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joannasteez · 2 months

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starship pain

pairing: cody rhodes x reader , cm punk x reader warning: explicit content (smut) minors pls dni. angst. emotional infidelity? loads of description!!! a lot of space related metaphors. authors note: lovely little request from @harmshake i hope i did your idea some justice. this takes place after mania. somethings are changed and switched around to fit my ideas. so it's a bit of an alternative universe from present kayfabe. the one flashback i have in this has a little red text noting when in the timeline of the year its set in!! word count: 14k tagging: @333creolelady @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae @coyotegirl-ramblings @luchorgasm @xbriexx @wanna-see-my-lease

...what gives a star it's character?...

temperature

color

mass

luminosity

size

...and with the display of such magnificent character, do stars not go about tirelessly with the work of inspiring awe? living wondrously bright amidst the deafening swallow of that deep void called space, so much so, that even with great distance, they exist bold enough to be witnessed. if so, then can we not be stars too? though not as great, can we not aspire, with terrible diligence, to be as breathtaking?...

and with the conclusion of wrestlemania forty, the philadelphia crowd erupts thunderous. earsplitting even. the american nightmare, cody rhodes, kneeling with tears at the heart of the ring. clutching the weight of the title belt. gold in hand, the newly crowned undisputed wwe universal champion. the hearts, minds, joys and displeasures of the people performing well to revolve in orbit around such star-like greatness.

"your moonsault needs a bit of work still". your father's voice coarse from age. his eyes unblinking. a perfectionist's stare. his penchant for over examination as lively as the sun. existing still even with the residual thrill of wrestlemania. "you're hesitating too much before you press off'.

you sigh. small enough that it goes incomprehensible. sipping at early afternoon coffee complimentary of the hotel. "it was just nerves pop", you give. because facing rhea ripley for the title, center stage in front of thousands was no easy feat. preparation took a back seat, amongst the lights and screams and hard bumps to the body. it was natural to have a seconds worth of overthought. "the match was fine'.

because it was fine. it was good. great even. two women telling a story with the violent bursting and clash of their bodies. loss be damned. it felt good to withstand the cold. to toil through limitation so fiercely. an easy break of a glass ceiling that worked well to loom above your head for some time. but your hall of fame of a father couldn't see pass the minor inconsistencies. a scrutinizer to the greatest degree.

"you should come by the gym soon. we can catch up. work through a few things together'".

catch up and work through meaning your body bouncing off a turn buckle till his satisfaction reached a good, sore, exhaustion. you pivot quickly at the thought of it. at the thought of drilling through moves and the terse cut of his voice.

you pick up your phone, hearing the shift of feet from across the hotel room. another sip of coffee that plays well over the soft closing of the bathroom door. because your father didn't need to know the details of your latest tryst. especially so soon after the events of the biggest sports entertainment night of the year. everything to him, that isn't the four sided ring, a distraction.

you smile. "doesn't sound like anything's wrong with my wrestling. sounds like you miss me".

he softens. blinks his eyes and lets his pride show through a small smile. "any father in their right mind would".

"so then say it".

"your moonsault is near flawless...", he gives. like relenting but not really. "...and i miss you".

the bedsheets ruffle behind you. your cue to end the moment before it has the chance to sour.

"we'll talk later", you give. "i have to go".

"alright. be good".

the face time call ends. gentle touching steps along the carpet of your hotel bedroom before you're slipping under puffy sheets. the philadelphia sun bursting beyond thin curtains to shape his face. blue eyes more sky than ocean under such bright warmth. his fingers quick to pull against your body. slipping up and over with a tender maneuvering till you lay against him like he seems to like. a drawn tune of a hum singing, your weight pressing in to comfort the sore, exhausted champion. his neck craning, rushing with movement to follow the run of your touch over his scalp and across the apple of his cheek. lips dipping into the heart of your palm.

"did i wake you?", you ask.

"no", cody gives. voice tired. "my phones been going crazy all morning".

your thumb caresses just beneath his bottom lip. soft and sweeping. "as expected. the price goes up when you're the champ. so does the attention".

"is that right?", tone suggestive. eyes a heavy linger along your lips.

you oblige him. a small sweet reward for all his tiresome effort. your lips, sweet and rich, tasting of coffee as they meet his. a tender meshing before they slip to slot passionate. his fingers curling into your hips. a venture to endear you, moaning lazy as his body forms deeper into the sheets. mouths parting only so his indulgences can lead him else where. wet, tongue led kisses along your pulse. hot breath and the dull graze of his teeth. surely overwrought still by the thrill of the night before. this morning version of him performing with a delirious high. his every touch sure and firm. the hands of a champion.

"how does it feel?"

a deep breath. weighing the question with silence. finding a home for his yet to be spoken thoughts in the dip of your neck. the part of his lips there producing a shiver up your spine.

"good. it feels good". the shine in his eyes threatening to wane. "scary. now i have to actually carry it. do some good with it".

you kiss him sweetly. a plant of reassurance. "you will". words kind as you roll on your side to face him. catching the beginnings of an etch in of adoration as he fails to look away from you. a semblance of something near unpleasant troubling your chest. like being under the weight of his gaze is too much to bare.

"thank you for being here".

"of course".

"i couldn't get to you properly last night. it all moved so fast after the match. one thing after the other".

you find yourself ruffling through his hair again. your own will, making to ingratiate your senses to him. like staining the skin to lay a good base for memory. "it's ok. m'here now", mouth on him. an urge that lives with imperfections, your tongue flicking soft, lapping over sweetly till it works away that ambivalent trouble in your belly. urges growing greater by the second till they form with an edge too defined to ignore. eager now, to feel him against skin. the way the mellow heat of him flares under your palm, melting the worry till it runs off into desire. this performance of a great gravitational pull.

regulating yourself to one drink for the night is a testier task than originally thought, but it works well enough. the celebratory buzz of the room filling in where the warmth of liquor doesn't. the philadelphia skyline sparkling the dark chill of the night as the closed in rooftop swells up to a comfortable fullness. wrestling stars at every corner. drinks in hand and simple, cheery conversation. the scene of it all, once a dream, talked of and imagined, now a reality as you maneuver amidst it all.

a firm take to your arm pulls you toward the secrecy of a corner. your lips failing to keep away from a pull up of excitement. heels clicking to keep the pace as you're rounded about a tall column and tucked away behind it. cody pressing in. a lazy little kiss against your mouth that tastes like his drink of choice. the glass clutched in his hand still, attempting not to spill it.

not so long after your intimate morning did you both part. post-mania obligations too much of a priority to ignore.

his free hand slips into the slit of your dress. fingers curling into your thigh. a silky brown number that matches his undone suit. his tie loose, his jacket gone and the vest unbuttoned. cheeks dusted a faint pink. his mouth pressing into your pulse. housing there to feel the warmth corralling under the skin.

and with only a few weeks of this relationship have you confirmed just how affectionate cody is. his every touch made to linger, his smile luminous and his words warm as they work tirelessly to sink into skin.

"you look", a kiss to your cheek. "absolutely beautiful angel", and another to your mouth.

you smile. lip tucking under your teeth. "thank you". fingers running to crease his shirt. pulling him closer. the curt shuffle of his shoes clicking forward as your back flushes up into the corner. your eyes sweeping over his mouth. reaching to lick in for a kiss that makes him groan. "you look good too". tasting the bitterness washing his tongue before going in for more. "very good", a purr of a moan floating in that makes his breath hitch before he's groaning soft. a mindless overworking of nerves you're sure. because the weeks with him thus far—albeit fresh—have been nothing short of a teasing game. heavy traveling and the looming possibility of a good passion not yet explored. that trouble in your belly shortening the full breath of your desires.

you break for air, remembering where you are. he downs the rest of his drink. clutching the glass still.

"you had a lot to drink?", you ask. wiping at his mouth with your thumb. licking at the residual bits of liquor.

his eyes trailing over your lips. unhurried to meet back at your eyes. "not too much. this was my last. m'tappin out early".

"good", you give. tugging at the undone part of his vest. keeping him flushed up against you so that the strength of his cologne steeps in. "cause i need you sober. we have unfinished business".

his free hand still finds itself making a home beyond the slit of your dress. kneading just where your thigh rounds out into the supple flesh of your bottom. a firm squeeze that's all possession. the action risky, but exhilaratingly so. his words toughing out with a groaning. "fuck the party then".

"no. enjoy it". slipping from under him slowly. "we'll have plenty of time later".

a final look of promise before you click away. deep tempering breaths that work to quell your own rise of desire. cheeks hot and your body beneath the delicate dress teeming with the memory of his touch. sensations comfortable enough that they leave you wanting. borderline desperate. but yes, what lives of the the draw, the pull of him, all a symptom of simple necessity. his everything sure enough to fall into. a security exacting to an almost bothersome degree. but maybe this full consumption isn't a bad thing, after past failures and flings too loose and undefined. shapeless, wordless things. maybe cody is what you need. your body tucking to lean into the wall that meets the end of the rooftop bar. "gin and tonic", you order.

soft clutching hands at your shoulder. you turn. bianca belair beaming with excited knowing eyes and a smirk. "you got blondie real red in the face", she starts. slipping up next to you. "no thoughts, just half of a three piece suit and a vibe".

you smile with her. feeling heat in your cheeks and a swirl in your belly. the intimacy of your relationship with cody no outright secret, but the confirmation of it never really reaching the great private sphere of your friends and friendly acquaintances. because it was business only yours and cody's to keep or share, but bianca is a good friend. closer than most. a former tag team partner. a nxt sister. and the playfulness of her curiosities were always as fun to indulge in as they were to hear.

"a real nasty vibe", you chuckle. "that man was trying to give ya'll a PLE from the corner. i had to slip away while i could".

"and i get it cause this brown and gold!?", her hand taking yours to spin you around. appraising the the beauty of your dress and accessories. her fingers dabbing up under an eye and sniffling with faux tears. "i taught you so well".

"you really did".

both of you laughing and sipping at your drinks.

"is it serious?", her tone shifting firm.

the question forcing you into a bout of consideration you've attempted to stray from on many occasions. but it's crucial nonetheless. a conclusion you'll have to come to regardless.

"i mean, i don't know". thumb rubbing against the chill of your glass. taking to a silent mull over. the past few weeks or so a whirlwind of affection. secret rendezvous' and late night calls. the tenderness of him working with an endless drive, even amongst the world of work set before the both of you. "we're slow burning it a bit but i think the end goal for him is to have something serious".

and your wording doesn't go unnoticed, not that you want it to. some part of you maybe looking to gain some much needed perspective. a nudge in the direction you feel is necessary. and she doesn't fail in delivering it. "you deserve something stable. the casual shit is cool but it's not forever".

you sigh. memory serving well of your former trysts with a different superstar. "i agreed on that being casual".

"you can agree to a lot when you think the dick is good". sipping at her drink. "he's here by the way".

and if you pretend not be be affected by the possibility of seeing him, of being seen by him, then doesn't that null the existence of the feeling all together? that twist in of nerves in your belly. residual things, like words and perhaps sentiments left to wander the void of space formally known as a very casual but fevered, undefined union of legs and lips. a deep passion left to succumb to the suffocating elements of space and time.

"i figured he'd be".

his name is a draw. of money, eyes and thoughts. his return causing this gravitational pull of the people, controversial or otherwise. a veteran in his own right. for him not to be seen at a celebration of the greatest night in their business would be confounded and weird.

"you good with all that though? i know it ended kinda all of a sudden".

from passion all the time to none at all. hour long drives and last minute flights. apartments and not so high floor hotel rooms. his name seemingly forever written into the slip and work of your tongue. free and casual but still working so sure in that space of passion that the feeling of being beholden to one another felt more truer by the day. living too sporadically—and maybe too unrestrained—still though, to last well enough on its own. because without the consistency of light, how is anything sure to grow? and then in came cody, prying away your attention with the ease and experience of a star born to evoke awe. his light pleasant and safe.

you shrug. "you live and learn, you move on. i'm good where i am".

bianca smiles. her arms a nice embrace. "as you should be. m'happy for you".

"thank you", you give. her warmth contagious. your body squeezing into the hug.

and when she's called away, montez drunkenly whisking his wife to another corner of the room, she parts with an apologetic smile. mouthing "sorry", as her sloshed to capacity of a husband drags her along with him. leaving you to live alone at the end of the bar, newly made acknowledgements of your relationship resting over you thickly. a tight take of adrenaline to your nerves. small sips of your drink working only to occupy your hands. unwilling to decipher the root of such a rush. fear or excitement. either way, the feeling of it drops your belly and leaves the tiny hairs everywhere to stand on end. because this has happened before, drawing too close to the power of a star too soon, burning amongst the void before the possibility of impact.

shoes click, approaching beside you. his cologne familiar. a scent made to intrigue. memory slipping in to harshen the roll over happening in your belly. of course he'd be here. the self proclaimed 'best in the world', the second city saint, the straight edged superstar. after some months of nothing, cm punk is alive and looking too well for you to stand.

you sip again. a cool lean up again the wall. eyes patient as they go about examining him whole. his doing just the same.

he looks good in a suit, much to your dismay.

"you clean up well", you give. meeting his eyes. standing firm against the heaviness of his gaze.

"so i've been told", slipping closer. his body leaning up against the bar to rest just as coolly as you have against the wall. a casual disposition so incredibly indicative of your times together. "you look beautiful. nothing new for you though".

"you're letting your grays grow out again".

