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alchemistc · 5 months ago

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She's not ...entirely sure this is a good idea.

Even as she raises her hand to knock she's second guessing herself.

The thing is - the thing is there aren't a lot of people in her life who don't take one look at her and make assumptions. She's petite, she's blonde, her face is eerily symmetrical.

When people see her, they think they know her.

Cap is great. The sort of man she wishes she'd known more of, growing up. The kind of man who stood in front of the entire crew and doled out cleaning duties and cooking duties to his men and didn't blink an eye handing her inventory, but pulled aside a guy six years into the job to inform him that if he made a snide comment about having to do Mona's job again he'd be looking for a new station. Respectfully.

The kind of man who let his crew cut loose and created a kind of family behind those bay doors, but didn't take their shit when they got out of hand

The kind of man who looked at her and just saw another firefighter.

Cap is great.

It's just...

Well, the guys don't go to Cap for advice, and she knows once upon a time that kind of hurt his feelings, but this feels like one of those things his husband is better equipped to handle.

("It's because he's older, right?" Cap had asked once, failing miserably at holding in a pout while the team around him demolished the roast he'd obviously spent hours prepping the night before.

Fred had still had half a loaf of bread in his mouth when he explained that talking to their boss about their sex lives just felt like an HR nightmare.

"So you go to my boyfriend instead?")

Mona's still considering turning heel and leaving the way she came when she hears whistling around the side of the house, and before she can make a break for it, Cap's husband is rounding the corner of the porch, winding his hands in a grease rag, and he's catching sight of her, raising a brow, slowing his steps.

He must see the panicked look in her eye.

"I can turn back around and pretend you were never here," he murmurs, the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and Mona feels every ounce of flight just seep from her bones.

Yeah. Okay. She gets why the guys all think he's the one to go to when they've royally fucked something up.

There's an ease to him, a gentleness that she knows for a fact was hard fought.

"No, I..."

The brow ticks up a little more.

"I just found a new sour Evan won't touch with a ten foot pole, if you're gonna be here a minute," Tommy says, and any resistance left vanishes. Mona's been to enough of Cap's barbecues to know his husband always has the best beer in the county.

"Yeah, okay."

Tommy crosses the length of the porch and glances glumly at his greasy hands. "You mind grabbing the door? Evan throws a fit every time I leave fingerprints behind."

She's interrupting his day, she realizes. He's a weird sort of semi-retired - flies for the county sometimes during wildfire season, flips classic cars from their huge ass garage around the side of the house, spends a month teaching courses to new pilots every year out of state and it's always the crankiest they ever get to see Cap. People charter his chopper, sometimes, although lately it seems like he only keeps the thing around so he can take Cap up to watch spectacular sunsets because they're the most sickeningly perfect couple she's ever met.

Mona grabs the door. Shuffles in ahead of him when he shows no signs of moving, and makes her way down the hall to the kitchen because she's been here enough times by now not to feel as weird about how welcoming they both were right away.

He uses his rag to pull open the sink cabinet and grab the heavy duty soap from underneath to wash his hands.

The scent rolls over her in waves, throwing her back about fifteen years to her parents tiny little apartment over the shop, her father's rough and callused hands soaking under shitty water pressure, the grease under his fingernails he could never quite scrape clean.

Tommy tips a chin at the fridge. "Grab me one, too? Bottle openers on the side."

There's an ease to the way he says it, like this is a normal occurrence, like Mona's ever stepped foot across the threshold for anything that wasn't a station-wide get together. She supposes for him it probably is. At least a few of the guys act like he's their dad, wandering into the house without even bothering to knock, gathering around him when he shows up at the station like lost little puppies.

He's used to it.

He hums his thank you when she sets one of the bottles on the island beside him, and Mona glances around to distract herself while he's drying his hands.

A couple dozen pictures of Cap and Tommy, in various stages of their lives.

