you were going through it. You had half a mind to go out there and kick her out, maybe Shinsou would let it slide since you were clearly having a tough time.

What you didn’t expect were the shouts coming from them. You frowned and walked towards your door, cracking it open to listen to their shouting from the living room.

“You’re kicking me out?!” Aoi cried.

“I’m not kicking you out,” Shinsou sighed, “You don’t live here. I’m just asking you to go home for the night, Aoi.”

“Why should I?” Aoi argued, “Because she’s upset? Who cares!”

“I care!” Shinsou snapped.

Aoi scoffed, “Oh yeah, since when? Last I checked you picked me over her!”

“I didn’t pick anyone over anyone,” Shinsou huffed.

“Really?” Aoi’s tone was dripping in sarcasm, “You haven’t paid her a second of attention since your little fight. I doubt you even noticed how she’s been working full-time instead of part-time. Why do you think that is? To get away from you! Not that I give a shit, but you have been treating her like dirt. So don’t even try and pretend you give a shit, I know you don’t. You only feel bad because she’s crying. Once she gets over it you’ll just come back to me in the end. So just let her sulk by herself, she’s a big girl.”

Shinsou was quiet after that. You were sure he wasn’t even going to respond but you continued to stand there and listen. The apartment was silent, you could even hear the ticking of the decorative clock Shinsou’s mother had given you both.

“She was right, huh?” he finally whispered.

“Huh?” Aoi replied, clearly annoyed.

“I really did let you turn me into someone else,” he sighed, “God, I’m so stupid.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Hitoshi?” she snapped, growing impatient over the argument.

“You should leave,” Shinsou said, voice strong once again, “You and I are done.”

“What?!” Aoi shrieked, stomping her foot, “You can’t dump me! Not for her!”

“Get out, Aoi,” Shinsou growled, yanking the front door open.

She scoffed, “Don’t come crawling back to me when you learn she isn’t worth it.”

The slam of the door signalled the end. Silence ensued and you slipped back into your room, letting your door shut silently.

Just as you expected, there were a few soft knocks on your door. You didn’t reply but he opened up anyway, peeking in to find you sitting on the bed with your head hung.

“I assume you heard all that,” he said, cupping the back of his neck nervously.

“Yeah, kind of hard to miss,” you mumbled, feeling awkward about sharing this moment with him.

You didn’t look up when he sat down beside you. With a sudden tug, you found yourself wrapped up in a sweet embrace.

“Why were you crying? Did something happen with that Kaminari dude? Did he hurt you?” his concern brought forth a new flood of tears that you let go.

“He dumped me,” you whined, clinging to the front of his shirt.

“Why?” he asked, petting your hair softly.

You scoffed, shame building up inside you, “Because I didn’t want to have sex with him.”

Immediately he pushed you back by your shoulders to look at your face, “He dumped you ‘cause you wouldn’t fuck him?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, “He said he had needs and he wasn’t willing to wait for me to put out.”

“Jesus,” Shinsou scoffed, shaking his head, “What a prick,” he pulled you into his chest again with a sigh, “It’s good you didn’t sleep with him then. He wouldn’t have been worth it.”

“Yeah, I would have regretted it,” you nodded, “I’m not even sad he broke up with me. I just feel like shit that it was over sex. He was my first boyfriend and I got dumped because I wasn’t ready...that sort of feels shitty, you know?”

Shinsou nodded, resting his cheek atop your head, “I understand. It’s like a blow to your self-esteem, yeah?”

“Exactly,” you sniffled, your tears finally coming to a stop as he held you and let you talk, “I didn’t like him enough to sleep with him anyway. Even if I was ready.”

Shinsou chuckled, “Well, I’m glad you’re not heartbroken over it.”

You were quiet for a long moment before you pulled away from him, “How are you? I know you liked Aoi.”

Shinsou frowned, looking at his hands in his lap before shrugging, “I actually don’t really feel anything.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. Usually he would be in tears by now. But he was right, there wasn’t even an ounce of sadness in his eyes.

He nodded, “All I really cared about was you. I guess realizing what she really was wiped out anything I felt for her. Truthfully, it was probably going to be over soon anyway.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked.

“We just didn’t have good chemistry, I suppose. The sex was great but beyond that we didn’t really share any common interests,” he explained, leaning back on his hands with a sigh.

You cringed at the mention of sex -- remembering the night you sobbed as you were forced to listen to them go at it. Shinsou seemed to notice your discomfort, leaning up straight once more to take your hands in his.

“I’m sorry, ______,” he breathed, making you look up at him, “I was such a fuckin’ asshole to you. You didn’t deserve that and if you chose to never forgive me I would understand. But I promise I will never let a girl come first again. You’re my best friend, you’re the entire world to me and you will always be here when all the girls leave, I know that. No one can ever replace you.”

His words caused a flood of tears to flood down your cheeks again. You threw your arms around his shoulders, tugging him into a desperate hug. He wrapped his arms around your waist, fisting the back of your shirt with his face buried in your neck.

“I will always be here, Toshi,” you hiccuped, “I really will. It doesn’t matter if you choose the next 50 girls over me, I would never let you go. I would rather live with you ignoring me and making me cry over not having you at all.”

He sighed, tears of his own falling from his eyes and wetting your skin but you didn’t mind, “I would never ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, voice trembling. You couldn’t stop the next words from coming, you didn’t even try, “That’s how strong my love is for you, Toshi. I would do anything for your happiness. I’ll let you cry on my shoulder when girl after girl breaks your heart, even though it hurts so damn much because I know I would never, ever let you down like that. I’ll sit with you in the living room while another girl is wrapped in your arms, desperately wishing it was me, because you want me and her to be friends. You don’t even know it but you have every bit of me,” your voice broke as you let out a sob, taking a stuttering breath before continuing, “I never dated because I only ever loved you. You’re the only one I ever want to love. I don’t even care if you don’t feel the same, Toshi, I just needed you to know...I have loved you since we were kids. Whenever your mom joked that we would get married, I used to go to sleep hoping it would come true one day. You’re it for me, you know?”

Shinsou was still, every muscle in his body tense against you. You remained relaxed, relishing in being held in his arms even though it very well may be the last time you would ever experience it. His tears had stopped and you could feel his hands trembling against your back from where he was still holding your shirt in tight fists.

Finally, slowly, he pulled away. You avoided his gaze, scared of what you may find there. With trembling fingers, he lifted your chin until you were finally forced to meet his gaze.

“______…” he whispered, your voice like honey on his lips, “Is that true? Since we were kids?”

You chuckled through your still falling tears, “Remember that time at the summer festival when I wandered off and you had to chase me? And I got scared because I couldn’t find our parents? When you let me hold onto you and you kept reassuring me that everything was okay…” you shrugged, your voice cracking as you uttered, “I knew I loved you then. And I love you to this day.”

His wide eyes were glassy as he stared at you, mouth agape in his shock. It was so much for him to take in.

Before you knew what was happening, he was leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. Your vision went white for a second in shock at the feeling.

His lips were soft and as you began to kiss back, you tasted coffee on his lips. Typical of Shinsou, it was late at night and he was still drinking coffee. The thought made you smile and you wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He cupped the back of your head, a soft sigh escaping him as he moved his lips expertly until you were breathless.

After a long moment, he pulled away. The both of you were panting, eyes lidded as you processed what just happened.

“Toshi…” you whispered, feeling euphoric after kissing him, “I don’t understand.”

He shook his head, cupping your cheek, “All you need to know...is that I love you too.”

You gaped at those words coming from his lips. Surging forward, you pressed your lips against his again. He smiled into the kiss, leaning further against you until you were forced to lay back against the mattress. His body was hovering above yours, held up by his elbows on either side of your head.

He wasted no time in touching your body, years of desperation finally culminating into this one moment. His hand slid beneath your shirt, pushing the hem up to expose the soft skin of your belly. He paused at your ribs, unsure if you were okay with him going any further. But when you gripped his wrist and urged his hand up to cup your breast, he threw away those inhibitions.

Thumbing your sensitive nipple, you keened as they hardened beneath his touch. He leaned down a bit more to press his lips against yours.

You lost yourself against his lips, whimpering and grinding against nothing. Just the fact the man you’d loved for so long was there touching you after years of craving it had your panties soaked.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, breaking from the kiss to kiss down your body.

