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poeghoul · 10 months

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hard times iii.

in which they're far too drawn to each other.

word count: 7,852 warnings: mentions of drug usage and abuse, unwanted advances, angst, possessiveness authors note: not proofread. only a few parts left to this series </3 im far too attached to them.

masterlist

part one part two

Y/n made her way out of the diner, the new waiter, Ross, following close behind her. “It’s not too bad, I promise. You’ll get the hang of it soon,” she turned to face him, smiling to try and relieve his anxiety. The poor boy had spilled orange juice all over his black sweater, the thick fabric sticking to his chest, and still slightly damp. “Plus you’ll be taking the night shift and barely anyone comes in.”

He exhaled through his mouth, raising his eyebrows at her, “so that means shit tips, huh?” he joked at her. She pulled her lips into her mouth, hesitant to answer, and when she went to challenge his assumption, he cut her off. “Fuck, really? Shit, I’m fucked,” running a hand through his hair, he shook his head. She pursed her lips at him.

“It’s not awful, I swear. And you’re new, so,” she trailed off, not entirely knowing what to say to the blue eyed boy. “They always start the newbies off at night,” the end of her sentence sounded more like a question, and he just smirked at her and tilted his head to the side.

“You’re shit at making people feel better, you know that?” he grinned at her, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth, shaking his head at her. She grinned at him, exhaling a laugh through her nose. “Ya need a ride or anything?”

“Mm, no I have a ride already, thank you though,” she gestured to the man standing next to the black SUV behind her. A ‘shit’ coming from the boy in front of her. “Yeah,” she pursed her lips. Ever since the first night Jax had picked her up, everyone who worked at the diner bombarded her with a million questions anytime the ‘mystery’ man stood in front of the building; how’d you score that, who is he, how do you know him, etc.

“No offense, but how the fuck are you able to drive that? Or have someone drive you in that,” he stared at her, a befuddled look graced his face.

She tucked her bottom lip in between her teeth for a second, his gaze switching from her eyes to her lips and back once the flesh was released, “um, a friend of mine kinda owes me a favor and this is how he’s paying me back,” she shrugged, her right arm coming up to rub her left, an anxious habit.

A humorless laugh escaped him, “I will never ask for a favor if this is what you’re expecting in return,” he gestured to the car. “I’ll see you in the morning, y/n,” he patted her shoulder before running his hand down her arm, barely even touching the jacket covered skin, and grazed her hand for a moment longer than he should’ve. She blushed from the action, taking in a sharp breath before nodding and bidding him goodbye.

They parted ways; Ross walking to a beat up ‘99 Honda Civic hatchback, and y/n to her (Harry’s) personal chauffeur’s car. She sent a smile to Jax before wrapping her arms around his torso, squishing her face into his chest (he was significantly taller than her, but not as tall as Harry).

“Hey, sweetpea,” he greeted her, she felt the vibrations rumble through his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, a hand coming up to caress the back of her head and a gentle kiss was placed on the crown of her head. “Wanna tell me who that was?” he pulled back to wink at her, she just rolled her eyes unwrapping her arms and crossing them over her chest and he opened the door for her,

“That was Ross, he’s the new waiter I told you about. Not very good though,” she stepped up into the backseat and sat her bag down on the seat next to her. A few weeks ago, she’d be getting in the backseat hoping Harry would greet her with an apology or an explanation. Now, she’d be surprised to even smell Harry’s lingering cologne. He’s been avoiding her since the last time he came to her apartment. No calls, no texts, no interactions whatsoever.

Jax laughed, closing the door before running around the back of the car and hopping in the front seat. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, “that bad, huh?” Her eyes widened and she nodded, her mouth agape.

“I’ve never met anyone that uncoordinated, I swear. He’s great with the customers, he really is, he just can’t balance a tray to save his life,” she sighed, “Dan put a lot of faith in me, too, which makes it worse. Like, I can’t just magically make someone a great waiter, especially if this is their first waiting job.”

“That’s rough, sweetpea, I’m sorry.”

“Is it bad I don’t think he’ll last long?” sympathy laced her tone.

“Not at all, and from the sounds of it, that seems likely,” he shrugged one shoulder and started the car. Pushing the parking brake down, he shifted into reverse before pulling out of the parking lot and on to the main street leading to her studio.

“Yeah,” she pulled her lips into her mouth, looking out the window. She had switched to the morning shift, paranoia suffocating her every night making her shifts much harder to get through without choking on her anxiety. And because no one else was willing to take the night shift, they had to hire another waiter. And apparently, for god knows why, they just had to hire one with no experience. And just had to make y/n train him. A form of punishment, she’s sure. “How was your day?” she looked back to him, eyes trained on his side profile.

“Mm, fine. Uneventful as normal. Just waited around for,” he met her eyes in the rearview, “Mr. Styles,” she looked down at her hands, picking at her over bitten cuticles, dried blood staining her nail beds. “He had another meeting with Mr. Horan,” she nodded slowly. Niall hadn’t even come into the diner. They both had disappeared.

The drive was short, it always was. Soon enough, she was thanking him, like usual, and running up the stairs to her apartment. Unlocking the door, she could hear the bells she had attached to the door handle on the inside sing loudly. It was annoying, but with where her mind had been the past month, she deemed it necessary. Kicking her shoes off, she plopped on her chair, rolling her neck from side to side trying to alleviate the tension.

After her third morning shift, she had started to regret asking to be taken off nights, she had no clue what to do in the middle of the afternoon. When she’d get off around ten, she would come home and get ready for bed and watch a show or scroll through tiktok until she’d be half asleep with the phone slipping from her grasp. It was a routine she’d been used to for about eight months, but developing new routines and sticking to them was not her strong suit.

Getting off this early highlighted how alone she felt. It got dark around 4:30 and winter was creeping in. Her seasonal depression started to settle in, making a home in the cavity of her chest.

+++

Harry sat across from Niall in his home office, sitting back in his expensive Italian leather chair with his leg crossed over his knee. He rarely ever hosted meetings in his home, never trusting anyone enough to invite them in, but Niall was entirely different. He managed to snake his way into Harry’s life; calling and texting him at all hours of the day, inviting him to attend church with his wife and two daughters or out to play a game of golf. Harry was suspicious about the amount of communication and invitations, but learned that Niall was one of the friendliest men he’d ever come across, and eventually accepted an invitation to a game of golf. That was entirely a bad idea, however, since Niall was practically glued to Harry’s side ever since.

He had even told him about what happened with y/n, to which Niall prompted him to just come clean to her about how he felt. But of course, it wasn’t that simple. If it was, Harry would’ve done that the moment he saw his sweet girl shed a tear. They never spoke about it after Harry yelled at Niall to stop meddling.

“Who do you think did it?” Harry asked the blue eyed brunette, referring to a shootout that happened at a Motel 6 twentyseven miles from where they were meeting. Motel 6’s were notorious for drug dealings, though Harry never dared to step foot near one.

Niall shrugged, “could’ve been anyone, really. But I’m sure it had something to do with Justus. He’s always down there, creepin’ around,” a scowl graced his gentle face.

Harry brought his fingers to rest on his mouth, tapping a finger on the skin above his lip and raising an eyebrow at the man's theory, “Hm, Justus, aye?” Niall nodded. “ ‘S a possibility, he loves his motels. Who else could’ve been down there, though? Couldn’t have just been a deal gone wrong, he had to have stepped on someone’s toes.”

“Well, it-” Niall cut himself off, perking up as he put the pieces together in his head, “Payne. It was fucking Payne, god that prickhead.”

“Niall, that name holds no significance with me, who is that?”

“Liam Payne,” Niall answered, leaning forward, “terrible prices, terrible stock, always lacing whatever he’s able to get his hands on to sell for less,” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Laced a batch of coke with fent and killed twelve people but of course, being who he is, no one ever ratted him out. Hells gonna swallow him whole rightfully so.”

“Hm,” Harry hummed out, “let’s hope he makes his way up here,” a grin took over his features. Niall stared at him in confusion.

“Why’s that? Don’t want him anywhere near me, if ‘m bein honest.”

“Well, you won’t have to deal with him. I’ll happily take care of him.”

Niall gulped, “I don’t know Harry, he’s shitty but,” he paused, trying to think of the right phrasing, “powerful. Very powerful.”

Harry’s grin widened, the skin around his eyes wrinkling, “and I’m not?” he retorted. Niall shook his head, chuckling, knowing where Harry was headed. “Like I said, I’ll happily take care of him.”

“Devious bastard.”

Niall and Harry said their goodbyes, one of Harry’s men walking him out. Harry sat in his office, alone again. He sat back in his chair, messing with the H and S rings on his left hand, his mind wandering to his little lamb, whom he hadn’t seen in far too long. He wondered if she thought of him, wondered if her thumb ever hovered over the call button under his name in her contacts like he had done with her. She consumed his thoughts daily. He’d ask Jax about how her day went and why she switched to the morning shift, to which Jax couldn’t answer truthfully as he didn’t even know.

Papers scattered the desk in front of him, numbers, dollar signs and crossed out names on nearly every page. The amount of clutter on the desk made him restless, unable to think straight, but he couldn’t bring himself to organize it in any way. He’d begin to put things away but would quickly get overwhelmed with the amount of shit he had to file away. So, he just stared at the piles, his mind occupied by the girl he didn’t get a chance to know, by his own fault.

He reached into his jacket pocket, reading the time, 4:37 pm, and his notifications, looking for one in particular.

Jax D.

She’s home safe, area secured.

A small smile graced his lips, happy she was home safe and unharmed. He wished she would’ve told him instead, however. Wishing to hear the words fall from her pretty pink lips. He tapped at the screen to respond.

Harry:

Good. Thank you.

He set his phone down, his heart aching in his chest, missing his sweet little lamb.

+++

“What are you doing tonight?” Ross asked y/n as she unlocked the front doors for the pair, she looked at him over her shoulder as she pulled the door open.

“Mm, probably nothing, I work tomorrow morning so I don’t really wanna do much,” she let him walk in before her, following him inside before locking the door behind them. “Why, what’s up?” she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Just curious, damn,” he held his hands up in surrender, she rolled her eyes and laughed at him.

“Well, why are you curious?” The two made their way into the back room, setting their stuff in their designated lockers. She sat down on the bench, retying the shoelace that had come undone. He sat in front of her, legs on either side of the bench.

“Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to do something cause I’m off tomorrow and I assumed you were too so,” he shrugged, staring at her as she sat across from him.

She looked up at him, mouth slightly agape. “Oh,” she nodded slowly. “What were you thinking?”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at him, “what did you wanna do?”

“Oh, I’m dumb, I thought you meant, like, what are you thinking,” he said in a scolding tone, she laughed. “But whatever you wanna do, we can see a movie or something.”

She nodded her head slowly, contemplating the idea. It wouldn’t be bad, she could get a blue and red icee, but she didn’t want to give up her daily alone time (with working in the service industry, she looked forward to that very much needed time). But with how melancholy she’d been feeling lately, the alone time became very depressing after an hour.

“I’m down,” she smiled at him, a dimple cutting into her cheek. “What do you wanna see? The new Priscilla movie is out, I really wanna see that but we don’t have to watch that if you don’t want to,” she rambled.

“That’s Elvis’ wife right?” She nodded, “I love Elvis,” she cringed. She had a deep hatred for him and his stupid voice and stupid hair. She vowed to never step foot in Vegas because of him. “Let’s do it. Check the times, do you wanna go after work so you’re not staying out too late?”

“Oh yeah that’s actually perfect.”

He grinned back at her, “perfect. It’s a date.”

He got up before she had the chance to correct him; it was absolutely not a date.

+++

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, buttoning up a crisp white shirt. He had returned home from his morning jog and worked out for a little over two hours before getting in the shower and readying himself for the day. No meetings planned, which he was thankful for. He just had to foresee a shipment coming in from Arizona, some of the finest coke he had ever seen was set to come in today and he didn’t trust anyone enough to not tamper with the sweet white powder. Jax, Daniel and Lee met him in the hallway, ready to take him to the warehouse, while the rest of his men were already on their way.

“Morning, Mr. Styles,” one of the burly men greeted him, Harry didn’t bother to respond to the greeting, instead looking to Jax to inquire about his angel.

“She was dropped off at 5:45 this morning, I watched her go inside with the new waiter. She texted me she doesn’t need a ride home but I’ll still check the area out when she’s set to be off,” Harry’s neck almost snapped with the way he turned so quickly.

“What? Did she say why she doesn’t need a ride home?”

Jax shook his head, “She didn’t, sir.”

“Show me the texts,” he stopped in his tracks, his hand reaching out, waiting for the phone to be placed in his palm. Jax hesitated. Harry narrowed his eyes at him becoming impatient. “Show me the texts, now.” Jax reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone and tapped on the screen before handing it over to Harry.

Y/n 🐇☁️

Ross said he can give me a ride today:) love u see u in the morning

Harry reread the message four times over, his heart caught in his throat. He turned the screen off and gave the phone back to Jax, turning on his heel to walk out to the car. He settled in the backseat, Lee next to him, while Jax and Daniel sat in the front.

He sat staring out the window, the car not even moving yet. His breathing rapid, his heartbeat similar to one of a rabbit getting caught in the grip of a hawk.

He broke the uncomfortable silence, “Is Ross the new waiter?” Jax nodded, nonverbal. “He seems interested in her?” Again, the man nodded, not daring to say anything more thinking it would just piss him off further. But Harry wasn’t angry, he was more hurt than anything. He knew he had no right to be upset in any way, afterall he walked out on her, but it still didn’t sit well with him. “What time is she set to be off today?” He turned, looking at the man in the passenger seat.

“Scheduled off at 2:30, but depends on if she’s finished with her tables. She's still training the new waiter so it could be longer than that. She said he’s not very good,” Jax threw the last bit in there to appease Harry. It worked.

“You’ll switch cars for the day, you can take the beemer, I want to see her make it home safe.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

+++

Y/n and Ross made their way out of the diner, headed to his beat up little car (he swore it was the coolest “ride” and that the ladies “loved” it). He would take y/n home so she could change and lend him one of her oversized shirts, offering him that after they made the plan to go right after work thinking he’d be uncomfortable in a food stained sweater. He declined the offer at first but after he spilled a copious amount of coffee and syrup on him, he asked if it was still on the table.

Harry and Jax sat in the heavily tinted Beemer watching the pair as they walked out of the double doors and into the piece of shit, as Harry put it. He was fuming, his foot tapping against the carpeted mats of the car as he clenched his jaw, Jax thought he was closing to breaking a few teeth or the mandible all together. The two men followed them as they made their way to y/n’s.

Harry hadn’t been in this area in a week's time; he had been following Jax in that very car, watching to make sure she was actually making it safe to her little home.

He watched as he parked his car on the street, and watched as they walked up the stairs and stood at the door for him to unlock it. That made him even more angry, how was she so comfortable with a man she barely knew to allow him in her apartment?

The chiming of bells rang through her apartment as she pushed open the door.

“Bells?”

She nodded, “I’m a girl living alone, kinda a necessity,” she shrugged, setting her keys down. “Thirsty?” He shook his head.

“Ya know something’s really gotta be done about that.” She looked at him, a confounded look on her face.

“What?”

“Like women are scared to live alone, that’s, like, really shitty. And pads and tampons should be free.” She stared at him, her head cocked to the side before shaking her head and approaching her dresser.

“I have a few sweaters you can borrow too if you’re cold,” she reached into her pajama drawer and pulled out an old Jimi Hendrix shirt she had purchased at a record store from her hometown years ago. The neckline was fraying and the graphic design was barely dark enough to where it was easy to make out.

“Yeah, I’ll take one if that's alright,” he smiled at her, holding the t-shirt up in front of him. “Do you actually like Hendrix or is this just like a hand-me-down?”

She rolled her eyes, going through the bin of sweaters she had, trying to find one that would actually fit his lanky, but tall, frame. “Yes, I actually like him, asshat. I have Are You Experienced on vinyl,” she nodded her head to the turntable that sat in the corner, near her bathroom door. A collection of vinyl growing dust sat on the bottom shelf of the stand it sat on.

“Damn my bad, cupcake.” She hated that. She hated how he called her ‘cupcake’ or ‘sweetie’. She hated how it sounded, hated how it made her feel, hated how degrading it was. She handed him a plain gray sweater, saying nothing, not making eye contact. “Thanks,” he took it from her, his hand grazing hers in an unnecessary manner. Without warning, he pulled his shirt over his head and fumbled with the t-shirt she had handed him. He was just standing in her room basically half naked.

“Oh,” she said, turning around and facing the opposite of him. He laughed from behind her. She wished she had chosen her alone time. Or at least asked to see the movie later in the day as she was going on nine hours of being with the boy.

“I’m decent now.” She turned to face her dresser again, filing through her shirt drawer looking for a long sleeve to wear under her sweater. Even with the chilly fall weather, movie theaters cranked their ac all the way up. “I’m gonna change in the bathroom,” she shut the door after getting the last word of her sentence out, thankful to have a moment to herself.

While she was undressing her upper half, she heard a pounding on the door, the bells clanking against the wood. “Hey are you okay?” she shouted.

“Yeah,” he yelled back to her, “there’s some guy at your door, should I open it?”

Some guy? She couldn’t think of anyone who would drop by randomly on a Tuesday afternoon, other than Jax but he knew she didn’t need a ride so it couldn’t have been him, right?

��Gimme a sec,” she tugged her long sleeve over her head and opened the bathroom door, pulling her hair out of the neckline.

She covered the eyehole for a moment before briefly looking into it, but someone was covering the other side of it. She glanced back at Ross, shrugging her shoulders, silently asking what she should do.

“Here, I got it,” he approached her and she stepped back to give him some space. He cracked the door open slightly, just enough space for his head to be visible from the other side. “Hey can I help you?”

The door was pushed open, Ross groaning at the force from the man on the other side. Harry stomped his way in the apartment, looking around the space before his eyes landed on her. His gaze softened. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

“Dude, you can just fucking come into someones house man,” Ross said from behind him. Harry rolled his eyes, turning to face the significantly smaller boy.

“Don’t fucking call me dude, who the fuck are you?” Harry yelled as he approached him, towering over him and backing him into the wall.

Ross swallowed, his back hitting the brick wall. “I-uh, who are you?” he retorted, Harry chuckled.

“What are you doing here?” y/n spoke up, taking a step closer to him. Harry turned, locking eyes with her again.

He didn’t have an explanation that didn’t make him sound insanely jealous and possessive of someone who wasn’t even his. “I, y/n, I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I’m sorry.”

“Can we go outside for a second?” Harry nodded, his hand on the doorknob waiting for her to come with him. He closed the door behind him. She didn’t say anything, a sad look on her face.

Harry’s hand twitched beside him, wanting so desperately to pull her into him to hold her or even to touch her cheek again. She poked at the chipped nail polish on her nails.

“I still haven’t made any banana bread,” she broke the silence. A smile made a home on Harry's lips.

“Hmm, that’s exactly why I came, how’d you know?” she smiled up at him, a gleam in her eyes. Harry’s smile wavered. His hands twitched again, his subconscious begging him to run, begging him to stay far away from the sweet angel that stood in front of him.

“ ‘S just a guess,” her head dipped down again, her arms coming to wrap around her torso as the autumn air nipped away at her.

They stood in silence for a moment, none of the two knowing what to say after weeks of no contact. Harry felt he couldn’t ask her about the morning shift or about the things Jax has told him about her life recently; he wasn’t invited into that part. Rather, he uninvited himself to that part of her life when he sent he Jaxs information then proceeded to go back and forth with blocking and unblocking her number.

“We’re going to see Priscilla, it starts pretty soon.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t know you were an Elvis fan.”

“I’m not,” she was quick to disprove the claim, “it’s not about him, it’s about his child bride.” Harry chuckled.

“Hm, I’m not too fond of the ‘Viva Las Vegas’ bastard either,” she smiled, wryly. “I’ll head out then, I hope you enjoy your night,” he turned on his heel, she followed behind him, meeting him at the stairs.

“Harry,” he turned, surprised with how close she was. “If you’d like, um, you can come over after I get home.”

“I’d love to,” he grinned at her.

“Harry?” They were so close to each other.

“Yes?”

“You promise you’ll come back?” His heart broke, practically shattered at that. He shook his head fervently.

“Yes. Yes, y/n, I’ll come back once you tell me to.”

“I’ll see you soon, Harry.”

“I’ll see you soon, y/n.”

Harry descended down the stairs, she stayed in her spot, peering over the railing to watch him walk away. She hoped he’d keep his promise. The front door to her apartment creaked, Ross peeking his head out, warily.

“He gone?” she nodded, heading back into her space. “Who was that? He’s scary as shit, cupcake. How do you know him?” he asked, bewildered by the mysterious man who practically burst into her home.

“Ya know that friend who owes me a favor?” He nodded. “That’s him. He’s kinda temperamental, I’m sorry,” a pursed smile was sent to him as an apologetic gesture.

“Kinda is an understatement, sweetheart.” There it was again. A nickname coated in degradation. One she hated coming from him, but if Harry or Jax had said it, it would absolutely be and feel different.

“Are you ready to go, I’m sure we’re gonna miss all the trailers and you know what’ll happen if I don’t get my blue and red Icee.” she joked.

“First, I truly doubt something bad is going to happen to the county of Placerville and second its blue raspberry and cherry. Not blue, not red.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah whatever, let’s go dipshit.” His laugh boomed through the room as she picked her keys off the counter.

+++

Y/n was sobbing. Her heart caught in her throat as Elvis was forcing Priscilla to pack a bag to take to her parents after she confronted him about finding a love note in his jacket pocket. He was terrifying and the movie just reinforced how poorly she thought of the beloved singer.

A hand grazed her knee, finding a place on her thigh. She was stunned, not daring to move her leg in any way. The thumb moving from side to side, a reassuring gesture, sure, but coming from someone she didn’t think of in any way other than a coworker; it was unwanted, unjustified. She swallowed back the acid building in her throat and reached for her watered down Icee, sipping on the cool liquid. She still hadn’t moved the hand and she wouldn’t for the remainder of the film, far too scared of potential consequences.

A flood of relief washed over her when the movie ended and the lights returned. A halo of light above their heads woke the sleeping boy next to her.

He stretched out, “ ‘s over?” she nodded.

“I take it you weren’t a fan?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think I was the target audience,” he shrugged, “you liked it?”

She nodded, “I loved it.”

They stood from their seats and headed for the exit, she tossed her melted Icee remnants and popcorn before they exited the building entirely. It was completely dark out and pouring. They ran to his car, trying to outrun the downpour embracing them.

Silence covered them as they sat in the car, the heater spat out cold air before finally heating the space to a more comfortable temperature. He put the car into reverse and sped out of the parking lot. Soft indie music played through the speakers, no artists y/n had particularly liked but she wouldn’t complain as she wasn’t the one driving.

His hand found a home on her thigh again, higher than the previous unwanted gesture was. She glared down at it for a moment before grabbing his hand in between her thumb and pointer finger, moving it so it sat on the gear shift instead. He chuckled.

“Sorry, thought it was fine since,” he turned to glance at her before looking back out the windshield, “you didn’t move it earlier.”

She stared at her hands in her lap, swallowing the saliva building up in her mouth. “I, um,” she pulled her lips into her mouth for a moment, “I’m not really interested in you like that. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” he took a sharp breath, before laughing. “I’m really bad at reading people. I’m sorry, I got the wrong idea.” Relief washed over her.

“No don’t worry, I’m also extremely passive and I can’t really express myself like I should, I don't know.”

“Well, it's both our faults then,” he smiled at her and she sent one right back.

Harry watched as he put his car into park, having made it back to her apartment complex before them as his car went much faster than his beat up civic. He watched as y/n reached over the middle console to hug the boy and watched as she got out to ascend the stairs. Now he would simply wait to get a text to invite him up.