The fridge is plastered with pictures. A couple she recognizes as Cap's sister and brother-in-law, two adorable kids at their knees. A guy standing next to a kid wearing a cap and gown and leaning on two crutches. An older man she's lovingly heard Cap refer to as basically his dad - the reason they eat better at work than anyone has the right to. A couple she'd seen at the wedding, standing with a kid she remembers Cap staring at like he was seeing a ghost. There's so many people that she doesn't know, but - there's the station pictures too. Candids of the boys when they were living in the Captain's house, back when Cap first got here, when she'd still been a year and a half from graduating high school and didn't have a fucking clue what she wanted to do with her life. The Christmas that Fred had cursed them with the q-word and Tommy had spent the day in the station kitchen putting together a meal they'd all stuck around to eat after shift despite the exhaustion seeping into their bones, all of A shift crammed together around a tiny wobbly table to squeeze into the picture.

She gets stuck on the picture of the two of them in hard hats, building what she's pretty sure is the wrap around porch she's snuck a few cigarettes on when the house gets a little overwhelming. There's something about the way they're looking at each other that makes her want to cry, a little.

Fuck.

Damnit.

Tommy leans over to tap the picture with a grin. "We had a blowout fight the night before our buddy took this picture," he says, the deep grooves of his smile stretched wide across his face. "I'd left my job and sold my house six months earlier to chase him across the country and he was convinced if he didn't find a way to turn every half-thought-out desire of mine into a reality that I was gonna vanish in the night. He bought the lumber without telling me and I came home to him and his best friend ripping out the stairs to the front door."

Mona's instantly drawn in.

He makes them sound like a train wreck.

If she's got the math right, that was her senior year. She remembers seeing them around town and thinking they were annoyingly sweet. She remembers her mom baking Tommy a casserole for the excuse of getting all the gossip about the Captain's mysterious paramour so she had the upper hand at her book club that weekend.

Tommy taps another. The two of them under a pergola, the expressions on their faces so disgustingly smitten Mona remembers wanting to blow a raspberry in the middle of the ceremony. She'd been so convinced she'd never let herself be so fucking dependent on another person for her happiness.

"He kept it a secret that he'd invited my father to the wedding until the night before. I spent most of my night with a punching bag instead of Evan." He points out another photo from the wedding. "The photographer tried to murder me when she saw my knuckles. Evan could barely fit the ring over my finger."

"Who snitched?" Mona asks, narrowing her eyes, and Tommy grins, huffs a laugh. He gestures vaguely at her face.

"You've got the look," he tells her, which doesn't really explain a whole lot. "And none of Evan's crew ever makes their first visit anything but love life issues."

"It could be something else," Mona argues, gesturing with her beer, and one of his brows ticks up. "It's not, but it could be."

"You want something to eat? Evan's been experimenting with cakes again, and the red velvet white chocolate escaped the discards."

"Is my so called look that bad?"

He grins. "Mostly I'm looking for an excuse for cake before noon."

Christ, he's good at this. It's actually a little eerie, how quickly he's set her at ease. It's been over a year and the guys still call her prickly when they think she can't hear them, but she never calls them out on it because they're not wrong. It takes her forever to warm up to people.

"Is that how this usually works? You butter us up with Cap's food and get us to spill our guts?"

He's already digging plates from a cabinet next to the stove. She can't see his expression, but she can picture the grin on his face. "Usually they raid my fridge and put their feet up on my coffee table before I've fully registered that they're here. It's sort of a novelty to get to act like a host in my own home."

That checks out, if she's being honest. They're all a bunch of rabid animals who've been emboldened by Cap's open door policy and his infectious smile and his incredibly hot and talented husband. She's never quite sure if the guys want to be him or screw him - not that Tommy's ever looked twice at anyone who wasn't Cap.

"I think I'm broken," Mona admits, the words coming out in a rush, her eyes on the dutch oven tucked under one of the wide kitchen windows.

Tommy slides a slice of fucking delicious looking cake her way and takes a swig of his beer. Waits.

Mona reaches for the fork and spills her guts.

---

"Oh, hey Mo," Cap says, stumbling his way over the threshold, eyes lighting on his husband and his expression going gooey.

Tommy broke into the rack of Banquet's an hour ago and Mona's pretty sure she's one with the couch. It's a good couch. When she'd told Tommy so twenty minutes ago there'd been a gleam in his eye she didn't understand.

She's still a little too buzzed to worry about the fact that she's oozing into the cushions and emotionally wrecked. She hasn't cried in front of another human being in at least six years. Tommy's probably a wizard, or something.