You trembled beneath him, watching him with rapt attention as he kissed the exposed skin of your stomach and ribs. Sighing, you let him push your shirt over your head to discard off the side of the bed. He leaned forward, enveloping one of the pert buds in his hot mouth, tonguing at it until you were whining and begging him to give attention to the other one. He did so eagerly, providing a stimulating suck before finally pulling away. His lips were swollen and his cheeks were flushed, the very fact you made him that way was dizzying.

“Wanna taste that perfect cunt too, baby,” he growled, voice losing the soft, sweetness it once held.

“O-Okay,” you agreed easily, raising your hips so he could tug the last remaining articles off of your body.

The second you were bare, his hands were pinning your thighs open. His eyes examined every inch of your pussy -- taking in the juices dripping from your clenching hole.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, using his thumbs to spread your folds apart, “so pretty too, god. Look at you...you’re perfect. Bet you’re so sweet…”

“Please Toshi…” you whimper, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his hair.

His eyes fluttered at the feeling, allowing you to pull him to your pussy where he eagerly ran his tongue flat between your spread folds. You gasped, eyes slamming shut as he paused to wrap his lips around your clit for just a split second. The teasing touch was addictive and you suddenly wanted more.

Shinsou understood what it is you wanted and quickly dove back in for more. Circling his tongue around your clit, your back arched. You wanted to close your thighs against the stimulation but his strong hands kept your legs pinned open.

He swirled his tongue quickly, moaning before enveloping the bud in his hot mouth. You tugged his hair, crying out his name as you felt a high approaching rapidly. He looked so good between your thighs, eating your cunt like you’d dreamed of for ages.

Suddenly, he pulled away, licking his lips before sitting up.

“Fuck, tell me babygirl,” he breathed, “You gonna let me fuck this pretty cunt?” you nodded, reaching to push his shit up but he stopped you, looking you in the eyes, “Use your words. Tell me.”

“Yes, please fuck me Shinsou!” you begged.

He grinned, pressing a kiss against your lips before stripping himself of his clothes.

You almost gasped at the sight of his cock. He was big; long and thick. Subconsciously, you clenched your thighs together in anticipation.

“You ready?” he asked, scooting to sit between your spread legs.

You tensed up as he prodded your entrance with the fat head of his cock. He realized how tense you were and ran his hand along your thigh to soothe you, “You good? You can back out anytime, darlin’.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling your cheeks heat up as you looked at him through your lashes, “I-It’s just...go slow?”

He frowned, brows drawn together before he backed away from you a bit, “Is this your first time, sweetheart?”

Licking your lips, you hesitated before nodding. Shinsou sighed, hanging his head to rest against your collarbone. You frowned, “I-Is that bad?” you asked.

Truth was, you never wanted anyone but him. You never had a desire to have sex with anyone but him. You knew he was the one person you’d never regret being with.

“No!” he sat up, eyes wide before wrapping his hand around the nape of his neck nervously, “I just wish you would have told me sooner...that was almost bad.”

“Why?” you asked,making him chuckle. He shook his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Well…” clearing his throat, he looked off to the side bashfully, “My dick’s not exactly the smallest around and since you’re a virgin you could do with...a lot more preparation, you know?”

Your cheeks were ablaze from the bluntness of his words. He didn’t waste another second in bringing his hand to your still wet pussy.

He sighed, a smile lingering on his lips as he worked his middle finger into your tight hole. Humming, he bit his lip as he slipped his ring finger alongside it. You sighed, eyes fluttering at the mild stretch that came along with it.

“Feel okay?” he asked softly, working the two fingers in and out of your hole.

You nodded, “Feels good,” you breathed.

Your eyes fell closed as he crooked his fingers upwards to touch that sweet spot on top. Your hips jumped at the sensation, ripping a moan from your swollen lips. He smirked, burying the digits deep, licking his lips at the way your juices gushed out from around them.

With his other hand, he found your clit, circling the bud with his thumb as he worked his index finger into the mix. The added stimulation to your clit made your wall clench tightly and he grunted, imagining what it would feel like around his cock.

“Please Toshi,” you begged, “I want you already.”

“Thank you’re ready?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

And he was right when you whimpered out a pathetic little, “Yes!”

He resumed the position from earlier, his tip pressed against your entrance. It was opened a bit from his three fingers but he knew it was still going to be a tight fit.

He took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as he began to sink into your cunt. You whimpered as your walls stretched around him, squeezing his hand. He bottomed out quickly, stilling to let you adjust to being stuffed so full of his thick cock.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“N-No…” you mumbled, “Just...feels weird.”

He chuckled, kissing your lips again. He could feel you squeezing around him, your cunt unused to having such a big cock inside. The fact he was your first, the one taking your virginity -- tainting your pure body was turning him on more than he ever thought it would.

He couldn’t even lie and say he’d never taken a cherry before but with you it was different. He felt a sense of pride and possessiveness wash over him; you were his completely. You had given him your heart and your body.

Burying his face in your neck, he pressed kisses against the sweet spot he easily found there. Grinding his hips against yours, he stirred your insides with his thick length until you were arching your hips to get more of the addictive pleasure only he could bring you.

He pulled out halfway, slowly sinking his cock back inside with a groan.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, eyes glued to where your cunt was stretched around him, “Taking me so well, look at that.”

“Feels so good,” you whimpered, clutching the sheets beneath you in your fists.

“Yeah?” he grinned, pulling out so the tip remained only to surge forward and sink his cock into you in one long thrust. Immediately, your back arched and you let out an erotic moan that had his cock throbbing against your walls, “Fuck, my cocks almost too much for you but you’re bein’ such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Taking what I give you...fuck…”

His praise and dirty words went straight to your core. He set a steady pace, making sure to angle his hips up so he could hit your g-spot. The pleasure had your eyes rolling back and you cried out his name every so often, making his heart race.

“Sound so pretty sayin’ my name…” he groaned, cupping your breasts in his hands as he fucked you, “Pussy’s so tight and wet...I can feel you dripping, you know that? Who would have thought such a pretty cunt could get so messy. But you only get this messy for me, right darlin’?”

“Only you!” you babbled, wrapping your arms around his neck to press your lips against his. He moaned into your mouth, reaching between your bodies to circle your clit, “Fuck! Toshi, y-you’re gonna make me cum!”

“Fuck,” he groaned, “Do it then, sweetheart. Go on, cum on my fucking cock.”

A few more thrusts and circles over your swollen bud had you falling over the edge. Your body trembled and arched beneath him, cunt spasming around him as he worked you dutifully through your orgasm.

Once you came down, he pulled his hand from your clit and pulled out. You were panting, body limp and relaxed as you let him move you onto your hands and knees. Keeping your face buried in the pillow, you allowed him to maneuver you into the proper position.

He pressed his hand down on the small of your back, “Arch your back for me, good girl.”

“Th-This is embarrassing, Toshi…” you whispered into the pillow.

He hummed, gripping his cock to direct himself back into the sweet vice of your cunt, “No reason to be embarrassed, kitten. It’s just me...you can trust me.”

“I-I know...but still…” you whimpered, eyes fluttering as he sunk his cock deep inside. The position allowed him to reach a new depth.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked softly, running his hand along your spin.

You hesitated for a second, focusing on the pleasurable sensation of being filled so completely before shaking your head. He grinned, leaning down to kiss your shoulder blade, “Good girl.”

The praise went to your head and you suddenly had a desire to receive more. You wanted to be good for him -- be his good girl.

You lifted your head from the pillow and cried out his name, fucking yourself back against his cock. He grinned, slapping your ass lighter than he usually would do it -- he wasn’t sure how you would take to it. When he felt you clench around him in response, he grinned. That was something worth looking into it seemed.

“Toshi…” you whined, reaching back to grip at his hip.

He hummed, slowing ever so slightly, “What is it, kitten?”

“Please…” you whined, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment over what you desperately wanted to ask him.

“Please what?” he whispered, kissing your shoulder blade again, “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“C-Call me...y-your goog girl again…” you whispered, immediately burying your face in your pillow.

He paused, eyes wide before another grin grew across his face. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he pulled you up until your back was pressed against his chest. You cried out, his cock stilling inside you as he pressed his lips against your ear.