Y/n opened the door, greeted by her bells, and flicked on the lights. She ran around her studio, trying to tidy up quickly, and lit a pumpkin spice candle before running into the bathroom to take a quick shower, desperate to wash the rain scent off her (and Ross’ lingering touch).

Harry sat in his car, his fingers dancing along the dashboard impatiently as he wondered what was taking her so long. Naturally, his mind went to the worst case scenario; someone broke in and is holding her hostage or she fell and twisted her ankle and is screaming on the floor from the debilitating pain or-.

His phone chimed, her message casting a glow onto his face.

Y/n:

i’m home now you can head over whenever:)

His anxiety was alleviated from her text message, a confirmation of her safety and wellbeing. He immediately got out of his car, the warmth from the heated seats almost disappeared instantly with how cold and wet it was. And like her, he ascended the stairs to knock on the door.

On the inside, y/n was confused by the knocking, not realizing it was Harry with how quickly the knocking happened after she sent the text. She peered through the peephole and immediately opened the door, not wanting him to stay in the cold much longer. The bells on the handle sang.

“Bells?” She nodded. “Hm.”

“It’s a safety thing, I guess.”

“You don’t feel safe?” He stepped closed to her as she shut the door behind him.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t feel safe, I just wanted extra precaution,” she shrugged.

“If you don’t feel safe I’ll have Jax stay in the area and have hourly check ins or we can relocate you or-”

“Relocate? Harry, no it’s not that big of a deal I just wanted to be able to hear the door from the shower.” Harry glared at her.

“Not that big of a deal? Y/n, your safety is a huge deal.”

“Can we drop it? Please, I don’t want to talk about it,” she approached her bed and sat down, picking up a decorative pillow to mess with the trim.

Harry sighed and sat next to her on the bed, moving her hair from her face. She looked at him, the glimmer in her eyes returning. The little voice in Harry’s head returned, even louder, shouting at him to leave her alone; to get out of there and never look back.

“We can drop it, but you need to tell me if you ever feel unsafe, little lamb, understood?” She nodded. “Y/n,” he said in a warning tone, “tell me you understand, please.

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Yes, Harry, I understand.”

“Thank you.”

“How’d you get here so fast?” Harry froze, trying to come up with an excuse but blanking, just staring at her for a minute while his mind went a million miles an hour. “Harry?”

“I, I kinda just stayed in the parking lot while you were gone.”

She laughed. “No way, you waited more than two hours? Just sitting in your car?” he hesitantly nodded, a blatant lie.

He absolutely did not wait in his car outside of her apartment. He followed them to the theater, bought himself a ticket to the same movie, and sat at the very top with his head low, and watched them the entire time. He watched as her shoulders shook from crying, watched as she ate her candy and drank her Icee, watched when the boy she was with, whose name he never bothered learning, placed his hand on her lap. He watched them leave the theater with anger coursing through him.

“You didn’t have to do that, Harry.” He shrugged, not caring to continue this conversation.

“Why are you on mornings now?”

She sighed, “I got scared,” her tongue was thick in her mouth, scared to cry again if it resulted in him leaving once more and ending contact for another month. His hand met her back, lightly rubbing the tender flesh beneath his rough hand. Her hands fumbled with the zipper on the pillow. “The night we met really freaked me out. Like when you left, I swore someone was still here watching me. It was freaky. And the next morning I was so drained, I think that's why I forgot Jax was coming to get me. And then the time changed and I got even more scared cause I would just basically be working in the dark the entire shift and I don’t know I just psych myself out sometimes,” she ended her tangent, partially forgetting to breathe throughout it.

Harry’s hand moved to tangle in her hair, slightly gripping the strands between his fingers, before removing his touch from her all together.

“And you forgot your phone,” he joked, a soft smile on his lips.

She pulled her lips in her mouth, exhaling a laugh through her nose, “and I forgot my phone.”

Silence dawned on them once more. A comfortable one, neither needing to speak as they basked in each other's presence.

She scooted closer to Harry, her head making contact with his shoulder. Harry gulped at the contact, unsure of what to do with himself. His hand raised, touching her cheek gently. They sat there, in silence, for what felt like an eternity. A comfortable, blissful eternity.

She had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her breathing became evenly paced and softer. Harry laid her down under her sheets, and saw himself out after kissing her forehead and blowing out her candle.

+++

Y/n was having an okay day, nothing bad had happened at work, so far. No rude customers, no shitty tips and best of all, no training needed to be done. So, yes her day was going well. Until she received a message from Harry saying they needed to have a talk and that he’ll be picking her up. He was consistent with punctuation, but the period at the end of his sentence horrified her. She was a sweaty, anxious mess her entire shift.

She reread the message every ten minutes. Time was moving so slow. Her anxiety was eating away at her, like it had been starving for months and had finally found a body to ravage to satiate the hunger. She had four cigarettes during her shift.

Harry leaned against the passenger door of his car, waiting for y/n’s shift to end. She could feel his eyes on her every time she passed by the window at the front to attend to her last table, she knew he was watching her; he was so attentive. It made her sick.

When her shift finally ended, after what felt like an eternity and a half, y/n pushed the doors open and made her way to Harry. He looked down at her with a smirk. She hoped he couldn’t see her throat bobbing while she swallowed down the excess saliva building in her mouth.

“Ya kept me waiting, little lamb.” he opened the car door for her and she could feel her coworkers staring out the window at the pair.

“‘M sorry.” She sat on the heated seat, placing her bag on the floor between her feet. Harry leaned over her to connect her seatbelt. “Thank you,” she muttered before Harry closed the door.

“How was your shift?” he asked as he buckled himself in.

“S’fine.” she mumbled.

“Angel,” her heart pounded against her sternum, you could practically hear her heartbeat in the silence. “What have I told you about mumbling?”

She bit her lip, gnawing on it before answering. “You don’t understand it.” she practically whispered.

“That’s right, little lamb. Now, why do you keep doing it?”

She could cry, sob and dry heave even. Fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness as if she had angered a god. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.” she fiddled with her fingers. Harry’s hand grabbed her own and pinched the inside of her palm, a squeal escaping her lips. He laughed.

“Don’t apologize, ‘m just messing with you,” he smiled at her as he parked his car, already at her complex. He was quick to undo his seatbelt and get out, running to her side to open the door for her. “After you.” he gestured to the stairs, allowing her to go in front of him.

She opened the door, her bells greeting the two. She stood by the door as Harry took a seat in her chair (it finally was free of clean clothing).

“Can you tell me what you want to talk to me about? Please?”

“Eager?” she nodded.

“More scared than anything.” her breathing was heavy.

“Oh, my sweet lamb.” remorse covered his face, so sorry and upset he had made a literal angel wait in apprehension. He stood from his spot on the chair and moved to stand before her. Without hesitation, he held her face in the palm of his hand, her nuzzling into the warmth of his touch. “I’m sorry I scared you, didn’t mean to, angel.”

“S’okay, Harry, I know.”

“Sit with me,” he removed his hand from her face, instead reaching for her hand to sit with him on the chair. He sat and patted his lap, an invitation for her.

“There’s not enough space for the both of us.”

He tugged on her arm, “s’fine, just sit.”

“Harry, that chair is 100 years old, I’m not breaking my favorite antique piece.”

“Y/n,” his tone laced with warning.

“Harry,” she whined back. “Just sit on the bed with me please.” she pouted.

And, of course, Harry would give in, standing up with her hand still in his and sitting on the bed to please her. Their thighs were touching with the proximity of their bodies, y/n hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat or feel the sweat coating her palm.

“Can you tell me now, please.” she rested her head on his shoulder, Harry could hear her pouting as she spoke.

He sighed, squeezing her hand in his. “I feel very,” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts so as to not scare her with how he truly felt. “I feel very protective of you, y/n.”

“Wow that’s a shocker,” she interrupted, sarcastically.

“Y/n” he warned, again.

“Sorry. Go ‘head.”

“No interruptions, please.” she nodded, “Good girl.” she grinned, “I feel very protective of you and I thought leaving you alone would make it not as intense but it definitely only made it worse, angel. I just, I need to know you’re safe and okay and I have no idea why but I just need to know. Your safety means so much to me, your wellbeing.” he swallowed, taking in a shaky breath. “I need to tell you, or warn you, about what I do.”

She lifted her head, making eye contact with him, a puzzled look replacing her previously smitten expression.

“I kinda sell drugs.” Still, she maintained eye contact. He looked at her, waiting for a response.

“Is that it?”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“You sell drugs?” he nodded. “Oh okay.”

Still, Harry stared at her, bewildered by her nonchalant response. “You’re okay with that?”

“Harry, there’s like ten people in this town with nothing to do, literally everyone deals or buys. Not a big deal.” she shrugged a shoulder, her fingers messing with his rings.

Still, he stared at her, his expression growing concerned. “It’s not just weed, y/n.” She laughed, his eyes were bulging, his jaw slack and a furrow in his brow.

“I can assume it’s not just weed, you won’t be making much with just weed here.”

“Your casualness with what I’m telling you is concerning.”

Her smile faded, “I'm sorry, what do you want me to say?”

He ran his hand through his hair, dropping his gaze to their hands entwined. “I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you to be so calm.”

“I used to do coke,” she shrugged. Harry’s eyes snap to hers, squeezing her hand a little more. “I had really bad issues maybe, like, last September. It was really bad, the withdrawals were insane but one of my friends' brothers had, um,” she swallowed down the acid building in her throat. "He got some laced with fent and he passed. My friend only got worse because of it and the guy who sold him it didn’t even care, he was just like ‘well that happens sometimes’, such a fucking asshole like he had just killed someone and that didnt even spark anything in him! I stopped after that cause I was so scared,” she admitted. “My friend never got better, he had to move in with his parents and they forced him to go to rehab but that didn’t even help.”

“I’m sorry.” was all Harry could offer.

She looked up at him through her lashes, “I trust you, Harry. I do. But if you’re selling anything laced,” she shook her head, her breathing picking up.

“I’m not, angel I promise I’m not, I’d never.” he let go of her hand, placing both hands on the sides of her face, forcing her to look at him.

“If you ever work with Liam Payne I’ll kill you.” He laughed at her threat, the name going over his head at the idea of a girl her size trying to cause harm to a man of his stature. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m being serious, Harry. If you ever work with him I’ll never wanna see you again. Liam is a terrible person. I don’t want you to get involved in that too.”

He deadpanned, “Liam Payne?” she nodded. “How do you know him?”

“Who do you think sold the laced batch?” Harry was furious. He removed his hands from her face, standing up and letting out a frustrated groan. “What’s wrong? Do you know him?”

“No,” he responded immediately. “Never met him, Niall was telling me about him. There was a shootout the other day and we think it was him, probably was that stupid fuck. He could be the reason we fucking get caught! Fuck!” he shouted, the girl flinched, her gaze returning to her hands.

“I'm sorry I brought it up, I didn't mean to make you mad at me.”

He stared at her, his breathing heavy. She couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t dare to make eye contact with him out of fear of him taking it out on her. She knew deep down, however, he would never lay a finger on her; never cause any harm to her whatsoever. But the thought was still prevalent.

“ M'not mad at you, never at you, little one. Look at me,” she looked up at him, her eyes meeting the green ones she adored. He sat back on the bed, taking her face in his hands one more. “not at you at all. Promise.” she nodded, grabbed his hands from her face and nuzzled her face into his neck, her hands gripping his jacket. “I’m sorry for scaring you, won't do it again.” he apologized as he rubbed her back.

“Thank you.” she kissed the side of his neck, momentarily feeling his pulse with her lips. Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest.

Harry wished he could stay like that forever, with her warmth against his, her face nestled in his neck. Peace was finally in his grasp, holding onto it so delicately like a fine piece of china, far too scared to drop it and destroy the delicate art, but it was never in his nature to be deft. He’d take what he could get, and if this was all he would be offered, he would accept it with open arms and a half empty heart. He longed to be full again.

and know that one day, you and I could be okay.

tags: @tiaamberxx @jerseygirlinca @n0vaj3an @tpwk-mia @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921 @love-letters-to-uranus @ribbonknives @annesauriol @moneybaby07

if your @ is in red the tag doesn’t work. thanks for reading and supporting ₊˚⊹♡

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kscheibles · 1 year

Text

let me come home (illicit affairs part i)

content warnings: f! reader, angst, fluff, smut, sex toys, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex m receiving, oral sex f receiving, drug mentions (weed and ecstasy)

word count: 3.7k

Your sneakers squeak on the pristine tile floor of the hotel lobby as you hurry to the elevator. With your hoodie over your head, you look down at your phone.

“1221” says the most recent text. You whip your head up long enough to smile at the elevator attendant and tell him where you’re headed. Inside the small box, you feel flustered; claustrophobic with excitement and anxiety and anticipation. When you reach the twelfth floor, you dart out quicker than is polite and look behind you as you scan the room numbers in front of you. 17, 19, 21. You look to both sides again before knocking twice. Finally, the door swings open and you’re face to face with a jogger-clad Matty. He looks soft around the edges, worn-out. It’s probably the jet lag. He beams at the sight of you and you push past him into the room.

“Did you get the pigs in a blanket?” you ask him once you’ve left your shoes at the door. His face falls and his brows furrow.

“What kind of greeting is that?” he returns. You look at him blankly in a stalemate.

“They said it will be 45 minutes,” he relents. Your face lights up and you greet him with a kiss on the cheek. And the neck. Matty wraps his arms around you and leans down to kiss the top of your head. The sweet floral scent of your hair fills his lungs, intoxicating him more than any joint or drink could.

“Not to get you all riled up, but I sprung for some orange juice as well,” he says into your hair. You chuckle good-naturedly and lean up to meet his lips in a homecoming kiss. Your skin begins to sing as he kisses you back insistently, parting your lips with his tongue. You whimper softly at the euphoric feeling, already beginning to spread to your head and limbs.

“Think we can go for a round before they come up with it?” you ask conspiratorially.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” he replies. You’re smiling as he picks you up by your bum and carries you to the king sized bed, plopping you down unceremoniously in the middle. You move towards the top of it and shrug your hoodie off, revealing a red lace bra. Matty moves to cover you with his body as you get comfortable, your head against the plush, cold pillows.

One of his hands moves to trace the outline of your bra, flesh strains against the delicate fabric, practically begging to be released. He licks his bottom lip absentmindedly and his hand fully envelops your breast.

“Fuck, all this for me?” he asks. You roll your eyes.

“Obviously,” you smile back at him.

“You spoil me sweetheart. So fucking gorgeous,” his words are like syrup, sticky and sweet. They coat your tongue with sugar and go to straight your head. They linger in your mind when he's gone. You wish you could bottle them or press them into vinyl. Play them for your family and friends. Look, this is real. I’m his. A pang of hurt hits you right behind the eyes.

Matty is pressing soft, chase kisses to the exposed flesh on your chest. He looks so content– at home. Are you each others' homes?

“You okay baby?” he looks up at you, all pink lips and flushed skin and blown-out pupils, “you’re not taking the piss out of me for being sentimental.” His words make you chuckle, and snap from your melancholia. Your hands find his soft brown hair in answer to his question.

“I’m perfect. Fuck, keep going please,” his hands are around your back in no time, fumbling with the clasp of your bra. You arch your back to grant him more access and he groans at the feeling of you pressed into him. The euphoria clouds his mind and his fingers move uselessly behind you. You move your hand to cover them.

“Here, I got it,” you chuckle.

“No. Fuck, please let me. You went to all this effort, I wanna unwrap you myself,” he finally undoes the clasp and you lift your arms as he peels the garment off of you, brushing his lips down your arm as he does. Your breasts, once held up perfectly by the lingerie, flatten on your chest, you look down at them. Matty catches you looking.

“Don’t worry, they’re perfect,” he kisses the valley between your tits, right next to your heart. “Perfect, perfect,” the movements of his mouth massage the soft flesh of your right breast as he moves further in. “Perfect,” he says and captures your right nipple in his mouth, immediately swirling his tongue around it, wetting you completely. His teeth close softly around the bud and just when you think you’ve got him figured out, he replaces them with his lips, sucking devotedly at you. Your skin is on fire and he’s the only one who can extinguish it. You know he’ll bring you right to the edge of burning down before he does.

You arch up into the feeling of his warm mouth and have a moment of clarity long enough to realize he’s still in his t-shirt. Your hands move to the hem and push it up his rigid stomach.

“Off, off, off,” you say deliriously. It’s meant to be sexy, but it comes out whiney, needy. Why are you always so needy?

Your thoughts are cut off by the sight of his fair skin littered with tattoos, passing thoughts he’s memorialized on his body. Your lusty eyes devour him and all of the sudden you need more control.

“Switch with me,” you demand. He obliges without a word and you take your leggings off as he shuffles around on his back. You move back over him, now clad only in a red thong that barely functions as underwear. Matty notices it at the same time you do: you’ve left a wet mark on his gray sweatpants where you straddled him. He reaches down to touch the damp fabric between your thighs, warm and inviting. He plays with the lace, pulling it up so it rubs deliciously between your folds and roughly on your clit. Your head falls back and you begin to grind against his hand as he moves the fabric back and forth, finally gathering the friction you came here for. His fingers wander down to your hole and push tentatively into you. He’s only halfway in when he pulls them out. Your eyes snap up to him annoyed. He offers you a conciliatory glance.

“Can I eat you out?”

You’re appeased. You dismount him to shuck your last stitch of clothing off. As you crawl back up his body, his eyes catch yours.

“You thought I was gonna be mean? What on earth would make you think that?” Your mind’s eye flashes back to a reunion a month ago, your hands tied beautifully above your head as Matty edged you cruelly with a vibrator. Come and get it, greedy girl. The obscenities echo in your head. You blush at the thought and at his taunts.

“Shut up,” you say timidly, and cover his face with your wet cunt. He’s got his arms around your thighs and his tongue slicing up between your folds, treating you to a variety of sensations as he pays attention to each sensitive part of you. Your hands come up to brace yourself against the headboard as he begins to work on your clit, licking in sweet sideways strokes before sucking it into his mouth. As the pressure in your body increases, you begin to ride his face, furiously chasing your release.

“Mmmmph fuck, good girl,” the vibrations from his moans go straight into your pussy and increase your pleasure tenfold.

“Please, please stay like that. I’m gonna cum,” you warn. He releases a lengthy moan into you as you continue to chase your peak. He knows he’s the only person to have ever made you cum, and he still gets off on it every time. He moves his mouth away from you long enough for you to hear what he’s saying.

“Cum for me, please. Need you all over my face baby,” and with that he’s back in you everywhere. Hands coming to cover your backside and reach into your wetness, his tongue licking up into your hole, filling you. His nose bumps into your clit at intervals that drive you crazy. But what tips you over the edge is when he moves his hand to the bottom of your entrance, pushing gently against your back wall. You feel so full and euphoric as your orgasm washes over you, starting at the space between your legs and spreading to your chest, your fingers, your nose. You ride him through it and stop when you can’t take it anymore, breathing heavily. His fingers are still pressed inside you. He’s obsessed with knowing it’s real, feeling your heartbeat against his fingers and face. You know you can never fake it with him, and what’s more you don’t have to.

You move off of him and lay on your back. He ducks to the side to clean himself a bit and then leans over to kiss you. You put your hand on his head and move him away gently.

“My face is numb. Can’t feel you,” you say bashfully.

“Yeah?” he’s proud and smiling, eyes squinted so tight you can’t make out his irises.

“Sorry,” you say.

“Please, that’s the best reason I’ve ever heard not to kiss someone,” he grins and pulls you into his chest to come down. Your hands come up to the space below his ribs, trace his top abdominals, get lost in the sweet smattering of chest hair that covers his tattoos.

A knock at your door snaps you from your reverie. You hurry under the duvet as Matty gets up, stretching his muscular arms gratuitously before heading to the door.

The hotel worker has a table he’s wheeling around and he begins to push it into the room. Matty is quick to stop the table and wink at the guy.

“I’ll take it from here, mate thanks,” he says and hands him a $20 note. With the door finally closed, Matty rolls your midnight snack over to your side of the bed. He pours you orange juice from the carafe before crossing the room to faff about with his luggage. You watch him curiously as you sip on your orange juice, slowly feeling the weight return to your body as you replenish your blood sugar. He produces a beautifully wrapped box from his duffel.

“What’s this?” you ask. It’s not uncommon for Matty to give you gifts, but he’s always finding some way to surprise you. He’s sweet, impossibly sweet. Though you suppose it must be easy to be nice when you’re rich. You push the thought away. Nothing exists outside of these four walls. Nothing exists except us.

He gets into bed and slots himself behind you. He kisses your shoulder as he places the parcel on the covers.

“Open it,” he insists. You rip the wrapping paper eagerly and see the box of a beautiful — that’s really the only word you could use to describe it — vibrator. It’s the fanciest you’ve ever seen: pink and white and gold. You want to laugh, of course he’d make an investment when it comes to this.

“You’re crazy, this is a fancy fucking vibrator,” you chuckle and lean your head against him. He reaches over to the table and uncovers the pigs in a blanket. He feeds one to you tenderly before enveloping you in his arms.

“You know our sex is too good for second rate toys,” he states, smiling into your neck. You finish chewing and turn around in his lap before hugging him around his neck.

“All this and room service?” you tease, opening the box excitedly.

“What can I say, I’m a generous guy,” he smiles slyly, taking the box from your struggling hands, “Now hurry up and eat, I wanna use it on you.” Your heart jumps into your throat.

“I don’t need to eat, I’m ready now,” you tell him, defiant. He loves it, loves how eager you are, how badly you want him, how you treat him like he’s the only person you’ve ever had. He traces his pointer finger over your cupid's bow.

“I’m ready too, darlin’ but I need you to eat something. After that I’ll keep you up all night long. I promise,” he coos. He grabs two more bites of food and gives one to you, cheersing you before eating his whole.

—

Matty gently removes the vibrator from your swollen, red clit and gets up off the bed as he quickly rids himself of his boxers. He leans back over your face and kisses you, admiring your blissed out expression.

“Do I need to get a condom?” he knows that, with you guys, it’s not always safe to go without. He wouldn’t pressure you, but he knows you’d rather feel him wholly, if you can. Obviously, he feels the same way. You blush a little.

“I’m actually good this time. I’ve not been with anyone else,” you don’t know why you’re shy about it. Surely, he wouldn’t find that lame, would he? No, he would like it, you think. He would like that he’s the only person to have been with you recently. Maybe you’re kidding yourself. He touches your face and snaps you out of it.

“I haven’t either,” he says calmly, “don’t trust anyone like I trust you.” He climbs back over top of you and kisses you deeply, “turn over for me, yeah?”

You oblige, settling comfortably on your stomach. He moves a pillow under your hips and hikes your right leg up at an angle on the bed. You hear buzzing again behind you as Matty positions the vibrator on your clit.

“You feel good?” he asks.

“Yes,” you’re a little out of breath, dumb with anticipation, “Need you though. Need it harder.”

You feel him running up and down through your folds, almost dipping into you. You moan obnoxiously, too proud to tell him again how much you need him. It’s enough for him, he pushes into you unhurriedly, savoring the moment, relishing in every inch he stretches you. When he bottoms out, he moves his hands up beside your shoulders and whispers in your ear.