"a new era, a new look". his palm smoothening over the salt and pepper patches of hair. a smile running through his lips. "you always did like them".

a fight to arrest the heat in your cheeks and old memories. "so what, this is about me?"

"such a smart girl", he chuckles. "i love it when you state the obvious".

you grin at his teasing. "i just had one of the most important nights of my life', shoving up against him playfully. "you can't be a dick to me".

"you did well by the way". a sincerity that makes something bloom over the skin. a jittered feeling you choose to ignore as he continues. "a nice bag of new little moves and tricks, it was good shit for your first mania. get rid of that moonsault though, it doesn't fit you".

you scoff. "oh cause you know what fits".

body bracing for impact just after such a wild take to flight. the words leaving before you can think them over. his shoulders shaking as he laughs.

"i've had the pleasure of knowing a time or two".

"oh fuck you punk".

"i mean...", dark earthy eyes sweeping over your lips. a lazy, patient journey over your body. a show of his appraisal. "...i don't know if you can. given your new boy toy and all".

"i'm bound to get a new toy if the old one breaks". not that cody is a toy. no. he's no play thing in the slightest. a sudden need to defend him in that right springing up till its thick in your mouth. stitching into words. his every intention appearing precise and laid bare. sweet gestures and impassioned words. his everything lingering long enough for you to notice. "it's a lot more serious than you think".

"so it seems", voice neutral, but appearing in his eyes to live, these little slivers of disappointment.

its something not meant to harp on for the sake of your own peace. but they try their damnedest to penetrate. working diligent. enough for the air to feel too warm and thick to breathe in. your barely touched drink a nuisance and the friendly crowd of the celebration too much to handle. and thank God for cody, your attention catching his motions for you. slipping through the crowd to head for the entry-exit doors. a make to leave as he catches your eyes to join him.

"i should...i should go-"

"that's a smart decision".

cody's tongue tastes like his drink of choice. room temperature whiskey. the lap of it lazy and patient, aiming to steep into the palate. his lips soft, twisting wet as they go about the work of ingratiating the senses. his hands following suit. a tight journey over the skin, heat flaring up in the wake of such an ardent touch. curling in to leave cratered impressions. his movements breathtaking, your body hoisted up in his arms before you're bouncing into the fluff of the bed. persistent fingers and his mouth ready, tongue dipping into where your body pliantly unfolds for him. your legs spreading with guidance. an exposure to the air that pulls a shiver through the body.

"so pretty", musing to himself. tongue slipping deep. warm and wet and earnest. groaning from a pleasure that comes with pleasure. your inner thighs suffering under the gripping weight of his touch. a steady hold that keeps you open for him. "been thinkin about this all day".

you hiss. touch filled with delirium. your belly overwrought and filling in hot. skin breaking away from the chilly philadelphia air. your hips testing their limits. a gentle swing up that catches against the rhythm of his mouth. a sweet suckle to your clit that shortens the air in your chest.

his thumb joins the fray. teases the messy drool of arousal pooling to drip lazy like. a dull circling at that broaches the possibility but nothing more. leaving you with the desire to be filled to the hilt. your pussy pulsing hard against his tongue. clenching about nothing, waiting impatient as he revels in his own play at giving pleasure.

"cody please", voice near broken. a sweet little plea.

he leaves you spread. watches your little performance of appeal. nails painted a color that leaves a beautiful contrast against your soft skin. slipping sweet at the bud of your clit. holding his eyes. enchantment and lust. the light of his desire bright enough that it reflects beautifully off your skin. curving its way up the body. paints itself warm over the work of your pleasure. melting in till its swirling heavy at the base of your belly. a sensation that grows easy. another groan erupting, surely from that clinging sensation you've bought to his tongue. pulsing and shivering. singing and moaning wispy for him. a full consumption that breaks the resolve you've built so easily. and when his thumb sinks into the fat of your clit, circling deep and persistent, you sink further into the sheets. a sharp "fuck", breaking into the air. your nerves unruly as they go in their frenzy.

your body drunk, senses beautifully askew. a quick to arrive release that speaks to his determination.

his mouth messy and slipping over your inner thighs. working to kiss your belly and through the valley of your breast. tongue peaking before it flattens over the perk of your nipples. an involuntary rut in your hips rushing up into him. the sensation like kindling for a fire.

you taste yourself. pulling your lips to his. the whiskey and that dangerous steep in of your own arousal. his hands nailed into the sheets. your own freeing him from his underwear. hot and hard in your hand. slipping him through slick arousal, to feel how awfully ready he is for you, before you're guiding him in with a desperate hand. head tipping into the bed as you feel the wet split as he goes. a hiss of enjoyment as he deepens, resting just over the end of you.

cody hums. diving his nose into the scent of your perfume. the stain of it at your neck arresting him. hips knocking in firm. deft and easy. working you open to take him.

your palms sweep over muscle. to layer over that already laid foundation of memory. his back taut and strong. nails clawing in as he fills you whole. your lips parting. breaths taken. belly coiling with the threat of release. and here the work of taking him in feels more than good. that troubling knot of ambivalence that once warred beneath the skin, trampled upon with a temporary defeat, as his hips work steadily.

"you feel so good", a moaning drawl of words.

an admission that slips its way to settling into thick air. performing well enough to saturate the room. and its true. cody feels good. amazing. his warmth gentle, and his everything near flawless.

the man wrapped in your arms, the reigning undisputed universal champion, is only near flawless. this, a thought that slips deep into your conscience. taking root aggressively so. but are stars not perfect in shape? bright and the enormity of them sensational. great enough in size that the draw of them from within performs well enough to gather equally at every side. a faultless sphere of a shape indeed. and has he not—in spite of your damning early morning sentiments—taken on that part of a stars character? wearing it warm and well. the wrestling world revolving to orbit his dazzling spectacle of victory amongst the mania. then what of it could be so wrong as to call him only near flawless and not flawless simply? the touch of his skin and the pull of his lips gracious even in hunger and looking to consume. a ready made heat not so dissimilar to a great star.

it's clear. so very fucking clear, amidst the slow creep in of the morning, as your phone vibrates with a call, just where the doubt reeks from.

'the best in the world' showing up as caller ID. because you never changed the name. because you never had the heart to leave him nameless even. slipping from the sheets, from the comfortable weight of cody's body. a fluffy robe over your skin as you slide the balcony doors of the hotel room open. answering his call.

those slivers of disappointment in his eyes from last night. performing well enough to disrupt your feelings. like the grand effects of a solar flare.

"have breakfast with me", he starts.

no preamble to give you room to deflect. a sigh heavy as it leaves you. his morning voice coarse and unfortunately satisfying. maybe you should've stayed in bed. wrapped yourself deeper beneath the sheets and the lay over of cody's body.

"we lose a little contact and you forget your manners. that's unfortunate".

he chuckles. "please?"

"that took a lot out of you huh?"

"not really". a dramatic little pause, because punk does have a flare for it. albeit in small doses, in his own way. and you can feel him smiling through the phone. can feel the change in tone just before he can give it. "begging is just usually more your thing than it is mine".

and the truth only hurts, vexes the nerve so, because it is the truth. because it has life. breathing and smiling with the sole objective of tethering itself ungraciously to every little thing you do.

"can you not?"

"you like it".

slivers of guilt. peering to look through the glass of the balcony door. cody still sleeping, peacefully unaware. but what is there to be guilty of? the past solely the past. this little phone call but a blip in time. a soundless action amidst the airless void of space.

"ok, m'sorry". he relents. receiving your silence in full. "i'll stop".

"i can't do breakfast. it wouldn't feel right".

"it's just coffee and a little chit chat".

lies. "i've never had just coffee with you...", memory serving right as the words grow heavy and thick. leaving the tongue less easy than you'd like them to. months of passioned tryst' and rendezvous, from city to city, before and not so long after his return to the company. "...it's always had some accompaniment to it".

he hums. "i know how to respect a boundary if that's what you're worried about".

slivers of guilt still. a pang in your chest. the cool morning philadelphia air doing nothing to lessen the heat in your cheeks. "the boundary isn't just for you", admission quick and terse. angered that it had to leave.

this slow to slip along silence. a lazy passing over before he's chuckling again. like the type of amusement you get after a small win. his voice is all raspy satisfaction. "i see", he gives.

"i'm sure whatever you want to say over coffee, you can just say over the phone right now".

"you gonna make me bare my soul over some fuckin radio waves?"

it'd all be a less ceremonious go of words. not so serious. as shapeless and uncategorized as the months were with him.

"you are notorious for saying things you probably shouldn't, so keep that in mind".

"old habits unfortunately die very hard sweetheart".

a chill creeping up the spine. riding in along the morning air. "it's almost eight a.m., it's not even a good time to be sharing all this...sentiment".

"then give me a time and place".

"i don't know punk, whenever you can get to a target closest to you", laughing a little. the rejection feeling sweet and easy as it leaves you. "they sell journals and diary's with matching pens. that's a good place to put all of your little feelings".

"ouch".

you stand. watching cody slowly make his way to the bathroom through the glass balcony window. your hand against the handle to slide it open. "i have to go". a quick throw of words before you end the call. pride slowly inching over the skin.

a successful deterrent.

the “archangels moonsault", a name coined by a collective of your fathers contemporaries. his performance of the golden triangle moonsault habitually flawless. appearing more angel than man as his body soared for some seconds. awe forever struck across the color of your eyes at such a spectacle, so much so, that you wished to live it. and so it went, a song and dance done many times before. the child of a legend attempting to step beyond that harrowing shadow in hopes of creating their own. the awe inspired, attempting now to inspire awe. like the cinematic feat of interstellar travel, viable only through the art of imagination. a play at the impossible, and nothing more. the perpetual falling short of a dangerous aspiration. nerves fraying at the seams and a deep plummeting of the heart. angst, a side effect of near flawlessness. starship pain.

"just keep workin at it", cody said once. watching your frustration after failing to perfect your fathers beloved moonsault. the precision of it lacking. your body insistent on underperformance. resentful of the air.

the encouragement working against its own intention. a bitterness rising to meet your tongue. but the near success of it grows palpable on your fingertips. nagging the nerve endings there so much that it forces into the skin a deep repetition. a cycle of the same thing for weeks on end—house shows, and training, and live events and training, and meet and greets and training, and merch signings and training, and interviews and training, and photoshoots and training—till the system grew faithful. and whichever cracks of free time expose themselves are quickly remedied with cody. because if all these distractions exists, then the time to decipher the bitterness growing on your tongue has no room to live. the ambivalence attempting to sneak in your belly once again, snuffed out by other things.

and friday night smackdown becomes an interesting state of affairs amidst your little world of moonsault turmoil. cody and punk both drafted, a feud storyline written up by creatives. the new undisputed champion versus the self proclaimed best in the world. a guarantee for money and ratings. which always means good business. your draft to smackdown a grounds for opportunity just the same. a fresh creative direction post-mania. but such good chances don't stop your body's war with itself. feeling the toil of the work, that faithful routine, and refusing to surrender from it's grudge. resentful of the air still.

but cody remains. his touch heated and sure. a sweet kiss to your skin in the privacy of a dressing room before your first match on the smackdown brand. the memory of his words sticking as you make to kiss him. 'just keep workin at it'. the rush of affection feeling odd.

"you okay?", his eyes searching. thumb swiping gentle, palm holding at your cheek.

"yeah", your body odd in it's skin. tempted to leave but feeling the need to stay. you grab his hand. a gentle squeeze of assurance. "i think it's just nerves".

"you been workin at it hard. it's gonna pay off", he gives. his smile small but bright still. a hand roaming gentle. soothing up your back.

but the second city saint was, is, never too far behind. posturing himself as the metaphorical rock, adamant on flushing you uncomfortably against a hard place. slivers of mischief in his stride and in coarse perfected words. the smackdown before backlash interesting to say the least. proving itself as the first domino. the main event of the night a strategic volley of words. the returned superstar and the undisputed champion. the knot tying itself about your belly barbarous as it works, watching them dig into each other with dramatic promises of destruction. the usual song and dance of a good promo. waiting for something terrible that affirms the odd abrupt spring ups of guilt and that bitterness refusing to leave your throat. everything of your romance, center stage and dazzling with bright lights for all the world to see. and when the words stop, the crowd jeering for who they hate and loud in delight for who they love, the air grows thick with the way it deafens.

rough thudding drops of their microphones before that faithful rushing in. fire in their eyes and a close size up of the competition. good drama for the crowd.

punk breaks with a laugh. similar in an amusement you've heard, felt before. like he's won a small victory. wholly fucking satisfied and happy about it. reaching to whisper something in cody's ear. words that penetrate more than they're supposed to. something a little less fire filled than anger striking bold along cody's expression. like a smoldering yet to come fully ablaze.

and it is said that for every star, there is a loss of mass in it's life time. a lessening of that gravitational pull. a change of character that threatens its awe.

his skin warm, but not as balmy. his kiss sweet but the comfort of it waning. the journey to seeing to its ease seeming more painful than letting it be. but the need to try breathes still. living bored and tired and thin, but alive nonetheless. the late hours between the end of the live show and his first official title defense quiet and terrible. all of his little bright smiles and tender touches gone. the beauty of the french hotel drained by this sudden standstill. blue eyes colder and distant. taken by the trouble of overthinking.

text message | outgoing: wtf did you say to him?

text message | the best in the world: what's my name saved as in your phone?

your fingers feel weak. tired and unable. the nerves there doing well in fraying at the seams. held hostage by a guilt that refuses to leave.