"Everything good?" Cap asks, and she knows that they've got a sort of agreement - unless Tommy thinks something is gonna affect the work, whatever Tommy talks about with them doesn't reach Cap's ears.

"Men," Mona huffs, and Cap pauses, shoots another look into the living room.

"Yeah. Men."

"No Cap. Men," she repeats, and he nods, a corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Oh. Men," he enunciates, and Mona feels the scowl on her face grow wider when the two of them share a sappy look. It's super fucking inconvenient to be surrounded by the proof of true fucking love when she's trying to convince herself she's already too jaded to find it. "If you wanna stay for dinner I can tell you the story of the time Tommy tried to leave me because he thought he could make my decisions for me."

Even Tommy's scowl is sappy as hell. It's gross. Shes having a hard time convincing herself it's not the best thing she's ever seen.

She tips her neck against the back of the couch to glance up at him. "Who snitched?"

Cap's laugh filters through the room, and right across from her, where the whole world and Mona can see, Tommy's expression goes warm and vulnerable, like the sound has soothed a few decades of wounds. "Word of advice? Never leave Harry with a secret and a crowded room."

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #outsider pov #future-fic #captain buck and his house husband #just really wanted to explore the idea of pilot emotional repression being bucks teams go-to like bobby was for the 118 #technically part of my captain buck in the rockies 'verse

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starjamcake · 9 days ago

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homecoming — blue lock, itoshi sae x f!reader, extremely selfship coded, smut, piv sex, oral f!receiving, i cannot stress this enough i literally wrote this for myself, 3.1k words

There's someone in his apartment.

Sae pauses by the door, taking in the distant clatter from the kitchen and wondering briefly if he should call security — and then he spots your shoes.

They're set neatly next to his on the shoe rack, and your house slippers are missing. Sae swaps out his shoes and shuts the door behind him quietly.

As he nears the kitchen, he hears you humming to yourself — some silly tune from your stupid mobile phone game, probably — and there is the rhythmic thud of a knife hitting the cutting board. It's been a few weeks since he gave you his apartment key and alarm code, but you've never stopped by without texting him first.

Oh. He pulls out his phone. Your name flashes up on the screen. Sae quells the strange disappointment curling his insides.

He stops at the entrance to the kitchen and his breath catches in his throat. You're cutting up apples and there's a jar of peanut butter sitting by your elbow. Sae stifles a tiny smile at your snack. But that's not the issue —

Your hair is pulled up in a loose bun, tendrils framing your face, and you clearly have no qualms about making yourself at home, because you're just wearing a pretty, lacy bra and you're still wearing your work slacks.

It does something strange to his gut, spikes arousal through his blood. Your butt looks incredible, as always, but the way the slacks cling to your every curve as you bend over to grab something has his pants feeling tight. You set the knife in the sink with a little shimmy and Sae swallows hard.

And your bra — Sae's seen you naked before, and he's become familiar with your bras. You usually wear plain, serviceable ones, with the racerback style because you hate dealing with the straps. He's fumbled an embarrassing number of times at the band of your bra looking for a clasp before you taught him that they just pull on (or off) over your head.

This one… doesn't look new. It's fraying a little at the ends, but the band sits flat against your skin and the lace extends past the bottom to cover the top of your stomach. You've expressed insecurity about your breast size to him before, mentioned offhand and immediately buried under a string of meaningless comments like you didn't want him to catch it, but. Sae has never cared about that, and besides, your tits look perfect, cradled and cupped so lovingly by all that lace.

But it's the fact that you're here, in his kitchen, clearly having just come by after work. Sae remembers what you told him, how you like to wander around in your bra and pants in your own apartment, though you always end up stripping all the way at some point because you can't stand having outside clothes touch your bed.

And now you're here.

Sae watches you dip an apple slice in peanut butter and hears the crunch as you take a bite. Your bra strap slides down your shoulder and he feels a little lightheaded.

You let out a quiet huff of annoyance and slide it back up. Sae suddenly realizes he's been standing at the kitchen entrance watching you like a creep for the past few minutes, but if he moves, his rapidly fraying tether on his self control will snap.