“Fuck you’re so tight. Can I move?” You nod frantically into the pillow and he begins to snap his hips into yours. You feel your heartbeat everywhere as your pleasure begins to build. Matty covers your hands in his and stretches them out in front of you, keeping you in place as he fucks you precisely. Each time he bottoms out, he presses your clit perfectly against the vibrator.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he pants in your ear. He’s dominant, but it’s sweet and the perfect mixture of submission and pride swirls around your foggy brain as you begin to float. You try to focus on one feeling at a time, his cock sliding in and out of you, his hands on yours, his warm breath on your ear, the vibrations on the tortured nub between your legs. It’s too much all together. You let yourself go, brain wiping completely as you buck senselessly against the pillow, trying to meet his hips. You cum without realizing that the feeling was creeping up on you, attacked with pleasure as you collapse on the bed in total bliss. Matty’s not far behind, watching you unravel beneath him makes his ego swell and he fucks into you even harder than before.

“I need a second,” you say. It catches Matty off-guard and he stills above you, pulling out slowly. He turns you on your back so he can see your eyes.

“You okay?” he searches your face for any discomfort.

“I’m fucking great. Just sensitive. Were you close?” you ask, suddenly concerned you’ve ruined it for him.

“Yeah, I was,” he seems unbothered. He smiles down at you. You take his hard cock in your hand and begin to pump him over your stomach. “Fuuuuuuuck,” his head rolls back, “can I come in your mouth?”

You kneel in response and push him down onto his back and take him in your mouth, bobbing up and down, wetting him completely and keeping the pressure on him. He reaches out to grab your hand as he begins to spurt into your mouth. The salty tang of him tastes like victory. You smile at him; a content, fucked out grin and then swallow. He wipes a bit left over by the side of your mouth.

“C’mere,” he whines and pulls you into him again. “Goddamn you’re so good to me.”

“Aw don’t go soft on me now, Healy,” you taunt. He groans.

“Don’t be cute. I just came, I don’t have my wits well enough about me to go toe-to-toe with you,” he responds.

“Now if only you’d admit the same about the rest of the time,” you muse.

“Cheeky,” he bops your nose. You let silence fill the room for a moment.

“How long are you here for?” you question, looking up at him. A word from him could change the course of your life, it seems. No, you’re not in love with him. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. But god it feels right with him. It makes sense that you’d want to prolong your time with him for as long as possible. You’re not you when you’re with him. Well yes, you’re you, but a freer, less encumbered you. Like you’re on vacation, or on ecstasy…or something. He makes all the hurt go away. All of the hurt is outside, and inside is a protective fort of your own making. Your shelter.

“Five days. ‘Til Sunday,” he says, “can’t stand the heat longer than that.” You know Matty hates Los Angeles. You don’t blame him, really. It doesn’t seem anything like home to him.

But it still makes you sad. That he might spend bits of his free time in other places just because he likes the atmosphere better. That he would choose to be away from you even though you feel more like home to him than any city could.

“Okay,” you say. It didn’t really need an answer. You can’t see him every day anyways. You have a job and housemates that will wonder where you are, and a mother who’s always begging you to come by for dinner. You don’t tell them about him: your booty call, the rockstar. That would go over well. Anyways, you two are the only ones who get you. Everything goes bad once it leaves the safe-haven you’ve carefully built for yourselves. Rumors and questions and judgements. You’d rather keep it all here. Where it can be perfect.

“Will you tell me about Spain?” you query as you nestle yourself back into him, pushing away the future and snuggling back into the present.

“It was fucking unreal, darlin’. You would have loved it. All these breathtaking old churches and mosques. People dancing, playing guitar, and cheering in the streets. And the food, god. I know you too well to take you there, you would eat yourself silly and then tell me you’re too full to make love to me,” he chuckles.

“That seems like an appropriate behavior on vacation,” you push back.

“It is, but I want you all to myself,” he flips the two of you onto your sides and buries his head in your chest as he squeezes you impossibly closer. “Does that make me selfish?”

His voice sounds so small when it’s coming from under the covers.

“Maybe,” you say. He looks up at you like he might be hurt, “but I’m selfish when it comes to you, too.” You consider your next words, scared to be too candid. No, you think, If anyone would want me to be honest, it’s Matty.

“I get a little rush when you tell me that you haven’t been with anyone since you last saw me,” you say tentatively.

“Me too, sweetheart. It’s different with you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. You sit up and grab the glasses off the side table and go to the restroom. You relieve yourself quickly and fill the water cups, bringing them back to bed.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say. Matty raises his eyebrows in answer as he takes a sip of water. “What does it really feel like for guys when you have sex with girls? You guys always act like it feels so good when you first put it in. Is it really like that every time?”

Matty smiles softly at your earnestness. “I thought you were gonna ask me something serious,” he teases.

“I am being serious,” you insist.

He considers you, your expression, your posture. Deciding what you want from him. The truth, he thinks. All she ever wants is the truth. He takes you in his arms.

“You know when you get back from a holiday and you get to sleep in your bed on your pillow again for the first time in weeks?” you nod along. “It’s like that, but a thousand, no— a million times better. Especially if it’s with someone you know. It’s a relief. It’s safe. It feels like coming home.” You look at him, searching for any little bit of artifice. You find none, you should know by now that you won’t find any with him. Why can’t you trust that?

“You feel like coming home, darlin’.”

You believe him. You agree. So why does it still hurt? You put your head on his chest and close your eyes.

“So do you. Thanks for taking me home.”

“Anytime.”

You know he doesn’t quite mean it—any time he’s in town, yes. Anytime he’s not with a groupie in Japan. Anytime he’s not dealing with some work obligation or visiting his family in England. But as sleep begins to crowd your brain, you let yourself take his words at face value. Anytime. Anytime. He’ll come home anytime.

a/n: please tell me your thoughts etc. I hope this brightens your day! see you all at satvb this fall <3

#matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n

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fernandopiastri28 · 4 months

Text

first serve 🎾 (pt2) ~ oscar piastri x logan sargeant

-> part 1 <-

“Yeah,” Logan smiles, tackling Oscar fully back down as he’d partially sat up. “You’re so warm,” His hands slides up under the Aussie's shirt almost mindlessly. He doesn’t go further up then his abdomen though, his hand snaking around the back of his waist to hug him close. Oscar buries his nose into the crook of Logan’s neck, his senses flooded with the sharp taste of a cologne that costs more than he earns in a year. Well. Almost. It’s his favourite scent in the whole world, sharp tones of amber and wood. If he ever has enough money at one time, he’ll buy the scent, wear it each day just to think of the blond.

warnings: slight internalised homophobia

Oscar pushes his sunglasses back up his nose, wiping the sweat that had formed from the overbearing sun. Lando fans himself with a laminated menu, dabbing at his face with the bottom of his shirt. “Can you ask your boyfriend to get us into the vip area so we don’t have to sweat our balls off every lunch break?”

Oscar laughs at that, tugging his shirt out to allow more airflow to his stomach. “He’s not my boyfriend,” He hums, squinting down to the courts below where Logan’s in the middle of a practice session, his arm whipping back and forth with each serve.

“Not yet,” Lando teases.

“Not yet,” He nods in agreement, tossing his head back to shake his hair out of his face. It is hot, Lando’s got that much right. Sweat is pooling in his armpits and likely causing a relatively embarrassing spot on his shirt. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t really care anyways. Logan certainly won't. He doesn’t care about Oscar’s exterior, just him.

Thinking about Logan gets an unintentional smile to appear on his face.

It’s not unnoticed by Lando though who’s usually pretty unobservant. “Aww, you’re blushing,” Lando strings his words out, nudging his index finger into the soft chub of Oscar’s cheek. “You like him so bad,” Oscar swats him away, hunching over to rest his elbows on the table and hopefully cover the red flush decorating his face.

His eyebrows flick upwards, his expressions mute in response to all the taunts Lando is clearly planning on throwing at him. “Obviously,” His eyebrows twist together and lips purse. “I sneak off with him during shifts to make out with him in the supply closet when his bedroom is rented out. Of fucking course I like the guy,” Lando’s face drops in pure shock.

“You what?” He shrieks, whacking Oscar’s arm about as hard as he possibly can. To Lando, Oscar is about the biggest virgin possibly. He even struggles to comprehend the fact that he and Logan have even kissed yet. Much less hookup on the daily. “That’s where you fucking disappear off to when you tell me you’re cleaning?”

His eyebrows raise up higher, a satisfied grin playing on his lips. “Yes,” His laugh is all breathy. “Not all the time, sometimes I actually am cleaning.” He insists, trying to calm Lando down slightly so his freak out doesn’t attract any unwanted attention.

“Oscar, you are such a slut,” He tuts, wrapping his mouth around the straw of his orange juice. “Not only are you dating the boss’ son, you sneak off to suck face with him.” Oscar rolls his eyes at the lewd comment.

“Not my boyfriend,” He corrects again, not bothering to say he’s wrong about ‘sucking face.’

“Didn’t deny being a slut,” The Brit stares him down out of the corner of his eye, his jaw tensed.

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he gazes off blankly to where Logan is doing cool down stretches. “Yeah, didn’t deny it,” He muses. That gets him another swift whack on his arm from Lando whose mouth is gaping open.

His voice is hushed the next time he speaks, “How far have you two gone?” He sounds genuinely curious and not as if he��s trying to taunt him. Over the past few weeks since the day he and Logan met, Oscar and Lando’s relationship had strengthened to the point that they’d consider themselves good friends and would often text and hangout outside of work.

Puffing a tight stream of cool air up onto his top lip, Oscar decides how much he wants Lando to know. “Just makeouts so far,” His head tipped slightly, barely looking at Lando. It’s true, they haven’t gone any further than shoving their tongues down each other's faces, but it wasn’t just ‘innocent’, handless makeouts or anything.

Only a few days prior, Logan had sat in the Aussie’s lap as they both only had boxers on to conceal themselves. It had been everything Oscar needed, but he worried that the American wanted, or needed, more. He’d been louder, moaning and groaning as his mouth had explored each sliver of Oscar’s exposed neck, shoulders, and chest.

He worried that Logan would ask if he could take Oscar’s underwear off, and he worried more that he wouldn’t know how to say no.

“Not even a quick handie yet?” Lando jeers. It’s clearly meant to come off as lighthearted and teasing, but it just leaves a bitter taste on Oscar’s tongue. He really likes Logan, like more than he’s ever liked anyone else before, yet at the end of the day, there’s one really big problem about Logan,

He’s a boy.

It wasn’t something Oscar initially considered a problem in actuality. After their first kiss, Oscar’s head had been spinning too hard to even think about the logistics of them together. His whole life, the thought of being gay hadn’t ever been weirded out. He’d even liked a boy before, one of his friends back in Australia, Christian. But he’d never been with Christian, and Christian certainly didn’t like boys in the way Oscar did.

Logan was the first boy Oscar had ever kissed, the first one he’d liked who liked him back. Now he felt dirty, wrong. It felt like he was doing something wrong, immoral even. Maybe that’s part of the reason he hadn’t asked Logan to be his boyfriend yet, and he was grateful he hadn’t been asked in return.

“Shut up Lando,” The corners of his smile slump, his brown eyes creasing around the corners- usually formed from a too big smile. This time, it was the face of holding back tears. He wanted to cry because he wanted to make Logan feel good in the ways Lando teased him about. He wanted to be so insanely in love with the American and not feel disgusting for loving a boy.

Lando reaches across the table, picking up Oscar’s sprite and taking a long drink without asking. He didn’t care, he had other things clouding his tension to get mad over Lando once again taking without asking. “Ouch, was it not good?” Lando scoffs, “That’s gotta hurt mate,”

Oscar sees red. His eyes burn, his body- his face, neck, all the way from his chest down to his toes burn hot. “Shut the fuck up Lando,” His voice hitches at the end of the, the rest of the sentence forced out with a harsh breath. Rough and exhausted around the edges.

The Brit’s never seen Oscar like this. Oscar who wears the most bland expressions and attempted smiles as he goes around serving tables. Oscar who’s never raised his voice. Oscar who clamps his mouth shut with tightened lips whenever a customer bugs him. He just takes it. He’s not a guy who gets explosive, nor does he swear out of the context of being humorous

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Lando reaches his hand across the table, settling down on Oscar’s shoulder that’s closer to him. “Are you guys just.. not doing those kinds of things?” The way he says it sounds like he’s being overly careful and calculated as to not coax another bad reaction out of the brunet.

Upsetting Oscar is never his goal, in reality, he just wants to make him laugh. It may be kind of embarrassing, being a year and a half older than the Aussie, he thinks he should be the one that the younger is chasing for validation, but it’s really the opposite. He wants Oscar to like him, not like how he wants Carlos to like him, but he wants Oscar to feel that they’re close enough to speak about these things. Want to tell him about all the small things going on in his life and his relationship.

He partially wants to live vicariously through Oscar. He has what Lando wants, the boy he likes to like him back. Right now he can’t help but feel like Carlos is just stringing him along for the fun of it, or even if he likes guys.

Oscar’s eyes find a piece of fleece hanging onto the hem of his work issued polo and focus on it. It’s better then looking at Lando and certainly better then spotting Logan fucking prancing around as he hits each obnoxiously neon ball across the courts with the same elegance of a primaballerina. “No,” It’s only one word, yet he manages to shorten it further, almost to the point that it sounds like he didn’t even say anything. “I- We, yeah,” He gives up trying to explain, his fingers wrapping the rope of his drawstring jeans around his joints.

Lando shoots him a sympathetic smile, as if he needs sympathy. To Lando, it’s forced celibacy, like Logan is the one resisting each sexual advance he makes. In reality, Logan’s insinuated the wanting for something more than just kissing , but has consistently immediately stopped as soon as he saw the hesitation on Oscar’s face.

The Aussie can’t help but wonder if they’ll get to a point where Logan’s asked so many times that he just gives in and puts up with the shame, or Logan will be sick of the lack of intimacy and just leave him straight up.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything with him,” Lando assures him, his thumbs pushing uncomfortably into the neon stitching on the polo’s shoulders. Neon likes tennis balls, tennis like Logan. Logan likes Oscar.

“I know that,” His voice softens, his face too. He doesn’t want to be mad at Lando, he really isn’t anyways. Maybe he’s mad at himself, maybe he’s mad at his mind, maybe he’s mad that he can’t fucking just like Logan and not hate himself for it, but he’s definitely not mad at either Lando or the American. “But, yeah. Thanks,” He doesn’t note that it sounds somewhat insincere, because it really isn’t.

Lando swallows loudly, his hands clasping together and hitting against the edge of the table to accompany it. The sigh that leaves his mouth is loud, comparable to the noise of a leaf blower. “And I’m sorry about that comment I made, it wasn’t.., yeah, wasn’t cool,” He puffs his lips out and blows a raspberry. Oscar grins in amusement, his eyes creasing in the way that he finds something funny this time.

“All good,” He slides his drink back over to himself, chewing down on the floor absently. “Also, stop stealing my drinks,” He flicks Lando’s bicep, his broken index fingernail getting caught in the fabric. His mum pesters him to cut his nails more regularly since they grow seemingly at a far quicker rate then the normal person. He keeps them long for Logan who can’t get enough of the way his nails scratch into his scalp.

Lando shrugs, his body slouching down in the overly stiff and structured chairs, “Nah, you’ve got boss’ son’s privilege, surely he gives you some kind of discount,” He hums, his cheek full of air and bulging, the way he does when he’s deep in thought. That or sticking his tongue out slightly.

“You’d be shocked that I get fuck all,” Oscar’s mouth twists downwards in a way he reckons makes him look a bit like a frog. “His dad doesn’t know about us, so me getting a bonus or raise would be sorta out of the blue,”

“Not super strange, you’re certainly a better worker than me,”

“And I’m on break half the time,”

“Yeah, can you work on that? I don’t like the extra work,”

Just as Oscar’s about to give Lando the most dramaticised eye roll- the ones that make his hurts burn, two hands slide down his chest and clasp together in the middle. It’s not a heavy touch, more just barely grazing down the fabric. Based on how the skin around Lando’s nose creases in disgust, Oscar knows exactly who’s behind him.

He tilts his head back, the crown of his head hitting against the defined abdomen of Logan. “Hey,” The American grins down at him, his blond hair nearly brown from sweat and his face filled with exhaustion from his workout. Oscar thinks he looks beautiful, and for the first time today, he truly feels at peace with how he feels for the older boy. Missed you, he murmurs, and Logan’s smile grows wider. ‘Me too,”

Lando looks like he’s about to stand up, make an excuse that he’s had enough of his lunch break and he’ll just clock back in, simply to allow the ‘couple’ to have some space. Oscar feels bad though, Lando shouldn’t have to leave each time Logan comes around. “Stay,” Oscar presses his hand to the back of Lando’s. “Please?” He mouths. It’s time for his friend and maybe soon to be boyfriend-mutual crush to become friendly.

The Brit’s eyes flick in between the pair before finally settling back into his seat reluctantly. His lips spread into a tight near grimace, his line of vision trying to only catch Oscar. “I don’t think he wants me here,” Logan murmurs, dipping down to bury his face in the Australian’s hair, a soft kiss accompanying it. “I’m gonna go have a shower, have fun with Lan,” He rubs Oscar’s shoulders, his voice void of any jealousy or condescendingness. That’s just how Logan is, always so understanding.

“No,” His hand goes to wrap around Logan’s wrist, who simply jerks it back. “Logan,” His voice is more hardened this time, his eyebrows knotting together and twisting upwards. Please, I wanna spend time with you, when you’re right next to me- everything feels so right. I need to feel right about this, Lo. There are so many words fighting to spill out of his mouth, to just completely word vomit all over the other boys, but he keeps his composure.

Logan smirks, rolling his eyes slightly. “You’ll see me later, Oz, chill out,” His hand swipes along Oscar’s fluff of hair before he sets off for his own room. The room which he and Oscar have spent endless hours in, and no offence to Lando right now, Oscar really wants to be in that room right now.

“He’s touchy,” Lando comments mindlessly as if he’s already forgotten the conversation the two of them had just before. A clipped exhale leaves his nose as he pushes the statement to the side of his mind, hopefully to never be brought back up. He likes that Logan is touchy, but Lando having to comment on every single moment the two share is beyond irritating.

Being left in a semi awkward silence after Oscar chooses to just not reply, they decide to get some food in before they clock off for the day. Some days, they end just about half an hour after their lunch break, which seems redundant, but also works out pretty well in their favour. They order two club sandwiches, Oscar keeping all the toppings on while Lando opps to only keep the cheese and all three meats.

When their meals are delivered, Lando eats more than half of Oscar’s serve of fries and all of his own obviously. Judging by the way he keeps stuffing his mouth every time he looks up and meets Oscar’s eyes, he clearly has something he wants to say. It takes until he’s crunching down on his final ice cube that he finally spits it out, “What’s it like kissing a boy?”

A lump of half chewed up white bread gets stuck on its way down Oscar’s throat. It’s thick, soaked with saliva and impossible to swallow. “Huh?” He gags around the mass, trying to cough it back up to his mouth so he can properly chew it and not suffocate.

Lando cringes, looking away as Oscar continues to heave, his back hunching over like a cat. “Is it different to kissing a girl? Better? Worse? Are their lips rougher or softer? Do they taste like boys, like is it obvious that is a b-” Oscar rests his palm on his chest, feeling it raising and dropping readily as result of his body reacting post choke.

With a quick move, he whacks his hand swiftly into the centre of Lando’s chest, pushing a wheeze past the Brit's lips. “Ow? Fuck you?” He groans, sliding down in his seat as he finally stops talking for long enough for Oscar to actually recover.

“Sorry mate, needed you to shut up and I was sort of… unable to speak,” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a string of saliva snapping when he then wipes his hand against his shirt. He sighs deeply, trying to mentally note down all of Lando’s many questions. “Uh, where’s this curiosity coming from? I thought you and Carlos were.. you know,””

The tan expanse of Lando’s neck burns a deep red, the tips of his ears tinting a similar colour. “Nah,” His hands clasp and rest in his lap, “I’m not sure if Carlos is actually.. gay,” The word sounds shameful coming out of his mouth, as if he’s not used to nor is he comfortable using it. “So, it looks like we’re dating most of the time to people, and we kind of act like we are- but I think he just sees it as a ‘bromance’ thing,”

“Shit,” Oscar’s eyes squint slightly as the setting sun hits his direct sight of vision, blinding him. He hadn’t realised how late it had gotten, and they were far over their lunch break time by this point. “Man, I’m sorry,” He reaches out an arm to rub Lando’s shoulder, about as far of physical comfort the two teenagers will go.

The older boy lurches away from the touch though, a weird smirk of humour dancing on his lips. “I’m not looking for comfort, I’m looking to know what kissing a boy feels like,” He reiterates, getting an eye roll of Oscar. Serves him right for trying to comfort Lando, Lando who can’t take a single thing seriously.

The aussie crosses his arms over his chest, slumping back against his seat and staring wistfully off into the distance. “Well, I think it probably just depends on the person,” Images and phantom feelings of Logan’s kisses blurring into kissing girls before him mix in Oscar’s mind. “I’ve only ever kissed one boy, so I can’t speak for what all boys in general feel like,”

Lando doesn’t look satisfied with the answer, understandable given how vague it had been. His cheeks puff out as he fills them with oxygen, finding a way to phrase his next question as to not offend Oscar. “Is Logan a good kisser then? Is he.. just is it different then when you’ve kissed girls?”

Oscar nods without a doubt in his mind, yes to both questions at that. It’s weird to place them together as comparisons as they’re so vastly dissimilar and unrelated. When he’d kissed girls, it was almost because he felt obliged to. In dares, at dances, during spin the bottle, games. He’d never looked at a girl and so desperately wondered what her lip gloss would taste like. With Logan, he craved to know how his hair smelt, how it would feel as he dragged his fingers through it, how his aftershave would smell as it tickled Oscar’s nostrils.

“I really like kissing Logan,” He nods again for a lack of creativity of what to do with his head. “More than I’ve liked kissing other people, but I just like Logan in general. If you genuinely like Carlos, I reckon he’ll be a better kisser than any girl you’ve kissed or any boy you might kiss that you don’t really like,” It’s not pleasant being this vulnerable and sharing so much to Lando, it isn’t even really when it’s Logan. Oscar just isn’t the type of guy who finds pleasure in divulging into each intimate aspect of his life to anyone who will listen, so rambling on about kissing his crush isn’t exactly pleasurable.

But just thinking about it is, he could easily think about Logan’s wet and sticky mouth attached to his own for years to come. Lando talks and he’s aware of it, he hears the muted rambling of his twisted British accent and sees the exaggerated movements of his mouth to match it, yet his mind is too distracted to take in any sort of information.

When his mind slowly flicks back into focus, he doesn’t pick up on a single thing Lando has been speaking about, instead becoming hyper aware of his body. His lips feel weird, his whole body does. Like an itch burying itself just below the surface. His index and middle finger reached up to his mouth, pinching his bottom lip and twisting it back and forth. It alleviates the tingle, but not overly. It’s not even an intense pain, just a dull one that can’t simply be ignored.

He needs Logan. His body is actually aching for Logan.

“Mate, you look really unwell,” Lando notices based on the way that Oscar is twitching, basically forcing himself to stay still and in his seat. Oscar does feel unwell, he actually feels hellish. The quicker he can escape this conversation, the better.

“I feel like shit,” He hums, his nails scraping against the cushion under his ass. “I need a shower, and a nap, and… nah, just those two things,” Lando gives him a knowing look, “And Logan,”

A barking laugh comes out of Lando who kicks at Oscar’s ankles until he’s pushing his chair out to get away. “Then go be with Logan, I’ll just watch the tennis and see if I can find someone better than Carlos,” There’s a satisfactory smirk on his face as he slides a pair of sunglasses down from on top of his head to the tip of his nose, a pair Oscar had somehow not seen the whole time they’d been sitting together and talking.

He doesn’t mention it though, just grabs his phone and wallet off the table, slamming a $10 bill on the table and rushing off. He’s halfway to Logan’s office/room/holiday bedroom when he realises a perk of working here is that he gets free food, meaning Lando is officially $10 richer and Oscar $10 poorer.