text message | the best in the world: i'm not really a write my feelings in journals kinda guy, you should know that. i want to see your pretty little face for a chat still. whenever you decide to stop avoiding me.

text message | outgoing: boundaries remember? or are the new gray hairs screwing your memory

text message | the best in the world: well i figure a little courtesy closure is in order before your boy gets his ass whipped on live television.

text message | outgoing: closure? can't really close a door that never existed can you?

a thick, curling cloud of steam rolls into the hotel bedroom from the open door of the shower. a silent invitation to join him—an olive branch living still in spite of his sudden brooding—that your body refuses to indulge. but the air does well in an attempt to suffocate you anyways. skin sweltering uncomfortably. or maybe it's just the ambivalence in your belly and the dull taste of something wrong on your tongue. frayed nerves and this half shaped desire to leave. all of these symptoms living as the summation of...of something that feels too harsh to speak to. your eyes take a steady read over the chain of messages. a once over that happens too many times to happen just once and yet there is no clarity of thought here.

closure? a type of reconciliation afforded to people once terribly impassioned. and yes, your times with him were fevered. fierce little meetings that left you craving more. but never did the attraction burn so much as to bring about such a heat, that lived closer to something like love than not, or whatever he seems to be feeling.

but there was that one time in albany. a confusing, charged little tryst. different from the others. his fingers curling in so deep then that he'd bruised your skin, like he was trying to remember you-

"so...", cody starts. a simple word edged with hesitation. bath towel wrapped about his waist as he pads out of the steam of the bathroom. skin wet and tantalizingly inviting. "...you and punk?" and finally it comes. the source of his brooding, his silence. that dejection of touch and affection.

your phone grows heavy in your hands. plops along the sheets like a weight. "old news", words ironed and pressed. dressed up in a surety, that if spoken with enough, can be believable. because the second city saint is old news.

his eyes are cold. a gray-blue snatched from the impending roll in of a storm. "feels pretty current", he sighs. turns to the table below the bedroom mirror. searching through a small bag of things. lotions and colognes and clothes and such. his perfect teeth spreading mirthless. "very current actually".

your body anchors to the bed, and curiosity an anchor in your body. inspires a refusal to move—to go to him, to ease the tension in his shoulders—as the sharp edges of it rip through till it holds deep enough.

"what'd he say to you?"

"nothing worth repeating...", hands rubbing about his face. a serum moisturizer. taking up small work as he finds and treads slow through words. tone like that of an interrogators though not nearly as violent. but the suspicion in him bothers to root well enough that it can't be hidden. can't be done away with easily. "just implying a bunch of... of shit. which is interesting because punks not that type of guy on the mic. if it needs to be said, he makes it plain..."

"its a work probably...". tone cool. indifferent. the sensation resting in your belly just the opposite. words spilling, living two fold. an attempt at persuasion overflowing so well that it performs for him and yourself just the same. "...ratings, clicks, views. it's drama for tv".

"well it feels pretty damn personal".

"and what?", you scoff. "winning mania wasn't?"

cody recedes. softens. because winning at mania was personal. business but very personal. the stakes of such a win clinging to the base of his emotions at every breath and turn till the belt rested in his hands. that much you could feel, drawing closer to him in those months—a sweet, innocent friendship born from this great host of similarities—till nearly every moment was spent with each other. his words and his thoughts and his touches becoming more intimate. affections as clear as the perfect beauty of his smile. and then comes the guilt, a drizzle against the air, like the first damning drops before the inevitable chaos of a down pour. your body lighter now. the will to leave him be, to wrestle with his feelings by his lonesome unanchored by the shame of doing so.

"am i being crazy about this?", he asks.

you move to him. crossing the exceptional size of the room to embrace him. arms encircling and your eyes gentle. his skin warm and comfortable. your body fighting itself still though, even amidst the vulnerability of him, battling back these slivers of a temptation to leave. "it's a mind game. don't let him win".

his hands venture. a smooth, sweeping take along your arms till they cradle your face. thumbs tender as they roll at the apple of your cheeks. "and us? this is it right? we're solid?"

your eyes flick to his lips in a means to inspire within yourself some true meaning of devotion. desire and fidelity. your mouth pressing sweetly to the seam of his as you pull him into a deeper embrace. words kept unsaid. buried alive before the work of a damning departure. your tongue soft and slipping gentle. wet and precious enough to elicit a moan. the tension in him waning as he goes, falling further into your show of affection. shoulders unburdened and the heat returning pleasantly to his skin. a performance that convinces only his hesitations and nothing of your own.

and that lack of conviction reigns over heavily. devastatingly so. failure thundering about your chest, slipping wild through the arms and legs, till it swims heavily about the head. ambivalence working ungracious in the body, like a storm of solar proportions. because cody had done well at backlash, performed greatly against the second city saint as they went head to head in their first of a best of three match.

but you—your knees buckling just after the press off for the archangels moonsault—do terribly. a harsh botch that leaves your feet to slip, head hitting against the ring before your body can be properly caught. a concussion that blurs your vision for the remainder of the match.

a number of horrible executions that follow, equilibrium disrupted, all amounting to a slow paced performance. your body resentful, spiteful now too.

this attempt at a diligent work of resting comfortably in the security of cody's everything, like a roaming out into the hostile environment of space. unprepared and certainly unfit for such an expedition of passion. a fast deterioration of desire and the weakening of a strength to see to its survival.

this longing for a good and whole and secure thing, a need pulsing your heart strong and persistent, now inverted, though working with the same vigor, to bring you under with a maddening sort of frailty. a self induced bout of muscle atrophy.

"a break", is what hunter is calling it. his words and eyes this odd, cold meshing of empathy and business. a command that lives without the room to resist and it stings even the strongest parts of your ego.

punishment by the ether, for aspiring to reach so far, with so much confidence, for something never meant to be had. because stars exist out of reach, with light years of distance, for a reason.

and the doctor gives a definitive "no" on flying back to the states. a futile joke to follow about getting much needed rest in the "city of love", which in full effect lurches your stomach into a fit so disgusting that it empties. that bile troubling itself in your belly, waiting for its call to action, finally revealing its putrid nature to be formidable and unrelenting. a symptom of the concussion they say, but you know, above all things medically sound, that this is just violent revenge inflicted upon the self. the body taunting the mind for its ill-purposed ambition. trying to fall into something comfortable and love-like with cody was, is, and would always be ill-purposed ambition.

the air of the suv heavy with that leather interior smell. rolling smooth and slow against the parisian streets on its way back to the hotel.

cody's finger playing along yours with a soothing caress. a patient concern brushing up the drained make of your face from his eyes. soft music living under the sound of his voice as he goes. "they'll probably clear you to fly in a few days. i can get someone to book a flight for you, and you can just… just be with me...", a gentle tone but living definitive. committing himself to your care. a security you'd always hoped to fully adore. "...and im not saying this like you're unfit to take care of yourself but i wanna help...", his blue eyes looking for a response and receiving much of nothing. a shallow head nod that keeps him rambling. "...i wanna—just let me do this for you. please?", his hand squeezing yours. a feather weight gesture. "let me take care of it, okay?"

you blink. eye lids heavy with exhaustion. a drained sensation that leaves you too undone for any proper recognition of feeling other than emptiness. your voice hoarse, the acid moving up violent enough that it stole away the fullness of it.

"i hear you cody".

the last words said to him before his departure from france in the morning.

an army of texts and calls heating your phone as the sun rose and rested amongst the clouds with a far comfortable distance. a reminder of terribly fated ambitions. water at your bedside that felt like heaven as it settled in and down the body.

five calls from bianca and encouragement texts of the "i love you" variety. one call from your father and a message that read more definitive than suggestive. "come home when you can", it said. and a text from him.

text message | the best in the world: heard hunter put you on a bit of a break. im here for you when you need me.

not if, but when. the confidence even amongst the sympathy, frustrating. an imagining of his cool, more sage than forest, green eyes screwed with pity. the thought of it beating a harsh heat pass skin into blood. rolling in amongst the red till it rushes to anger. a pounding in your skull and a light nausea rocketing the delicate lining of your belly. laid out along the length of a too beautiful parisian couch, your body forced to endure the harsh gravitational pull back down to earthly reality. for there could no longer be an ambitious voyage to that outer enormity, in search of bright, wonderful, comfortable lights. a star so secure in its character that you make no qualms with the threat of it burning your skin before even the reach of full impact. and truly how stupid and cowardly was it anyways? fearful of a different end so much as to suffer with something that just barely scratches the surface of fulfillment.

fearful of the ill-controlled, imperfect things so terribly that you looked upward in an escape to the stars.

and though albany, new york is not the perfect choice, it is the most suitable option for what you need. a quiet, reclusive setting that works well for all this wonderfully, amazing, burdensome introspection you've been forced to endure. truths roaming tirelessly about your skull as they look and wait with impatience to be fully actualized. and maybe—agreeing with his decisions against your better judgement and instinct—hunter was right. this "break", needed. a thing that could not be put off on the account of some bruised ego. countless little mishaps and slip ups in ring that had eventually led to a nasty botch during the biggest PLE since mania. the look of it not great for business or your health. but to hear it, to feel the full rejection of it, tears through you something fierce. a complete tattering of your pride till it remained undone in mangled pieces. raw and red and blood filled. and once the doctors give their clearance for you to fly, you leave france silently. without a word to anyone. bags and suitcases packed and ready. the flight to new york like a shipping over into uncharted territory.

because some truths had made themselves painfully aware already. did not wait for your slow foot drag of a realization. funneling up hot and disgusting with the bile from your empty stomach.

trying with cody was only a dream, forced and sculpted by your hands and a stubborn will, till it formed with jagged edges. the struggle to fit two unmatched puzzle pieces.

"your old man'll kill me if he knows you're up here with me and not training with him". a ghost of a laugh living along with the coarse age of his voice. jimmy "the butcher" cruz, a dear old friend of your fathers, and a hall of famer in his own right, sighing agreeably as he speaks over the phone. "but you're welcome any time kiddo. you like my own, y'know that? the gym is here whenever you need it to be".

"i appreciate you butch", you give. the slow ride to your hotel quiet and familiar.

"let me know if you need anything else".

"will do".

the call drops. a blow of air past your lips working well enough as it plays an odd tune of some mild mannered frustration. a soreness of spirit where the body breathes and functions well, systems and internal processes going on as they should but still there rests this adrift feeling. a weightless sensation. fatigue and an imbalance of any direct thought. confusion. symptoms of the concussion surely, which only do well in leaving you to exist in this dead space limbo. an auto pilot of movement. muscles remembering the weight of things. your suitcases and bags, and the heavy swing back of the hotel doors. memory bruised but alive. because you don't have an explanation for returning to albany. your foot stepping into the quaint beauty of the hotel room like aggressively lifting the unfinished heal of a scab. being here, in this place, like your body is taking the long, necessary journey back down to earth. hot on impact of the surface but ready to land.

your lips suffering under your teeth and your fingers tingling. a wistful air working about you, brushing up against your skin as a reminder of times past. here in this place with him, before the abrupt end of it all.

flashback - january 2024 - albany, new york

and it is said, by scientists and theologians alike, that before the creation of everything, there was nothing. whether the world came to be from a Godly "let there be", or this abrupt but explosive expansion across the cosmos, the truth remains here, that we exist not of our own casual volition. and so if this coming into being—a devastatingly beautiful ripple through that forever stretch of space—is as ornate in nature as it is said to be, then how is it that one can exist so unceremoniously with another? passion this slow, steady expansion like that of the universe. his name on your tongue and his grip nestled into delicate skin. eyes fashioned with colors to rival that of those painting the faraway galaxies and the breaths singing between coarse little moaning songs, a great imitation of the wind. surely these are bouts of madness, giving frivolous, near shapeless names, for such heavy performances of affection.

or maybe it isn't insanity. because don't we always give awful, insufficient names to things we hate. and even more terrible names to things we fear.

the apple state inn, a small time hotel in albany, new york, is not known for it's size or luxury. a just off the exit, two and a half, maybe three star rated establishment—google reviews and the website beg to differ with one another—with a scarce housekeeping staff and forever stale, day old coffee. always near empty vending machines and a just out of high school receptionist who doesn't know the difference between credit and debit and counts change like they're counting sheep. but the walls are thick and the privacy is immaculate. immaculate enough that it'd be more useful and cost effective to keep from printing do not disturb cards than not. because once the door closes behind him and that roll of his mini suitcase follows him in, you figure—with the way he's nearly suffocating you with his mouth—that he needs all the undisturbed time he can get.

the cloud over of steam and a stream of hot, prickly, shower water. your fingers sudsy as they comb through the slick, soaked ways of his hair. thumbs sweeping at his nape before the caress behind his ears. these tender little dotting ministrations that make him groan some. a dark, near weightless, trembling sort of song humming up his throat. tattooed fingers feeling stitched into the soft flesh of your hips as the water works to wash away the soapiness of his hair. his nose nudging into yours and the slight height of him leaving this impression about you that he's surrounding you some. working to consume. to prove with a wordless go of his everything that he's the best in the world.

that thick curl of heat and the prod of his hard dick against your leg don't help either. his tongue jutting against your lips—a little lick that you chase with enthusiasm—as he smooths it over his own. such a damn tease. your body alive and burning with a war of feelings. not so little sensations that burst at your neck and your mouth and your chest and the warmth pulsing between already wet legs. the proximity of him damning to whatever words you used before to name your current state of affairs. because this seems a little more than casual. a little too charged and full of breath and life to be just a fulfillment of those nagging, sultry, desperate, bodily desires. because it's never felt this impassioned before. this slow and meticulous. a strangulation about the heart that makes the muscle somehow pump harder, faster. like if it fights for life, for it's right to be as its always been, than maybe it can survive the domineer of whatever this is.

the soap dissolves from his hair, washing down into the drain. your fingers remaining still. running dull over his scalp. a deep caressing. an act living so well that it forms it's own memory in your fingers. the seam of his lips pecking at yours. tiny, lax, unhurried kisses that work like they have till the end of the expansion of the universe.

a laugh cuts up from your chest. like it's unsure it even wants to escape. a fear that it'll have to explain itself.

cool green eyes and a spark of diligence you've only seen him have when he's wrestling. "what?"