“You like being praised huh?” he asked, chuckling when you nodded, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder. He enjoyed the fucked out look on your face, “Like being my good girl, hm? Such a pretty, sweet girl for me…”

You whimpered, walls clenching around his still cock, “I-I love you Toshi…”

He hummed, reaching down to find your clit. Circling over the bud, you keened, eyes fluttering as your cunt clenched tight around him, “I know you do, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, your walls squeezed, clamping down tight. He groaned, cursing under his breath as he felt your body seize up in your orgasm, trembling and gushing around his cock. He pressed his lips against your shoulder, looking down to where his length was buried completely inside.

You began to rock yourself along his cock, your orgasm flying to new heights as he never stopped playing with your sensitive bud.

Suddenly, he watched with wide eyes as your cum squirted out, soaking the bed and your thighs.

“Shit,” he growled, providing a few quick slaps against your clit, making you squirt just a few more times, “What a good fucking girl you are. Look at the mess you made. You’re so perfect, I love you so much.”

Those words had you clenching once again. That finally sent him over the edge himself. He rocked into you, holding you tight against him. His cock throbbed, spitting hot cum into your sensitive cunt.

He cupped your breasts, groaning in the throes of his orgasm as he pressed kisses against your shoulder, neck, and cheek.

When he finally came down, he gently laid you on the bed, pulling his cock out. His cum gushed from your hole without his length to stop it. You cringed, the feeling unpleasant to say the least.

He got out of bed to go to the bathroom intending to get a cloth to clean you with.

When he was gone, you found yourself thinking about what just happened. One particular thought was on your mind and when he returned, you didn’t hesitate to voice it.

“W-We didn’t use a condom…” you mumbled.

He hummed, “Were we supposed to? I thought you were on birth control.”

“I am...it’s just…” you frowned, clearing your throat as you watched him wiped your thighs and sensitive folds free of your mixed cum.

“What?” he sat beside you, fixing you with a steady gaze, urging you to confess your thoughts to him.

“You were just...dating, you know...Aoi and…” you sighed, averting your gaze from him, “Other girls before.”

He chuckled, laying beside you, “What, you’re concerned I have something?”

“Well no...not necessarily…” you frowned as he cupped your cheek, making you look at him.

“If you must know…” he shrugged before continuing, “I always used a condom with them.”

“Really?” he nodded at your question, “Then...why with me?”

“Because you’re you,” he smiled, kissing your lips, pulling you to lay against his chest, “You’re the one for me, kitten. That’s all you need to worry about.”

Yes, Hitoshi Shinsou fell in love easily. But he never gave those girls his heart. He cried because he thought he could never have you. The truth was, you had always owned his heart. It had always been in your hands.

#bnha x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha smut #shinsou smut #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #mha smut #afton.writes

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theepisceswriter · 3 years

Note

Jjk dudes promising just the tip but breaking it like 2 seconds later please!

Bestie I know you wanted multiple JJK characters, and I’ll probably still give it you, but I had something similar to this in my notes with Toji, so I decided to make a little ficlet with him instead surrounding this idea....kinda.

Synopsis: Your toxic baby daddy Toji hits you up after not being heard from for months with that smirk on his face that you just can’t resist.

TW: Dub con might apply here but I did my best to make reader aware that Toji was 99.99% lying abt just the tip and knew abt his intentions from the start, but I guess you can interpret it how you want, fembodied!reader, Toji is a trigger warning on his own, manipulation, implied that you have a child together, pregnancy mention briefly, breeding kink, toxic relationship, 18+, MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.7k

Your heart dropped to your stomach when you flipped your phone over to see ‘TOJI WOJI 🥺🧸🥰....is FaceTiming you.’ Whatever he was calling for couldn’t have been important or even worth your time listening to at all. It was edging on 12 am in the morning, the ungodly hours of the night where sin ran rampant and thoughts became loud as the world around you silenced, a concoction of emotions that meant nothing good. Especially when the last time you received a phone call from him this late it resulted in a booty call that led to you pregnant with a child that Toji barely came to see. Still, you found your thumb lingering over the green answer button and faintly tapping on it, hoping that it wouldn’t go through, but instead, you were met with the sight of Toji. The raven locks on his hair poking out like always, the same old scar over his lip, and the same basic black tee decorating his body. He looked exactly the same as you had last seen him except the outside lights of the world illuminated his face as he appeared to be in what you assumed was the driver’s seat of his car. You felt your heart clench in your chest, memories of your relationship before he up and dipped on you clouding your mind to the point where you were damn near in tears wondering why it had to end so abruptly; why he left you the way he did. But those tears were soon pushed back by with an anger that had you ready to hang up in his face. You were so conflicted when it came to him, always had been.

“What do you want Toji?”

“You. I miss you, y/n. I’ve been thinking a lot about you and our family.” God, here he went with this bullshit again. Just when you thought the cycle was over he always popped up again, little white lies about missing you and his child so he could find solace in your bed for a week or two before dipping like he always did. Apparently, he wanted to come in and talk things out, just talk and try to redeem your relationship. You knew he was just telling you everything you wanted to hear with an ulterior motive behind his words, but you couldn’t resist that grin on his lips and the compliments of how nice you looked even in your nightclothes.

He was too good at this because the next thing you knew he was sitting on the couch in your living room with his legs manspreading out and trying to inch his way closer to where you sat on the opposite end. Your arms crossed and staring daggers into him while all he did was look at you as fondly as he could, as if he were genuinely envisioning a future with you and the child he left you within this moment.

“What the fuck do you really want Toji?” Your voice had a bite to it that left him smirking at your attitude and digging deeper into his mind to pull out lines he knew you wanted to hear, lines he knew would get him that satisfactory ending of you giving into his sweet talk and bold advances as he scooted a couple of inches closer to you. So close that his hand was able to rest on the part of your left thigh that the shorts you were wearing left exposed, gently kneading the area with his palm.

“You know you look good right?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes ready to push his hand off of you but his other hand blocked you from doing so, bringing both of your arms over your head and adjusting the two of you so that you were now smushed between him and the cushioning of the couch. As mad as you wanted to be at him you just couldn’t. He had indestructible shackles placed over your heart that tugged with each time he forced himself back into your life just like how they were now.

Flashbacks of the night you got pregnant suddenly came flashing before your eyes. The vivid imagery of the way he had your legs folded to the point where your ankles were by your ears as he pounded into you ruthlessly from above, hand around your neck tightening your airways and making tears form in your eyes. Blissed dazed out in a space that was too similar to subspace, too out of it to even respond to the “I’m going to fuck a baby into you and how ever many I want after that. Use you like the slut you are and breed you so good.” That had left his lips at that moment.

Which is exactly what he did and here he was again, the two of you in the very same spot shimmied out of your clothes, and him ready to fuck a baby into you again once more.

“I just want you.” When he says it like that, voice soft and laced with what you hope to be some form of honesty, it’s easy to pretend like this is okay in a relationship—if that’s what you could even call this. That if you squinted your eyes hard enough and looked past Toji’s flaws that all this pain and suffering he put you through in the end would be worth it. Your feelings changing for him with each entrance and exit he made in your life. Always wondering what the two of you could’ve been if he was a better man. You had to be soulmates, there was no other explanation for why you kept coming back to each other. At least not any logical one that you could think of.

All the logical thinking left your mind the moment he pressed his lips to yours, those oh so soft lips that you missed and craved badly on nights when other men’s lips couldn’t contort to yours the way that he did.

This is exactly what he wanted—his gentle caresses and touch to distract you from the real reason why he was here. Which was only to use your body how he wanted before he went on with his life, not thinking about you again until he got horny once more. And it was the touch of his cold hands against your skin, working its way up to grope at your enlarged breast, that brought you back to this realization. Lips moving off of his immediately and backing up against the arm of the couch. Your lips opened in protest, only to be cut off by him speaking up first.

“You don’t understand how much I’ve missed your touch—your body. Do you know how much gorgeous you’ve become with a post-pregnancy body? Just looking at you is driving me crazy.” He continues on with his compliments. Each one hitting you straight into your heart and going up to your head to shush those thoughts that scream at you to not fall for his trap, but instead, you fell right into it. Allowing his to resume his position on top of you.