You move to grab another apple slice and your bra strap slides down your shoulder again. Something about the sight makes Sae suck in a quiet breath. Fuck.

"Hm…? Whoa, holy shit, Sae, don't sneak up on me like that!" you yelp, pressing a hand to your chest. The movement squishes your breast, and the low cup shifts to reveal the slightest peek of your nipple. Sae clenches his jaw. "How long have you been here? You never texted me back, but I thought it'd be okay if I —"

Sae crosses the kitchen in three languid steps, plants his hands on the countertop behind you, and leans down to halt just a breath away from kissing you.

You blink up at him with wide, pretty eyes. "…Hi?"

"Hi," he murmurs. Your eyes search his face and Sae has no idea what he looks like — like he wants to eat you up, maybe — but your lips curve up and you're just. Gorgeous.

"Did you see my text?" you ask quietly. Your expression shifts. The tiny furrow of your brow bothers him.

"I saw it when I came home," Sae says. His voice is cool and even, a placid surface hiding the riptide beneath. "Is this new?"

You shake your head carefully as his hand moves to slide your bra strap back up your shoulder. His touch is featherlight, but you shiver a little anyway. "You just haven't seen it yet," you say, "since I hardly wear it. The straps are always sliding down and it gets annoying."

"What's the occasion today?"

You laugh. "I didn't get a chance to do my laundry last weekend."

Sae hums and slides the strap back down. You were with him last weekend. The reminder settles in his gut, a quiet sort of pleasure. Your breath catches in your throat, and Sae can see the way you hold still for him, the gentle tension in the line of your neck. He hasn't kissed you yet, but he knows you can feel him, thick and unyielding and pressing against your hip.

"I'm home," he says.

You blush, sudden and hot. Sae wonders if you can feel it too — the head rush of domesticity settling in the air around you both. If you know what it does to him, to see you so comfortably in his space.

"Welcome home," you murmur, shy.

Fuck. Sae isn't going to last long.

He crosses the last tiny gap between you to press his lips to yours, his hand sliding up to cradle your neck and jaw so that he can move you just the way he likes. Your gasp is muffled in his mouth as he kisses you, your hands coming up to fist in the front of his shirt. You feel good beneath him, warm and soft and so fucking comfy, and Sae nips at your lip just to hear you whine.

"S-Sae…"

He pulls back and you sag against the counter, panting hard. Your hands loosen on his shirt and drift downwards, fingers slipping into his belt loops and tugging his hips closer to yours. Sae grunts at the pressure on his dick.

"Behave," he murmurs, catching your hands.

You manage to pout. Sae cracks a tiny smile when you bat your eyelashes for effect. "But you're so hard," you complain, straining halfheartedly against his hold. "I wanna touch you."

"Me first." Sae presses your hands to the counter in wordless command and hums, pleased, when you grip the edge and huff. "How was work today?"

"It was boring," you shoot him an incredulous look as he drops to his knees. He flicks the button of your pants open and drags it down your hips along the way. "What — Sae."

"Didn't you have that big meeting today?"

You squirm as he helps you step out of your pants and house slippers. He leaves them pooled on the floor by your feet, his grip firm on your ankle as he drapes your leg over his shoulder. You're wearing plain black panties, as usual. Cute. "N-no, it got rescheduled to — next week. Sae."

His gaze catches yours just as he presses his tongue to the damp spot on your panties. You taste good. The embarrassed flutter of your lashes is familiar and sends another jolt of heat down his spine. Your head drops back so you don't have to look at him.

"What did you have for lunch?" he asks, anchoring one arm around the leg draped over his shoulder and bracing you up with his other hand at your hip. You're dripping wet, strings of arousal sticking to your panties as he tugs them aside.

You make a noise of complaint as Sae reaches past your neatly trimmed hairs to thumb at your clit. "I had. Um. Rice?"

Sae snorts and leans in to lick a stripe through your folds. Wet — you're so wet and warm and sticky. "Just rice?"

"I h-hate this," you mumble, eyes peeking open just to shoot him a glare. "Why're you always so mean to me —"

He circles your clit with his tongue and you choke. Your leg buckles and Sae tsks, pins you up against the counter more firmly. "Not even rice with a fried egg?"