"nothing, it's just...", eyes failing to meet him. dim as they take to the littered ink all over his chest instead. "...this is strangely intimate no?" because it is. the usual air of your rendezvous' living with a more curt edge to it. an urgency of spirit. something great and simple and to the point. made and brought about from a deep mutual attraction, but for the pure sake of fulfillment.

and maybe your words, amounting to this cautioned little question, have put some distance between your bodies. like the air and nerve to say it leaves the both of you just a little more distant than seconds before. and it must have, because he's fastening himself to you. skin pressing hotly over skin, a slow mold, leaving you to shiver up against cool tiling. mouth still a sweet tease over yours. palm sweeping down and under to cup your thigh till it's hitching up into his palm and cinched to his waist. "i take last minute flights to nameless little, kinda three star hotels, to eagerly stick my dick in you...", his hips canting up. nudging at the sensitive bloom of your slit. lips at the curve of your ear. his breath hot and your skin shuddering. "...and i'm not knockin the hotels..", he chuckles. "...i'm just sayin. it's a bit of a journey to make it to you. this whole thing has been pretty intimate in a way for a while".

you take slim little nips at your lip. "does that bother you?"

an earnest moan escaping as he slots his lips along yours for a real kiss. the gentleness of it turning sharp as his teeth glide to pull your lip. "why would it?...", tongue led kisses. hands cradling him hostage. his mouth tasting like the sweets he indulges in before he meets you. "...our whole thing is a little informal but that doesn't mean we can't have a moment...", nipping a trail to your neck and kissing over the slights as he goes. breath at your pulse and the thick heat of him slotting and nudging still between your legs. "...or moments". his words these actors of persuasion. as if muddying the lines of a casual thing has ever been good for anyone foolish enough to do it.

"does it bother you?", he gives into your neck. fixing your hips to the wet wall as he grinds into them.

the air thick still. his hair fine under your fingers as they find a home there. your lips kissing his shoulder. dazed by the sensation of shared little whispers and the hard ride of him provoking your arousal to slip and your belly to roll with delicious quiver. "no", you hum. meeting his hips with a roll of your own. "i think it makes our thing more enjoyable". words shaky and a shitty contradiction to the inevitable.

because this thing, this flare of a sensation—soldering hot to melt your bones—is neither unceremonious or fleeting. it is that forever expansion, forming from nothing into something after the abrupt snap that wills it into being. a universe of a feeling housed in the fragility of skin, simple sweeping touches and the persistence of his eyes.

your body is this picturesque take to the sheets. his arms strong, a gentle carry before he's settling to slot between your legs. wrapped up in your thighs and his lips placing delicate. and no, not like the simplicity of it would work in a means to break you, but like the need for reverencing runs deep enough that it'd feel like sin to ignore it. and cm punk has never been a man of self-denial. his tongue curling against yours, sweet and patient. hums of moans and the warmth of him working in beautiful opposition to the cool sheets. his thumb soothing up your jaw, palm cradling your cheek, like he's keeping the angle of your lips just where he likes it to be. control living easy in him. pressing kisses in without the urgency of forethought.

and maybe the apple state inn deserves a five star rating. a review that speaks to the allure of low yellow lights and that natural smell of lavender stuck to the walls.

an embarrassing sort of greediness spills over. hips rocking clumsily to rush into the simple glide through of his fingers at your slit. a firm circling with his thumb but still sedated. a measured touch that nearly aches your teeth in anticipation. breaths short and brattish whimpers. your back curling, attempting to steer him to the tight throb of your entrance.

he's enjoying this. teeth nipping your lips with a small smile. nails digging at his arms in need. "please". a drawl of a whine.

a gentle, testy, shallow, slip into your pussy makes him groan. raw and unmoderated. your legs falling over the muscles of his thighs, spread for him as he dips and retracts. the lewd little sound of it hot to the ears. "don't rush my process", teeth gripping into your neck. tongue following to sooth.

you squeeze his arm. digging what exists of sharp nails into tattooed skin. impatience unruly. "fuck your process, i wanna-"

an emptiness. the dip of his lone finger gone, replaced with the swift swat of his hand at your slit. a gasp cutting up quick, your body jostling from the speed and the cruelty of it. nestling then in pleasure that rolls in after. his tongue still at your neck. remedying skin sure fated to bruise in the morning. your clit overly wet and throbbing and sliding messily along the idle way his finger just sits there. resting right over without a mind to do something useful. the second city saint, a bastard and a half.

his laugh breaks into your skin. a little wry and a little mean. like maybe he thinks you're too audacious. so vulnerable and desperate and still making demands. "you barely know what you want for breakfast sometimes...", he starts. forehead pressed into yours. his right hand playing through the easy slip of your folds and the other tight as they ball the sheets near your head. like all of his control is stored there. knuckle white tight and fighting to stay strong. "...so whatever shit you think you want, it's just you being impatient and greedy. i guess its that only child syndrome shit".

"fuck you", you cut. nudging your face against his. cheeks roughing over the gray of his beard. defiance rife.

"oh sweetheart", he sings. a drawl of a tenor voice that makes you shudder. makes your hands cling to him tighter. like your hold there could maybe cause it to wring out more of his voice and breath, warm and sweet over your body. "you got not the slightest idea how much you're gonna eat every letter of what your just said". kissing your mouth harder. tongue sweeping with a less gentler purpose. lips pulling and suckling and nearly suffocating. looking to savor the dirty taste of your words. touch taking an abrupt curl into your pussy. a steady wet stroke that rattles your body with an almost ugly moan. almost. "you been drivin me crazy since before i got on that flight...", tongue lapping at your yours. a stress of a moan working up as he seats his finger deeper. "...been thinking about touching you for days".

and you rush to meet the feed in of it. an upswing of your hips, urging him just that much deeper. praying for the feel of it along that sensitive little spot inside that makes your skin jitter and your breathing short. your hands cradling his face close. a tough hold in his hair as you suck his tongue. a lazy timeless go if it, nearly falling so well into it that you almost lose yourself.

"someone sounds a little obsessed", you give against his lips.

his eyes green but nearly black and piercing. forehead pressed to you still. "unfortunately yes". an almost whisper if not for the bass of it.

your heart hammering. fearful and exhilarated all the same.

and you can feel his mouth on yours still, moving and hot and dangerous even as your eyes close for some feen for reprieve. a break from the diligence of his own. but you can hear him, the pry the noise of him takes to flesh, like he's opening up and splitting your nerves at the seams. "want you to show me what you do when i'm gone...", kissing your lips sweetly. a second finger joining the first. burying deep to the knuckle and balancing with perfection the deftness it takes to numb your brain with bliss. clit nudging against the add of his thumb. sensitive and the sensation of it blooming it's way till it reaches your toes. "...wanna see how good you take care of yourself when i'm not with you'.

that lavender smell soaked into the walls filling your lungs. the tips of your fingers pressing his thumb in till it's flush up against the swell of your clit. control ill suited to your body as you groan in his mouth.

back curling in with another arch. nipples aching and needy and up against his chest.

your longing this breathy, moaning, call to action. his mouth quick with a salacious answer, finding your body there. a flat, wide, lick over the twist of it. deep in it's savoring. curling and flicking and smiling about the perk of it as he feels you cling wet to his fingers. the pad of his thumb touched by the throb in your clit and the tight press you lay over it. keeping him there as he drags long and steady through your pussy. a greedy moan of his bleeding into your skin as it leaves him, the ball of your nipple playing in his mouth before he's suckling with tongue and prying with his hot mouth. wringing up the pleasure till it's voicing pliant and needy for him. teetering a line of overindulgence where he forsakes control. breaths heavy and hungry as he moves on to the other. a similar treatment that forces your hips to buck. a harsh, abrupt spurring that slips him deeper. right there, nestling and stroking lewd still. "harder, baby", you gasp. clutching the sheets. control lost. sporadic ruts that feen for that touch again.

"there?", humming at your breast. fingers just a little more vicious. the sensation sweetening your blood as it heats.

throbs undulating your skin, like the rippling push of something that goes on to last forever. his thumb releasing to let your have at your own undoing. lips suffering under your teeth. eyes glazed and your head tipped into the sheets. chasing that bliss as it waits to unfurl all over.

"yes", gasping. a tiny, pleading soprano. small and aching as it leaves you. trembling soft under him, the beginning of it rocking into you slowly. "oh God, i-", labored breaths and groaning. your fingers running up sloppy at your clit and his mouth suckling still. fucking into you with a purpose you're sure that entails seeing you go mad. "i'm coming ".

he releases your nipple with a simple pop of his lips. returning to sweep his tongue through the awestruck expression of your mouth. a sloppy kiss. wet and meshing and a little mindless. pussy drooling still as it steeps and clings and throbs.

"not sure he'd love hearing you say that but i sure do", a frail kiss at the edge of your mouth. "say it again".

"i'm coming", you pant. short cuts of breath he presses his lips over.

a glint to his eyes. gaze cascading over. appraising the state of your unraveling. "and so pretty doing it too".

you hiss. body collecting with a short hitch, like it means to ease the landing of this brace-less thing. an effort made in vain as the violence of it takes you. his throat humming satisfied, and the work of his fingers going on still to brush up against that deeper, delicate, slip of skin in you that drives you crazy. a bright, pitchy, "fuck", flying off the tip of your tongue as you curl in and lose yourself. a wordless, world of a feeling. an inconceivable burst of color behind the eyes and your lungs fighting for those better takes of air. unruly and exposed. skin teeming with too much of a good thing. the bed dipping and un-dipping, the shift of him living just at the edges of your awareness. the taste of former words heavy and thick in your mouth, like he said they'd be. his fingers collecting your thighs to adjust the way they reveal the mess of you.

a trail of dainty kisses as he ventures low. a journey over flesh to mark his appearance. a quiver playing your nerves, his tongue slipping to lick long along the full bloom of your slit. messy and drunk, like the careless indulgence of a reward long awaited. drawling moans and the grip in your thighs meaner than any touch he's given you thus far. a drive of his tongue through where you pulse and drip. weak hands near dead, trying their hardest to ease him off. eyes recovering and lazy, watching him go greedy. another hiss through your teeth, one now that indulges. a little less than brutal hold in his hair that keeps him close. the end of an old pleasure making way for a new one. suckling your clit like he did other parts of skin. little bursts of pleasure breaking to the surface, your hips rutting to following the sensation blindly.

his quickness, a jarring little feat. feeding tongue into your mouth to share the taste of you. your thumbs over his cheeks and your thighs hiking over his hips. the hard heat of him grinding along till it's snug and laying at your slit.

and even the thought of him slipping in is enough to leave you shivering.

"how do you want me?"

"deep". a thoughtless answer. your tongue wetting your lips, aching for it. "just take it, take me. i-", desperate and thin feeling. "please", you stress.

his earlier words a little clearer. thoughts and imaginations disrupted, having been troubled by the thought of you. his diligence running vengeful.

and there is nothing exactly satiating about this, about the pace, the life of it, of this. heavy feeling as he makes to stretch you deep. filling to the hilt and nestled comfortably so. like perhaps he was always meant to be there. your throat singing, breathy and filling his mouth as he makes to kiss you. a softness to you, boneless and subdued. the slightest touches made into something bigger and greater. a hand held at your thigh, a smooth reach till its hooking under your knee and the other calm and patience, the thumb of it stroking your forehead.