His fist is rapping on Logan’s door before he’s even comprehended that he’s actually made it there. There’s a shuffle that sounds on the other side, closer and closer until the door clicks open. “Hey Dad, I’m just-” Logan turns to look at who’s actually at the door and his eyes wide. “You are not my father,”

Oscar wants to make a retort of how awkward it would be if he was, but his mouth seems to have more control over his actions than his mind. His right hand grips at Logan’s mess of ungelled blond hair, the lighter ends peeking out between his fingers. His mouth is hot and heavy on Logan’s, so desperate and dominant it feels like he’s trying to consume the American.

“Fucking hell Osc,” His rough is rough and breathless, debauched around the edges, “What’s going on, baby?” Desire pools in Oscar’s stomach purely from the way Logan’s American accent melts with the word. “So needy,”

Oscar slides his hand up the blond’s shirt, light dustings of pale hair brushing against his palm. Logan’s skin is warm, so warm. He feels like a fireplace, being bundled up in a thick blanket while snow pounds outside. Oscar can’t get enough of him, he’s like a drug.

His teeth nip against Logan’s plump bottom lip, pulling a pleasured groan from his mouth. Logan’s hands trail up Oscar’s back, the touch of his fingertips sending burning shots of sinful lust through his body. “I- fuck you for leaving me with Lando, that conversation was awful,” His slender fingers clench together to trap bundles of hair between each digit, effectively helping to yank Logan off him.

He’s all blushy at the comment, unable to even pretend he’s apologetic. “Was that my punishment for abandoning you, then?” He mocks, his mouth in a twisted up grin against Oscar’s lips. A shaky nod of confirmation gets him to keep going, “You’re really shit at punishments in that case, because that was really good,” Hands grip Oscar’s hip, holding him in place to take control back over the scenario.

It’s exactly how each makeout goes, taking turns being the dominant one- fighting for control. It shows on the court too, a steadily improving tennis player of Oscar getting increasingly more eager and confident to show off to Logan, portraying himself as the epitome of professional tennis.

He might not quite have the refined talent yet, but he has the confidence to carry him for miles.

Within a matter of moments, Oscar somehow caves and gives Logan the satisfaction of leading. The older needed that, based on how his tongue mercilessly shoves into Oscar’s mouth and his lips ram aimlessly into the brunet. Logan had got him onto the bed, pinned underneath him.

His thighs bracket Oscar’s lower body, knees into the soft flesh that pads over the aussie’s hips. He won’t say it aloud, given Oscar gets all blushy, in an embarrassed and unpleasant way whenever Logan mentions just how much he likes that about his hips, but they just might be his favourite thing about the younger’s body. The softness, how squishy they are, fucking biteable.

Logan would gladly leave endless hickeys on that patch of his skin, littering the pale untanned spots of his usually covered body. Yet, those thoughts are reserved for late nights, those where he allows the sinful thoughts he has for the boy to run wild. He doesn’t want to scare Oscar away with those thoughts, keeping them hidden within the heated space his weighted blanket creates, with his heavy pants trapped underneath the sheets.

And as much as he wants to keep going, keep Oscar’s plush lips up against his own, he’s far too hard to maintain any normality, so he pushes away, struggling to get off of Oscar. “Sorry,” His voice breaks as his breathing fights to be louder. “I’m just,” They both glance down, “yeah,”

Oscar gets it, he doesn’t get angry. He’s happy that Logan’s able to articulate when they need to stop. Deep down, they probably both wish they could take it further, but there’s lingering doubt playing in both of their minds. For Logan, it’s the fear of not being accepted by others. For Oscar, it’s internal. “Do you just wanna cuddle?”

Oscar buries his nose into the crook of Logan’s neck, his senses flooded with the sharp taste of a cologne that costs more than he earns in a year. Well. Almost. It’s his favourite scent in the whole world, sharp tones of amber and wood. If he ever has enough money at one time, he’ll buy the scent, wear it each day just to think of the blond. “I’m sweaty,” He murmurs back, feeling an uncomfortable patch of sweat seeping from his polo back onto the space just between where his shoulder blades meet.

“Well, I like when you’re sweaty then. You smell good too,” He plants a peck to the top of his head, followed by another, and another, and another. Each more slobbery and wet then the last. It’s the most annoying thing he does, covering Oscar in drooling kisses that coat him in rings of spit.

“Loooo,” He groans, wiggling out of his forever tightening hold. Oscar’s only able to turn around, his back planted to Logan’s chest while he continues to be attacked by wet kisses. “Stop, that’s so gross,” Logan’s insistent, both his hands moving to link around his tummy so he can’t leave and get away from the kisses. He does however move where he leaves them, trailing down the side of his face down the side and back of his neck.

He hums lowly, his nails hitching up the thick fabric of Oscar’s shirt with ease. “Can I give you a hickey?” It’s undiscovered territory, not even something that’s met the air between them. It’s a thought Logan keeps to himself and only allows it to come to the front of his mind past midnight. But it’s so prevalent recently, being the only tangible thought that crosses his mind throughout the day.

Fuck the fear of potentially scaring off Oscar with the request- he’ll never know if he never asks.

“Y-yeah,” That’s all it takes for Logan’s lips to seal around a patch of pale skin on the back of his neck. The contact sparks goosebumps to shoot down Oscar’s arms and legs, pale brown hair sticking directly upwards. His teeth graze gently, trying to remember the last time he’d done this. He’s had next to no experience with another person, even less than Oscar, so it’s easier to think of articles he’d read about doing this in his early stages of puberty.

A pair of hands tangle up in his mop of hair, pulling him infinitely closer, “Mate,” Oscar moans. Logan finds himself back in the awkward situation from earlier with the tone of his shaking voice. His hips roll upwards, not attempting to insinuate anything, but more to alleviate the aching pressure on the area.

It must feel good for the younger boy as his hips roll back to meet the motion, the two of them acting like dogs in heat. “St-stop,” Logan laughs, pulling Oscar’s face closer to his, straining the Australian's neck who has to look over his shoulder to join the kiss. “You’re too hot Oz, I’m so hard,” It feels nice to admit that openly, especially when nothing needs to be done about it. It’s a statement, merely an observation. He’s not asking for Oscar to open his mouth or to cup his hand to help him out, and it takes off some pressure he’s been feeling.

Oscar reacts with a smile, a flattered one at that. Curiously, his gentle touch grazes the spot on his neck, wincing pleasantly at the sting. “Does it look good?” Logan examines the darkening splodge, looking satisfied with his word. It’s currently a ferrari red, but it’ll likely die down to a mauve as hours turn to days.

He’ll just need to be cautious about his fashion choices for the next week or so- opt for more sweaters and hoodies, even though the weather is excruciatingly hot. “Yeah,” It looks hot, hot enough for Logan to want to create a million more. “I like it,”

Oscar palms at the spot, his eyes fluttering shut at the singe of the bite. It’s good, insatiably good. He wants hickeys on every inch of his body if they feel this good. It would also mean being somewhat attached to Logan- mouth to skin. Now that is hot.

His arms loop back around Oscar’s waist, pulling him half onto his lap until he gives up, lying down with Oscar’s back flush to his chest. He’s able to smell Oscar’s hair like this, the sweet and sour apple scent of his shampoo and the natural clean ocean smell that is him. His mind becomes gradually more foggy, any thought besides the heavy mass of the boy on top of him is so distant.

That is until a familiar voice brings him back to life. “Logan. Hunter. Sargeant.” And it’s definitely not coming from the body ontop of him.

Fuck, shit, fuck

Shit.

Oscar’s muscles go rigid, scrambling to get off Logan from where his legs have been trapping one of the American's knees in between. He whacks the back of his neck, quickly covering up the hickey. He feels like a preteen getting caught by his parents while watching a MA 15+ or R 18+ movie, or staying up far past his bedtime playing on the switch. Yet this time, he’s getting caught on top of the boy he’s basically dating, by said boy’s boyfriend.

And worst of all, it’s his literal boss.

“Dad,” His voice comes out as a squeak, far more vulnerable and scared then Oscar’s ever heard him. He knew Logan had doubts about how and when to come out to his parents, but he knew it wouldn’t be for a while.

He’d just had that very privilege stripped from him.

Daniel looks like he’s about to say something rather harshly worded to his son until his eyes flicker to the other boy, his lips pursing and eyebrows wiggling in confusion. “Piastri?”

“Sir,”

“Oscar?”

“Yes, Sir,”

“Oscar Piastri?,”

“Yes, Sir,”

Daniel looks completely bewildered, even in the dim lighting of the room, his expression incredulous. His stare is pulled from Oscar, moving back to his son. “Logan, explain yourself,” The tone isn’t as jarring as either boy would’ve expected out of him given the situation, but it still feels Logan with dread and unease.

He wishes he could bury his face back into the tight muscles that ripple across Oscar’s back, submerge himself in the salty aroma of him and be so blissfully unaware of anything else in the world. He craves that comfort back, to be so far away from here- mentally and physically. “I don't know how,” It’s not a lie per say.

He’s not sure just how much he should go into detail about. Calling it a hookup or friends with benefits situation is crude to say to his father and insulting to Oscar, but saying their dating is a lie. His father’s face doesn’t flicker in reaction, so he has to come up with something. “Oscar and I enjoy spending time together, and we like one another,” Yeah, that’s good enough.

His father looks less than pleased, but he doesn’t look fuming. He’s not red in the face, puffing air out of his bottom lip like whenever he used to religiously watch Logan’s tennis matches, bunching his hands up into fists and yelling out each time Logan made a mistake. So, he really can’t be that mad. “Sorry Oscar, I would like to talk to my son individually,”

Oscar has never been more glad to be fully dressed. He crawls off the bed, his toes curl as his feet hit the cold hardwood floor. His instincts tell him to give Logan a little peck, a kiss to say we’ll talk soon, but it hardly feels appropriate, so he settles with giving him a final look back over his shoulder before the door clicks shut in his face.

A swirl of discomfort settles in the bottom of his stomach, and his sandwich from earlier feels as if it's about to make a reappearance. He compresses the thought, his feet quickly padding away from the door and into the storage room. Him and Logan’s storage room. There’s a few resounding smells encasing him as the door snaps closed after him- some organic peanut butter, burnt caramel, and vanilla extract from a glass bottle that had smashed during one of their mid-work/practice makeout sessions in here, leaving the brown liquid to seep into the wooden shelves below.

Oscar sinks to his knees, his back planted up against a gas tank. The room feels tight around him and how he and Logan are able to both comfortably stand in here seems impossible right now. He feels trapped, yet so comforted and safe. It’s like a hug, just too tight to the point that it’s unpleasant, yet, it is still a hug. He wishes it was one of Logan’s overbearing, too tight hugs. The ones he claims to hate, the ones he weasles his way out of, feigning hatred for public physical affection. He hopes Mr Sargeant will come around, that he’ll allow Logan to continue to spend time with Oscar.

Yet, right now, he needs fresh air, he needs to be rid of all the smells that are authentically Logan. He makes a beeline for the infamous table at which he’d seen Logan from for the first time, where he’d daydreamed about the American- watching him play on the court, where he’d been interrupted during his lunch break a few too many times with a soft kiss to his forehead. He clocks as soon as the table is in sight that the 10 dollar note he’d left Lando is still there, clearly the brit had done the right and left it.

But, it was an idiotic decision just leaving money on an abandoned table. Lucky, but so stupid.

He takes the seat he always does, the one that gives him the perfect view of the court Logan always plays at. From the distance he’s at, he can't quite see the deep smile lines he adores so much, or the piercing blue eyes that he sees in his dreams, but the golden strands on top of his head are enough of a sight to keep him absolutely enamoured.

Thinking about all of this- Oscar doesn’t think it’s the worst thing ever that people might find out about the two of them. He’d love to show Logan off, have a voice seeping with pride when he flaunts that the Logan Sargeant is all his. That’s all he wants, maybe it’s even all he’s wanted for a while.

Sitting down feels wrong, there’s still that emptiness inside of him, a buzzing distraction that’s patiently waiting for Logan to emerge from his room to give him the verdict- are they even allowed to hang out from now on?

A sinking realisation burrows itself deep in his bones, what if he loses his job over this? It’s breaking work policy, it must be. God, he’s gonna get fired, he’s gonna lose his job. There won’t be a single thing connecting Oscar to Logan- he’ll lose him. He’ll lose him before he’s even really had him.

So he does the only logical thing that he knows will calm the panic in his head. He runs down to the court, picking up a free racquet and a few lone balls, practising his serves. They’re awful, the swings are too hard and uncontrolled, sending each neon globe into varying directions. Each thwack helps return his pounding heart rate back to a normal pulse, the shallow sharp breathing he’s adapted to beginning to ease up.

He looks up to the sky, squinting to see if rain is actually falling on him or if he’s just absurdly sweaty. It doesn’t take long to realise neither option is right- he’s crying. Fat, hot tears spill down his cheeks, his quivering bottom lip pierced by his top teeth in an attempt to keep it in place. He doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to let the world know just how scared all of this makes him. Logan scares him, to a degree. He’s scared of just how much he loves the American and how much it would absolutely kill him if he didn’t get to ever be with him.

So he keeps hitting, a new feeling and compressed though coming out with each one.

Thwack, don’t leave me Logan.

Thwack, Mr Sargeant, I promise to be more attentive during work hours and take less breaks if you allow me to keep seeing your son.

Thwack, I wanna be with you Logan, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

Thwack, I wish this all made sense to me.

Thwack, I wish I wasn’t scared to be happy.

Thwack, I don’t want to experience happiness if I can’t share it with Logan.

Thwack, I love Logan. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. I. Love. Logan.

He loves Logan.

Two hands clasp around his own, guiding his swing towards the next ball the machine catapults out directly forward, an objectively perfect swing. It doesn’t a single word for him to identify just who it is. “Fuck, Lo,” He turns around without a single thought, burying his face into the older’s neck. “What did he say?”

The grin on his face speaks a million words, “He said we need to learn to lock the door, but otherwise- we’re all good, Oz,” Both of their cheeks hurt from how wide their smiles stretch across their faces. Oscar is smashing his face into the blond’s before he even realises he’s doing it. It’s their first kiss out in the open, and even though no one else is around to see it, it’s a step.

There’s so much fondness sparkling in Logan’s eyes as Oscar pulls away, his usually pale lips tinted a peachy pink, spit spread across to look glossy. “I’ll never get over those kisses,” A million small pecks follow that one, a few lasting slightly longer than the last.

Confession pricks at Oscar’s skin, forcing its way up his throat, trying to pry his mouth open and bring itself to light. He can’t hold it back much longer, nor does he want to. He isn’t willing to find himself in another situation where he worries whether he’ll have Logan ever again, “I love you, Logan,” Nothing has felt more right to say, and he’s not scared to either.

“I love you too, Osc,” Looks like Logan might be suffering from guessing whether it’s raining or not based on the clear strips staining his cheeks. His hands bunch up in Oscar’s hair, wisps of brunette hair tangling over his knuckles. “A whole fucking lot,” The world feels still when he says it, like everything he’s ever wanted has clicked into place. It’s right, it’s perfect, it’s them.

But something is missing.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

A mouth full of once braces-yielding straight teeth gleams right at him, “Yes Oscar, I would love to be your boyfriend,” He grins, pulling him back into one of the sloppy kisses he claims to hate so very much, yet there’s nothing he loves more than it right now.

Well, except for Logan.

#logan sargeant #oscar piastri #f1 #formula1 #formula one #mclaren #williams racing #lando norris #carlos sainz #loscar #logan x oscar #chat we need more loscar gifs #because i cant just use this damn one every time

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gracieheartspedro · 1 year

Text

I Can See You

PART 3 is HERE!

joel miller x fem! reader

Hi lovers! Sorry this took so long, life got busy and ADHD is a bitch. But here it is! My next post will probably be a different drabble/one-shot. If you have any requests, PLEASE hit me up! I am open to a bunch of different ideas!

Word count: 3k+

Warnings: MINORS DNI! 18+ pleaseeee, DBF! Joel, age gap-ish (the reader is 25, Joel is 39), joel is a bad cook, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, tons of dirty talk.

Outline: She gets invited over for dinner and a movie night? Just a movie, huh?

PART 1 PART 2

“So Joel told me he’s coming over today,” Dad says from across the dining room table as I eat my breakfast, “With Sarah?”

I stop and chew slower, trying to hold back a smirk.

Ever since we fucked in the conference room, I’ve been texting Joel every day. Sometimes it was naughty sexts and other times it was him asking how my day was going and what my weekend plans were.

A couple of days ago, he called me instead of texting, which was odd. He asked if Sarah could come swim in our pool because she wouldn’t stop asking about it.

So I agreed, telling him that Saturdays were the best day for me. I also told him he had to be around just in case anything happened and I wouldn't be 100% liable for Sarah’s well-being.

“Yeah, I told her she could come over and swim in the pool. She wanted to practice her backstroke.”

He smiles, “Nice for you to have her over, but are you okay with it just being y’all? I can stay home from this conference so I can entertain Joel.”

I shake my head quickly. Maybe a bit too quickly.

“No dad, it’s fine,” I take a sip of orange juice, “They will only be here for the afternoon. It’s not worth you missing two days in Houston. You need to go.”

He takes my word for it and hurries to finish his breakfast. He should’ve left at 6am, but here we are at 10 and he’s still not left. I texted Joel under the table as soon as he took his plate to the sink.

Pops is still here. You and Sarah are welcome as soon as he leaves.

I bring my half-finished eggs to the trash, scooping them into bin.

“Do you need me to leave my credit card?”

I shake my head, “No, it’s fine. Joel is buying us pizza in return of allowing Sarah to use our pool.”

“You better not have told him we needed something in return of using the goddamn pool,” Dad fusses, “He is always welcome to it. God knows you hardly use it.”

I roll your eyes, “No, I didn’t say that to him.”

I actually told him that he could bend me over the kitchen counter in return for using the pool.

I feel my phone buzz.

From: Joel Miller

Can’t wait to see you, baby.

–

Dad left, and not even an hour later, Joel pulled up with Sarah in his truck. He was sporting some black swim trunks and gray t-shirt. Sarah giddily got out of the truck, sporting a pink one piece and flip flops. She hurried to the door, where she found me sporting the skimpiest bikini I owned.

It was a red triangle bikini top and the cheekiest bottoms in my collection. Something very casual.

Sarah gave me a warm smile, racing into the house and to the back sliding doors. It’s like she knew exactly where to go. Joel took his time grabbing their stuff. I lean against the door frame, taking him in.

As soon as his eyes met mine, his eyes quickly averted down my body. He creeps closer, slinging his towel over his shoulder.

“Evil,” He mutters walking pass me, “You can’t be doin’ this around Sarah.”

I smile, shutting the door behind him. He looms over me and I get a whiff of sunscreen.

“Doing what?” I ask innocently.

He glances into the back yard where Sarah is already getting ready to jump into the pool. He’s making sure she’s not watching.

His arm wraps around my waist, grabbing onto my bare ass. I feel very small when I look up at him. His brown eyes bore into mine.

“You sure are lucky that my Sarah is here, because if she wasn’t,” He pauses, “I’d take you right in front of the window here.”

He gestures to the window right by the front door.

“But you’d like that wouldn’t you? Show the neighborhood who’s pussy this is.”

His hand rests right above the hem of my bottoms. I bite my lip. He knows what to say to make my brain melt and my words jumble together. But it’s a game.

I needed the chase, it made everything with Joel so much more satisfying and dangerous.

I contemplate for a moment, before grabbing his chin gingerly.

“Why don’t you order those pizzas, babe?”

“Look at this dive, Dad!”

I prop myself up on my lounger chair, watching Sarah dive into the deep end. Joel is meandering around the pool, his skin so beautifully touched by the sun. His tan was deep and seeing it glisten with the water all over his body, was just icing on the cake.

“Very nice, baby,” He glances my way, noticing I’ve finally risen from my spot. After stuffing myself with pizza, I knew I had to lay out and let my bloated stomach go back to normal.

I watch him rise from the water, using the steps to make his way over to me. The weight of the water drags his shorts a bit lower and seeing his toned tummy was a sight to behold.

I look around him to see Sarah swimming laps, making sure she was occupied. He plops down next to me in the other lounger, grabbing his aviator suns from the table between us.

“What’s your plans while your dad is gone?” He questions, propping his sunglasses on his nose.

I shrug, leaning towards him to whisper, “Thinkin’ I’ll go across the street and fuck that hot MILF everyone won’t stop talkin’ about.”

He shakes his head, “That poor lady has a name, ya know?”

“It’s like Susan, isn’t it?”

“Lauren.”

I groan, “She even has a hot girl name! God damn!”

He chuckles, “No but seriously, what are you doin’?”

I look over to make sure Sarah couldn’t hear me. I watch her dive into the water again, “No plans. Just hangin’ around.”

He nods, laying back onto the chair, “Why don’t you come over tonight?”

My stomach drops. He asks it so nonchalantly.

“When Sarah is home?”

“She’s going to her grandparents tonight. They are takin’ her to some baseball game.”

So we get to be alone?

“Oh, okay,” I thought for a moment, “So you want me to come over and do what?”

“I don’t know,” He mumbles, “We can watch a movie. I’ll cook.”

If you would’ve asked me a month ago, I never once would have imagined a moment where Joel Miller would even give me the time of day. Now he’s asking to hangout with me outside of work? Spend time with just me? It seemed out of the realm of possibilities.

But I love that the offer stands.

“Sure, I’d love to,” I pause, “As long as the cooking is good. If not, we are ordering out again.”

“Hey,” He grumbles, “Fuck you, I’m an excellent cook.”

It’s like Sarah got superhuman hearing all of a sudden because she quips up.

“Don’t believe him! He burns eggs every morning!”

“Hey, you eat them anyway!”

I arrive to the Miller’s around 7PM. I decided to walk again, trying not to tip off any of the neighbors leaving my car parked beside Joel’s truck. I decide for a black hoodie, jean shorts, and Converse. I didn’t bring a bag of things because technically, Joel didn’t say this was a sleepover. I am running on the assumption I am leaving after our… movie night?

I knock quickly, glancing back and forth between Joel’s neighbors. Both are pretty familiar with my dad, so I knew if I was spotted, they would rat me out.

Joel swings the door open, this time, fully clothed. A casual outfit for Joel, jeans and a light grey t-shirt.

“Come on in,” He mumbles, “Did you drive?”

I shake my head, “No. Walked. I took shortcuts, too.”

He grabs me quickly, pulling me inside. He glances around outside, making sure no one is outside.

“I already had Mrs. Adler askin’ why I took Sarah over to your house today,” He says, shutting the door, “Hate when people are in my business.”

“What did you tell her?”

He smirks, “That I was fuckin’ my bosses’ daughter.”

My cheeks get hot.

“Nah, just that you were givin’ Sarah time in your pool to practice her swimmin’. She stopped with the questions after that.”

I smack his chest, bringing down my hood. I take off my hoodie eventually, sporting a simple white tank top underneath. I toe off my shoes, propping them up by the door.

“We fucked once, so technically we aren’t fuckin’,” I tease, “Unless…”

He starts his way to the kitchen ignoring me.

“You hungry?”

–

Joel was a bad cook, but I wasn’t going to come in with judgment when it’s a free meal and he made it just for me.

He stares me down from across his small dining room table, waiting for me to say something. We sit in silence for most of the meal. Not uncomfortable silence, just too in our own heads, I guess. I eat the last of my burnt brussel sprouts, trying not to let him read my mind like he usually does.

“You hate it don’t ya?”

I take one more bite, “I’m not a chef by any means either, Joel.”

He laughs, “That’s a good way to put it, little one.”