“We don’t even have to do much. Just the tip, I promise. I just miss the feeling of you around me so much.” It’s the first time this whole night that you were able to recognize one of his lies as just that, a bold-faced lie. You knew how he got when he was in the mood, how dark and clouded his mind got with lust to the point where he was a whole different Toji. But you let him believe that you believed that, a small okay leaving your lips along with a nod as you accepted his lips on yours once more; his tongue slipping past your lips to find yours, gently sucking on it and letting out a light moan at the familiarity of it. He didn’t even have to use his hands to guide his cock to your entrance because he was just that big, breaking away from the kiss to look at where the two of you connected and using his hips to guide his erect tip inside of the warmth of your cunt. For a minute, maybe even less, he kept his “promise” of inserting only his tip, but the feeling of your walls gripping on only the tip of his cock was enough for him to go crazy. Something on the verge of a whimper and a moan leaving his lips. He needed more of you and he was going to have more of you. Disregarding his promise like you predicted, he ruthlessly bucked his hips up against yours, his whole length entering you with ease from the build-up of your arousal that had taken the physical form of wetness.

“Pussy so wet just for me that you swallowed me whole.” He tried to pin it on you and if you weren’t stuffed to the brim with him right now maybe you would’ve rolled your eyes and told him how dumb he sounded, but you went along with it. He didn’t even give you time to adjust to him because even after months without touching each other he knew the pussy that he trained with constant fucking every week would remember his shape and form, adjusting your legs so they were folded up against your stomach and immediately getting to work.

“I might have to put another baby in you if this is what post-pregnancy pussy feels like. You feel so good and right around my cock, baby.”

Each thrust was like heaven on earth, his cock curved in just the right spots to his every sensitive area inside of you that left your toes curling and a faint white creamy line begin to form at the base of his cock. It had been so long since you’ve had a nice good fucking. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so full, so good to the point where tears formed around the edges of your eyes. No one, not even the toys you had spent $100’s on tucked away in your closet, came close to the affect that he had on your body.

He always knew just what to do and just what to say to have you crumbling underneath him. One of your favorite but also most disliked quality that he possessed.

#I know you’re probably wondering where the child is at and I’m going to assume that it’s at someone else’s house rn #I didn’t feel that was too important to mention in the story lmao #Asks.#Spicy.#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro

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enamouredfae · 3 years

Text

♡ Pick a Card ♡

What you need to know in order to be ready for the love you so longingly seek!

This reading is looking at anything you might need to heal or grow into in order to enter future relationships as your higher self. I am not looking at your future, but simply trying to guide you towards your highest good in the field of love. Many of us have internalized certain perceptions of love that we must unlearn, or have lived through difficult moments which have closed us off or made experiencing love more difficult. If you are in a toxic relationship/situation, please do not take any messages that might seem to tell you to stay in it. With this reading, I will hopefully open you up to some introspection and hopefully growth. You may very well be attracted to multiple piles and that is ok! Read all that attract you and take what resonates. Each pile has three pieces of advice, so mixing and matching is invited!

This reading is for entertainment purposes only.

This is a timeless reading for the collective, therefore it is likely that some messages will not resonate with you. Please only take the messages that do! The messages that do not, are meant for somebody else. Remember that the future is never set in stone and that you possess free will! Love you! ♡

Pile 1

Charm: Knot

1. Yang

Yang tells me that you need to learn to become more proactive in love. You cannot wait around. You must act! You need to manifest your desires into the material world by doing. It's perfectly fine to do the first move, no matter what society deems "acceptable", it is even invited with this card.

23. Peace

Radical acceptance is necessary for inner peace and in this case for a higher love. You must first love yourself fully, light and shadow self, before loving someone else in the way that you both deserve! And you deserve radical acceptance, we are all flawed and intricate people! As long as we are willing to change and grow and put in the work, past mistakes can be atoned for.

38. To be fair

This card tells me that you need to learn to be more balanced in relationships. Are you giving more than the other parties? Are you giving less? We must be fair to both others and ourselves. When someone in the relationship gives more, they may feel underappreciated which can become unmotivating, but they can also overwhelm the other person. You must learn balance.

Pile 2

Charm: Cactus

7. To the sea (reversed)

"When fishermen cannot go to sea, they stay at home and repair their nets." This is a quote from the guidebook that I had to rewrite here because it encapsulates the advice perfectly. You probably long for love like fishermen long for the sea. This card is telling me that the problem isn't coming from you, but the external world. An idea that just popped up in my head is a queer teen living in a homophobic area or with homophobic parents, so it is likely that this could be your situation. If it is, I love you, please take care of yourself, love and better days will come, don't worry! But you must wait a while longer until the external world matches your vibration, perhaps you'll have to move, wait until you're safe to go out to the sea. Until then, go with the flow.

50. No place like home (reversed)

This card seems to work perfectly with the previous one, it reminds us that what is familiar isn't always the best, because it keeps us from growing. If you want change, you can't keep going to the same things/people that haven't worked before, it's counterintuitive. It is natural to go back to what's familiar, but try something new. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Choose unfamiliar.

34. A leg up (reversed)

You are carrying the burden of your world all alone. You probably don't feel safe sharing what you feel, or are very uncomfortable with vulnerability. To be honest with you, right before writing this part of the reading, I started tearing up, you are holding in so much hurt... You need to voice your struggles, being vulnerable is proof of immense strength, believe me! I know it's hard! Start little by little with someone you really trust!

Pile 3

Charm: Star

35. Loyal Heart

Ok if one pile is ready for the beginning of a relationship it's this one. It is the perfect time for you to create loyal commitments. It is possible that you are already in a committed relationship, but at the very least you are surrounded by loyal, devoted people. Don't forget to be devoted and loyal in return!

4. Higher Power (reversed)

This card is inviting you to trust in whatever divine power you believe in, trust that the universe is divinely guiding you and protecting you. I feel like if a certain religion or spiritual path attracts or fascinates you, you should start looking into it, careful with being disrespectful or appropriating it, especially with closed practices, please do your research! But connecting to Source would be beneficial to you in the long run!

25. Round and Round

You are stuck in a cycle that you must break. Do not worry, you shouldn't feel bad, it's all part of the learning process. Remember: you've been through this before, think back on how that made you feel the previous times, are you sure you want to go through that again? Breaking this cycle is a form of self-care, and you need to care for yourself! You are subconsciously punishing yourself by staying in this cycle, try thinking about the root of why you're doing so! It could help you in breaking it!

Pile 4

Charm: "Love"

8. The tribe

You may want to find your tribe, or you have recently found it. You might feel like you finally belong, or are longing for that feeling. Whenever I get this card, I think of the astrology/witchcraft/tarot community here! It may be the same for you! You are welcome here, and hopefully, you feel like you belong! Contributing to any community that you are passionate about, whether online or in real life, will bring you great joy and satisfaction. Your tribe awaits and needs you! It's possible that that's where you'll find love as well!

6. Not for you (reversed)

Let them go. Whoever you first thought of, it's time to stop obsessing over them. "Don't chase after what flees you." I'm sure you realize this is not serving you, but how do you stop? This card is suggesting radical acceptance and surrender, that this is a sign that someone or something much better is waiting for you. I suggest reminding yourself that they aren't perfect and that you have just come to idealize them.

52. Mending (reversed)

You are very likely going through a grieving period right now. There is so much hurt and disappointment. "Heartbreak is a strange healer of souls." It may feel awful now, but trust that when you look back one day, you will see that the hurt you're feeling now, transformed you in a powerful way. This card is inviting you to accept the heartbreak and push through it, situations like this open us up to seeing the world in a new way, to growing. Better days are coming!

Pile 5

Charm: Angel

28. Building blocks (reversed)

Are you acting according to your belief system? Are you following the advice you give others? You must look carefully at your core foundation. It seems to me that you have done a lot of inner growth, but are still stuck in your old ways. Your outer self isn't matching your inner self. Start doing what you preach!

47. Go the distance

I feel like you're someone that wants love right now! For it to come fast and smoothly, like a sprint. You must learn to see love more realistically, as a long-distance race of endurance. You may be the type to immediately run at the sight of a problem. You must learn to be dedicated and work in love, it won't always be the idealized version you keep reading about or watching. Love demands work!

32. Here and Now (reversed)

You live in the past, don't you? So much regret and nostalgia... Or perhaps you live in the future? Daydreams and ambition. There is a need to learn to live in the here and now, you cannot change the past, and the future is infinite. They're both elusive, and unreliable; now is tangible, real, and full of immediate possibilities.

Pile 6

Charm: Mars Symbol

22. Blessed

This beautiful card talks about an unexpected and "unearned" wonderful event, that seems like divine intervention, a gift from the universe. The advice I take from this card is to practice gratitude because you seem to be blessed in the love department. Perhaps you already know who "the one" is for you. If you don't, trust that the universe has someone wonderful for you!