"not much for being a selfish prick but i need you lookin at me", he rasps. cool green eyes just a bit warmer under the low lights. gentle and arresting. "so beautiful", like a whisper to himself. "i wanna see em when i'm coming in you", he gives. testing your devotion with a push of his hips.

something heavy and dismantled erupting in his chest. bass-y and coarse, breathing over your mouth. his lips making like they mean to kiss you but never fully getting to the completion of it. your thighs housing a sweet aching and your ears burning hot, pleasured by the noise of him. the way his body slowly conforms to being taken in. easy and patient and terrible for his nerves. "yeahhh", he drawls, like an agreement of some staggering pleasure made with the self. or maybe a noise of satisfaction made pure by completion.

whimpers stuttering and cut with short breaths. your eyes glassy and your throat gaining that bit of heaviness. softly trembling, and feeling crazy under the weight of his eyes. like such vulnerability would soon be your end. a quiet sob breaking free, fingers sinking into his skin for dear life. your pussy quivering desperate, clutching hot as he gives a slow, firm, slipping stroke, pressing in enough that it makes you whole.

terror delighting it self in your bones. pressure in the body heavy enough to make diamonds. a tear slipping tenderly, falling over your cheek, the trouble of another release gathering in your belly.

he kisses the wet streak along your face. lewd and hot and wet, pussy pulling at him softly to stay. an endearing path being made upon the skin, a light press of his lips everywhere. silent and filled with purpose.

it isn't enough to let go, to deny the self of a former ambition. solid ground must be met, a full impact made regardless of how unsavory the process is. this quiet, contemplative, stretch of time in albany, not so dissimilar to a travelers great return to earth. readjustments made to air and the gravity. a re-stabilization of things—your walking and your turning and your weight against the ropes of that faithful squared circle and your ego—because a concussion only made your body's resentment more of a hell to deal with. compromise, a great ordeal with the self, a testier thing to endure even. a month of falling away, deep into the recesses of a particularly dark shadow. a host of memory lanes and the diminishing of self importance. FOMO a real bitch and a half to deal with. the frustration buried beneath skin feeling more childlike than anything else, eyeing the others as they roam and enjoy, from the window of your injury styled detention. week after week, nestled at the back of a little less than dingy sports bar, watching your friends and colleagues perform at the greatest arena's and stadiums.

but the time away made for an easier reclamation, a confession you wouldn't speak well too aloud, lest it proved hunter's opinions right. your head clear of that horrible knock of an ache against your skull and the nausea more than minimal.

minimal, but not gone. a small swim of it rippling your belly. flowing against the slosh of ginger beer you've become friendly with since discovering the existence of 'porters dive bar'. an albany staple for the city's exuberant wrestling community. the spice of the ginger steeping your tongue and the fizz of the liquid rolling over to test the limits of your stomach. like the first weary steps of a travelers feet back on earth. a fear of failure but an eagerness of spirit regardless. the building back of strength and resistance. a well made sort of exposure therapy.

your phone pings. another one of his messages appearing. his televised win against cody at an arena in albany, working like a kindling for this abrasive flare styling his words. ego on fire and looking to consume.

text message | the best in the world: soon i'm gonna stop asking to see you and just show up unannounced. you know i'm close right? where are you?

text message | outgoing: porter's dive bar

and this here is the full impact. a hypersonic re-entry. soaring past atmospheric layers as the body is once again enveloped by earths gravity. reality styled with its many worldly limitations. rich colors and coarse ground and a pulling weight in your bones.

talking to him is that meeting of skin against solid ground. the unsavory process.

your phone pings again. fingers slipping against the screen to reveal who. dread coursing wild and unfettered. a quick washing in your blood that plunges the heart.

text message | cody r: can we meet sometime soon? to talk?

text message | outgoing: of course.

you owe him that much. an explanation—regardless of how terrible it will form on your tongue. bile and a lack of brilliance born from guilt.—of your faults and self misguided decisions. but it's all just another step. a heel toe to reclaim familiarity with the earth. building back the strength lost from that unruly lack of ambition, from that great deal of muscle atrophy.

the wooden chair opposite your booth seat scoots harshly against the floor. his entrance screeching your nerves to wake with a horrible sort of surprise. the cool green of his eyes hidden beneath the curl over of a ball cap brim. shoulders squared and wide and persistent. "you look good", he gives. sitting across from you. "refreshed".

you settle your phone down. a soft tremble in your fingers as you make to embrace one hand in the other. the feel of his gaze, like the easy thin slice of a razor over thick skin. a surgical opening that leaves you bare to eyes and air alike. useless to yourself and a short ways from uncomfortable. fighting against a painless pain, against that shameful, irritating weakness that comes with vulnerability. fears and slivers of frustration born from this ill-controlled performance. because cm punk, the best in the world, makes you vulnerable.

you take one of the two ginger beers off the table. sipping at the cool spice of it for some reprieve. "your first words are always about how i look".

"because i'm unfortunately very invested in your wellbeing".

"unfortunately?"

"s'not a whole lot of reciprocation on that front". words not minced. eyes trailing to look over the cold glass left untouched. his curiosities moving him to bring it closer. "what is this?"

"ginger beer". watching him sniff at the rim of the glass before he tests the taste. the spice of the ginger and the fizz delightful and cold sober. "reciprocation". the truth of it cutting across the air, to give something deep and sharp and exacting against whatever assumptions he's made amidst his resentments. because while your investments into his wellbeing weren't as vocal as his for yours, they still hold firm in some form of existence.

"where you been hiding out?"

"our little go to hotel".

he shifts the curl of the brim to reveal more of his eyes. in a manner that allows you to see them well enough. to get the gist of whatever mixture of emotions they take. a hardened sort of confusion styling them now as your answer sinks in. "why there?"

hesitation. like the stutter of your foot after a misstep. body afraid to fail, afraid to fall after that great coming back to earth. "not sure".

his nose flares. a fierce movement. and then his jaw. a chain reaction of many things. as if to curb the brunt of his anger. this overbear of a deep vexing, he pulls into the constraint of words. hard eyes and a harder tongue. "you got a real nasty habit of not saying the things you mean and i can really do without it".

but it was enough, too much even to admit such wrongdoings amidst the court of your own thoughts and imaginations. resentment housed by the body, less sore as the days venture on, but still aching in the skin. felt in the abruptness of harsh maneuvers. swimming knocks in the head and your balance disturbed. those disgusting dull bursts of nausea and a heaviness in your body. exhaustion from nothing. "...and what is it exactly that you want from me?"

"a little transparency", he grits. "some honesty".

"i was fine with cody...was on my way to something substantial even', you give. a corral of words you feel were truthful sometime ago. back when the ambition felt sure and not so unattainable. before muscle deep resentment and injury. "we fell away from each other naturally...", words more like a tool. these builders of persuasion. and God what horrible persuaders they were. everything falling off the tongue half made and shoddily voiced. "...but in true cm punk fashion, whenever you don't like something anymore you get pissy about it. threw a dirty little wrench into my relationship to screw me over".

his chair stresses against the floor. body pulling in closer. fury stored in the pull in of his brows. "you screwed yourself. threw yourself headfirst into bullshit because you're scared. called what we had a thing, because if you actually put a decent name to it then you'd have to admit how you feel about me, and how much that terrifies you...", his tone hushed and curt and piercing. "because cody is safe and easy and if he fails at making you happy, it's no real loss at all right? because you were never really in all the way anyways".

you feel thin. subdued and quite overwrought by all this exposure to him. "you had time to say something. why wait till when i'm with someone else?"

he sighs. settles into an answer like it's the hundredth time he's come to the conclusion of it. "spent since january trying to get rid of you and it didn't work for me, and you were on live tv botchin the hell out of everything, trying to get rid of me, so i don't think it really worked for you either...so here we are".

the air thick and the silence loud. the droning of the bar easing in to fill the space. a hard siphon of the energy by words and the confession of not so dead feelings. your ginger beers icy still and watered. a waitress comes, strutting up to your table.

"you guys need anything?"

"two more of these ginger beers please", punk gives. a small smile as she leaves.

his eyes the color of garden sage. softer now. flitting over your face with a renewed sense of diligence.

and it's more clear now than it's ever been. he isn't going anywhere.

your fingers curl, a slow coming together into your palm to ball. multi-purposed, squeezing to live a little in that familiar burst of an ache. bones and muscles flexing as the skin pulls some. a summation of weariness. knuckles breaking against the door to knock. a similar rhythm playing in your chest, because cody could be many things. sad. angry. vexed. indifferent. he could speak wild or terribly soft, but inspire another layer of guilt to lay at your skin just the same.

"just a second", he gives. bass in the voice and words slipping thick like over his tongue. in that way that he tries to cover some but can't help.

a shift in your leg, like the anxious pinch of a nerve. a jerk or maybe a pulling. you're not sure what it is, but it's asking to move. to leave. to maybe do this another time. "i can come back later if you want", shouting some over the regular drone of pre-live show buzz. one hand slipping away from the cool metal of the door handle and the other undoing from that ache of a fist. making to about face into the fray of crew members. but he must recognize your voice, even through the thickness of the door. must've settled himself enough in whatever emotions he's living in.

his voice rushing. like he can feel you falling away from this long overdue talk. "no no, come in. i'm good. come in".

your hand returns against the door handle. cool metal more like an icy burning. stepping into his dressing room like a re-entry into the world of him. his hair retouched to the roots, a cold blonde that pops his already sky blue eyes. his hands roughing with his wrestling boots. blinking up at you silently. mouth parted and slightly lost for words. like he'd maybe rehearsed everything and has now forgotten all the brilliance of it. a sigh leaving with that realization. like he'll have to forsake all the prearranged self made discussion and go about this a little less practiced. "you look well", he gives. with a nod. "the break did you some good".

"yeah", stepping in further. arms folded over. body overly aware of his appraisal. "that seems to be the consensus".

his throat clears, brows pulling together before they fall away quickly. this awkward abrupt movement that reveals the slow work of his thoughts. gears oiled and turning and trying out words before he says them. a farer cry from his in-ring persona, where he's suited and pristine and seemingly always ready. the little action of it making him more human to the eyes and less star-like. something you would have shrunk away from before out of fear that it would cause him some lackluster effect, now finding in its own imperfections, very endearing.

"was it something about me, or anything i ever did that kinda just-...?", his voice falling off. left to motion oddly between your bodies with his hands. miming a separation. like finishing the words, allowing them to live in the air, would cause them to be true.

"no! no, it was...", trying to find something not so terrible to soothe him with. stepping a little closer to him. arms unfolded. like the honesty begging to leave you for some time has now taken command of your body and it's functioning. "...i wasn't being honest about a lot of things with myself and it spilled over into what we had going on, and i'm really sorry about that".

and he nods. not like he's accepting of it all but like he gets it. like he's relating to you. eyes softer, made vulnerable by his own truth. "all the...all the asinine bullshit leading up to mania just...", his eyes rolling as he remembers the trouble of it. "...on top of already wanting the belt for personal reasons, it just drove me crazy. and i think in the midst of that, i leaned in on us a little harder than i should've. maybe more than i planned to". fingers scratching and curling up into his hair, going about aimlessly almost. giving himself something to do to remedy the weight of his words. "we have quite a bit in common so...the intimacy was good enough, it-it was easy to just hold on to. i think we were both faking it to make it".

your throat grows heavy, face warm with the well up of tears. relief meshing easy with the sadness of it all. the both of you willing to settle, if it meant being comfortable and not alone. a heartbreaking circumstance to force upon the self for sure.

"can i...?", your hands motioning for an embrace.

"of course, c'mere".

his arms warm and comforting as he takes you in. wrapped tightly, with a friendly sort of affection. an earnest touch, made not to linger in a performance of desire but to give solace. sniffling against his chest as he squeezes tightly.

"don't you start crying for real...", he jokes. "...cause then you're gonna make me cry".

you smile. slipping away from him gently. "well that don't take much so..."

his eyes roll. grabbing the outer jacket that completes his in-ring gear.

your fingers sweep under your eyes to rid of the wet streaks. shoulders less heavy and the dread in your chest no longer fighting to consume. making to leave his dressing room. "don't go easy on him either. i need him a little softened up".

"will do".

you make a full exit. slipping your phone from your pocket. his name under your thumb as you press against it. memory serving well, thinking of that sports bar in albany and all the empty glasses of ginger beer spread across the table. the vex about his face growing gentler as the night carried on. that line in the sand washed away, the boundary blurred and then made new into something with a better shaping. his cool, pale, sage eyes working like he wanted to remember that moment. like the satisfaction of having you in front of him again without any attempts to break away from him, was too good to simply be lost to time.

you click to call and wait for his answer. an impatience running in your fingers as you make to join the producers and tech operators at the staging area.

he answers. a simple, coarse, "yeah", that sweetens your ears.

"have breakfast with me tomorrow", you give. plain and a little demanding. "please?"

he hums. amusement in his voice like he's smiling.

"time and place sweetheart".

165 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: ii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

chapter 1 || chapter 3 || chapter 4

ao3

word count: ~3k

You and Hawks’s second meeting.

warnings: mutual pining, shy reader-ish, ooc hawks, the fun stuff, fluff ; )

|||||||||||||

You didn’t hear anything from Hawks for the next few days.

It was a fleeting disappointment, but you took his lack of contact as truth and reality. Some big shot, pro-hero wasn’t going to waste time texting a no-name, nobody barista, no matter how mutually flirty of an interaction was shared.

Prior to actually meeting Hawks, you had seen the tabloids that his name spilled over. Shady stories of midnight rendezvous with models and celebrities, sultry pictures of his own on magazines at grocery store checkouts were a lot of your knowledge of him. He was a very eligible and active bachelor, everyone knew it.

You reminded yourself that you didn’t mean shit to him, and moved on.

Until about a week from your first meeting, late into the evening, your phone buzzed.

You thought it was one of the team from the teashop, asking another question about a new blend you had made.

Your eyes widened at the text that you did see:

[unknown number]: hey angel ;) do you work tomorrow? it’s supposed to be a cold one and i’d love to try another one of your drinks

You stared at your phone screen for a moment, mouth going dry before typing out a reply.

[you]: is this hawks?

The next reply came only seconds later.

[unknown number]: the one and only ;))))

He... actually texted me?

Holy shit.

Another message came in.

[unknown number]: don’t tell me you go handing out your number to folks at work all the time :^( you’re gonna hurt my :^((( feelings :^((((

You deadpanned at Hawks’s texts.

You couldn’t believe the number two, pro hero texted like a normal twenty-some year old.

It was endearing, if not at the very least comforting.

[you]: nah, just you tailfeathers 😉

[you]: i work tomorrow morning, opening shift. 6 am. think you can handle it???

You giggled at your own texts, unable to hold back when you saw Hawks continuing to type. You quickly typed in a contact name.