The nickname makes every hair on my legs stand up. He notices my demeanor change. He stands up, collecting our plates and brings them to the sink. I stand up to begin to help him, but he has other ideas. He stands over me as soon as I get up, his dark brown eyes raking me up and down. He reaches up to my biceps, running his warm hands up and down them.

“You like it when I call you that?”

“What?” I croak out. I knew what he was talking about, but for some reason I wanted him to keep saying it.

“Little one,” He whispers, “My little one.”

I swallow hard, “Y-yeah.”

“Gets you all riled up? Makes you think of the first time my face was between your thighs?”

I close my eyes, letting his hand start to run down my face, to my jawline, to my collarbones. I take in his scent. Amberwood, aftershave, and maybe a bit of cigar? It was intoxicating, his scent.

“J-Joel,” is all I can mutter, “P-Please.”

I open my eyes finally, seeing him smirk, “What baby? What do you want?”

“Do it again,” I mumble, “I want you to do that again.”

His hand travels down to my waist, and with one arm, he hoists me up to the kitchen counter. My jean shorts ride up even more as he positions himself between my legs.

“I need more than that, little one,” He says, “What exactly are you talkin’ about?”

He was going to make me lay it all out for him. I don’t know why I felt shy again, like I couldn’t say what I needed from him.

Like before, he looks so tall and big standing over me. His hands feel so strong and his arms so toned. I wanted to jump his bones watching him at the pool earlier, watching him be at ease with no shirt on. His confident stride and stature was so attractive.

“Speak up,” He demands, “Need you to say it.”

“I need you,” I drag it out, “I need you to eat me out.”

He starts hooking his fingers through my belt loops, lifting me out of my shorts, “What else?”

My mind goes blank for a second.

“Fuck me?”

“No please?” he taunts.

“P-Please Joel,” I mutter, “Don’t make me beg.”

He chuckles lowly, “Oh I fuckin’ will.”

He doesn’t waste time completely tearing my thong off my body. I lean back, my head resting against the cabinets. The thong gets tossed across the room, now useless after being torn in two.

He reaches up to bring my head forward, crashing our lips together. Our tongues battle instantly, both of us wanting to be dominant. He was so forceful, but it was everything I needed to be more sure in myself. I reach up, lacing my hands in his hair.

He pulls away, his breathing fanning my already hot face, “You gonna be good for me, baby? Use those manners?”

“Of course,” I moan, “P-Please do something.”

He takes off his shirt, his muscles highlighted differently in the low lit kitchen. I couldn’t help but stare as he gets on his knees, his face eye level with my pussy.

God, I could never get over this view.

He presses forward, giving my inner thighs kisses and small little love bites.

He hooks both legs over his shoulders and dives in. He doesn’t start slow, oh no, he goes full starving-man-mode. He starts using his tongue to write the alphabet up and down my slit. When he finds my clit, he wraps his lips around and sucks.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I moan, “Don’t stop!”

He breaks away, only to put his index and middle finger into his mouth. He watches me as he traces my slit with his fingers, smiling as he sinks them into my hole. When he’s satisfied with my reaction, he finds his way back to my clit.

Between his fingers fucking me and his mouth working magic on my bud, I scream out not able to contain the build up I feel in my stomach. He only increases his speed, the wet lapping sounds only causing me to burst.

He fucks me through it, as I moan his name over and over again.

He pulls his fingers out of me, and stands up from his spot. My ass stays half on the counter and half falling off. I am basically only propped up by his leg.

“Now that I got one out of you, little one,” He suggests, “’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand.”

I was so fucked out of my mind, I’m like jelly in his hands. He shimmies his pants off, his boxers tented by how hard he was. I just smile at the affect I had on him.

“You okay to stand?”

I giggle, “I don’t think so, sir.”

As soon as I say it, I don’t have to worry about standing anymore. He reaches for my waist and repositions me on the counter. I stare down between us, his hard cock rubs my sensitive slit.

“You’re so pretty, little one,” I hear him in my daze, but before I can respond, he eases himself into me. I moan out due to the glorious stretch, letting him get fully sheathed inside me. Instead of keeping me on the counter, he hooks his arms under my knees and lifts me up. In my shock, I wrap my arms around him, tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

He sets a brutal pace, not paying much mind to my groans. It wasn’t that it was uncomfortable, it was just so much.

My mind goes back to what he said, which only gets me more riled up.

“God, I’m so full,” I moan into his ear, “You’re so good to me.”

I can feel his smile, “Better than you’ll ever have, baby.”

“You’re all I want,” I say absentmindedly, “I’m all yours.”

He props me back on the counter, pulling out of me briefly. He is throwing me around almost like a ragdoll. He lifts me up and spins me so I’m facing away from him. He moves my arms, so I can actually prop myself up on the counter. He lines back up, pushing himself back inside me. From this position, he somehow hits me in different places. He readjusts my body before settling back into a faster pace. With his right hand on my covered tit, his left hand reaches up to my throat. The sounds of slapping are so overstimulating in the best way possible. I couldn’t get enough.

“All,” Thrust, “Fucking,” Thrust, “Mine.”

I feel the warmth in my stomach again. It had to be the mixture of him calling me his and the fact that his dick was hitting me in just the right spot. As soon as I hit my tipping point, it’s like he could tell because he slows down, his hand traveling down to my clit again. I fall over the edge, my eyes rolling back into my head as I moan out his name. My entire body is tense until it’s not. I fall forward, but before my head catches the edge of the counter, he holds me up against him.

“I’m ‘bout to cum,” he groans, still fucking into me, “Want me inside?”

“Cum inside me, Joel,” I beg, hardly able to project my voice.

I’m at his mercy, as he spills inside of me all the while telling me what I good girl I am. I finally find my footing, as he slips his cock out of me, letting his cum drip down my legs. He releases my body, walking away from me for a moment. I try to get ahold of my bearings, but all I can think is how I never want to stop doing this. I want more.

I need more.

“Here, turn to me baby,” He mumbles. I turn around noting the damp rag he has. He gets on one knee, using the rag to clean up his cum off my legs. I’m still very sensitive, so when he gets close to my mound, I jolt. It makes him giggle.

Post-orgasm clarity started to hit me. I watch him stand up and lay the rag in the kitchen sink next to our plates. He was so fucking beautiful, his body glistening with sweat. He had to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You okay?”

I wet my lips, “I think I need you to fuck me every day.”

His beautiful smile reappears, “Is that so?”

I nod quickly, “Yes, sir.”

He creeps closer to me, his hand lacing around my waist again.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” He leans down and kisses my shoulder blade, “Now, which movie should we watch?”

#joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dbf joel miller #i can see you #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel last of us smut #joel tlou #tlou series #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic

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forgetminot · 1 year

Note

It says your requests, and I’m in need of some Leon x reader angst where reader left leon while she was pregnant because of *alcoholism* and they meet again years later when the kid is like 4. Feel free to ignore 🥰

A Familiar Face

!Dad Leon Kennedy x gn reader

Warnings : Mentions of Leons alcohol addiction, dad leon?, reader is called 'mama' by their child, use of y/n once, angst.

Author's Note : I like this more than I thought I would so i might do a sneaky lil part two.

Summary : You get recognised by a familiar face while out shopping with your son.

"This one Mama."

"The green one?" You'd ask, smiling softly down at your son- he nods his head eagerly. "Okay, then." You reach up to the plastic toy boat and place the box in your shopping cart. You take your son's hand in yours while using your left hand to push the cart along and continue down the toy aisle.

"Ooo! This, Mama!" Your son pulls his hand from your grip as he rushes over to a small box on the lower shelves. "Look!" You frown slightly when he holds up the box and shake your head from side to side.

"I think you are still a bit too young for that, kiddo."

"Please!" He lifts the box up higher and points it at you. "Pew, Pew!"

"Put it back." You state sternly.

"I want it, let me have it!" He shrieks, crossing his arms as he glares up at you.

"Don't use that tone with me." You raise your brow, crossing your arms as you mimic your son. "Put it back." You repeat.

"Fine!" He places the toy gun back on the shelf with a thud.

"Good. Now follow me, we need some more juice." You say, holding your hand out towards your son.

"But- you said I could have another toy." He replies, curling his bottom lip.

"I said that before you threw a tantrum."

"I'm sorry Mama, please!" He pleads, you shake your head once more and take his hand in yours. "Mama!"

"No. I said no." He frowns, giving in as he follows you down the rest of the toy aisle and into the drinks one a few aisles across. You grab a few cartons of apple juice and place them into the cart as well as a carton of orange.

"Y/n?" You turn at the sound of your name, eyes widening from shock as you turn to face the man it came from.

"L-Leon?" You ask, yet you already know the answer; he hasn't changed at all, apart from a couple of new scars across his cheek. "I-" You stand speechless as you stare at the father of your son, who you haven't seen in four years.

"How are you?" He asks.

"I'm fine- good." You nod, the grip of your hand tightening around your sons slightly.

"Is-" He watches your son closely, eyes drifting across his small features.

"He's called Lee." You state shyly, Leon grins widely at his own nickname.

"He has your eyes."

"He does." Leon coughs quietly as the three of you stand awkwardly in the shopping aisle.

"You, uh." He looks up at you. "Didn't answer my letters, or my text."

"I didn't open them." You state bluntly. "Are you here to buy some more alcohol?" You mock.

"I haven't had a drink in three years." He replies. "I promised, remember."

"You promised a lot of times, Leon." You express plainly.

"Can we go somewhere, talk about this." He asks.

"I- I gave you so many chances." You sigh deeply.

"I know you did and I'm sorry. I really, really am." He looks down at your son sadly. "Please." He pleads.

"I-" You glance down as your hand is tugged on and look deeply into your sons wide eyes.

"Mama, who is this?" You crouch down to Lee's level and run your hand across his face gently.

"This is your dad, sweetheart." You reply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his small ear. He looks puzzled at your answer. "I need to talk to him, Leon." You say as you look back up at the older man. He nods in understanding.

"I will call you, i will make everything right- I promise." He whispers gently.

You nod, "Okay."

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coffeeghoulie · 4 months

Text

Mushy May Day 17: Funny T-shirts

Sunny likes to poke fun at Swiss with custom t-shirts, much to his chagrin.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and @ghuleh-recs for making the dividers! <3

The note for this in my outline was "a la mercer and riegel" if that makes sense to anyone lol.

Swiss looks up from his breakfast, a bowl of granola and berries and yogurt, as Sunny bounds into the kitchen, her copper curls bouncing as she enters with a suspicious spring in her step. "Hiya, spark!" She greets him, settling into one of the chairs across from him. Rain and Aurora look up as well, wishing the other multi-ghoulette a good morning.

His eyes settle on the collar of her oversized button up, clearly one of Aether's. "Morning, ember," he says, trying to copy her enthusiasm and not quite making it. "You go clothes raiding again?" He takes another bite of his breakfast, watching her expectantly. Something's not quite right here, button ups not usually Sunny's style.

She shrugs, still grinning, snatching the carafe of orange juice and pouring herself a glass. As Sunny leans to reach, the collar of the button up droops, revealing the hem of a bright orange t-shirt. Nothing more than that, but it's enough for Swiss's spoon to clink against his bowl as he buries his face in his hands.

"Another one, Sunny?" he groans. "How many shirts. Please."

Rain and Aurora turn, eyes brightening in intrigued laughter as Sunny takes a drink, smugly settling back in her chair.

"Now, Swissy, I have no idea what you could be talking about," she says, batting her eyelashes at him.

It's her favorite way to poke fun at him. Awful candid photos of him, blown up and custom printed somewhere online, hidden under zip up hoodies and button ups that she takes off to reveal like the world's most embarrassing strip tease. There have been ones taken while he's sleeping, mouth open, snoring and drooling, and ones that were the unfortunate results of a mistimed blink while taking pictures with the pack. Fortunately, or unfortunately for Sunny, there are no kit pictures, no way to bring them after being summoned Up Top.

He hates the way it makes his face burn, but it makes the pack laugh, and makes Sunny's cheeks dimple with her grin in a way that makes Swiss feels crazy. So he endures it. (He'll never admit that he thinks it's funny too.)

"Noooooo," he groans, peeking through his fingers as Sunny stands, unbuttoning her top button.

"How many of those do you have, sunbeam?" Rain asks, staring smugly at Swiss's over the top distress. "Ten? Twenty?"

"This one makes fourteen," Sunny says, undoing another two buttons.

Swiss rubs his temples, pretending a headache's coming on. "Emberrrrrrrr," he drags out in a groan. "Come on, get it over with."

"As you wish." Sunny copies his signature grin, all of her teeth on display, hands moving down farther and farther, each button slipping through the button hole. Finally, Aether's shirt falls open, revealing a Ritual picture of him.

It's the lowest quality picture of him Swiss has ever seen, only thing distinct about his features are the bug like lenses and the bright white of his teeth against the black helmet. He had been grinning menacingly at that Ritual, but the grainy picture makes him look dorky. There's words across the top and bottom, all caps in Impact font, declares "Swiss Shirt Bottom Text"

"I made a shirt for you, sparky!" Sunny beams, watching Swiss groan. "You like it?"

Swiss growls, silverware clattering as he shoots to his feet, Rain and Aurora's laughter echoing around the kitchen. Sunny squeaks, eyes wide as she darts off, Swiss in close pursuit.

#almost made this exact shirt for my ritual #however i had a weird dream where [redacted] saw me wearing it and i went 'yeahhhhh maybe not'#dot's writing #mushy may 2024 #swiss ghoul #sunshine ghoulette #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #rain ghoul

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honey-makes-mogai · 6 months

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[Image ID: 2 MOGAI flags with ten horizontal stripes. From top to bottom the colors in order are: blue, cyan, yellow, orange, white, black, orange, yellow, cyan, blue. The white and black stripes are thinner than the rest, which are all equally sized. In the middle of the first flag is a symbol resembling a 5 pointed star, the lines making each point turn into a spiral as they reach the next point. The symbol is off white outlined in black with a semi transparent off white circle behind it. In the middle of the second flag is a can of Monster Juice Mango Loco outlined in white. /End ID]

MonsterEnergyMangoLocoJuicestelic / MangoLocostelic -

[PT: MonsterEnergyMangoLocoJuicestelic / MangoLocostelic -]

A constelic term for those who stel Monster Energy Juice Mango Loco!

[Image ID: 2 MOGAI flags with ten horizontal stripes. From top to bottom the colors in order are: yellow, orange, dusty teal, dusty navy blue, white, black, dusty navy blue, dusty teal, orange, yellow. The white and black stripes are thinner than the rest, which are all equally sized. In the middle of the first flag is a symbol resembling a 5 pointed star, the lines making each point turn into a spiral as they reach the next point. The symbol is off white outlined in black with a semi transparent off white circle behind it. In the middle of the second flag is a can of Monster Juice Khaotic outlined in white. /End ID]

MonsterEnergyKhaoticJuicestelic / Khaoticstelic -

[PT: MonsterEnergyKhaoticJuicestelic / Khaoticstelic -]

A constelic term for those who stel Monster Energy Juice Khaotic!

[Image ID: 2 MOGAI flags with ten horizontal stripes. From top to bottom the colors in order are: peach, light peach, yellow, magenta, white, black, blue, yellow, light peach, peach. The white and black stripes are thinner than the rest, which are all equally sized. In the middle of the first flag is a symbol resembling a 5 pointed star, the lines making each point turn into a spiral as they reach the next point. The symbol is off white outlined in black with a semi transparent off white circle behind it. In the middle of the second flag is a can of Monster Juice Papillon / Mariposa outlined in white. /End ID]

MonsterEnergyPapillonJuicestelic / Papillonstelic / MonsterEnergyMariposaJuicestelic / Mariposastelic -

[PT: MonsterEnergyPapillonJuicestelic / Papillonstelic / MonsterEnergyMariposaJuicestelic / Mariposastelic -]

A constelic term for those who stel Monster Energy Juice Papillon / Mariposa!

Tagging: @radiomogai @obscurian @the-mogai-archives @constelicflags

[Banner ID: A pastel yellow banner with a sunflower on either side. In brown text with a white outline, it says "- Please let me know if this has been coined before! -" /End ID.] [DNI transcript: "-DNI- Basic criteria, anti-mogai, proshippers, ableists, aphobes, racists, zoophiles, rpf shippers, fandom discourse, under 13, transid/transx". /End transcript.]

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samoankpoper21 · 1 year

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Levi, I'm Pregnant...

Summary: Levi made it very clear that he wasn't too keen on having children but the universe has a way of throwing you off; modern! au

Side note: Anything with < text > is Levi's thoughts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you anxiously paced back and forth, gnawing at your bottom lip, trying to come up with different ways to tell Levi the one thing you knew he may dread: I'm pregnant. How could have this happened? Growing up you've always experienced irregular periods so this time you didn't think much of it...that was until the nausea started kicking in, the fatigue crashes, the way your nose would scrunch up at certain scents i.e lavender, pickles, honey, garlic; and the fact that you were always so god damn horny for Levi. You took the first test and it came back positive. Nah that can't be right. The first one is most likely a false positive. You took a second one a week later. Positive. Third times a charm right? POS.I.TIVE. While Levi was at work you scheduled an appointment with your primary doctor. "Congratulations! You're 11 weeks along!"

In the midst of your pacing, you failed to realize Levi step foot in the house until he plopped his briefcase down and stared at you causing you to gasp. "Hey baby." you squeaked.

"Hey you. What are you doing?"

"Huh?" you noticed Levi slightly frowning, you knew that he was catching on to you. "Baby I made dinner why don't you wash up?" Levi stared at you a beat longer and sighed. "Tch. Fine."

You both sat for dinner and you suddenly felt a bit queasy, it's mac and cheese for goodness sake! This was your comfort food! You cleared your throat and began to drink your orange juice - heeding your coworker's advice of eating oranges to deal with the nausea. Without a beat Levi's eyebrow shot up, he knew you wanted to tell him something but was waiting for you to approach the subject. You don't realize it but you gnaw your lips and avoid eye contact when there's something heavy on your mind. Levi continued eating the steak, mashed potatoes, and string beans you set out for him. "How was work today baby?"

"Oh uh it was fine. How about you?" <there shes goes again gnawing at her damn lips>

"Same shit, different toilet." You chuckled at his response but went back to gnawing your lips. You could feel Levi staring holes into you as you looked everywhere but him. "Tch." His impatience was rising with you but he didn't want to make you feel rushed. <What could be so fucking important that she can't spit it out?!> The rest of the night progressed as "normal" as you tried to make it. As you were both preparing for bed you got a whiff of honey, ran to the toilet, and began throwing up; Levi instantly behind you holding your hair. "Oi. What's wrong with you? Are you getting sick or something? You better not be I swear to God if you are-"

"No," your eyes started tearing up, hands shaking.

"Oi, what's wrong with you?"

You hastily stood up to blow your nose, rinse out your mouth, and turned to look at him. <Oh no...is she...leaving me??>

"I don't know how else to tell you this so I'm just going to shoot it to you straight...I'm pregnant." <What...> Levi standing there with no response trying to figure out the mechanisms of it drove your anxiety through the roof, upset even. "Fine then! Good talk." You were trying to rush past him but he was too quick. "Oi, it's rude to walk away when people are still having a conversation."

"Well it's rude not to say anything when your girlfriend gives you life shattering news you twat!" you spat out. Your crumbled into his arms sobbing. This damn pregnancy! Levi carried you and placed you on the bed gently, he kneeling in front of you. "Levi, I hic I'm s-sorry," you tried to explain through the tears. "I, hic, I I know hic you said you hic don't want kids but hic it just happened! Okay?!" Levi was drawing patterns into your hands. "Y/N I never said I didn't want kids."

"Yes you did! When hic I brought it hic to your attention you said no hic that they're little shits!"

"Y/N I only said that because I'm scared," he whispered. "I don't want my kid to go through what I went through." You gently tilted Levi's head with your finger to look up to you, into your eyes, gently grasping both sides of his face. "Baby they don't have to." you whispered.

A beat of silence passed with Levi closing his eyes leaning his face into your hands. You began running your hands through his hair.

"I-"

"F-" you both stopped and began to awkwardly laugh. "What were you going to say?" he asked.

"You go first."

"Shit heads go first."

"Ha ha you're so funny," you dryly responded. You took a deep breath and said, "I'm keeping the baby. With or without you." A moment of silence passed when he replied, "Oh the irony because I was going to say fuck it, yolo." Your face lit up. "Really? Baby really?! We're really doing this?!"

"Shut up will you." you jumped up, embracing him in a hug, plastering kisses all over his face. He laid both of you down and you nuzzled into him more, your foreheads touching. "Baby."

"What?"

"You're going to be a great father."

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h-y-dontatme · 5 months

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Obey Me! Set to Silent Mode

Summary: You have no way to charge your DDD in your very human home. Pairing: None, if you squint it could be read as GN!MC x Mammon Word count: 851 Warnings: angsty goodness, mentioned drinking, mentioned death, spoilers for chapter 16 and i guess chapter 20 A/N: A very short little dabble. I know canon says everyone keeps messaging and calling after MC returns home for the first time, but I like the idea that MC was really cut off from Devildom and has to work their way through it.

Mammon was promising some terribly stupid business idea for your return when your DDD died. Now it sits on your bedside table, right next to your actual phone. You know, the normal one that used normal, human electricity to connect you to all the people you know and some of the ones you loved. Earthly little pings probed you upon your return- rebirth- some concerned, some angry, but all keen on untangling the story of how you faked your death. Oh, it was like I’ve died and was reborn again, you’d joke over brunch. Your mimosa would sparkle against your lips, the tart sweetness of the orange juice covering the hint of bitterness; bottomless, bottoms up.

Sometimes, in the small hours of the morning, you imagine a devilish glow casting strange shadows across your bedroom wall. They’d dance in the pre-dawn light tempting you with wastefulness, but flee with your dreams as your mind finds your body.

Once you accidentally grabbed it instead of your functional, operational, and relevant human device. You caused something of a minor traffic jam standing in the middle of a busy intersection staring at it. Ruri-chan stares out with a sort of delusional optimism from the confines of her clear acrylic prison while the cross-walk sign blink threateningly. Behind her a Devildom lotto ticket and a coupon for Madam Scream’s Macaroons compete — unsuccessfully— for your attention.

The driver of the gray pickup truck lays on his horn and you skitter to the sidewalk. After a moment you realize you’ve gone the wrong way.

You were late to the psychic’s, but the old woman didn’t seem to mind. The bangles on her wrist jangled as she sits you at her little table in the back room where the sights and sounds of the outside world are caught between layers of velvet and dried eucalyptus. You supposed, in retrospect, that that should’ve been your first warning. No witch worth their cauldron would be caught dead with eucalyptus. She peers at your palm, then your tea leaves, them her cards with gentle scrutiny before surmising you had experienced a great loss. It was enough to knock some tears out of you, but the real crying would happen later, at home, relieved of some $30, burdened by the ever-growing guilt of having left Mammon on read.

Texting 666 on your regular, dinky, human phone did not work. You resisted the urge to throw it against a wall.

Slowly you found psychic visits woven their way into the fabric of your life until every soothsayer and fortune teller became something more than strangers but less than friends. Through the psychics you found the mystics; through the mystics you found witches; through the witches you found despair. A witch’s jealousy to be an ugly thing. They danced around you, play-tracing sigils into your skin and flicking harmless spats of magic into your face. Pact-marked and pigeoned-holed they called you, as useless as you had been before the exchange program. Back home you stared into the mirror, tracing the witch’s sigils on your skin then onto paper. They made for poor art and poorer signs of power laying as dormant as the pact marks scattered across your body.

One day, drowning in a nap-gone-too-long, you imagine Mammon calling for you outside your window; it would be the last time you cried.