31. Why?

Ask yourself why you feel as you do about/in love? It is time for some introspection. You need to think and identify unhealthy patterns in your love life. Why do you act as you do in a relationship? Identify what in your past has caused this behavior. It won't solve the problem right away, but it's a good first step. Understanding the problem will be validating.

27. Exchanging gifts (reversed)

"Be careful what you pray for because you might just get it." You need to be ready for the energy exchange that will happen if this happens. This card talks about an imbalance between giving and receiving. You must learn that if you receive a lot, you must return a lot, love needs to be balanced. If you give more, you aren't actually in control, the other party could be consciously or unconsciously taking advantage of your generosity!

Pile 7

Charm: Eternally Open Heart Locket

17. The Fates

You must learn to accept that there are things and people you simply cannot control and change. You cannot blame yourself for things beyond your control, nor can you blame others for things they cannot control. Just be wise enough to tell the difference between things one can control and things one cannot!! If you have a tendency to mold people into your ideal, making them lose their essence, you must learn to accept people for who they are. It is not your job to change them: the desire to change must come from them, for them.

15. Message in a bottle

Try asking for specific signs from the universe, or start becoming more aware of them. Synchronicities are all around you, they're the way that the universe confirms that you're on the right path! Listen carefully to those you communicate with, they could be delivering a cledon to you. This card itself is a good sign, a favorable answer to the question occupying your mind.

9. Treasure Island

You might've already, but if you haven't, MANIFEST YOUR LOVE!! You will be greatly rewarded when you embrace the law of attraction and your intuition. Depending on your belief in how manifestation works, try being mindful of free will! If you believe that love spells on specific people are influencing their free will, then it is immoral to manifest a specific person. If you don't believe that that is how manifestation works, do as you will, just be in line with your beliefs! This card is also a great sign, you're on the right path, and have good fortune on your side. Very lucky pile!!

Pile 8

Charm: Boot

2. Yin (reversed)

You must learn to receive, only being the giver isn't good for you. You deserve to receive! Be open to embodying yin and yang equally. "You stop the flow of abundance when you constantly insist upon being the giver." Be the listener, the one that learns, the one that is being led.

33. Chaos and Conflict

You may be afraid of chaos and conflict, but you must remember that they can rid you of what's no longer serving you. Conflict also implies two sides, remember that yours isn't the only one, and conflict can lead to mutual understanding. Learn to put up boundaries, but also to respect those of others. When you finally see the potential of healing that conflict can cause, you'll be ready for mature communication in relationships.

20. Imagine

Remember that you can create what you imagine! Your imagination is powerful in manifesting your desires, but it can't do everything for you! Manifestation is work, when an opportunity arises, act! This card can also be a sign that the person you're manifesting will be entering your life soon. When they appear, don't just wait, and daydream! The imagination part of manifesting is done, now it's time to act.

Pile 9

Charm: Knife

21. Clean it up

It's time to let go and declutter your mind. Think about what is no longer serving you, about the things that only overwhelm you, and make you overthink, they aren't good for you. It might also help you to declutter in general, your house, your closet, your phone, your feed, etc. Make room for the new and the better.

48. Poised (reversed)

Think carefully, are you really ready for love right now? Because this card is telling me that you aren't. It's ok to be a "late bloomer", and it's important to be ready for love, as to not hurt the one you love, and yourself. Being single isn't a sign of "failure", it gives you the time and space to focus on yourself, on your growth, on your healing, on exploring and understanding yourself. Being single can seem like a curse, but it's a blessing, it's what you need right now.

16. All that glitters

Are you being yourself in love? Are they? Don't succumb to the power of superficiality. Either let go of the mask or look beyond theirs! "Imagine that all the glitter is gone. Would you still desire the object or person?" If one falls for the glitter, what will happen on the day they forgets to glue it on?

Thank you for reading! Love you all.♡

You can buy me a coffee if you feel called to do so! This is never necessary, but always appreciated! ♡

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Sugar | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: he’s smart, he’s sensitive, he’s sexy, and he pays your tuition. sounds like the perfect guy, right? he would be, if it weren’t for that pesky thing of him being married. for most girls, it’s a dealbreaker, but you have a little secret: it kinda turns you on.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: smut, semi-public sex (in a car lol), infidelity (it’s in the summary y’all), choking, wedding ring kink, daddy kink, implied age gap, sugar daddy relationship

The last few minutes of class passed excruciatingly slowly, to the point that when you took breaks from tapping your pencil on your paper to glance up at the clock only to see it hadn’t changed at all, you wondered if time had somehow managed to stand still while your professor continued to ramble about, ironically, the way time dilates inside black holes.

“Before I let you go, I want to review the grades on last week’s quiz…”

You suppressed a groan as you waited for her to get on with it; you already aced it, what other discussion needed to be had?

Finally, finally, she let you all leave and you were already halfway out the door, beaming as you clutched your books to your chest and jogged out of the building to the parking lot. His car was waiting for you there, parked at the furthest and darkest end of the lot for some reason, and you knew what waited for you inside even if the windows were tinted too dark to see through. You were too happy to even notice the cold night air blowing right through your cardigan, jogging to the car and swinging open the passenger door.

“Hi!” you smiled as you hopped in.

“Hey baby,” Bruce purred, leaning in for a kiss. You expected a quick peck but instantly it was obvious that he was up to something, with the way he pulled you closer and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Bruce,” you giggled as you pulled away slightly, although it was kind of a moan, too. “What’s the occasion?”

“I missed you,” he shrugged. “Is it so strange that I missed my girl?”

Your thighs clenched together at the pet name, but your hands pushed him back gently when he leaned towards you again. “At least let me set my books down first!” you protested.

He chuckled but let you go, and you maneuvered to set your books down in his backseat, feeling his gaze on your ass as you bent over and not exactly minding it. There was a dark shimmer in his eyes when you came back, scanning over you slowly.

“Where are we going?” you asked, already expecting a certain answer since he had made no move yet to put the key in the ignition.

“We’re not going anywhere, angel,” he explained. “I didn’t get to see you all week and it’s been killing me.”

Of course, it was technically possible that he meant he just wanted to sit in the car and catch up with you, but the way his voice got deep and husky made it clear that wasn’t his intention. You bit down on your lip as you glanced down to the misshapen crotch of his trousers, letting your hand slip forward to rub his thigh and just barely ghost against his cock. “I missed you too, daddy,” you whispered.

You felt his length throb against the back of your hand, at the same time you heard him groan softly. “How much did you miss me?” he asked darkly.

“So much,” you nodded quickly.

“Show me how much,” he instructed, sitting up a bit to unbuckle his belt for you. You did the rest, unzipping his fly and pulling his cock out of his boxers. It felt so hot and hard in your palm, so thick you struggled to keep a hold on it sometimes, but you licked your lips as you leaned down and took the head into your mouth. He instantly pushed your head down further with a hand on the back of your neck, moaning as you swallowed more of him. “Fuck, baby…”

You smiled a little, though you suppressed it since it would interfere with the task at hand, continuing to stroke the part of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth yet. With practice you’d learned to take all of him, but it required warming up a bit first. That said, this didn’t feel like a ‘take it slow and fool around’ sort of night. He was already bucking up into your mouth and you could feel that he was on edge from the way his fingers tightened in your hair.

“Fuck, so good for me,” he praised with a sigh. “You like sucking me off in the parking lot like this, honey? Right after school? You think someone could walk by and see you with your mouth full of my cock?”

The windows were tinted, sure, but it was possible… and the idea made heat spread between your thighs.

“Just like that, baby, choke on it,” he groaned, all but fucking your mouth at this point— and you loved it. You knew you were getting embarrassingly wet and you didn’t even care that you were in his car in your school’s parking lot anymore: you wanted him to fuck you, so much so that you were starting to gyrate your hips to get some friction against the seat. He must have noticed when he reached over your back to spank you, making you jump. “Look at you, needy little girl— rubbing yourself on my car like a desperate slut. You’d better not make a mess, that’s Italian leather.”

He didn’t usually talk so degradingly to you, but it was definitely working for you, which became sort of a vicious cycle because as he mocked you for your desperation, your arousal grew which fed the very desperation he was mocking in the first place. You moaned around the cock in your mouth, the vibrations clearly getting to him as you tasted more of his salty pre-cum hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna come in your mouth— get in the back,” he demanded quickly as his voice became more strained. Not needing to be told twice, you popped off of him and climbed into the back; he wasn’t as agile as you, but he followed semi-awkwardly and slotted himself between your legs. With his cock already out and you wearing a skirt, he could rub himself on you through your panties— which was unexpectedly intense, due to how sensitive you’d become.