[tailfeathers]: E

[tailfeathers]: Z

[tailfeathers]: i’ll be there bright and early ;)

Part of you, the rational, realistic part, doubted that. Sure, Hawks had texted you, but he wouldn’t actually show, right? He was a busy, busy man. He’d probably get sidetracked.

Don’t get your hopes up.

You tried to remain practical.

But, you also liked pushing your luck.

[you]: see u then!!

[you]: btw your contact name is ‘tailfeathers’

[you]: ;)

[tailfeathers]: what if i told you yours is ‘barista angel’

[you]: i’d ask if you saw my name on that conveniently small piece of paper i gave you

[tailfeathers]: i would say yes

[tailfeathers]: but idk angel seems like a more proper title for u

You felt your still and heat rush to your face.

He can’t be flirting with you over text. What the FUCK.

[tailfeathers]: only angels can make coffee as well as u 😇

“What a bastard,” You shook your head, sighing. Part of you was glad he made it more clear your identity was tied to coffee and not affections.

[you]: u flatter me

[tailfeathers]: i only speak the truth ;)

You bit your lip as you typed out the next reply, well aware that the evening sky had darkened and you needed an adequate amount of sleep to actually make it to that morning shift.

[you]: i’m about to knock out so i can actually be alive for my shift, but i’ll see you tomorrow bird boy

Hawks’s replied quickly as seemed to be a trend with him.

[tailfeathers]: bird boy!!!!!

[tailfeathers]: i’m moving up in the world

[tailfeathers]: see u then angel

As you got ready for bed, going about your mundane routine and preparing the coming day, you had no idea that Keigo was across the city, cradling his phone to his chest with a wobbling smile on his face, a foreign sensation filling his chest.

He was very excited to see you again, even if it took a few days to get that far.

|||||||||||||||||||

The next day was indeed, terribly cold. Despite bundling up in a thick, woolen coat and a knit scarf, you nearly froze on the way to work. Despite the chill, the rest of the morning crew made it in just a few minutes after you.

“I’ll be in back until there’s a rush, alright?” You called to the three openers, all silly college students from the local university. They were all sort of dense, but they were loveable.

“Okay!” One smiled as they flitted to the front counter and seating area.

The back of the teashop was a smaller commercial kitchen, all steel tables and cooking implements. Lots of tools to actually do your job. Though you were the maker of the tea blends for the shop, a lot of your work consisted of packaging and fulfilling orders as well as design work for the teashop’s online presence. Truthfully, you were more of a jack-of-all-trades type of worker, but nearly all of it confined you to the safety of the back kitchen. The lack of stimuli made it easier to work effectively, quirk activated or otherwise.

You tied your apron tight around your waist, adjusting a few of your buttons and smoothing yourself down. The back remained frigid in the mornings, and you could only be glad you were layered up for the day. You pulled out your company-issued tablet and began tapping away with the stylus as the shop prepped to open.

You were too absorbed in your work to hear the bell at the entrance, just minutes after unlocking the door.

Keigo? Elated. His last week of hero work had been all long hours and late nights. His wings had grown sparse with overuse, barely carrying him properly through the skies. When he saw that his office day at his agency was due to be particularly cold, he knew it was the perfect excuse to give you a visit.

You hadn’t been constantly on his mind. Rather, you perked up in his thoughts semi-reliably, but briefly a few times a day. Most affections were forgettable, he didn’t have time for anything other than whorish trysts with other heroes and those of higher society who knew how to keep their mouths (somewhat) shut.

Part of him, the part that the Commission’s ruthless training created, hated the way how you were sticking with him.

Another part of him, the kinder, softer, very repressed one, recognized his feelings and hid them safely. Vulnerable things required heavy protection.

When Keigo reached the teashop, early as dawn crept over the urbanscape, he pushed the door open and was greeted by the rolling smell of roasted coffee beans and black tea.

Only a few other patrons were there, eyes wide as the top ten hero gave them a trademark wave, waltzing to the counter with his signature swagger.

The workers (none of them being you) gawked at him, jaws half to the floor.

“Hawks?!” One of them exclaimed. “Oh my god, can I get an autograph?!”

(Keigo carried a few pens on him for occasions like this.)

The worker, a young thing with a shock of short blue hair, wrestled under the counter for a notebook. Another of the workers also attempted to wrangle a bit of receipt paper from the fussy machine, flashing him a nervous smile.

“Of course, autographs are a given,” He winked at the two of them, sauntering up to the counter. “On one condition, though. Could you tell me if (Y/N) is working?”

The morning shifts workers proceeded to gawk more.

You sat deep in concentration, thoroughly organizing yourself for the day with lists and plans. You were only startled from your work when one of the other baristas popped her head back, eyes wide.

“Uh, (Y/N), I know you’re busy, but Hawks is here for you?” She stammered, saying his name incredulously and pointing a shaking finger out at the counter.

You could hear his silky laugh just beyond the precipice.

Your mouth quirked up in surprise.

I didn’t expect him to actually come.

It was a pleasant surprise though, one that made your heart stutter in your chest.

You put down the tablet, making your way to the front of the shop.

Hawks leaned down on the front counter, signing various papers and items that the staff and patrons of the tea shop had given him. His smooth voice echoed beautifully around the shop, mixing with the din of the soft music that provided ambient sound.

Thoroughly absorbed in his fan interaction, you leaned against the door frame, watching him as he had yet to notice you.

(You tried to look nonchalant, but it was probably a bit of ogling.)

Hawks’s scarlet wings appeared sparse, but still twitched and fluffed every few moments. He was dressed in his hero uniform, visor pushed up into the feathery, front bits of his hair. With all of his typical regalia on, he seemed out of place in the slow din of the coffee shop. He seemed to shine so brightly, making himself a focal point without even trying.

Without the protection of his visor, Hawks’ honeyed eyes seemed brighter, luminous from the inside out. Even from your distance, you could watch their topazine shine dance in the soft lighting.

His gaze drifted to you and positively lit up.

(You didn’t think that was possible.)

Your stomach fluttered.

“Well, if it isn’t (Y/N)!” Hawks beamed you a smile that could’ve put the sun to shame. It made something deep in your chest thrum. “For a minute there, I thought you’d pulled my leg about working today.”

“Oh, never, ” You grinned, moving directly in front of him at the counter, your shocked coworkers parting for you. “I tend to work in the back if the rest of our lovely staff is present.

You gestured to your very starstruck coworkers who all gave various gawking looks before falling away, shyness obviously overtaking them.

It wasn’t like you weren’t feeling similarly, but your nervousness was better hidden. Facades were, in fact, a trained skill in maintaining and god, if you weren’t a master.

But, Keigo had his own mastery in spotting cracks in people’s veneers. And, easily, he saw your tension and nervousness. For anyone with less trained interpersonal skills, they wouldn’t have noticed a damn thing. But to Keigo? Your anxiety was as clear as the light you added to a room. A few of his feathers twitched, picking up on the rapid beating of your heart across from him.

“What can I get you?” You asked, speaking through any of your fears, cracking him a genuine smile.

Keigo returned it without thought, chest warming.

“Mmm... Surprise me. Something to help me get my day started.” Keigo loved the way your eyes lit up when he talked, a little bit of knowingness between the two of you sparking.

“Same specifications as before? Hot and sweet?” You asked, already grabbing a cup, flashing him a cheeky grin.

Hawks raised an eyebrow, batting his eyelashes at you in a way that you couldn’t not laugh. He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned over the top of it, regarding you with half-lidded eyes, “You remember my preferences? I feel honored.”

“You should,” You winked. If he was going to shamelessly flirt, you would right back.

Truthfully, your personal attention made Keigo swoon like a goddamn schoolgirl. He could feel sweat growing on his palms, making the leather of his gloves stick. Normally, the sensation would’ve ticked his more anxiety-ridden tendencies into overdrive, but he could hardly focus on them. He was too busy watching you flit around behind the counter.

“So,” You began, activating your quirk and beginning your process. “Why so few feathers? Get roughed up?”

Keigo chuckled, flexing what feathers he did have left for emphasis, “Basically. I have to give them a few days to regrow. A couple nasty days in a row means a couple days recovery.”

You hummed, turning to the espresso machine. Before pouring the shot, you gave him a little smile with the cutest quirk in your lips, “I’m sure you more than deserve the rest.”

Oh, that made his proverbial dick swell.

Someone, a very nice, stranger barista, angel, telling him he deserved something kind? And, there wasn’t an edge of dishonesty in you. If anything, there was an earnestness in your quirk-blackened eyes that made Keigo nearly scared of the amount of vulnerability you gave him so freely.

He wondered if you showed that to all of your patrons.

(You didn’t.)

You turned behind the counter, quirk activated and swirling. The familiar blending of your senses made your teeth ache and head burn with the overabundance of stimuli, but you worked through it. You reached through the external sensations to manifest your idea and feeling into a conceivable reality.

You dumped any number of syrups and shots into the cup, placing it (and a lid) on the counter in front of Hawks. Warm smells of cardamom and cinnamon tickled both of your noses as you nodded down, “Let that cool for a sec, then give it a taste. I need a comprehensive review.”

Hawks plucked off one of his gloves, taking the steaming cup in his hand, looking down at the foam. His gaze flickered around the two of you, noting that the few civilians and coworkers once surrounding him had left you two with a small bit of privacy.

“What’s the inspiration for this one?” Hawks gave you a downright sweet, knowing look.

“Take a sip and guess,” You nodded down to the cup again, idly going to wipe down the counters with a rag slung in your apron.

Hawks blew on steaming liquid, throwing back his head to take a decently sized sip. You had to tear your gaze from the bob of his throat.

Keep it in your pants.

While you were suppressing being horny for the number two hero, Keigo was suppressing being horny for a fucking beverage.

The flavor hit his tongue and throat and danced. It was warm, like the last one, spilling hearth-like heat into his chest and extremities. But, this drink tasted literally spiced, like it had some sort of pepper in it (according to Keigo’s untrained, pitiful palette). His wings ruffled, feathers rustling and twitching with the taste of the drink. Despite the heat flooding his body, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rose as waves of subtle pleasure rolled through Keigo’s body.

He placed the cup back on the counter, staring you down with incredulity.

You, cutely cheeky as ever, just smiled and crossed your arms over your chest, “Are you a fan?”

“It’s... spicy. How. Why. Is this even coffee?” Hawks asked. Despite his questioning, he took another sip, shuddering at the comforting heat it gave him.

“There’s coffee in it, or, espresso,” You couldn’t help feeling a bit smitten with the way Hawks looked at you. Disbelief wasn’t an expression you saw many heroes wear, especially not one with a reputation like Hawks’s. Yet, there he was, in front of you, staring at his cup like you just served him battery acid and grass.

“If that’s the case, gimme the rundown, angel,” Hawks peeled off his other glove, setting the pair on the counter. He surprised you as he shrugged off his lined jacket, plopping down in a nearby stool.

You hadn’t ever really seen this much of Hawks, not in his hero uniform anyways. Plenty of him was available for viewing due to his various modeling ventures, but seeing him in the flesh was far better. The black shirt of his hero costume stretched over the lean, sculpted muscles of his arms. He certainly wasn’t built in the same way other top heroes were, but from what you could see (read: drool over), Hawks certainly wasn’t lacking—

“See something you like?” Hawks raised an eyebrow while taking another sip, devilish curl to his lips.

You really wished you had the bodily control to stop the red flush that grew on your face.

“SO —!” You laughed, diverting back to the drink at hand. “The drink.”

“Wonderful deflection,” Hawks set the cup down, still smirking. “So, the drink .”

Your fingers tapped at the countertop, living your blush down with a lack of eye contact.

He gets stared at all the time, chill out.

Dude probably likes it, (Y/N).

“The drink is a dirty chai, with some editions, of course.” You jerked your head back to the wall of tea blends, the familiar ebbing away from of your embarrassment. “We have a couple of different chai blends that I make in house. Several different chai concentrates too.”

“Forgive me, but a dirty chai?” Hawks teased.

“Wow, weak jab there, Hawks, ” You rolled your eyes. Hawks just continued to beam at you, swinging his legs behind the counter. “I gave you an oatmilk, ginger chai with three shots of espresso and a few other secret touches. I wanted to make it warm again for you.”

Keigo paused at your admission, (not-so) secretly reveling in your poorly contained embarrassment. Perhaps it was a bit cruel, but his job did carry some wonderful perks and he’d be damned to not enjoy them.

“It feels like a different kind of warm, compared to last time,” Keigo took another taste to confirm. The spiced liquid flooded his palette again, skin pleasantly prickling at the taste.

You hummed, refusing to fully make eye contact with Hawks.

Truthfully, you spent an embarrassing amount of time since the night prior thinking about potential sensations to emulate for Hawks. You were never sure of what type of vibe he would request, but having an arsenal of ideas made you feel more prepared to impress your new clientele.

“I made it feel like dawn,” You replied, nodding to out of the fully-windowed front of the tea shop. The district you were located in was lit up by the golds and pinks of the early morning, stretching and awakening with the new day. “I wanted it to feel like how morning sun feels on your bare skin. All like... tingly, you know? Like... seeing someone you haven't seen in a long time. ”

Keigo immediately noticed your bashfulness after you gave your description. In the same way as last time, the vulnerability of your manifested feelings left you warm and shy for him.

You picked at a loose string on your apron, gaze directed down and away. With his obscured view of your face, he could see the way you softly bit your lip, eyes occasionally raking him up and down and that retreating. Keigo could feel your pounding heart and slow, deep breaths.

...