Life was less a ride than it was a chariot, dragging you across a bloodied arena for the entertainment of some higher power. Your first order of business was to move your Harrison Porter charm to your keys; looking at it made you feel a little like Alice in Wonderland. Rent was due, so a job was found; then a better one. You counted the bills, paid your debts. You set aside spared bills and change in a little yellow treasure box on your dresser that sat beside a growing collection of nail polish and skincare that never failed to make you feel —dare you say it— pretty. You swam and cursed your way through summer, fostered a sizable clan of cats in the fall, then decided to become a recluse in the winter, watching winter’s stars drape across the sky from the comfort of your home.

The promise of a new life in a new city lured you out from your cave. You went to RAD with so very little, so you decide to part with all but a suitcase of the essentials, then opted for a backpack. The edges of the little yellow treasure chest pressed into your lower back as you hiked your way across the city to a hilly park with a view. Winter still clung to this part of the world; the sparkling of snow was nearly indistinguishable from the steel and glass of skyscrapers; a sky so clear that the horizon retreated into a white nothingness. You soaked in the view, then turned.

At the edge of the outlook a familiar shock of white hair caught your eye. He waves. You could feel the edge of the acrylic Harrison Porter charm, smooth after months of worry.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me angst #obey me drabble #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic

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peachetteprice · 3 months

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27 Hawthorn Court | Simon "Ghost" Riley

Chapter 4 - The Apple Falls Far

Chapter Summary:

Ruth has doubts about her previous endeavours with the investigation. Though her worries are soon dispelled after a familiar face invigorates some much-needed passion for justice.

1.8K Words

Content warning: mentions of alcohol (?)

Ruth entered the bar at no later than seven in the evening.

There was a dainty whisper of a piano and saxophone harmonising in some form of light jazz - though she was never much of a connoisseur - shrouded by tangerine and fuschia flourescent lights which somehow possessed the ability to amplify the band's smooth tones, handily concealing any discolour Ruth felt about those case files by virtue of bewitchment.

It was a dark and damp evening, all things considered. The only thing that could have salvaged her mood was a heavy drink and some menial chatter with the bartender.

So, she approached the bar, and - after waiting for some time, clearly understanding the general predicament Ruth had gotten herself into - the bartender asked with concern;

"What can I get you?"

Ruth sighed.

There was nothing she could have done except sigh. It wasn't her place to inform anyone of her own broken hubris, let alone a bartender privy to the most detrimental of secrets. Dissolving marriages, petty crime, cheating scandals; it was his day-to-day, and it was in Ruth's best interest not to become part of his orderly convoy of discussion for the next patron.

"Give me your strongest," she muttered, bottom writhing on a stool too small for her.

It was such a subtly aggravating predicament.

After some time, as the bartender rooted beneath the bar top for a drink suitable for a grown woman, he swiftly placed it before her.

Ruth stared at it for a moment before saying;

"I said your strongest, George." She sighed. Because George was playing 'barkeep', and she was his sole customer, though he wasn't doing a very good job at it. "You can do better than orange juice."

And he likely could.

It was then, that, only a few moments later - after a rummage through the cabinet on his hands and knees (which was really a wicker basket full of snacks and cartons of juice) - the bartender produced apple juice, this time, placing it before Ruth with a proud smile

"That's more like it," she hissed with adoration, stabbing the straw through the flimsy sheath of aluminium foil, "did you have a good day at school?"

"Yeah." His eyes wavered around the bar, and Ruth watched them ardently as he spoke. "But Molly stole my brachiosaurus."

"Why did she steal your brachiosaurus?"

"I don't know." Muttered George, and he went straight back to wiping stains along the bar top with a heavy-machinery-themed rag where there were none.

So, there was silence. And Ruth let it hang.

Perhaps she was thinking of how her own day went, uneventful and uninspired as she crawled through the streets of Greater Manchester on roads too choked with traffic and suffocated by people too idiotic for their own aspiring ideals. It was a day of rampant teenagers stealing their parent's cars and running them dry around the estates, middle-aged alcoholics starting public brawls in the car parks of Asda and Tesco - a national issue - and faux calls from elderly ladies complaining about pieces of litter discarded in their front gardens.

"How did you feel when she stole your brachiosaurus?" Ruth was palming over the text on the rear of the carton, now, reading line by line. No added sugar, no added colouring, naturally sourced ingredients.

"I felt sad."

Sad. Huh.

Ruth knew a little bit about feeling sad. Dull, she would have called it, not wanting to give anybody the impression she was streaming tears in the shower on a dark night or onto her pillowcase before she fell asleep. Dull was a feeling she felt often, and in small waves, though sometimes big - but nothing more than a wailing rumble because that was a different feeling entirely - and it was one she knew rather well, too. It wasn't her favourite emotion, per se, but it might have been her most default one

It was intruiging, it truly was - George's predicament, that was - and she wished to further the conversation, probing

"Did ya feel anything else?"

George pondered for a moment, eyelashes fluttering against the sprig of curls in front of his forehead. He'd need a trim soon. "Maybe a little bit angry." He whispered, almost as if it was a secret he shouldn't tell.

"Angry. Because it was precious to you? Your brachiosaurus."

George thought, napping a carton of apple juice for himself, and - although it was almost seven-thirty and he wasn't allowed sugar before bedtime - Ruth thought he might have needed it and let it slide. "Yeah. And it was mine."

"It was yours." She affirmed, sucking the last dribbles from the bottom of the carton.

"Molly was being mean." He grumbled, flicking the curl of hair from his own forehead. He had the most beautiful set of locks, did George, and he was the spitting image of his father when he was younger, too. Bright, gleaming blue eyes and sweet bulbous cheeks that crinkled whenever he smiled.

George was the complete antithesis of Ruth. She had dark, rather frazzled-looking brown hair from too much styling in her younger years - much more monotone and less saturated than George's - and matching brown eyes, though if the lighting was generous, they almost shone with flecks of gold.

"Did'ya shout at her to give it back?" Ruth pondered, smiling a little as she spoke.

"Daddy said you shouldn't shout. He said that if you ask politely, they'll give it back."

Hm. Daddy. Chris, he was called. A bastard of a man.

"And did she?" Ruth brushed the hair from his eyes, ensuring it wouldn't irritate his lashes anymore.

George simply nodded, intent on drinking his before expelling his thoughts.

Yes, he explained. She did give it back because she was just being a little bit mean, but not loads mean. Otherwise, she wouldn't have given it back. If Molly was being loads mean - and George was really dragging out the vowels in 'loads' - he would have called on the teacher to intervene, of course, because that's how dynamic in a reception classroom prevailed.

"Why d'you think Molly stole your brachiosaurus?" She repeated, barely remembering she'd asked it earlier.

George gulped down the last droplets of juice, blinking blankly, before answering;

"Maybe she was lonely."

Maybe she was lonely.

What drivel.

There was a full glass of wine, now - to the rim, in fact - within Ruth's palm. The case files were on her lap, including her typed notes at her hip. Truth be told, there wasn't much to say about it. The affinity she felt to that little boy, plagued eyes boring through her skull, was crippling. The suspect's disposition, moreover, equally so, just as were the troubling words spoken by Price in the booth of the McDonald's in Sale.

"Lonely..." She sighed, finger travelling the circumference of the glass.

Perhaps she was lonely, too. Perhaps she needed a drink elsewhere, somewhere a little more crowded, a little more stuffed with people who could talk her ears off - whether they were a part of her conversation or not.

Yes, that was it.

She needed a drink.

And so, by nine, she had adorned her newest pair of black heels - ones with thick wedged soles and velvet trim - with a smart top with jeans. She wasn't one for princess dresses or overt makeup, nor did she wish to see any of her colleagues (or God-forbidding, any of her previous convicts) in an outfit that showed more than its provocation whenever she bent at the waist.

By ten, she was sitting in the pub with a vodka and coke in hand - though, it was more at her fingertips as they lazily drawled over the side of glass, smearing the condensation along - eyes transfixed on the bartender as he shifted from one side of the bar to the other with a smile that could only be described as 'over-compensating'.

It took another few minutes of silence before anyone approached her. She might have accepted the invitation to conversation, had she not recognised the stranger beside her who did, unfortunately, try.

"I didn't take ya for a vodka-and-coke drinkin' woman."

That voice. Deep, gruff, heavy.

John Price.

"I don't wanna talk." Spat Ruth.

Clean, cut, and straight to the point. The truth was, she hadn't come to the pub for chatter with a man like him. His words squirmed through her mind like the fall-out from a bad ear infection, and she despised another set of his words compounding the agony.

"Thought I'd thank ya." His lips smacked in the plenary of an awkward moment. "For bein' so professional and giving the case up, that is."

The case. The case files. They were still in her home. On her piano stand, where she'd also placed her unfinished glass of wine that was probably brewing with a layer of dust, now. And here was John Price, right beside her, shoulders occupying the air made for two. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew she had taken the case files (or at least taken copies of them, at least), and he was there to confront her about it with every inch of his brooding six-foot stature.

"S'that it?" Questioned Ruth.

"Sure." He nodded, flexing his chest with a gruff groan. "Wanted a bit of conversation, that's all. One investigator to another."

"Sorry." She huffed, fingertips turning wrinkled from the condensation on the outside of her glass. She still hadn't touched it, not in five minutes. Not since John sat down beside her. "Guess m'not in the mood tonight."

"Fair enough." He sniffed, palm running along the wood grain of the bar top. "I'll leave you be, then."

The thought was swift to occur - alarmingly so, even - as John stepped from the bar stool, his head still firmly aligned with hers on the vertical. And the thought was, in no fewer words than some:

"What's gonna happen with the case?"

It made John come to a standstill. In the few seconds following, he paused, pondered, and pivoted himself back towards her. His shoes were already pointing in her direction, that, they both could see, but he had since adjusted the tilt of his shoulders so that his eyes could more easily glide over her face. Ruth looked back at him, pupils bloated, a worried knot niggling her brow.

Neither knew what the other was thinking.

And neither, for a rather long time, said anything.

Until John, being the bigger - albeit only - man, grumbled;

"It'll get sorted, Wyatt."

And, after that very sentence, Ruth could only think of one thing. It plagued her every thought, caused an even larger kink to dig into her brow, and sent another queue of thoughts to sit pending as the current wasted away behind her eye sockets. And the thought was, of all possible thoughts;

If she had stolen his brachiosaurus, it was a bloody massive one.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #captain john price #captain jonathan price #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfiction #callofduty #simon riley #ghost fanfiction #cod #ghost cod

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shiorimakibawrites · 1 year

Text

First Date (Part 13 of Alley Cat)

Image credits: kissthemgoodbye.net / Amber Kipp / Nathan Dumlao

Image Description: Matt Murdock as red-suit Daredevil against nighttime city background in one block, Shadowy couple leaning against each other surrounded by candles overlooking a city in second block, under second block is text saying Alley Cat by Shiori_Makiba, the third block is a orange medium haired tabby laying on a table and looking up at the camera playfully. END ID.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem! Reader

Word Count: 8,465

Summary: You and Matt have your first date. Overlaps slightly with Anticipation.

Warning(s): Frank references and mentions of sex, Reader has a lot of impure thoughts, attempts at humor.

Can also be read on AO3

Series Masterlist can be found here.

First Date

You took a deep breath, steadied your grip on the cast iron skillet and the plate of your cake saver, and flipped. Gently you sat down the cake and carefully lifted the skillet. You smiled. The cake had come out perfect. It hadn’t fallen apart and none of the fruit topping had gotten stuck to the bottom of the skillet. Which was always satisfying. You put the cake aside to finish cooling.

You hoped that Nelson and Page liked their apology cake. You had done your best. You considered yourself a good home baker but there was always this little niggle of doubt whenever someone new was trying your food. Or you were testing a new recipe or recipe variation. This was a little mixture of both. Nelson and Page were almost new to your food, having only had your chocolate chip cookies. Well, you knew Page had eaten some of the cookies since she had complimented their taste. You were only assuming that Nelson had tried some too.

You had made pineapple upside down cake before but had made a minor tweak to your recipe to (hopefully) prevent the cake from being unpalatable to Matt. Yes, the cake wasn’t for him but there was a chance that Nelson and Page would decided that they couldn’t eat an entire cake by themselves and shared a slice with him.

As noted, the change was very minor. You had already switched your baking staples like flour to organic or something along those lines years ago. Fresh pineapple had been available but you were still a little tired from yesterday and were pretty sure that you would run out of steam before finishing the cake if you had to remove the rind, core, and attempt to cut a pineapple into more or less even slices. And all the whole pineapples had looked like more pineapple than you would need for the cake and while you liked pineapple, you could only eat so much of it. So you brought the canned sliced and crushed pineapple and hoped the label wasn’t lying about only containing fruit and juice. The actual change was in the maraschino cherries.

Previously you had used the cherries that was commonly available and inexpensive but your brother had thrown out that jar when he visited. He had gotten into mixing cocktails and very particular about the ingredients. And in his opinion, your maraschino cherries were trash that sullied the good name of maraschino cherries.

You rolled your eyes at the memory. Your brother could be a little dramatic.

He replaced the jar with one of his preferred types. They were dark red, almost black, instead the cartoonishly bright red of your old ones. The taste was more tart but when you compared the labels, the fancy cherries didn’t have food dyes and other such things in them. So fancy cherries it was to garnish this cake.

You hoped that his drama about cherries had paid off for you. Like his forgetting some of his clothes had already benefited you.

And now you were thinking about Matt’s arms. Again.

You glanced at the clock. It was a little after five. Nelson & Murdock was technically closed but you knew perfectly well that didn’t mean any of them were heading home. For one thing, even if they were calling it a day, there were things that would need to be taken care of first. Like closing out the point-of-sale or making sure things like their notes and other confidential information has been secured. For another, all of that research and writing wasn’t going to do itself and if they had been tied up in court or meetings most of the day . . .

Last but certainly not least, they were criminal defense attorneys. Arrests and/or interrogations weren’t restricted to normal business hours. Nelson had made sure that you were aware that if the police wanted to question you or worse, arrest you, that he didn’t care what time it was. Call him. Their answering service would re-direct the call to his or Matt’s personal phones if it was after hours. One of them would be there, just sit tight and keep your mouth shut until then.

Given your profession, he had to be aware that you likely already knew all that but you appreciated that he didn’t assume and make sure you were both on the same page.

You had intended to start baking as soon as you got home but your sister called you. You had immediately answered as soon as you heard her ringtone because the last time you had talked, Beth hadn’t been feeling well. Hearing her sound so happy when she returned your greeting was a welcome relief.

Turned out, she wasn’t sick at all. She was pregnant again. Which made her and her husband happy since they had been thinking of trying for another kid now that your nephew was almost five. According to your sister, your niece and nephew were already exited about their new sibling through you suspected your nephew was just glad that he wasn’t going to be the baby anymore.

The only downside to Beth being deliriously happy was that she always wanted to spread that happiness around. Which for you, meant asking if she could set you up. Again. Which no. You loved your sister but the men she had tried to set you up with . . . . well, you couldn’t say they were bad choices. They were good looking in that normal sort of way, had good jobs, and most had been decent people. You just hadn’t clicked with any of them. There was no spark.

You had tried seeing if the spark would grow over time but it never did. All trying did was hurt you and the man in question. And had been making you start to feel like there was something fundamentally wrong with you. So you had put your foot down. You appreciated her efforts but from now on, you would find your own dates.

You weren’t having much better much luck than your sister at finding your special someone . . . but maybe that had changed. You could hope.

Beth had given an excited squeal when you told her that you had met someone. She wanted to know everything. You had told her most of it. You left out the Daredevil thing for obvious reasons. While you didn’t shy away from the fact that you found Matt attractive, you kept the incredible horniness he inspired in you deliberately vague. Maybe other sisters shared the details about their sex lives or sexual fantasies with each other but that wasn’t your relationship with your sister.

Besides some of your fantasies about Matt involved the Daredevil thing. You wondered if he still had the black outfit he started out with. Because you already knew that as incredible as his ass looked in those grainy photographs of his current suit in the newspaper, it had looked even better in person. And considering how good he had looked as the Man in the Black in those grainy photographs . . . .

You shook your head and pushed away those thoughts. You’d think about that fantasy later. When you were sure that you’d have time to enjoy it.

You decided to check on Houdini. He was being suspiciously quiet.

Finding the cat took long enough that you were starting to wonder if he had sneaked out but then you spotted him sleeping on top of the fridge. You weren’t sure how you managed to miss him. All the appliances in this apartment were black and he was, after all, orange. Cute as he looked, curled up in one of those contortionists positions that cats apparently love to be in, you managed to resist the urge to pet him. It would wake him up and an awake Houdini was one looking for mischief. Or food.

You pulled out one of the meals you had made previously and frozen for dinner. Heating it in a saucepan on the stove took almost no brain power. Which was probably why your mind drifted back to Matt. Specifically his ass and how well it filled a pair of pants. Any pair of pants it would seem. The trousers for his lawyer suit, the red Daredevil armor, sweatpants . . . his ass looked incredible in them all. You bet he would look equally good in a pair of well-fitting jeans. And assuming he welcomed that sort of thing, if you would ever work up the courage to grab a handful. Or two. Probably would need two hands. His ass wasn’t small . . .

The phone ringing made you jump. Ringing with the ringtone you had assigned to Matt’s number. Of course, you had forgotten to take the phone with you into the kitchen so it was still sitting on your coffee table. You had to dash to answer it before it reached voicemail.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Matt greeted you, sounding cheerful like he was smiling. You hoped so. “What are you up to?”

Thinking about your ass while I make dinner was the honest answer but there was absolutely no way you were going to say that. “Oh, just heating some beef and mushrooms for dinner.”

“Sounds delicious,” he said.

“You’re welcome to come over and have some,” you offered. “I have plenty.”

“I would love to, sweetheart, but unfortunately we still need to finish some things before court tomorrow. Probably won’t be finished until it gets late.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to feel too disappointed. You had no reason. You had gotten an impromptu lunch date today. You were going on a date this Friday. And unless he was out when you dropped off the cake, you’d see him tomorrow.

“But I said that I would call you,” he continued. “Since I have a minute, I’m doing it now.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. You have would understood if he had forgotten. You had sometimes forgotten to return the calls of friends and family after getting very busy at work. You might have forgotten to return work calls if you hadn’t written yourself a reminder. Usually on a sticky note, bright pink to make it stand out from the yellow tabs and sticky notes used by the office.

But it was nice, not starting off this relationship with a broken promise. “I can let you go if you need to get back to work?”

“No need,” he said. “Foggy and I are taking a break for dinner. He just went to grab us some Chinese.”

“Doesn’t trust you to make the food run?” you asked.

“I was informed that my meal-retrieving privileges are suspended until further notice.”

You laughed and then said, “That’s fair.”

Matt chuckled. “Yeah, can’t blame him for that one. Do you like Italian?”

“Of course,” you said, giving your dinner a stir to make sure that it didn’t burn. “Why?”

“There is an Italian restaurant not far from my place,” he said. “Family-owned, it’s small but the food is really good. I was thinking of taking you there Friday.”

You smiled and answered, “That sounds wonderful.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I can meet you at your place and we can walk there. Does seven o’clock work for you?”

You did some mental math. Assuming you got off on time, that should give you enough to get back here, make sure Houdini was settled, and get ready.

“Seven should be good,” you said. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Likewise,” he said.

If he said anything after that, you didn’t hear it after you were startled by a loud thud and dropped your phone. You whirled around but it was just Houdini. Awake now and hopping off the top of the fridge onto the counter. You picked up your phone and before the phone got near your ear, you could hear Matt’s concerned voice.

“-heart, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine. I just dropped my phone when Houdini startled me.”

“That’s good,” he said, sounding relieved.

“Sorry if I scared you,” you said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“Houdini is sorry too,” you added.

“Is he?” Matt asked, a hint of amusement already creeping back into his tone.

“Probably not but I’m apologizing for him anyway.”

Matt chuckled.

Houdini apparently decided he wasn’t done scaring you. He walked across the counter and onto the stove, heading straight for the lit burner.

“No!” you yelled, grabbing the cat before he got too close and burned himself. He protested loudly as you lifted him up and squirmed. It was difficult not to drop the phone again. Houdini wasn’t fat but he was big enough that trying to hold him with one hand was awkward even when he wasn’t being a wiggle worm. You didn’t know how Matt managed not to drop him and climb the fire escape at the same time. Granted his hands were bigger than yours . . . and maybe ninjas have some kind of cat wrangling trick they are keeping from the rest of us . . .

“Sweetheart?” Matt interrupted your train of thought, sounding concerned again.

“Houdini decided he wanted to help me cook,” you explained.

“Wants add chef to his resume?”

“Maybe,” you said. Houdini meowed at you. He didn’t like that you were still holding him when he didn’t want to be held and paying more attention to your phone than him.

“Don’t meow me, mister, you know you aren’t allowed to walk on the stove,” you scolded the cat as you sat him on the floor. In typical cat fashion, he didn’t remain there for long. He immediately jumped into the counter and turned around to give you a look, his tail twitching. Silently daring to you to put him back on the floor. Knowing full well that he will jump right back up there, almost as soon as his paws hit the floor.

“I’m watching you, fluffy,” you warned the cat, picking up the spoon from where it had been hastily dropped onto counter. You had almost forgotten you were on the phone. Until the bark of laughter in your ear reminded you.

“Umm . . . sorry?” you said.

“For what?” he asked, still chuckling. “I already know that cat likes to be distracting.”

“It is his favorite game,” you agreed, stirring your dinner again before determining that it was hot enough and killing the heat. “Sorry for basically yelling in your ear.”

“It’s alright,” he said. Then he lowered his voice, “You don’t have to worry about getting loud, sweetheart. I want to hear you.”

Judging by the husky quality to his voice, he wasn’t talking about general conversational loudness. You felt your face get warm and heat began to gather between your legs.

“Good to know,” you managed to say.

He might have said more, might have gotten you even more worked up but you could just about hear the indistinct murmur of another voice from his side of the line.

“Be right there, Fogs,” he said, his voice a little distant like he had pulled away from the phone to answer his friend. “Hate to cut this short, sweetheart, but I have to get back to work.”

“No problem,” you said. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Yes, you will,” he said. This time you understand why he put so much emphasis on you. Apparently even when he is Daredevil, he couldn’t resist making jokes about being blind. Well, it was his secret identity and his disability. If anyone was allowed to be snarky about it, it was him.

“Get back to work, Mr. Smartass,” you ordered.

Matt laughed and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Wonder of wonders, you actually managed to get off work on time. Opposing counsel hadn’t filed any motions with the court at the last minute to make sure you and the others had to spent this Friday night and maybe the rest of weekend responding to said motions. Jackson might have done it but Ms. Stahl thought he was being careful after his last stunt. The judge had not been amused by it. Classic literature had been quoted.

The first thing you did was give Houdini some attention. You thought he might be more inclined to forgive you for leaving him alone all night if he got spoiled a little first. And if something was going to completely covered in cat fur, it ought to be your work clothes instead of your date clothes. Through you would still probably have some fur on you. Cat fur was like glitter. It got everywhere, into everything.

When Houdini got bored with cuddling, you gave him an bigger than usual serving of his wet food. After you checked on his dry food and water, you did a quick run up the roof to check on your plants. Some of the sweet peppers were big enough to harvest. The basil and oregano looked almost big enough to harvest again. Maybe you would dry this batch. The tomatoes weren’t quite there yet. You picked the ripe peppers and returned to your apartment, stowing them in the fridge.

That done, you took a deep breath and started getting ready for your date. You were feeling nervous. Part of those nerves was your promise to wear a pair of Jo had named as slut panties and the knowledge that unless something interrupted you again, you would be having sex tonight. It had been awhile since you had sex with someone other than yourself.