Your head fell back against the seat as you moaned lowly. “God, Bruce, please…”

“You must not want it that bad if you’re calling me Bruce,” he chuckled, leaning in to suck a mark on your neck. There was something so hot to you about how unfair it was that he could mark and claim you any way he wanted, but you got in trouble if you got lipstick on his collar or left something of yours in his car. The reminders of this affair and its forbidden nature just turned you on more.

“Daddy,” you corrected with a whimper, “I need you to put it in me— fuck me, please.”

“You’re sure you’ve earned it?” he asked, his smile brushing against your ear. You nodded feverishly, clutching at his shoulders tightly. He reached down and delicately pulled your panties to the side, groaning a bit when he saw how wet you were and beginning to rub the swollen head of his cock through your folds.

“Please,” you sobbed gently, repeating the words over and over until he finally pushed into you in one long, slow stroke. You choked on your moan— when you went so long without seeing him, he was always just a bit too big, stretched you just a bit too wide, went just a bit too deep inside you. You hissed through your teeth as you processed the pain, but it burned in exactly the way you needed.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “so fucking tight, goddamn…”

His hands gripped your thighs to hold your legs open, and you realized you could feel the hard metal of his wedding band digging into your skin. Why did that, of all things, make your walls flutter and clench around him?

“Baby,” he grinned, “you really did miss me… your sweet little pussy is fuckin’ gripping me, doesn’t wanna let me go, huh?”

Your face burned but you loved the way his voice sounded when he got like this.

“You’re not gonna let me pull out, are you?” he realized with a little smirk. “You need me to fill you up, is that it?”

You nodded, gasping a bit as he started to move faster. “Yes, Daddy.”

"You're already getting too loud, pretty girl," he hoarsely mocked you. "Somebody could hear you, remember?"

You whimpered and bit down on your lip. The head of his cock was dragging right over your g-spot, making your toes curl as pleasure twisted in your gut. "Can't help it," you explained between moans, "you feel so good… I love your cock so much, Daddy, please just don't stop."

"I might have to, if you can't keep quiet," he groaned.

"Make me quiet," you begged gently— and before you could even worry if he wouldn't know what you meant, he wrapped a hand around your throat.

The loss of air just made everything more intense; you felt fuzzy at the edges, like your sensation was blurred, and it made shivering tingles erupt wherever he touched you. You could feel his ring against your neck; fuck, it was everything.

He laughed a little as he started to fuck you faster and harder, hips slamming into yours until the sound echoed around the car.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you? I can feel it,” he informed you through his teeth. “I can feel it around my fucking cock.”

You nodded against the hand around your neck, gasping when he gave you a reprieve from the pressure. “Yes, Daddy,” you cried as you clutched at his shoulders tightly, “I’m so close, please don’t stop.”

“I’m never gonna get over how sensitive you are,” he purred, leaning in until you felt so small underneath the weight of his body. “You love your Daddy’s cock so much, hm?”

“I’m gonna come,” you whimpered as you hugged onto him tighter, shocks of pleasure shooting up your back as he tightened his hand around your neck again. You weren’t sure if it was the orgasm or the inability to breathe that made your vision go spotty and dark, but either way it was overwhelmingly intense as it washed over you. Shivers erupted over your skin and made your thighs twitch where they were pressed against his hips, his belt digging into the sensitive skin there (although you didn’t really notice, too busy falling back into a silent scream).

The noise you made when he let go of your throat was somewhere between a gasp and a sigh, despite those being opposite actions. The most intense waves of it had subsided, and yet you felt like you were being pushed to your limits as he plunged into your sensitive channel with renewed vigor. Thankfully for your poor vagina, it seemed like he was close to the edge, spurred on by the pulsing of your walls.

“Please come, Daddy,” you begged weakly, “want your come in me, please—”

“Fuck,” he grunted, “I will, baby, you feel so good, fuck!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of his cock swelling and flexing inside you, his movements starting to falter as his head fell back— and, with a deep, throaty moan, he pumped his come into you. You hummed contentedly as he collapsed against you, catching his breath.

There was something sort of romantic about a quickie in the back of his car, despite all odds. Maybe romantic wasn’t the word, but definitely sweet for the way you twirled a wavy strand of his hair around your finger as he laughed breathlessly.

“I… didn’t mean to come so fast,” he admitted as he pulled his softening cock from you and slipped it back into his pants, sitting next to you and resting his head back on the seat with a sigh.

“I couldn’t have handled much more,” you giggled, “so it’s all for the best.”

“You can handle a lot more than you think,” he remembered, conjuring in your mind images of those times he’d brought you to the edge over and over until you were sure you would pass out and/or lose your mind. The memory made your cheeks warm as you cuddled into him, laying your head on his shoulder.

It was a comfortable silence as you relaxed against him, watching his chest rise and fall with his breaths as they started to stabilize and slow down a bit.

“Oh, how’d you do on your quiz?” he asked you, and the sudden change of topic made you laugh quickly before you answered.

“I got a perfect score,” you beamed.

"Hey, that's great," he smiled back, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. "I think you deserve a treat for that."

"Does getting my brains fucked out in the backseat of your car right after class not count as a treat?" you laughed.

"I guess it does, but I mean something a little more… expensive."

"Bruce, baby, you're gonna spoil me," you giggled, nuzzling your head into his neck as he wrapped an arm around you.

"That's the idea," he explained. "Once I get enough energy back to move again, I'll drive you to a jeweler and get you something sparkly."

"When do you need to be back for her not to get suspicious?" you asked, chewing your lip nervously as you remembered that you had to be careful of those sorts of things.

"Ugh, I don't fucking care," he groaned.

You looked up at him, resting your hand on his chest in a show of sympathy. "Did something happen? Is she picking fights with you again?"

"Let's not talk about her," he suggested, pulling you closer. "Let's talk about you."

"What about me?" you asked with a scoff.

"Let's talk about you, coming with me to Tokyo in February."

"...what?"

"I have to do this medical conference thing there, and I thought it'd be the perfect trip to bring you along. I only have to be there for a few days but we could stay longer if you want to do more touristy stuff, spend more time together…"

"Bruce, I have school," you reminded him.

"And you're at the top of all your classes," he dismissed. "You can afford to miss a few days. I want you all to myself, even if it's just for a little while."

"I could say the same thing."

"And you should," he countered, "because this is your chance. Think about it: just you and me, in a huge suite in a fancy hotel in Tokyo, laying in bed all day, making love for hours—"

"'Making love'? Is that what you think we do?"

He chuckled a little. "It could be. Or I could tie you to the bed and make you come until you scream so loud the other rooms complain to the front desk."

You shuddered, knowing full well that he was capable of that. A few months ago, you'd walked into class with a lost voice and a new Coach handbag. You thought about that night every time you saw the purse and you wondered if that was the real reason he bought you new stuff on nights like that.

"Will you come with me?" he asked again.

"Sure," you decided with a little smile. "But you're too good to me, I swear."

"Not true at all, you deserve so much more than this," he refuted as he kissed your neck. "Next time I take you somewhere, it won't be because I had a work thing there— and it'll be wherever you want."

You were too distracted by his lips on your skin to really notice what he was saying. At the moment, despite knowing how incredible a trip with him would be, you couldn’t imagine anything better than this; the back of his car, in your school’s parking lot, with his arms around you and his come leaking out of you onto the leather. Still, you weren’t going to stop him from buying you something sparkly if he wanted to.

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you #idk if anyone will read his but i dont CARE look at his fucking ARMS in that gif asgkjashgsjg #yes i made the gif and it made me so thirsty

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garbagevanfleet · 3 years

Text

Brightest Blue (series)

PART FOURTEEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: mentions of sexual content, feelings, cigarettes Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: HI EVERYONE! I’m sorry I’m so inconsistent lately. I promise that the next chaptered fic I write, I’ll only start posting it when I’m done writing it. I hope you like this chapter - its incredibly sappy because I’m on my period lol

As always, big thanks to my beta, @lantern-inthenight <3

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack @dharma-divine

MASTERPOST

“Remind me again why you want to ride separately from your brother?” You looked pointedly over at Josh, who was smiling as he ran a soapy rag over the plate you’d just finished eating off of.