Keigo was whipped and he hardly knew you. He was so fucked.

You were too fucking cute. It was fucking illegal. It had to be.

Keigo had been with sexy. He’d been with unattainable. He’d been with women and men who looked like they were crafted by gods as tempters and devils. It was all pleasure and Keigo knew it like the back of his hand. He got hedonistic bliss when he wanted it and he did so very, very well.

What Keigo was entirely unfamiliar with was the gooey, fluttery feeling in his chest as you finally looked up at him to smile and nod to the drink, “So, what do you think?”

Keigo’s brain fizzled, rendered into goo. If he didn’t have years of interpersonal training, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to speak with his own revelations. Luckily, he was able to laugh off his internal stickiness, taking another greedy sip.

“Absolutely flawless, wonderful craftsmanship, (Y/N),” Keigo bowed his head dramatically.

You giggled at Keigo’s drama, missing the way how his cheeks lit up for you.

Hawks dug in his pocket, pulling out a huge wad of bills and started to slide it across the counter, “This is a tip. All for you.”

You stared, horrified at the amount of money Hawks passed to you like it was nothing. Without thinking, you placed your hand on top of his, stopping his motion. Both of you stiffened pleasantly at the sudden, small contact.

“That’s too much, Hawks, no,” You shook your head, but Hawks was a stubborn, insistent bastard.

His wings fluffed up behind him, a feather moving quickly between your hands and pushing your up and away.

“What the fuck.” You half-groaned. Hawks fully passed the money across the counter, hiding his hands and feathers in his lap with a Panish smirk stretched across his face.

“Take it, or I tattle on you, easy trade,” Hawks shrugged, leaning his elbows on the counter and drinking deeply. He pulled away from his beverage with a relaxed-looking smile as you remained fluster.

(Holy fuck, you touched Hawks’s bare hand and it was so NICE—)

You could feel the eyes of your coworkers, staring at the money like some Olympic medal. You were well-aware that there was no way Hawks was taking back his money and you knew your coworkers would be too scared to ask for a cut.

You gulped, taking the cash and tucking it into your apron pocket.

“You don’t need to bribe me to make you nice drinks, Hawks, it’s literally my job,” You told him gently.

Hawks raised an eyebrow, shrugging, “Accept it as a little treat on the side. A gift of my appreciation.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you relented with a smile, shaking your head.

And the two of your dissolved into easy conversation. Hawks told you about the most recent gigs he had been a part of. A modeling contract for a new skincare company and a sponsorship with a few other local heroes for a sports beverage were the most interesting. You were sure he was just humoring you, unable to tell you the nitty-gritty details of his life. Yet, he seemed happy to speak and listen besides. He chattered away, in the way birds do, sing-song, and free-flowing.

Hawks was hardly a bird of prey, you realized. He was much more of a cockatoo type.

You told him more about the tea shop, about your role and job. As you explained about the basics of different types of tea, you could literally see the far off way Hawks looked at you. It wasn’t of distraction, like spacing out, no. It was a look that hadn’t been directed at you in some time. You silently and quickly studied it and came to the nerve-wracking conclusion that the cute blush on his cheeks and half-lidded eyes and relaxed shoulders was fucking captivation, borderline adoration.

For.

You.

How the fuck were you supposed to deal with that?

(Keigo wasn’t sure either.)

Luckily, neither of you planned on doing anything to stop your mutually budding feelings.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo x reader #takami x reader #hawks x y/n #reader insert #my hero academia #mha reader insert #bnha reader insert #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo #hawks

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trade-baby-blues · 4 years

Text

Secret Truths

Pairing: Bones x Reader

Word Count: 3791

Warnings: Brief mention of injury, insinuated infidelity, angst (with a happy ending!)

A/N: You and Bones have been seeing each other for awhile now, though you’ve kept your relationship a secret. It begs the question: what other secrets are you keeping from each other? Based on this request. Also sorry I guess I really went off on the italics in this one huh lmao.

___

You were running through the woods. From what, you couldn't say. You only knew you couldn't stop. Something was after you. Why couldn't you remember?

You burst through the trees into a clearing at the edge of a cliff. The horizon stretched out before you, giving you a view of the planet sprawling before. It was a mosaic of breathtaking blues leaves and green water. You felt the urge to walk toward it. To jump into it. To let the water welcome you with open arms and envelope you.

Before you knew it you were falling.

You woke with a start, sending your PADD crashing off the bed. The sound startled you more and you decided there was no point trying to get back to sleep, so you shut your alarm off and retrieved the PADD, using it to play an old radio show just to hear another voice in the room.

Even with the extra time to get ready, you still managed to be late. Dr. McCoy raised an eyebrow as you practically ran into MedBay, breath heavy and uniform wrinkled. "Sorry," you mumbled under his scrutiny. "Overslept."

You picked up a patient file from the desk, ready to start the day and forget about its rocky start. Dr. McCoy seemed to have other ideas.

"Really? Because you don't look like you slept at all."

"Ooh, spend the night with that mystery man again," Carol asked as she rounded the counter. You shot her a glare deadly enough that she decided she needed to go recheck her patient's vitals.

You looked back to Dr. McCoy apologetically, but you could already see the tension in his jaw. The accusation in his eyes. God you were tired.

"Mystery man, huh," he said, suddenly very interested by the charts in his hand.

You stepped closer, using your body to block your hands from view as you slid the PADD from Bones' hands, using your own to fill the space. He closed his fingers between yours out of instinct.

"Wouldn't be a mystery if we just told everyone we've been seeing each other." There was no malice in your voice, but Bones closed off anyway.

"It's against regulation," he said. "Why haven't you been sleeping?" Bones slipped easily back into doctor mode and you knew that was the end of the conversation.

You sighed, wondering when the world started to feel so heavy on your shoulders. Maybe the gravity field was acting up again. "I had a bad dream."

"About what?"

"I don't know. I was running from something."

Dr. McCoy grunted next to you as he picked up his PADD from the counter. "Funny. Dreams usually reflect reality." He left you with your thoughts and the heaviness of his words. It was going to be a long day.

___

"We still on for dinner," you asked, popping your head into Dr. McCoy's office. You looked back around MedBay, making sure no one was watching you. When had you gotten so good at sneaking around?

"I'm busy. Paperwork." Bones motioned to the files across his desk. He didn't look up.

Your stomach knotted itself as your brain fumbled with what to say. In the end, you didn't say anything.

The walk back to your quarters took longer than normal. You guessed it was the guilt on your conscience weighing you down or maybe the sleepiness already creeping back into your limbs, making them feel like bricks.

Christ you were tired. Tired of these damn white walls and fluorescent lights and rationed showers. Tired of the same old replicator food and burnt coffee from the mess hall. Tired of all the secrets and hiding and performing as if your life was a circus and every move, every feeling just an act for the world's pleasure.

Though, in the end, you couldn't fault Leonard for wanting to keep your relationship a secret. He was your boss. Besides, you had secrets of your own.

Your PADD lit up the dim gloom of your bedroom as you walked over it. A message vivid on the screen: Can we talk now?

A smile was already creeping across your face as you initiated a video conference in reply. "Hey, Samuel."

Bones could hear your voice through the door, though he couldn't hear the reply. His hand hung in the air, still poised to knock as he listened to your laughter echo. Of course I missed you, baby. More silence. He could hear you wandering around the room. I know. I'm sorry we haven't talked as much. Work's been busy.

Silence. It stretched on and on until the seconds blended into minutes which could've blended into years for all Bones new. He's never known silence to be so sharp or so painful, but it seemed to fill his very lungs as he strained to hear what was being said.

Another peal of twinkling laughter rose from your throat. It might've stolen the breath from Dr. McCoy's lungs if he'd been breathing. I love you so much, Sammy.

Every heartbreak Bones had experienced flashed before him. Clumsy trysts to first kisses and first loves all somehow ending the same way: with him standing on the other side of the door.

How had he gotten here again?

Bones tried not to dwell on it as he turned away, feeling for everything like he was wading through quicksand and somewhere in his mind he knew that the only way through was to keep still, to wait and ask you about it but that part was drown out by the echo of your voice saying I love you, Sammy.

It was better this way, Bones told himself. Better for you to be with someone you could be open with someone you didn't have to hide. Someone who was actually worthy of your love.

Bones wasn't in the mess hall the next morning. You wondered where he went but refused to give the thought life lest anyone ask why you were so interested in his whereabouts. That didn't stop you from asking Christine when you got to MedBay and realized Bones wasn't rounding on patients either.

"He's been sulking in the office all morning." She motioned towards the closed door. "Said he needs to be alone with his 'paperwork.'" You idly recalled him giving the same excuse yesterday. "Did you guys break up or something?"

"What," you ask, your voice an octave too high.

"The two of you. Did you guys break up?"

"No, we- I…" You closed your eyes against the suddenly harsh lights and harsher stare from Christine. "We weren't together, so we can't break up."

"Right," she snorted. "Not together."

"We're not," you protested, voice still too shrill to be believable. "We're - Chris where are you going?"

"Nowhere," Christine smiled, "certainly not to go get the $100 Jim owes me." With that, she slipped out of MedBay leaving you with little doubt as to what they were betting on.

You ran your hands down your face. Had the two of you really been that obvious? At least this meant you could go comfort him without raising eyebrows.

Bones didn't answer the first knock. Or the second. You honestly thought maybe he'd snuck out but once you strained your ear you could hear the clicking of keys coming from inside the office. Deciding the silence meant permission, you slipped into his office, still careful to shut the door tight behind you.

Your heart broke when Bones looked at you, or, rather, refused to look at you. Anger was written across his features and you wanted nothing more than to smooth it out, but as you approached his desk he pushed himself away with such force that the chair slid into the wall behind him.

He crossed his arms, pulling the muscles in his back taut. You couldn't see his face, but you were sure his jaw was tight and he was pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always did when something got under his skin.

"What can I do," you asked. You wrung your hands in front of you, hoping to ease some of the restless energy coursing through you.

"You can go." Cold. Pointed. Painful.

"Tell me what's wrong first."

"I don't have time for this," Bones said, reaching for his chair, "I have-"

"Paperwork." The word held more venom than you meant. It shut Bones up for a minute and the silence that fell between you had teeth. It gnawed at both of you the more it grew until, finally, Bones worked up the nerve to break it.

"Who's Samuel?"

A dead patient. A mystery illness. Homesickness. There were a million things you'd expected him to say was bothering him, but this put your brain on red alert. "What," you asked, trying to buy yourself time to come up with a good explanation.

"Samuel. I heard you talking to someone named Samuel."

"You heard me?"

Bones sighed, dropping into the chair. People always said he had a temper so hot it would burn you, but the truth is it was more like a wave. It grew until it crashed but, like every wave, eventually it broke and dragged Bones somewhere deep inside himself. "I went by your room last night. To apologize. You were talking to someone."

"You were spying on me?"

"No, I just said-" Bones cut himself off as his voice started to rise again. "Who were you talking to?"

"Why are you so concerned with who I talk to in my free time?" You kicked yourself as soon as you said it. Why was your brain doing this to you? Why not just tell him the truth? You begged your brain to be on your side for once please.

Bones closed his eyes and let the quiet cut his ears. After a lifetime, he stood and walked towards the door. You thought he was going to leave, but he simply opened it and looked back at you. "Because I loved you."

Oh.

You moved towards him. Tried to say something. Anything, but he raised a palm, shaking. "Please just…" He motioned out the door, and your feet led you out while your brain still short-circuited. When it finally caught up, you turned around but choked on the apology in your throat as the door slid shut and Bones disappeared behind it.

The rest of the day moved like a mudslide, quick and suffocating. You wanted to apologize to Bones, but his door remained steadfastly closed and locked, as you found out when your self-control finally broke. You weren’t sure what you would’ve told him anyway. Lunch felt like a godsend, even if you were too wound up to eat. It felt like a breath of fresh air just leaving the MedBay.

You were walking to the mess hall when the ship swayed under your feet. Before you could even think about it, the hallway was plunged in darkness. The emergency lights kicked on followed by a mechanical voice across the intercoms: “Code Red biochemistry lab.” You were sprinting before the announcement could repeat.

It was chaos when you got there. Flames lapped at the walls as techs dragged people in varying states of consciousness out of the lab. Someone from engineering was shouting angrily about needing to seal this sector off before the fire caused any more damage. There was a cacophony of screaming and blaring alarms and hissing sprinklers almost drowning a cry for help somewhere in the lab.

The engineer tried to stop you as you ran past. The lab was a mess of smoke and flame and you could feel your lungs burning already, but you set your mind on the voice calling out from an upturned desk. You could see an arm sticking out from behind it and were relieved to find it still attached to a body. Another lab tech, her legs were pinned.

“Thank God,” she sobbed, “I can’t get it off please. Please help.” “I will, but I need you to hold still first.” You tugged gently at the shirt she wore, trying to pry the cloth up so you could get a good look at her abdomen. There didn’t seem to be any blood, but the bruising could definitely mean trouble.

A ceiling tile flew off and clattered against the ground a few feet away. “Right, this is going to hurt, but I need you to use your arms to pull yourself out when I lift this, all right?” The lab tech nodded and braced herself as you crouched. You heard something else behind you shatter as you lifted the desk as best you could. It was only a few inches, but it was enough for the tech to drag herself out.

The second she was clear, you dropped the desk and fell to your knees next to her. “Hey. Hey,” you said again, louder. The tech forced her eyes away from her injured legs to look at you. “What’s your name?”

“Akara.”