"No, you mean asshole, there was no fried egg because I had rice and — nghh — stir fry," you bite out, hips jerking against his hold. Sae rewards you with another swirl of his tongue around your clit, and then he dives in, presses his tongue into every crevice and fold, sucks at your clit and swallows down your essence as you plead above him.

Your whines and moans fall on deaf ears. Sae loses himself in you, in tasting and taking and feeling every quiver of your muscles tightening around his tongue. He can't use his fingers like this, in keeping you upright and anchoring your leg over his shoulder, so he makes you cum twice with his lips wrapped around your clit and your hips bucking into his face.

The exquisite tremble of your legs makes him lightheaded. Sae licks you clean, feels your wetness all along his chin. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Fuck you," you gasp, but you laugh as you say it, and Sae hides his smile in your thigh.

Your laugh dissolves into a moan as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin, your fingers sinking into his hair to tug him away. "Sae, please — I want you inside me now."

"Greedy girl," Sae murmurs, releasing your leg and dragging your panties off. You kick them aside and grab at his shirt, trying to bring him back up to your level.

Sae obliges, rising and kissing you breathless. You moan weakly at the taste of yourself on his tongue, fingers scrambling at his waist to get his pants undone. Your hand brushes against his cock and he grunts, grabs you before you can touch him fully. "Turn around."

You pout, chest heaving. Both of your bra straps have slid down your shoulders, and the lacy cups shift so that Sae sees a peek of your nipples every time you take a breath. His cock throbs.

"I wanna see you," you complain, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Can't you just hold my legs up?"

"I'm not going to last long," Sae says, but his hands slide to your butt. He squeezes appreciatively, unable to help it. "What should we have for dinner?"

You roll your eyes and shove his pants and briefs down his hips, pulling his cock out and giving it an appreciative squeeze of your own. Sae groans. "Once I finished my snack I was going to ask what your chef made for you this week," you say, giving him a few more pumps and smearing his precum all over the head. "Sae, I really want you inside me. Please?"

You're going to kill him.

Sae sighs, like this is troublesome for him, but you just laugh and hop into his arms, trusting that he'll catch you with his hands under your thighs. He does, of course, and manages to shuffle a few feet over to a wall, so that you won't get hurt by the counter.

His whole body feels hot. He's still wearing his shirt, and his pants and briefs are just caught on his thighs. You squeeze his biceps with a dazed look in your eye, and something smug settles in his chest. "I'll send you the week's menu."

"You're the worst," you mutter. You reach between your bodies and angle your hips to drag his cock through your folds, making a mess before you begin to sink down on him. Sae groans into your shoulder, flattening you against the wall as your wet, tight heat envelops his cock.

He's going to leave bruises on your thighs. "Y-you feel so good, oh my god," you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Sae, please."

Sae doesn't need you to finish the sentence. He grits his teeth as he braces you against the wall, and a brief kiss is the only warning you get before he begins to move.

Your tits bounce as he fucks you. Sae stares, mesmerized, memorizing every twitch and flutter as you gasp and moan. You're wet and tight and soft, your pussy clenching down on him with every thrust like you don't want him to leave.

Fuck. You feel incredible.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you cum all over his cock. Sae hisses between his teeth and keeps fucking you, scrambles around in his brain for something to ask you, to distract himself from how good you feel all wet and hot around him.

"Are you always going to text me before you come over?" he asks.

"Wh-what?" you manage, eyes clenching shut as you moan. "I mean — it's — isn't that what you — fuck — want?"

Sae huffs. "No."

You blink at him, clearly trying to think. Sae shifts his hips and his jaw feathers as you gush around him with the new angle. "O-oh, Sae, that's — right there —!"

"Where?" he slows his pace, feeling the ache in his gut spasm with anticipation. He's close.

"Sae," you whine, wiggling your hips helplessly.

"Answer the question," he says. You gasp, fingers tugging at the short hairs on the back of his head. He grunts.

"I don't — know," you sniff, hazy gaze finding his own. You look beautiful, fucked out and dazed, thinking only of him. "Sae, please."