“I already have to spend my whole winter break with my family, no need to rob myself of alone time with you,” he explained like it was obvious.

A huff escaped your lips. You pushed away from where you had been leaning against the counter and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. You laid your head in between his shoulder blades, feeling him turn to nuzzle his nose against your arm as it laid on his shoulder.

“We spend so much time together - like every day - which I’m obviously grateful for,” you said, half-muffled by the material of his sweater. “But don’t you think it just makes more sense to carpool?”

You couldn’t see his hands, but the movements you could feel told you he was wiping the extra water off of them before turning around and pressing your chests together. His lips lightly brushed your temple as he spoke.

“You’re right,” he agreed, though you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t about to just relent. “It does make more sense - I just don’t want to.”

You let out a breath, frowning as you tried to figure out if you should say what you were thinking. After a moment of working up the courage, you cupped his jaw with your right hand, knowing full well that the sweet gesture would help him swallow the discomfort your words would cause.

“Josh,” Your voice was low and quiet, but as you met his eyes, you chickened out. They were so honest, looking at you like your presence was the only thing keeping him grounded - like if you left, he’d just cease to exist. You made a mental note to have a talk with him about that at some point, but you decided it would have to be after you’d returned from Christmas break.

“Hm?” You must have been contemplating too long, prompting his features into a look of concern. You couldn’t bear it.

“Jake is going to ride with us,” you said decidedly. “I already told him he could.”

That was a bit of a lie - he had mentioned it a few days ago and you had said you’d run it by Josh, but you had just made up his mind for him.

He huffed a laugh as he rolled his eyes playfully at you. “Sounds like you’re already communicating better with my family than I have in months.”

“Well,” you started, giving him a pointed look - the kind you only give when you feel confident that you’re right. “I think that would mean communicating with them at all. Honestly, Josh, I know you-”

You were abruptly silenced as he placed his forefinger across your open lips, a half-smirk on his face.

“It’s okay,” he assured simply. “He can ride with us.”

A smile spread across your face underneath his finger. “Good. Have you started packing?” Your words were muffled under his touch.

“Eh,” he replied with a noncommittal shrug, lowering his hand to brush his thumb across your chin.

“Do you want help with that?” you inquired cheekily. “Because, you know, we leave in two days.”

He appeared to consider it for a moment before nodding. “Actually, yeah, that sounds nice. You can sit on my bed and watch while I pack really inappropriate clothes for the occasion.”

You half-snorted out a laugh, rolling your eyes because you knew that’s the reaction he was aiming for. “How about I just pack for you?”

+++

For the first time since knowing him, you saw Jake Kiszka wearing a jacket. It was long and dramatic and nearly brushed the top of the snow as he made his way out to your car with a leather duffle bag in his left hand.

He opened the rear, passenger-side door and tossed his bag in next to yours and Josh’s before sliding in next to it.

You greeted him cheerily, to which he shot you back a smile as a reply.

“You’re actually wearing a coat,” you noted as he pulled the seatbelt over his form and buckled in.

He hummed amusedly, reaching into his pocket and popping a stick of gum in his mouth.

“I’ve found that he doesn’t usually dress like a slut to go home,” Josh replied instead as he turned a lighter around in his palm, absent of the task.

“And if I didn’t wear a coat home, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Josh nodded in agreement, and then you watched a shit-eating grin spread across his lips. “I’m kinda surprised Kate isn’t coming with us today, to be honest. Are you waiting until Easter just to make sure?”

You were busy pulling out onto the road, so you didn’t see it, but you could imagine Jake deeply rolling his eyes at the question.

“I would bring Kate home - it would make me truly happy to physically see Mom die a little inside when she starts trying to talk about amphibious breeding cycles at length during dinner,” he mused, voice clear of any kind of sorrow. He finished simply and with a smile, “But she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“I don’t know, it seemed a little sus when I showed up at her house in the morning and you were already there, chillin’ with her dog,” you replied in a sing-song voice.

“I wasn’t already there, I was still there.” You felt him place a hand on your shoulder, and slap his other one against Josh’s. “Not all of us have the luxury of just being able to pop down the hall.”

“Fair enough,” you relented, feeling your face flush warm.

“Or the shower. Or the kitchen that one time,” Josh added unhelpfully, making your eyes immediately pop open.

“Josh,” you scolded and quickly considered reaching over and slapping him, but decided it was unsafe to drive and strike a passenger at the same time.

“No, this is good,” Jake assured through a smirk you could hear. “Let him get it all out before we get there.”

Josh snickered back, “You’re such a prick.”

+++

The Kiszka homestead was almost impossibly cozy. There was a basket of blankets by the big sofa (much nicer and fluffier than the blankets at your apartment, which had been flattened and matted to the point of complete defeat) and the furniture was centered around a glowing, stone fireplace. Josh’s mom had hugged him for a long moment upon your arrival - a gesture that made your throat feel tight as you watched her fingers flex in the material at the back of his shirt.

She was sunny and kind to the point that you could clearly see Josh’s mannerisms reflected in hers, and the dinner she laid out on the dining room table seemed impossibly large to you, having come from a home with just three people in it.

When she asked you how you liked Midwestern cooking, you gushed about it for - what was undeniably - too long. You’d never say, but you weren’t positive that part of it wasn’t just not having had a real home-cooked meal in months.

You had come to decipher that Josh had told his family that you were just a roommate that didn’t have a place to go for winter break, but you were pretty sure you’d be able to tell the nature of your relationship if you were on the outside looking in - you seemed to be magnetically drawn to wherever Josh was these days.

Everyone cleared out of the living room pretty quickly after dinner and conversation, and you finally got the chance to ask the question that had been on your mind all day.

“Do I sleep out here?”

You were posted up on the couch, your legs crossed one over the other with Josh staying a few inches farther away from you than you were used to.

“No,” he replied. “You can take my room and I’ll sleep out here.”

You had asked mostly as a formality - you hadn’t figured that you’d actually have to sleep separately. Through a slight frown, you said, “Oh, man. It’s been a while since I’ve had to sleep alone. What if I freeze to death?”

He flashed you a smile. “I thought ahead and laid a heated blanket out on the bed for you.”

“Heated blanket? This whole time heated blankets were an option?” you whispered harshly.

“Okay, in my defense, by the time I remembered that they existed, we were already sleeping in the same bed every night.”

The suspicious way you stared at him for a few moments had him biting back a laugh - one of those unguarded ones that seemed to be reserved for people he was really comfortable around. Which seemed to just be you most of the time.

“Will you at least come get ready for bed with me?” you asked, subtly looking up at him through your lashes.

“Of course - no puppy eyes necessary,” he assured with a snicker.

This room was decidedly different than the one back in Ann Arbor. Josh’s space back in the apartment was mostly made up of Earth tones - either picked by choice or having just dulled over time. There were little pops of color scattered around the room, like the golden yellow rug that spread across almost all of the wooden floor, or the string of flags that spanned the entire wall above his bed.

This room was different. You could tell that his parents had tried to clean it up since Josh had moved out, but there was still evidence of spots where posters were hung on the maroon red walls. A stack of comics laid on the dresser - the surface of which was covered in residue and paper where he had placed stickers and then tried to peel them off.

You eyed a well-used keyboard placed along the far wall, and what appeared to be milk crates full of sheet music and the idea of him sitting in front of it and practicing for hours brought a smile to your lips.

He hauled both of your bags up onto the bed and you both picked through them for the sleep apparel you’d packed. You watched him change into a short-sleeved tee and a pair of loose flannel pants through the bathroom mirror as you brushed your teeth across the hall, and when he caught your eyes, he gave you a smirk.

You’d been half expecting him to change his mind and just crawl into bed with you, but instead, he helped you clamber under the covers and pulled the comforter up to your chest.

“Wow, full service tuck-in and everything,” you teased, but quickly shut up when his thumb brushed over your lips.

“Well,” he mused, voice low. “Not the full service.”

You gave him a sour grin as he backed up to the door and flicked the light off.

“Good night, Joshua.”

+++

The next couple of days came and went easily. You were starting to get actually acquainted with his family - chatting with his mother and sister over morning coffee, and getting pinned between his brothers on the sofa while Christmas movies played in the background.