But most of your nerves that you wanted this date to go well. Not just because Matt was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. Or just because you wanted sex. You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say those things didn’t matter to you but that weren’t the main reasons you wanted everything to go well. The main reason was that you really liked Matt.

He was smart. Witty. Charming. He made you laugh. He had an obvious temper and a lot of anger but was also compassionate enough to put himself in danger to protect others instead of ignoring their suffering. You had already seen that he could be very sweet. Gentle when that was what was needed.

You couldn’t say that you loved him. It was too soon for that. You didn’t really know him yet. But you could sense that the potential was there. That one day, it could be love. And maybe it was selfish but you wanted that.

You went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Today had been rather hot and humid. You weren’t going on this date smelling like dried sweat. You would have showered for any date, especially after such a hot day, but Matt had a bloodhound nose. Which made it extra important. Thinking about his sense of smell, you had a moment of hesitation about using your usual products . . . the vanilla scent in the body wash and lotion or the coconut in your shampoo and conditioner wasn’t very strong but . . .

You reminded yourself that he hadn’t seemed to mind those scents before. He hadn’t sneezed or made excuses to cut your encounters short. He let you hug him and fell asleep on you. You assumed that if the smell bothered him, he wouldn’t do that. And when he commented on the scent of your body products at his office, he didn’t sound like he found them distasteful. In fact, after you rather embarrassingly compared yourself to a cookie, he had made some remark about liking to eat coconut macaroons . . .

There had been an implication there . . . one that matched the hints that Jo had teased you with from those rumors she wouldn’t tell you . . .

You pushed away those thoughts. Now was not the time. You were having a hard enough time keeping it in your pants around Matt as it was. No need to get yourself all worked up before he even got here. You might do something crazy. Like have your way with him in the elevator of your building. You focused your attention on getting yourself clean and giving your legs a quick overview with the razor.

Once you were satisfied that you were well-scrubbed, you dried yourself off and slathered on lotion, paying particular attention to your legs. Shaving was a hassle sometimes but you had to admit that you rather liked how your freshly shaved legs felt. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you headed toward your bedroom and the daunting task of figuring out what to wear.

You had been taught that dressing nicely for a date was just good manners. That Matt couldn’t see what you were wearing was irrelevant.

You decided to start with underwear since that was the most limited selection. And starting there would give your nerves about actually wearing the aforementioned slut panties the most time to settle. Jo would understand if you got too anxious to go through with it but you wanted to at least try.

You laid out your options on your bed and considered. One pair was easy to eliminate. Crotchless panties was closer to going without panties than you were comfortable with. You were almost certain that Jo had picked those purely to see you splutter at the outrageous suggestion. She had succeeded. But she had also brought out your stubborn streak and you bought them anyway.

The thong went into the no pile for similar reasons as the crotchless panties.

The last two pairs were the tamest. Being a very high-legged style, they looked like they would cover less than your usual panties. The front and crotch panels were solid but the rear panel was made of see-through lace. You knew that the see-through aspect held no appeal for Matt but you hoped that he might enjoy the texture of the lace itself. Jo had made a saucy remark about encouraging him to fondle your ass. And you had to admit that idea had a lot of appeal . . .

She cited similar logic for why you needed to buy the matching bras to the last two pairs of panties. ‘You don’t want him forgetting to give your tits some love. Besides, the second rule of being a slut is regardless of whether your lover takes it off or reaches under your shirt, what they find is either the sexy bra or your bare tits,’ was her exact words.

You strongly suspected that she was making these rules up as she went along. Regardless, she was persuasive. You had bought the bras.

The only difference between the two was their color. One was black. The other was dark red. It was almost the same shade of red as the Daredevil suit . . . and suddenly your mind was made up. You were wearing the red one. A little secret nod to his alter ego. Who you had, after all, met first. You would save the black set for another night.

One of your silk blouses was the same shade of dark red but you had worn it earlier this week. The other one, the one in scarlet, was clean but you didn’t want to overdo the red. You liked red well enough but it wasn’t your favorite color. Beth and Jo, at least, would question the sudden interest in the color if you started wearing it all the time. And you didn’t want them (or anyone else) making any Daredevil shaped conclusions. So you pulled out the one in teal.

You considered wearing slacks but you had been wearing those all week at the office. You wanted to wear something different. So you looked to your skirts. You had some very short ones – Jo again – but since you were going somewhere that might have children present, you opted for the longer ones. Black, light weight fabric, about knee length with a fluttery hem that produced a nice swish when you walked.

You decided to wear a pair of your slip-on flats. Jo would have worn what she liked to call her ‘fuck me pumps’ but Jo could run in high heels. You regularly tripped over your own feet. Consequently, you seldom risked wearing heels higher than an inch and half.

Despite your nerves about it, slipping on the slut panties was . . . . exciting. There was a certain thrill in being a little naughty. You knew your more old-fashioned relatives would say you were being very naughty. Planning to have premarital sex. Wearing the kind of underwear that you had once heard one of your aunts describe as the devil’s panties.

The memory made you laugh out loud. Your aunt had no idea. Here you were, about to go out with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen himself. While wearing the devil’s panties. You wondered what Matt would say about that . . . you snickered as you pulled on your skirt.

You couldn’t get your snickering under control until you finished dressing but you felt better. Looser, more relaxed. Guess you just needed a laugh. You went back to the bathroom to do your hair and make up with a spring in your step.

You had just finished tidying up the bathroom when you heard the intercom buzz. Your heart began to race with excitement. Please be Matt and not one of your neighbors accidentally locking themselves out. Again. You – barely – managed to restrain the urge to run to it. Walking normally and even managing to sound causal when you asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” said Matt. “Can you buzz me in?”

“Sure,” you said, reaching for the button to unlock the front door.

“Thanks. Be right with you.”

While you waited, you looked for Houdini. It was always a good idea to know where the cat was when the door was going to be opened. While the windows were his favorite escape route, he wasn’t adverse to darting out of the door when the opportunity arouse.

There he was, napping on the coffee table. Sprawled out on his side, his front paws wrapped around the strap of your purse, the rest of it under his body. Making sure you can’t leave without saying good-bye to him. He was too cute not to pet and this time you couldn’t resist. He made a little purring noise, nuzzling into your hand.

You kept petting Houdini while keeping an ear out for the knock on the door. It didn’t take long. Again, it took more willpower than was pretty to walk to the door instead of run.

“Hi,” you said as you opened the door. And felt your mouth go dry. Matt always looked good but tonight, he looked good enough to eat. Maroon polo shirt, just tight enough to emphasize the width of his shoulders and the large muscles of his upper arms but loose enough not to look painted on. That it left his forearms bare, with all of their muscles and dark hair, was just a bonus. None of the buttons had been done up so you also got a tantalizing hint of his broad chest. His thick thighs were encased in well-fitting black slacks. If his legs looked that good in those pants, his ass was going to be incredible . . .

You blamed his inherent sexiness for how long it took you to realize that his hands weren’t empty. In addition to the expected white cane in one hand, in the other was a bouquet of flowers. They looked like daisies except that they weren’t all white but blue, purple, pink, and yellow. You felt stunned. Had he gotten you flowers? You couldn’t remember the last time someone had gotten you flowers . . .

“Hello sweetheart,” he greeted you, smiling. He held out the bouquet and said, “These are for you.”

“Me?” You repeated, feeling your heart flutter.

“For you,” he confirmed, his smile and voice going soft, gentle as spring rain. Your hands shook a little when you reached for the flowers, feeling almost like they would disappear if you actually touched them. But when your hands closed around the bouquet, they didn’t vanish.

“Thank you,” you said, cradling the flowers against your chest. “Come in while I get a vase.”

You stepped back to give him room to enter. Watching him walk into your living room, you discovered you were right. His ass did look incredible in those pants. So incredible it was almost criminal. Surely they caused car accidents. Because who could resist the urge to stare?

“My eyes are up here.”

Your head snapped up at his voice. Matt had his face turned toward you, over his shoulder, those pretty lips set in that smug little smirk. He was wearing his dark glasses so you couldn’t see his eyes but you would bet good money that they were sparkling with amusement. He knew you were staring at his ass. You didn’t know how he knew but he definitely knew. You felt your face heat.

Desperate for a distraction, you turned your attention to the flowers in your hands. It was a touching gesture, getting you flowers. And not the stereotypical roses. You didn’t dislike roses. They were pretty and they smelled nice without being cloyingly sweet. It was just everyone seemed to pick roses . . .

“Are these daisies?” you asked.

It was an obvious change of subject. Judging by that raised eyebrow, he was well aware what you were doing but apparently decided to be merciful and allow it.

“Asters,” he answered. “Daisies are toxic to cats. Or so says the internet. But I figured you rather be safe than sorry in this case.”

“Absolutely,” you agreed. Houdini might occasionally dance on your last nerve but you loved him and would hate for him to get sick. Or worse.

“Florist said they come in a variety of colors but since I didn’t know which you would prefer, I told her to put in a little of each.”

“I like a little of each better than a single color,” you said. “It’s more dynamic that way.”

He nodded and said, “Good to know.”

You moved into your kitchen, carefully setting the flowers down on your small table, before starting to look for the vase. You had a nice one, a housewarming gift from your sister, but you hadn’t been using it much. So you had put it away and didn’t quite remember where you had stashed it. You were pretty sure it was somewhere in the kitchen, probably on the top shelves of these cabinets . . .

There it was, in the small cabinet above the fridge. You reached up to grab it and discovered that it was just far enough back to be out of range of your fingers. Not even on your tip-toes could you reach it. You sighed, dropped back flat on your feet, and turned to drag over your step-stool. Only to left out a startled yelp. You hadn’t realized that Matt had gotten that close.

He looked entirely too pleased with himself, wearing that amused little smirk while you tried to convince your heart to stop racing.

“Bell,” you said firmly.

“Bell?” he repeated, his amused smirk only growing.

“Yes,” you said. Then, with as much as authority as you could muster, said, “All cats should have to wear bells.”

“Not a cat,” he countered.

“Ninja are classified as cats,” you said. “You are a ninja and therefore a cat. So you must wear a bell. It’s the law.”

“Is it?” He asked. “Haven’t come across that particular statute.”

“It’s from 1871 and admittedly it’s not as rigidly enforced today as it once was,” you said, feigning seriousness. “But it’s still on the books.”

“Houdini doesn’t seem to have a bell,” he observed.

“He has one. He takes his collar off,” you said.

“And you just let him get away with breaking the law like that?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “He hides it after he takes it off.”

Matt’s grin got even wider. “Does he? Same place everytime?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “Always a different location.”

“Quite the criminal mastermind you have.”

“Yes,” you said. “Good thing Daredevil is keeping him in check. Otherwise he might have taken over the city by now.”

Matt laughed, that delighted laugh that lit up his entire face and brought out those dimples. It was unbearably cute.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetheart,” he said once he got his amusement under control. “Houdini is a very tough opponent.”

Probably because he heard his name, Houdini gave a loud meow from the living room. Which just made you both laugh.

“Did you find your vase?” he asked after you both calmed down.

“Yes,” you said. “I just need to get my step-stool. It’s just out of my reach.”

“Or I could get it down for you,” he said.

“Or you could get it down for me,” you repeated. The asked, “You don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded, sweetheart,” he said. “Now where is this vase?”

In seconds you had your vase. After filling it with water, you arranged the colorful asters to your liking. After some consideration, you placed it in the middle of your small kitchen table. There was nowhere in your apartment where it would be completely safe from getting knocked over by your cat but in the kitchen, it had a chance. It wouldn’t last two minutes on your coffee table.

As it was, Houdini hopped onto the table and started giving the vase a thorough inspection. Something he always did to anything new or had been stored away for any length of time.

“Be a good cat,” you told him. “Don’t break anything. No wild parties.”

Houdini meowed as if saying no promises, human.

Judging by the little smile on Matt’s face, he found your little conversation with your cat amusing. You retrieved your purse, swung it onto your shoulder, then double-checked that you had your phone and your keys.

“Shall we?” Matt asked, holding out his free hand.

“We shall,” you agreed, managing to sound confident even as some of your earlier nerves threatened to return. Your hand trembled a little when you reached for his offered hand but it was steady by the time you actually slide your hand into his. Probably sensing your nerves, he gently squeezed your hand and pulled you close to his side. Then you walked out of the door and headed for the elevator.

At first you walked in silence , the only sounds between the ambient noises of the building and the tap-tap of his cane. But sometimes when you were nervous, you found silences uncomfortable and got chatty. Tonight was apparently one of those times.

“You look nice,” you said. “Maroon is a good color on you.”

“Thank you, I try,” he said. “I’ll have to take your word about the maroon. Well, yours as well as Foggy and Marci.”

“Foggy and Marci?” you asked.

“Foggy bought me this and a couple of other shirts in order to get me to wear, I quote, ‘something that isn’t black, navy, brown, or gray’ but Marci helped him picked them out. Said she didn’t want a repeat of ‘the mustard travesty.’”

“The mustard travesty?” you repeated.

“Apparently one of the shirts he bought me during college was ‘the color of Dijon mustard’ and Marci says that putting me in mustard is ‘a fashion crime against humanity.’”

You tried to picture that. You weren’t sure it was possible for Matt to look terrible but agreed that mustard probably wasn’t the best color choice for him.

“What are you wearing?” he asked as you pressed the button for the ground floor.

It was a reasonable question. But it reminded you of what you were wearing under those clothes. Which made you face feel a little warm.

“Oh nothing fancy, just a skirt and a blouse,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Matt tilted his head slightly to the side you were on. Like he was listening closely to you. You wondered why. “One of those silk blouses your sister got you?”

“Yes,” you said. “The teal one.”

“Not sure I remember what teal looks like,” he said.

“It’s a mixture of blue and green,” you said.

He made a little humming noise of acknowledgment. “Your skirt?”

“Black.”

“Is this skirt short?” he asked.

“No,” you answered. “Why?”

“Just curious about why asking about your outfit made you more nervous that you already were. Thought maybe you had worn something a little daring, something you don’t wear very often.”

“Like a skirt too short for the office?” you asked.

He nodded.

“Nope. No short skirts tonight,” you said.

“But you did wear something daring.”

You spluttered, the earlier warmth in your face increasing. “How did – ?”

“Know? I suspected when you didn’t deny wearing something daring, just that it wasn’t your skirt. I knew when you reacted like that,” he said.

He adopted a thoughtful look as he seemed to think out loud, “Wearing something daring . . . it’s not your skirt . . . you said your silk blouses were the same aside from their color and I know you wore another one to work earlier this week so not your blouse . . . that leaves something you didn’t or wouldn’t mention . . . like your underwear.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. The thoughtful playfulness on his face shifted into something hungry, almost predatory. That look stirred something within you, kindling that dormant fire between your legs back to life. Matt’s nostrils flared and the tip of his tongue swept across his lips. He let go of your hand in favor of snaking his arm around your shoulders. You let out a squeak as he pulled you against him.

Despite the hunger on his face, his hold was gentle. You could easily wriggle out of it if you wanted to. But you didn’t want to. You wanted to be closer, wanted to press flush against his body.

“Am I right?” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and rough. “Are you wearing something pretty for me under these clothes, sweetheart?”

The voice alone was enough to make you shudder but the sensation of his breath against your ear, teasing that sensitive spot on your neck, added fuel to the fire within you.

“Y-yes,” you answered. He rumbled, his hand starting to slide from your shoulder down your back . . .

The ding of the elevator as it reached the ground floor made you jump and hastily pull away, vaguely feeling like a teenager getting caught making out by their parents. The doors slide open and you stepped out into the lobby, Matt walking closely behind you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

Dinner, then maybe sex, you silently reminded yourself. Assuming he still wants to have sex with you by then.

You looked around for something to distract your mind away from the gutter and found it in the form of Mrs. Dudley standing by the mailboxes, collecting her mail. She was staring at Matt with narrowed eyes and a suspicious frown. You wondered if she had seen Matt leaving earlier this week, dressed in your brother’s sweatpants. Probably if the sneering glare she sent in your direction was any indication. She pointedly turned her back to you and beside you, Matt stiffened.

“Let me guess,” you whispered to him. “She’s muttering about me being a whore.”

“Yes,” he said. “How did you know?”

“Mrs. Dudley is a very religious woman,” you explained. “I forget which specific branch of Protestant Christianity she subscribes to but the bottom line is that she has very strong opinions about premarital sex. She probably saw you leaving Sunday morning. And then she saw you with me . . .”

“And made assumptions about what we’ve been doing?” he injected.

“Got it in one,” you said. “I can see why Foggy pays you the big bucks.”

Matt chuckled, his body losing some of the tension. “Doesn’t it bother you? That she is talking about you like that?”

“A little,” you answered. “But I’m used to Mrs. Dudley thinking badly of me.”

“Why? You’re wonderful,” he objected.

“Flatterer,” you said, feeling your heart flutter at the sheer outrage in his voice. “Part of it is that she has meet Jo . . .”

“Who is Jo?” he interrupted.

“My best friend,” you answered. “She’s an investigative reporter for The Bulletin.”

“Joanna Meyer? Karen has mentioned her – said she wasn’t afraid to express her mind.”

You smiled. “That’s Jo. Like Mrs. Dudley, Jo also has very strong opinions about sex. Her opinion that as long as all parties involved are freely consenting adults, they can have as much sex as they want. In the world according to Jo, slut is a compliment.”

“I can see how she and Mrs. Dudley might clash.”

You nodded and then added, “And then shortly after I got him, Houdini dug up all of her petunias and used the pot as a litter box.”

The made Matt laugh. You giggled. It was funny now. It hadn’t been funny at the time. Again, the laughter eased your nerves. After you both got your amusement under control, Matt offered his hand again. This time your hand didn’t shake even a little bit when you slide your hand into his.

“So,” you said as you exited the building. “Which way are we going?”

He grinned as he turned you to head down the street and said, “The sighted being guide by the blind? That’s a switch.”

“I could take over guiding,” you said, pretending to be thoughtful. “Provided you are fine with ending up somewhere unexpected.”

“Oh? Like where?” he asked, playing along.

“Queens.”

He laughed, then asked, “How in the world would we end up all the way in Queens?”

You shrugged, feeling your face get a little warm with mild embarrassment. Then said, “You are underestimating my ability to get lost. I’ve gotten lost several times trying to navigating this city.”

“And found yourself in Queens?”

“Sometimes,” you said. “Learned that Spider-Man will give you directions if you ever find yourself lost in Queens.”

“Good to know,” Matt said, shaking his head with an amused little smile as the pair of you went around a corner. “But I seldom get lost enough to wind up in Queens by accident.”

“Know the streets like the back of your hand, do you?” You asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Especially these streets. I’ve lived in Hell’s Kitchen nearly all of my life.”

“Is that why you set up shop here?” you asked.

He nodded, his face very serious. “Hell’s Kitchen isn’t perfect but it’s home. There are good people here that need someone in their corner.”

You had figured previously that Matt had to have a strong connection to this neighborhood in particular in order to appoint himself as its guardian angel. Or guardian devil, you supposed he would say. Personally, you thought angel was just as apt. Biblical angels, after all, were rather fearsome things.

“What about you? Where’s your hometown?” he asked.

“Don’t really have one,” you said. “I was born on the west coast but we moved around a lot.”

“Why?”

“My dad was in the military until I was in high school,” you explained. “When he retired, we moved to Florida because my mom is from there and she wanted to live closer to her sisters.”

Matt gave a little hum of understanding, then you walked in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before he spoke again, “We’re almost there. Allergi, on your right.”

You looked ahead and scanned the signs until you saw the one that had Allergi Italian Restaurant in cream white raised letters against a scarlet red background. It hung above a door painted in the same shade of red with cream accents between large windows. As you approached the door, your nose was filled with the warm scent of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs. You could see a few patrons through the windows and they looked like they were enjoying themselves.

Matt tried to let go of your hand when you got to the door but you squeezed his hand, unwilling to let his hand go yet. You opened the door for both of you. The rich smell of food was stronger now and it made your mouth water. The gentle murmur of conversation and soft laughter filled your ears as you walked together toward the podium.

The dark brown eyes of the teenage girl manning the podium lit up when she saw Matt and called out, “Nonna! Mr. Murdock is here!”

A woman appeared in the entrance to what you assumed was the kitchen. The wide smile that spread across her face was identical to the one on the teenager – you could tell they were related. She walked over as fast as her age allowed, throwing her arms around Matt once she got in range.

“Matteo, how lovely to see you again,” she said warmly.

“Hello, Mrs. Allergi,” he greeted, an equally warm smile on his face.

“Nonna, Matteo, call me Nonna,” she gently scolded him. “How many times do I have tell you?”

“At least once more, Mrs. Allergi,” he said, then introduced you.

“Welcome to Allergi’s, my dear,” she said. “Come, let me show you to your table.”

As you were lead to a small table, you took a quick look around. The walls were painted the same cream white as the outside sign and were decorated with lovely citiscapes framed in dark wood. You immediately recognized the ones of New York but you thought some of the others were Rome, Florence, Naples, and Venice. Some of the architecture of those cities was pretty distinctive. The same dark wood was repeated in the square tables and chairs arrayed around the restaurant. The cushions lined the seats of the chairs also echoed the sign as they were the same shade of scarlet red.

When you were seated at the table, the teenager set down a set of silverware wrapped in a red napkin, quietly making sure that Matt knew where she had sat down his silverware. She handed you both a menu before bouncing off to get you both some ice water to start off with. You wondered if you were ever that peppy when you were her age.

Mrs. Allergi returned to the kitchen after chiding Matt for missing Mass so often, her light tone making it clear that she was teasing him rather than actually lecturing him for not coming to church.

“So I assume you know the Allergis?” you said as you opened your menu.

“Pretty obvious?” he said, smiling.

“Just a little bit.”

“My dad was working as busboy for them as one of his part-time jobs when my accident happened. They were one of the few places that didn’t fire him for taking so much time off. They couldn’t take me in after . . . after . . . but Mrs. Allergi always asked how I was doing after Mass while I lived at St. Agnes. Then a couple of years ago, they ran into a little legal trouble . . .”

“My brother Eddy got arrested for robbery and murder,” the teenager interjected as she sat down your glasses and filled them with ice water. “Mr. Murdock saved him from Rikers.”

“I didn’t do anything special, Lucy,” Matt said. “The DA had no case . . .”

“Mr. Murdock saved him,” Lucy repeated with stars in her eyes. And a blush across her cheeks. You realized that this wasn’t just hero worship, she probably had a crush on Matt. “The public defender wanted him to take a deal . . .”

“Lucy!” Mrs. Allergi shouted from the entrance of the kitchen, beckoning to the girl.

The girl sighed, pouted a little, then called back, “Coming Nonna! Good night, Mr. Murdock.”

“Good night, Lucy,” Matt said as the girl turned and left.

“She has a crush on you,” you said in a low voice.

“I know,” he said, in an equally quiet voice. “She’ll move onto someone else sooner or later. In the meantime, I’m treating her like Candace.”

“Candace?” You asked.

“Foggy’s little sister.”

You made a humming sound of acknowledge, turning your attention to the menu. A lot of the dishes seemed to have two versions – Italian American and traditional Italian. In the end you decided to order the traditional version of fettuccine Alfredo as you had never had that version before and was curious. And it didn’t sound like something that would sent you into a food coma.

Because as much as you enjoyed literally sleeping with Matt, you were kinda of hoping to do more tonight.

You decided to opt for tea instead of any of the wines on offer for similar reasons. You didn’t want to be drowsy or Matt worrying about if you were actually saying yes to sex or it was just the wine talking . . .

Matt ordered the lasagna. While you waited for your meals, he entertained you with the story of how he first meet Foggy at Columbia. Which had you giggling. And also sympathizing with Foggy since you had a frequent bouts of no-filter-between-the-brain-and-the-mouth disease around Matt too.