He picks up the pace carefully, feels his cock throb with every thrust. His balls feel tight, and every loud, wet squelch makes the desire in his gut ache.

"Tell me how it feels," he says. Demands, really, but you're too lost to notice.

"So good, so good, so good," you breathe, clutching at him desperately. "Love you, Sae."

Goddammit.

Sae feels it when you cum again, when your walls squeeze his cock in perfect waves that drag him toppling over with a choked groan of your name.

You shiver as his cock throbs inside you, as he releases thick ropes of cum into you. Sae kisses you deeply, wants to imprint you into his bones. To drag you into the riptide roaring beneath his skin.

"Don't —" you whisper, legs squeezing around his hips. Sae huffs fondly.

"Use your words."

You wrinkle your nose at him and he cracks a tiny smile. You blink, still looking dazed. "You are. So hot."

Sae snorts and kisses you again. He knows he looks smug, but you just bury your face in his neck and press your smile into his skin. "Do you still want your snack?"

"Stop asking me questions," you mutter breathlessly. Sae feels you nip lightly at his neck. He smiles into your hair. "God. Why did I have to fall for such an asshole. Who the hell asks about texting etiquette in the middle of making me cum?"

He carries you to the kitchen and sets you down on the counter, pulling out slowly. Before you can react, he stuffs three fingers deep in your pussy to keep anything from spilling out. You squeak, your thighs clamping around his hand.

"Do you want your panties?"

"Don't you dare," you say, shooting him a weak glare. "If I soak through my panties, what the hell am I gonna wear on the ride home?"

"You're staying the night," Sae says, like this should be obvious. Isn't it? Why else did you come over after work?

You blink at him. "I know you gave me some space in your closet and bathroom, but I haven't had a chance to bring anything over, you know."

"I'll buy you clothes for tomorrow," Sae says. "What else do you need?"

You look at him, those pretty eyes bright in the fading daylight. "Let's cuddle. And clean ourselves up."

Sae frowns, but you lean up to kiss him sweetly. He pulls his fingers out of you carefully, and you shiver as you watch thick globs of cum seep out of your folds.

The two of you get cleaned up and you wiggle back into your panties, making a face at the discomfort but grabbing his hand and tugging him to the couch. Sae snags the plate of apple slices along the way and sets it on the side table, eyebrows merely rising in silent question when you climb onto his lap.

"I need to recharge," you mumble sheepishly, tucking your face into his neck. Sae huffs, rubbing soothing circles along your hips and legs. He needs it too — holding you close soothes something burning under his heart.

"If you're upset about something, tell me," he says, after a moment. In spite of how long he's been dating you, there are still things he doesn't understand.

"I'm not upset," you say. You lean back and grab an apple slice, pressing it to his lips. He takes a bite obligingly. "I'm just nervous. It feels too fast."

Sae swallows down an immediate protest. You must see it in his eyes, though — you've gotten good at reading him. You take a bite of the apple slice and chew thoughtfully, watching him. Waiting. "Is that why you still text me before coming over?"

You nod.

He watches you chew another bite. "What do you need?"

You pick up another slice and hold it to his lips. Sae takes a bite. "I don't know," you reply, and the clear honesty in your voice makes him release the tension in his limbs. "It still feels surreal, you know. I mean, look at you."

Sae raises an eyebrow. "Hm?"

You roll your eyes. "Don't play dumb. You know. You're Itoshi Sae or whatever."

The scoff in your voice makes his lips twitch. "Ah. And what did you call me earlier? The asshole who asks questions in the middle of sex?"

You laugh, and Sae's grip on your waist tightens briefly. You still haven't pulled on your shirt, and he reaches up to slide your bra straps back up your shoulders when they slide down with your laughter. He trails his fingers along the band, silently making a note for the lack of clasp or hook. You shiver.

"Do you like lace? Should I get more bras like this?"

"Little menace," he says evenly. You laugh again. It's not the lace, but he doesn't know how to say it. To explain.

You lean up to kiss him, sweet and careful. Maybe you know, anyway. Maybe he doesn't need to say it.

"Welcome home, Sae."

"Yeah. I'm home."

#fuji writes!#teams!verse #itoshi sae x reader #— fujitoshi!

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