You really hadn’t realized how much you missed being around family until it hit you at dinner one night. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Josh unscrewed the lid on the salt under the lip of the table and then asked Sam if he wanted any.

Josh was just about to slide it across the beat-up wooden surface when you snatched it out of his hand, pointedly tightened the lid, and then slid it over.

When you peeked over at him, Josh was glaring at you, but he wasn’t able to stop the mischievous smirk that his mouth took the shape of.

Sam huffed a laugh that sounded more like a scoff, having figured out the plot quickly after seeing the look on Josh’s face.

“Samuel, do me a favor and dump the whole shaker of salt on your potatoes,” Josh requested in a faux-sweet voice. “Please and thank you.”

“Piss off.” Sam’s reply came through a mouth-full of food, but somehow, he still managed to look lovely while saying it. However, that didn’t save him from his mom’s scolding look - though whether that was in response to the harsh language or speaking with a full mouth was anyone’s guess. You guessed that a person never got to grow out of being “the baby”.

It was then - that simple moment - that you realized how oddly welcomed you felt in this setting. It hadn’t been awkward or uncomfortable even once. You’d never felt out of place despite how different it was from your own home experience.

After you were settled into bed that night, you laid awake thinking about nothing and everything. You didn’t feel particularly tired, but you had decided to turn in when Josh started dozing off on the couch while you were watching the tv on low volume.

You had no clue what time it was, as your phone was charging across the room, but at some point you heard the distinct sound of a door creaking open. It was just down the hall - that you could distinguish - but you weren’t positive which room specifically. The person made their way down the hall, and then up a creaky set of steps, though you could tell that they were trying to move quietly when they got to the next floor and the cadence of their steps changed to something lighter.

You thought about it for a moment before pushing the covers off of you, crawling out of the warmth of the nest you’d made, and slipping your feet into a pair of Josh’s fuzzy slippers that were just barely peeking out under the bed frame. Trying to be as quiet as the last person had been, you crept up the stairs in the low light, having to strain to see the steps in the unfamiliar space, lest you lose your footing.

The room at the top of the steps was a study, and on the other side of it was a large, sliding glass door. And on the other side of that, was Jake, sat out on a covered patio with a cigarette in his hand.

You crossed the room, grabbing a blanket off of the worn leather sofa and wrapping it around yourself as you moved.

He barely turned his head to look at you as you slid the glass open and stepped out onto the porch. The brisk air hit you hard enough to nearly knock the breath from your lungs, so you pulled the blanket up your body until only your head was showing.

“Sorry if I scared you.” The volume of your words were just above a whisper as you bent to sit next to him on the cold wood. “Or if I’m intruding.”

He hummed around his cigarette before ashing it into a Coke can. “You didn’t, and you aren’t.” He looked you over for the first time then and frowned deeply at you. “You are going to freeze to death though. Where the hell is your coat?”

“I’m fine, I’ve got the blanket, see?” you assured, though you had to admit that the cold cut right through the thick material.

He ran his eyes up and down it, rolling them affectionately at you. “Okay,” he replied, though it sounded nothing like he believed you. After a few silent moments, he spoke again.

“How are you liking it here?”

A genuine smile spread out over your lips. “Michigan is lovely, if that’s what you mean. Cold to the point where I’m not sure why anyone would want to live here, but. Lovely, all the same.”

He smiled back at you, oddly warm in nature for him. “And what about the family? Do you find all of us lovely too?”

“Absolutely,” you agreed, pulling your knees up to your chest like you were in a cocoon. Another few long moments ticked by as you watched the snow fall. The night was so still that you swore you could hear the flakes as they settled on whatever surface they happened to land on.

“Can I ask you something?” You flicked your eyes over at him to assess his expression. You knew your brows were threaded close together in worry, which he seemed to take into account before he answered.

He nodded as he took another drag. “Sure,” he replied, smoke and steam glowing with the light of the cherry on the end of his cigarette as he exhaled.

You were silently trying to figure out how to word it for long enough that he looked over at you expectantly.

“Do you think Josh would have come home for Christmas if I...weren’t around?”

He met your eyes and huffed a humorless laugh. “I think that he would have spent a week or two anxiously deciding whether he could handle it and then, ultimately, he would feel too guilty to say no. And from there, I think it would have been a repeat of last year - he would have come home here, found it exhausting, and then screened everyone's’ calls for a couple of months again.”

You weren’t sure what to say, so you just stared at his face, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip until you could feel they’d left an indent as you ran your tongue over it.

“But it’s weird, right?” he continued, biting back a smirk that made you a little uneasy about what he was going to say next. “He seems to be almost blissfully happy this year.”

You held your breath for a moment as you tried to organize your emotions, and then exhaled in a rush once it became uncomfortable. “Look, I. He’s obviously a lot of things to me. A best friend, a room mate, a...romantic partner?”

Jake shot you a disbelieving but highly amused look at your wording.

“But I’m worried that he’s tying himself to me too tightly.” With your eyes, you tried to portray the emotions that that thought evoked in you - how compressed it made you feel.

He seemed to chew it over as he stubbed out his cigarette on the damp wood and then - near instantly - materialized another from behind his ear like a magic trick.

“I love seeing him happy, but I’m scared that I’m the only thing making him happy,” you finished, voice admittedly a little shaky. You didn’t ask first - though you should have - but you slid closer to him until your shoulders were touching, and despite not knowing him all that well yet, it still managed to make you feel more grounded. “It’s not that I expect this to end - whatever we have - but what if it does?”

Jake’s eyes flitted around your features like he was trying to map your face as you anxiously waited for him to tell you everything would be alright.

“You know,” he started, voice low. “When we moved away for school, he was the one that decided we wouldn’t room together. I mean, I didn’t blame him or anything, but I always just assumed we would. He used to be so outgoing. I mean, he never missed a party. People would trip over themselves to be next to him. He used to take his ex out any time he could - it didn’t really matter where, because he’s always had a way of making even the most monotonous task seem fun.”

You didn’t try to suppress a smile as it found your lips.

“So, his ex broke it off with him. I don’t know what happened really - only what I’ve been able to pry out of him - but it fucked him up pretty good. And then as he was just starting to get over it, his roommate had some kind of mental break and just moved out one weekend while Josh was gone. It’s not like they were best friends or anything, but they got along.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, resting your head on Jake’s shoulder and not caring whether or not it was polite to do so anymore.

“Yeah,” he agreed, simply. The tone of his voice was something very somber - the kind you’d use if you were giving a eulogy. “I tried to help. I offered to move in with him. I showed up at his apartment all the time, but he got pretty effective at dodging me. Not just me, actually, but everyone. Worried the fuck out of our mom.”

“What then?” You were not-so-secretly hoping that Jake was going to find a way to make you feel better, and the pitch of your voice reflected it. The core of your body felt like it was stuffed full of stones, weighted and heavy. “What happened?”

Jake hummed. “Well, he started to level out a bit. After a good couple months he started at least answering the door when I came to see him. Sometimes he’d text me back after a day or two. That went on like that for a while.”

He titled his head to look over at you then for the first time in a while. You felt oddly vulnerable after hearing all of that, but you tried not to duck away from his eyes.

“But then, suddenly, you were there. He didn’t tell me a thing about you, or even that he was getting a new roommate until well after you were already moved in.”

You huffed a laugh. “If it makes you feel better, he didn’t tell me anything about you either really. Imagine my surprise when I open the door and you were a twin. Uncanny valley territory.”

“I think he learned how to compartmentalize the people in his life. Seems like it’s easier to manage relationships that way when you’re an extremely guarded person like he had suddenly become.”

He took a pause to take a long drag, simultaneously running a hand through his silky hair.

“But to answer your question - I don’t think you’re the only thing making him happy,” he continued, meeting your eyes with an intensity that you understood to your core. “I think you’re just reminding him that there are things to be happy about.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, but you were suddenly choking back tears and a tight, hot feeling in your throat.

“You’ve just got to give him time to remember what it’s like.”

When you opened your mouth to reply, you realized you’d been holding your breath for a moment too long, causing you to suck in a shaky breath. “I intend to give him all the time he needs,” you promised.

Jake offered you back a smile as he moved to stand, stretching out his muscles and then extending a hand for you to take. He helped you clamber up off the floor before tucking his lighter back into the pocket of his fleece sleep-pants.

“Good to hear.”

#brightest blue fic #Greta Van Fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #josh kiszka #josh fic #josh kiszka fic #josh x reader #writing

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