Both dishes looked and smelled wonderful when they arrived at your table. While you couldn’t speak for Matt’s dish, your meal tasted even better than it smelled. Rich enough to practically melt in your mouth without being heavy. You might have gushed a little to Mrs. Allergi when she swung by the table to see how things were going. Which you think pleased her and she promised to pass the compliments onto her son Antonio who apparently helped with the.

Matt had this little smile on his face throughout the entire exchange and when Mrs. Allergi had left, all he said was, “You’re adorable.”

You felt your face warm and said, “I think you mean awkward.”

“No,” he said, still wearing that gentle smile. “I meant what I said. You’re adorable.”

“Adorable as someone with spontaneous utterances can be,” you said.

“I enjoy your spontaneous utterances,” he said.

“Why?” you asked. “Curious to know how much of my foot I can fit in my mouth?”

“Not quite,” he said then his smile turned coy. “Through I am curious about something along those lines.”

The warmth in your cheeks grew as your mind immediately went to the fantasies you had about about sucking Matt’s cock. You fought the urge to squirm in your chair as the heat between your legs once again flared to life.

This is a public place, you reminded yourself. There are children present.

You desperately tried to think of something besides sex. Spotting another couple sharing some of cake, you asked, “Do you want desert?”

“Mrs. Allergi always sends me home with tiramisu,” he said. “Would you like to go to my place and share it?”

The invitation was clear. As was the knowledge that you would sharing an entirely different kind of desert.

“Yes.”

Notes

I am already working on the next chapter. Which in my outline is almost entirely smut. I’m hoping to get it done faster than this chapter.

Again I had to make some decisions about general background and family for Reader. I tried to keep it as vague as possible given the circumstances.

Reader makes her pineapple upside down cake in a cast iron skillet because that’s how I was taught how to make them. In my dad’s skillet that is older than I am.

According to some of the legal podcasts I’ve listening to and lawyer blogs I’ve been lurking around, judges sometimes start quoting classic literature as a way of snarking at one of the parties when said party has gotten on their nerves in some fashion. This can be especially snarky when the remark was made in the footnotes.

Some of the veterinary websites I went said that daisies, among other flowers, are toxic to cats but that asters were safe. I’m not a vet so I cannot verify that one way or another. Besides asters are pretty.

The mustard thing was inspired by a photo of Charlie Cox at a recent con where he’s wearing a mustard-colored shirt . . . and well, I cannot say that Charlie looks terrible because he never looks terrible and maybe it’s the lighting but judging by those pictures, mustard isn’t his color.

Not kidding about the angels. The actual descriptions of them, especially in the Book of Enoch, are pretty wild . . . there is a good reason that their opening line is usually “Fear not.”

It is my understanding that nonna means grandmother in Italian but feel free to correct me.

Reader recognizing some of the Italian architecture is an artifact of my love for art.

I decided that Foggy gets to have both his TV show sibling of Theo and his comic book sibling of Candace.

The original fettuccine Alfredo did use the cream sauce found in the Italian-American version. From what I could find out, the original is the noodles cooked in butter and herbs, then tossed with freshly grated Parmesan cheese just before serving.

#daredevil #fan fic #the alley cat series #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #ao3 link

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wrenreid · 2 years

Text

Just Acting

18+ content in this story | all chapters in ML

Chapter Thirteen

This is the last day of the trip. Thank the Lord. You need to get out of here and not deal with Matthew any longer.

You're trying to push the kiss out of your mind. It didn't happen. But it fucking did. It sadly did. You laugh and think a horrible thought. That's more than you've gotten out of Jordan. Shit, Jordan. You need to text him.

Joe is making breakfast while the rest of you are deciding what you want to do for the rest of the day until you have to leave.

You all sit around the table and eat the waffles, bacon, and eggs Joe had whipped up for you guys. You drink your orange juice contently. Matthew is at the end of the table. You don't strain your neck to look at him at all.

After today, you don't have to see him as Matthew. You'll see him as Spencer when you're filming and Spencer when you're together trying to please your bosses. At least you actually like the Spencer side of him. Awkward genius definitely trumps asshole actor.

You put away your dishes into the sink, and head outside with the girls. You decide to take a hike together. You're dressed in biker shorts, an oversized t shirt, and your white sneakers. You tie your shirt wavy hair in a half up half down style.

The four of you walk and talk as the wind grazes your skin. The sun shines above you guys, making its way to the top of the sky as noon grows near.

"You doing better?" Paget asks.

"Yeah I am actually." You shoot her a smile.

You've decided to put this whole Matthew thing behind you. Yes, it happened, but it won't ever happen again. So it doesn't matter. Right? You just wish you could stop thinking about it.

After about an hour, you girls decide to head back to the house. You find the guys swimming in the lake. Matthew jumps off the cliff as you approach the picnic tables. You take off your shoes, just in case someone splashes, and set them on the other side of the table.

"Y/n, can you come here?" Joe asks from the little cliff. He's looking at something on the ground.

"Uh sure." You get up and walk over to him. "What do you...?" You don't even get to finish your sentence because you're falling into the lake. Falling isn't the best term, obviously, you were pushed. When you come up, you yell. "I will get you, old man!"

The others are laughing. Your clothes are soaked. You hate it. But this is a chance to show them you can have fun. You swim around, laughing and talking with your friends.

You swim then walk out of the lake, dripping water from your clothes and hair. Your shirt is completely see through now. You strip it off, ringing it out. Everyone else is getting out now, since it's almost time to go home. You head upstairs, trying and failing to not drip water everywhere, and hop in the shower to rinse off. You don't really wash your hair thoroughly, just get the lake water off of your body. You change into jeans and an old band t shirt and your white sneakers.

"Honestly, I don't think I want to leave this place,” you say, looking around.

"Me either. It's so nice out here," Aisha says, slipping on her shoes. The two of you head downstairs.

When you get to the bottom, you catch Matthew's eyes from the top of the steps as he leaves his room. You look away again, focusing your attention to the others.

Before you know it, it's time for everyone to get back to Los Angeles. You, Adam, and Aisha say your goodbyes and head to his car. Aisha and Adam pile into the front seats, and you sit behind the passenger's.

You check your phone. 2 missed calls and 6 text messages from Jordan, your sister freaking out because you weren't responding, and Jess making jokes about how you'd be spending the next 3 days with Matthew.

"Sorry Jordan. Joe said no phones for the weekend,” I send him.

To be honest, you really hadn't thought about texting Jordan the entire time. It's not a bad thing, you assure yourself. You only didn't think about him because you were busy with your friends. Is it bad though? That you didn't think about your boyfriend the entire time until you and Matthew were...

Fuck. You kissed Matthew. He kissed me. But you kissed him back while you have a boyfriend.

You're not entirely thrilled about going back into the fast city, but it'll be great to get back into your regularly scheduled life. You watch the opposite of three days ago happen, as you see the quiet lakeside views turn back into crazy LA from the window of Adam's car.

You three arrive at his place. "Bye y'all!" You wave with a grin.

"Bye Y/n, see you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you smile.

You get into your car and start your way to Dunkin. You know Jess will be there. It's 5pm, so she should be getting off soon.

It's 5:30 by the time you get to Dunkin. Jess gets off at 5:30. You catch her grabbing her things just in time.

"Y/n!! You're back!" She gives you a hug.

"Yes! I was wondering if you wanted to come over since it's been a while?"

"Definitely! You want to get a coffee first don't you?"

"You know me so well," you say.

You order your usual, you both get into your cars and head to your apartment.

"So how was the weekend?" She asks, eyebrows wiggling.

"It was good. Other than Matthew being a dick, it went well,” you tell her.

"What'd he do?"

"Just being rude and annoying. It wasn't horrible I guess, most of the time we ignored each other."

And we made out on his bed.

"Well that's good,” Jess says.

"Yeah it was just a bit stressful when I was around him. But I did have fun."

I sat in his lap...

"That's great! You definitely needed to have fun for once,” she chuckles.

"I have fun."

"Do you though?" Her eyebrow raises accusingly.

"Work is fun,” you tell her

"Okay ,I get that acting is great, but it can't be like an amazing adventure."

You roll your eyes. "You hungry?"

"Yes. Starving,” she says dramatically.

You order takeout, and it gets to your apartment in about twenty minutes.

Jess and you enjoy your noodles and chicken as you talk more about your weekends. She saw Jacklyn again, and their relationship is getting more serious.

She decides to spend the night, and you two watch some tv until you need to turn in for the night. The two of you fall asleep on your bed around 1am.

Spencer has been walking with a pep in his step ever since he admitted his feelings to Delilah and to himself. Opening up is one hell of a risk, like jumping off a cliff with no safety net. There's absolutely nothing to stop the fall from going too far, nothing but your own willpower of self protecting. Spencer has gotten pretty good at that in his life time.

But this one would be different. Hopefully. She was everything he wanted. Yes, his past was rocky... more like rocks with shards of glass poking out at you and you can't escape from getting your feet cut, but he wanted this. He wanted her. Finally, for the first time in a long time, he wanted someone who was right. Maeve would want this, he reminds himself. She would want me to be happy again.

And he is happy again. Delilah is smart, passionate, kind, funny, easy to talk to, and caring. She listens to him when he rambles on about random topics that live in his magnificent brain. And, she would never let him do something he wasn't comfortable with. He finds it hard to talk about emotions and do things that reflect his emotions, but she won't push him. She knows his past; she knows about Maeve, and Cat, and everyone else. It doesn't bother her. She just wants to make sure he knows he's safe and that he's comfortable.

Spencer smiles, making his drive to the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. He used to take the metro, but driving alone and getting to think and think out loud without strangers giving him dirty looks or trying to mug him was nice.

As he steps out of the elevator, Spencer gets greeted with the sight of his boss and very close friend, Emily Prentiss. She's filling up a mug with coffee in the corner of the bullpen.

"Good morning, Dr. Chirpy," she says with a smile.

Everyone's been noticing Spencer's new aura of cheerfulness, and they're definitely suspecting a girl is involved. He'll tell them who she is eventually, but it's fun for him to see them itch with anticipation and wonder.

Eventually, everyone else arrives at work, and the team spills into the briefing room to start the new case.

_____

"Hey, Jenna!"

"Yes?"

"Can you take these stacks upstairs to Sophie in room 13?" Delilah stands up, papers in hand. She meets Jenna at the doorway of her office and handed them to her.

"Yeah, sure thing!" Jenna takes them from her with a smile.

Delilah paused, making sure she wasn't imagining things. "Is that my perfume?" She sniffs.

"Oh um," Jenna furrows her eyebrows in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. It just smelled really good, and I forgot to use some this morning..."

"It's okay. Just ask, and you can use it anytime,” Delilah says, a slightly awkward smile on her face.

Jenna relaxes her stance, "Okay." With that, she leaves to do as she was asked.

Delilah sat back in her desk chair, getting back to work. Spencer is away in Washington state at the moment. He had texted her from the jet, letting her know he wouldn't be able to see her for a while. She didn't like it when Spencer left, not because she wanted him with her at all times like a clingy girl, but because she couldn't make sure he was safe when he was miles and miles away.

Delilah knew that she would have to get used to him leaving every week. Which she was almost fine with, because the times they did spend together were perfect because they were together.

_____

"Miss Reign?" Jenna knocks at Delilah's half open office door, dressed in a grey pencil skirt and a purple blouse.

"Please, Delilah," she smiles at her assistant.

"Sorry. Delilah," Jenna says.

"Yes?"

"There's a guy here to see you. Last name Reid."

Delilah looks at her a lottle confused. "Send him in."

"Hey," Spencer says, coming into her office.

"I thought you weren't coming home for another few days,” she says, a smile growing on her face.

"Well, criminals are unpredictable so..." he shrugs.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's just been a rough couple of days,” he answers.

She grabs his face. "I'm glad you're home safe."

"Me too...so that I can see you." Spencer pulls her in by the waist, planting a gentle kiss on her mouth.

"As much as I love this, I can't commit pda at work."

"Commit? Sounds like you're a criminal..." he presses his lips to Delilah's again, moving his mouth against hers.

"Yeah, yeah,” she rolls her eyes, kissing him back.

"I handcuff criminals you know.”

"Spencer!" She laughs-gasps, pulling away from his lips. He's never said anything like that before, and she kind of liked it. "I have work to do, Dr Reid."

He gives her a pouty face, pushing out his lower lip and batting his gorgeous hazel eyes.

"Oh come on, none of that." Delilah says, pointing to his handsome frowny expression.

He drops his pout, "When do you get off?"

"In twenty."

"I can deal with that. I'll be down the block,” he says.

"Okay," she says before Spencer leans in and gives her one more soft kiss. He makes his way out of her office, then out of the lobby and down the block to a coffee shop.

When she sits down, Delilah sees Jenna looking at her through the naked window of her office. She had left up the blinds so that she didn't feel so claustrophobic in her office. Jenna looked away quickly when she met Delilah's gaze.

She knew it was very unprofessional to kiss your (boyfriend?) at work, especially in front of your employees. He definitely makes her want to do things she normally wouldn't.

When she finally was getting ready to leave the office, she saw Jenna come through the front door.

"Where'd you run off to?" Delilah asks.

"I needed some water. I got you some too."

"Oh okay. Thank you." She normally would be like 'ask if you can leave next time bit..." but she didn't really care at the moment, and she got her some water so it was fine this time.

"Okay you two can clear out," Delilah says to Jenna and Marcos, the manager her father hired a while back.

They leave, and Delilah gets to go meet Spencer at the coffee shop.

_____

You choose not to say anything to Matthew in between scenes or after you're done filming for the night. You're not necessarily mad at him anymore, you can't be since you reacted upon what he did. It's a clean slate between you two now. Or at least you try to make it one.

"Knock knock," Matthew's voice rings from outside of your trailer door. You're already dressed back in your clothes, a hoodie and running shorts since it's pretty late at night.

"Come in,” you say.

"Look I knocked!" He grins.

"Sort of,” you correct. “Do you need something?"

"You, me, tomorrow night. Or should I say, Spencer, Delilah, tomorrow night. Eight o'clock."

"We're hanging out?"

"We're hanging out,” he nods. “Like we talked about.”

You sigh softly. Okay.”

"I'll see you then,” Matthew says then exits your trailer.

chapter fourteen

tags: @pauline5525mgg @theintimatewriter @lilibet261 @greysviolets @jazzymariexoxoc @one-sweet-gubler @thatsonezesty13 @necromaniackat @awhoreforspencerreid @sebs-oxygen @scarredelirium @bts-sugaplum @awesomeness1679 @preciousbabypeter @yazzyu @cynbx @r3idsp3ncer @1010lizz @tiredbut-here @skulzombiw @lena-1895 @eevee0722 @danis-stuff-is-here @kylakins88 @daydreamingqueen1 <3

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ravenrose18 · 20 days

Text

Shadows of Destiny

Chapter 6

youtube

The Next Morning

"She is bowlegged. Like of all people to call you on a Saturday morning, it's...what's her name again? Lilly..." Sam teased Dean as Dean snatched his phone from his brother's hand. They were sitting around the table with Bobby, having just finished eating breakfast. Dean's cheeks blushed with embarrassment as Sam teased him, closing his phone and placing it beside his glass. "You just don't understand the appeal of a girl like that in South Dakota," Dean grumbled and Sam snorted his orange juice, rolling his eyes. As much as Dean hated the teasing, this was the most civil he and Sam had been in weeks. "In...South Dakota. Do you hear yourself?"

Raven slowly made her way down the stairs, her steps heavy from the night before's lack of sleep. As she reached the bottom, she paused around the corner, leaning against the wall near the kitchen, straining to hear Dean and Sam's conversation. A frown creased her face, and she sighed, shaking her head at what she overheard. The tension between them was unmistakable, and Raven knew she couldn't just forget the events that had transpired. Despite this, she decided not to confront them and instead, slowly walked into the kitchen

Dean glanced up as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Just as he looked up, he looked back down at the table and nervously tapped his fingers on the wood. The behavior caused Sam to furrow his eyebrows and turn to greet Raven, "Morning Raven!"

"Morning sweetheart. There's food in all the usual places and meat on the table. Ignore the boys. They're already off to the races on their bullshit this morning." Bobby grumbled with a soft smile as he glanced over the edge of his newspaper at Raven. Raven's eyes met Sam's as she entered the room, offering a warm greeting. She then acknowledged Bobby with a nod before her gaze briefly met Dean's. Feeling uncomfortable, she averted her eyes and headed to the kitchen, where she picked up an apple. Without making eye contact, she left the kitchen and settled on the living room couch, gazing out the window. Her thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous night, and she sensed Dean's unease. Determined to push the troubling thoughts aside, her phone suddenly buzzed in her pocket, prompting her to check the screen.

Dean sighed as Raven grabbed only an apple and left the room as quickly as she entered. He aggressively tapped his fingers on the table a couple of times and then met Sam's eyes, which were screaming at him for answers. He didn't answer him. Instead, he snatched his phone off the table and stood up. "And just where are you goin' this early?" Bobby asked nosily to which Dean waved him off in a huff. "Back to Hell if I don't change my ways." He teased, causing both Sam and Bobby to gasp as he left the kitchen for the garage. "I'm gonna go restock Baby. Maybe text Lilly. Maybe go get a day drunk at Romeo's. If I'm grounded, tell me now."With that attitude, no one is gonna care what you do, boy. Go on. Get it out of your system and come back in a better mood." Bobby snapped at him, closing his newspaper with a scowl. Raven overheard him talking about a girl named Lily and his early morning plans. She held the apple tightly as she listened to him vent his frustrations. She couldn't help wondering if she was the reason for his anger, and although he tried to leave to have some time alone, she couldn't shake the hurt she felt about him ignoring their kiss from the previous night. She stayed seated on the couch, reluctant to say something that might upset Dean further.

"I don't have an attitude. I just want to work, Bobby. I want to do something that's not sitting here, waiting for whatever...they want from us. We're just gonna rot and wait for the next order to come through?"

"I didn't say that," Bobby spoke softer this time and shook his head. Since the Angels had made themselves known, it did feel like they were just waiting around for orders, like soldiers in Heaven's army. That was a piece of information they hadn't even shared with Raven. Dean hadn't made it that far. "What I'm sayin' is that maybe we need some time to get back to our lives. Raven's back home. You seem angry about something, which I'm not even going to try to assume is the source. You've been topside for weeks. Maybe you need a bit of time to clear the head, Dean."

"And I can't do that with everyone looking at me like I'm going to explode." Dean huffed, placing his hands on his hips. "Have I looked at you that way? Has Sam?"

"Not...today. But it feels that way since I've been back. And I didn't sleep last night. So, I'm just not in the mood." Dean frowned, and Bobby nearly laughed at the statement, looking up at Dean with a tiny hint of sympathy. "Well, boohoo princess. Go take a nap. Or here's one better, take Raven with you, and go see about those signs in Kashmir. Figure out if we got demons in our backyard." Bobby spoke a little louder, hoping Raven would hear him. Raven was all ears as she listened to Dean, but when Bobby mentioned her name, she perked up and turned to see him standing at the kitchen entrance. Leaving the couch, she walked over to them and leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms. "If there's work to be done, especially when it comes to dealing with demons, I'm ready," she declared. "I recently returned to hunting, although during my absence, I assisted other hunters by providing research and information. I didn't actively participate in hunts, even though the temptation was certainly there," she added, choosing not to address the other part of the conversation she had overheard earlier.

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when Raven showed up in the doorway of the kitchen. He glanced down at her and sighed. How awkward was it going to be to be stuffed in a car with her, after the night before? The cashier was two hours away. A long...long two hours. "Are you feeling good enough to go out like this? I mean, you're banged up pretty good." Dean protested, offering her a way out if she was so inclined to take it. Sam was skeptical of Dean's behavior, tilting his head to the side with a confused look on his face as he cleared his throat. Dean simply held a finger up at him, telling him to not ask about the tension at the moment.

Raven looks at him and slants her eyebrow at him "Dean I'm fine clearly I didn't get sleep last night but I'm at least better than I was yesterday. I'll go grab things and wait outside with Baby don't take long." She says as she glances at Sam and then Bobby as she walks away upstairs to grab her bag and her weapons as soon as she does she walks towards the door. Dean opened his mouth to complain and possibly try to argue but she ordered him to get to Baby and come with her. Not knowing what to do, he turned to Bobby, who simply raised his eyebrows in amusement and nodded toward the door. Dean rolled his eyes, and walked out the door, strolling across the parking lot to Baby.

Once there, he opened the trunk, propping open the false trunk with a shotgun, and began to check supply levels. He pulled his pistol and placed it in his waistband, along with a silver knife, and then closed the false trunk, stepping back. "Just throw your stuff in the trunk. Hopefully, this won't take long!" He called out to Raven across the yard, before climbing in the driver's seat with a huff. He closed his eyes, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and took a deep breath to calm both the PTSD response he still struggled with and the nerves from the tension.

Raven stepped out of the house, her eyes fixated on Baby, the car, and her mind heavy with thoughts. She let out a weary sigh as she tossed her belongings into the trunk and closed it with a resolute thud. Glancing through the rear window, she spotted Dean, but couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. With deliberate steps, she made her way to the passenger side and settled into the car without so much as a glance in his direction, choosing instead to fix her eyes on the world outside. In the aftermath of the previous night, doubt gripped her as she pondered whether Dean regretted their actions, deeming it a mistake. The weight of uncertainty hung heavy, leaving her wondering if she should simply let him venture off on his own to tackle the tasks at hand.

As the passenger door opened, Dean snapped out of his thoughts, loosening his grip on the steering wheel, and turned the key to bring the Impala to rumbling life. He glanced over at Raven, his heart heavy with all the things he wanted to say to her. He couldn't decide if he wanted to apologize for kissing her, and possibly lead her on, or if he wanted to make some sort of comment to lighten the mood. Maybe she would laugh about the interaction. Maybe she would find it just as tense and awkward as he did. He had known her his whole life, professional or otherwise. This wasn't right. "Did you get enough to eat?" He asked awkwardly, wringing his hands along the leather of the steering wheel as he pulled out of Bobby's lot. "I was just thinking, you know...I don't want you to pass out if we end up in a mess or anything."

Raven gazes out the window with a distant expression before wearily closing her eyes. "I'm fine, Dean," she murmurs. She hardly eats these days, her appetite seemingly vanished along with her sleep. Despite feeling constantly tired, she finds herself lacking hunger. She's aware of Dean's concern for her, but she's hesitant to address the recent incident, as things already feel awkward and tense between them. "Okay. So, this isn't going to work..." Dean blurted out, dropping his hands to the bottom of the steering wheel as he sighed and tapped his fingers. He didn't know whether he wanted to address the night before, but he did know that he didn't want to leave it lingering in the air. He wanted to know how she felt about it. He wanted to know that they were okay and that she didn't hate him for it. "We need to clear the air and get our heads on straight. An awkward quiet two-hour drive with the sulking... the silence...and the weirdness. I can't do it. I'll drive off a bridge. So spill. What's bothering you? Or I can go first."

Raven gazes at him and gently shuts her eyes. "Dean, I think you should start. Do you have more trouble dealing with what happened between us last night, or is there something deeper to this? I want to know how you feel about it. After all, you made the first move." She speaks softly and turns completely towards him, making sure not to conceal her emotions as she prepares to confront the situation directly. Dean's hands tensed on the steering wheel. He was unfortunately right. The tension between them was because of the night before. He blanched a bit, staring straight at the road in silence for a moment, before clearing his throat, "Um. Last night...I kissed you." He paused and glanced toward her, before glancing back at the road with a grimace, "How am I supposed to feel about it? How do you feel about it? I know we were both pretty upset. And I made the first move..." He spoke slowly, doing his best to keep from sounding negative toward the situation in any way.

Chapter 7

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