“Well, Akara, I’m not gonna sugar coat this. I am going to get you out of here, but it's gonna hurt like hell, okay?”

Akara nodded, and you stood back up, moving to hook your arms under hers. You counted to three and hoisted her up as far as you could. The scream she let out almost defended you, but you pushed on, dragging Akara with you as you backed out toward the hallway. A spark from the wiring to your left scared you so much you nearly dropped her before finally escaping the lab. You paused against the wall to catch your breath for a second. That’s when you saw him.

Leonard McCoy. Standing at the other end of the hallway arguing with a second engineer. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you figured it had something to do with the doors that were rapidly closing in front of you.

“Wait,” you croaked out through the smoke in your chest. You propped Akara up against the wall and tried again. “Wait.” It was enough to get everyone’s attention, but too late to do anything except watch as you ran towards the doors and they locked in your face. Bones called out to you from the other side, pounding with enough strength you honestly thought he might break through on his own.

“Leonard,” you called through the metal, “Leonard can you hear me?”

His voice came back, ragged and distant: “Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I need you to know that I lo-”

Your words were drowned by another explosion. Glass and twisted metal shot into the hallway, ricocheting around you as flames engulfed your vision. The last thing you heard was the groaning of the ship’s hull and the dull pounding of Bones’ fist on the door. Then there was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing. Then beeping. A heart monitor, dragging you kicking and screaming back into consciousness. You tried to open your eyes but they were bandaged. You tried to move your arms but it felt like the flames were still caressing you - like they hadn’t feasted enough.

You blink and an hour passes. You take a breath and a week passes. You fall asleep and open your eyes to the same buzzing fluorescent lights and you don’t know anymore how much time has passed, only that you’re happy to see them. Happy to smell the disinfectant and latex always present in MedBay. Happy to feel the scratchy sheets beneath your hands and just damn euphoric to hear the creak of the hospital chair as Bones shifted next to you.

You take the moment to drink him in while he’s not aware you’re looking: worry creasing his forehead, eyes trained down at the PADD in his hands - your charts no doubt. Looking for something he missed when all he was missing was the woman in front of him.

“Samuel’s my son,” you said, voice cracking from disuse.

Bones nearly dropped the PADD in his hands. When he looked up and saw you staring back at him, he let it fall unceremoniously to the floor and practically threw himself on the bed. You met him halfway, and pulled each other into an embrace that felt like coming home. “I thought I’d lost you,” Bones confessed, face buried in your hair. “I thought you…wait you have a son?” Bones pulled back, hands not willing to part from your skin but needing to know the truth.

You nodded.

“I don’t understand. There’s nothing in your medical history.”

“He was adopted,” you said. “When he was two. My sister-” You drew a shaky breath. “He’s my nephew, technically, but I adopted him.”

“We don’t have to do this now.”

“I don’t want to keep any more secrets. Not about Sammy and not about this,” you said, motioning between the two of you. “I don’t care if it’s against the rules. I love you, Leonard Horatio McCoy. I love you and I want you to know all of me that there is to know.”

Bones wasn’t sure his voice would hold long enough to respond, so he kissed you, imbuing it with all the things he wanted to say: I love you too. I want you to know me too. If you died, a part of me would have died too. You drank his admissions and responded with your own: I love you. I need you. You are my rock, my life, my very bones.

You wiped away the tears that slid down the curve of Bones’ cheeks as he pulled away from you. He leaned into the touch, kissing your palms, your wrist, every inch of you he could reach in that moment. Then, he pulled your hand into his lap and simply held it, as if there were no greater pleasure in the world.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your son?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

Bones let out a dissatisfied noise in response. “I think I’m uniquely qualified to understand the life of a single parent.”

“Then, you should understand that it wasn’t to hurt you or protect him. It’s just…” You sighed, not sure how to explain to him why you kept Samuel a secret when you really couldn’t even explain it to yourself.

“You were worried he wouldn’t like me,” Bones offered. “Worried you’d have to choose between the two of us.” You nodded. “You know I’d never make you choose.”

“I know. That’s why I was worried."

“Guess it’s lucky that I’m extremely likeable.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure, let me just poll the staff real quick.”

“I am a Southern gentleman,” Bones said with an exaggerated drawl and a hand over his heart. The feigned insult on his face slipped into a smile as he watched you laugh. “When do I get to meet him?”

“Depends. When are we getting home again?”

Bones bit his tongue looking every bit like a child about to spoil a surprise. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you serious?”

“Yep. We’re going back for repairs and shore leave.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as the breath you’d been holding escaped. You threw your arms around Bones’ neck. “Thank you. Thank you.” You squeezed him as tight as you could.

“Don’t thank me. You’re the one that got blown up trying to be a hero.” You were practically beaming at him, every bit as radiant as the day he first saw you. “Samuel’ll be proud. I know I am.”

The next morning couldn’t come fast enough. You wanted to run off the ship as soon as it landed, but Bones forced you into a wheelchair, determined to keep you under his watchful eye for the entirety of leave.

“Ready,” he asked, poised at the entrance of the ship. You nodded, not quite sure if it was the truth. Bones pressed a kiss to the top of your head and started down the ramp of the Enterprise.

The landing platform was crowded with crew members and their families. Security guards struggled to be heard over the sound of reunions as they tried to control traffic from ships that were boarding and unloading. Everything was bustling and alive and you thought you couldn’t possibly feel any more joy until you heard one sound above everything else: your son.

Your eyes immediately snapped in his direction and before Bones could stop you, you were sprinting towards him. He jumped into your arms as you fell to your knees and pulled him into a hug so tight you honestly thought you might break him.

“God I missed you, Sam,” you said, trying to choke back the tears in your throat.

“Grammy said you got hurt,” he said as he pulled away, touching your face and shoulders, trying to make sure you were in one piece. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you smiled, “No, I’m all better now.” Sam’s stare was distant, fixed on something behind you. Bones looked only slightly upset at you for leaving the wheelchair. “This is Dr. McCoy,” you said, standing but not letting go of Samuel’s hand. “He’s the doctor that helped me get better.” Samuel peered out from behind your leg but said nothing.

“Hey, buddy,” Bones said, crouching to Sam’s level. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Leonard.” He held his hand out for Samuel to shake.

Sam didn’t take it. “You helped mommy?”

“Yeah. That’s my job.”

With that, Samuel darted out from behind your leg and flung himself at Bones with such force it knocked them both to the ground. “Thank you,” he said, arms tight around Bones’ shoulders. “Thank you for helping mommy.”

Your heart swelled as you leaned down to pick Samuel up and off Leonard. “Good news,” you said, “I think Sammy likes you.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Bones said as he stood, brushing himself off.

“Can he come with us to get ice cream,” Sam asked. “Grammy said we could all go out for ice cream.”

“Did she now,” you asked , raising an eyebrow at your mother, who stood watching the three of you, clearly amused. “Well, I think I’d better ask my doctor if it’s okay, too. What do you say, Dr. McCoy?”

“I’d love to,” Bones smiled, patting the seat of the wheelchair.

Samuel gasped in your arms. “Can I ride in it, mommy? Please, please, please?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course, baby.” Samuel nearly jumped from your arms before bounding into the seat. He was already chattering away about what he’d been up to while you were away as Bones started pushing him forward. You looped your arm around Leonard’s, leaning into him, feeling his warmth mingling with the sunlight on your skin and feeling for the first time like everything finally clicked into place.

___

Tags!: @outside-the-government @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @thefanficfaerie @cuddlememerrick @reading-in-moonlight @8bit-arc-reactor @jimtkirkisabitch @sjlovestory @kristaparadowski

#star trek imagine #bones imagine #leonard mccoy imagine #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader

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alleiradayne · 5 years

Photo

There’s Something Strange A Reader/Sam Winchester Series

When Y/N Y/L/N escapes to the upper Midwest for a weekend of inspiration to begin her tenth paranormal thriller novel, she never imagined the source of that inspiration to be her own life. Between the old mansion, two peculiar men posing as antiquers, and the mysterious death of the heiress of Hill Manor one-hundred and fifty years ago, Y/N learns the truth about far more than the paranormal.

Part VII - The Aftermath

Summary: The next morning... Warnings/Tags: Angst, fluff, mentions of sexual topics Square filled: Author AU Characters/Pairings: Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 1,718 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this entire series fills the Author AU square. Super giant huge thank you to @atc74 who beta’d this giant thing for me.

The crisp fall breeze cooled her cheeks as Y/N slipped through the front door of Hill Manor, eager to be on her way. With the sun barely above the trees, she had decided to leave then rather than face Sam. She couldn’t bare the thought of disappointing him. She had seen that look on his face before and had vowed to never see it again. Better to remember him smiling in the bar the night before.

“We can keep my involvement out of the story when we talk to the cops, right?”

Dean laughed as he said, “Sure, Y/N. We’ll keep it short.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“No, sweetheart,” he interjected. “Thank you. Right, Sam?”

Sam hefted his glass in salute. “Thank you.”

A shiver ran up her spine at the memory of Sam’s gaze consuming her over the rim of his glass as they drank to her success. Damn him. The point of her trip was not to find a lover. Inspiration for a book. That was it. And she had that in spades. No need to hang about.

Her suitcase thumped on the brick path at the bottom of the steps, and she paused, heart and mind in conflict. A deep breath filled her lungs as she turned around to soak in the essence of the mansion one last time. But instead of the house, she only saw Sam Winchester standing in the arch of the covered porch, staring at her.

“We never got a chance to talk,” he said as he started down the steps.

By no fault of hers. Between guests and police, Sam and Dean had been busy the rest of the night. True to Dean’s word, they had kept her involvement out of the story. And when the police had interviewed her, she claimed to have slept through it all, exhausted from a long day of writing. The officer had recognized her then, and in a complete dereliction of duty, asked for her autograph. Y/N had gladly given it, but then returned to her room for some much-needed sleep.

Except sleeping had only allowed her to process her thoughts, her feelings. Doubt replaced anything she thought she had felt for Sam. And given the near-death experience, she figured it best to leave as early as possible.

Too bad for her, it seemed Sam awoke with the sun as well.

“I’m leaving,” she stated.

“I see that,” Sam said as he looked to her suitcase and started down the stairs. “I made a promise.”

“Yeah, and you didn't keep it,” she retorted. “I had to save everyone.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so angry, so spiteful. Crestfallen, Sam stopped at the bottom of the steps beside her and held out his hand. “I know. I'm sorry.”

No excuses. No reasons. No spin. A genuine apology. She placed her hand in his. “While I appreciate the apology, you shouldn’t need to.”

“You shouldn't have been there,” he said as he pulled her close.

“You would be dead,” she replied.

“True,” Sam agreed. “So, even though we all nearly died, I'm glad you were with us. We made a good team. You did great. I don't know if I'd have thought to destroy the pen.”

Heat crept up her neck and her cheeks stung as she reached for her back pocket. From it she withdrew the black pen, its gold and green veins glimmering in the fall sun.

Sam's eyes damn near popped out of his head. “What did you do, Y/N!?!”

She withdrew the cap and scribbled on her palm. “It's just a pen, now.”

“But what about the one you torched?” he asked. “How did that kill the poltergeist?”

She replaced the cap and jammed the pen back into her pocket. “I took the twin from the inkwell base with me to the ballroom after reading up on liches and poltergeists.”

She wished she could confuse Sam more often just so she could see his furrowed brow and pursed lips. Y/N could hear the gears churning in his head as he said, “Keep talking.”

“Hillstead thought she was a lich. She thought her spell to splice half of her soul into the pen had worked,” she explained. “That’s why she took off every time I threatened to destroy it. But when we tried to trap her back in it,” she paused as she relived moment, “she remembered what living in that pen was like. Drove her mad, all those years alone inside a tiny, dark space. But she had no idea she had become a poltergeist. She had no idea she had killed herself trying to create a phylactery.”

Sam’s face softened as understanding blossomed in his eyes. “She thought you destroyed the other half of her soul,” he said. “And so, when you destroyed the twin, she…”

“Moved on,” Y/N said. “I think. She believed her 'phylactery' had been destroyed, so she believed she was 'dead’ and moved on. Into the light. I hope. Poor girl suffered for a century and a half, alone. In a pen.”

For too long, Sam stared at her and searched her gaze with is own wide eyes. Under such scrutiny, she shivered, but she dared not look away.

“You’re brilliant,” he said under his breath as he pulled her closer. “The way you think… I'm gonna miss the hell out of you.”

Dammit. He would make it difficult. With his hair, and puppy dog eyes, and tender touches, Y/N knew she would regret waking away. But did she want that life? Wedge herself into his and document everything he and his brother did?

“I'll miss you too, Sam,” she sighed. “Next time I stay in a haunted mansion… well, I think I’ll take care of things just fine.”

The red in his eyes stung her own as Y/N turned on her heel and walked away. It was the right thing to do, the best thing. She wasn't a hunter. She was a writer. She'd almost died on her one and only hunt. There was no way she would survive that lifestyle.

At her car, she tossed her suitcase into the trunk, and slammed the lid shut like a finished book. A sort of finality settled in her gut, not quite satisfied with her decision, but accepting it, nonetheless. And though she would miss him, Y/N knew Sam would get over her in a few days. Besides, she had all the material for her book, and that had been her goal for the trip. Not upending her entire life to live with some—

“Y/N!”

She froze in the door of her car, one foot in and the other on the ground. Against her every instinct, Y/N turned over her shoulder and saw Sam running down the path to the drive. He plodded to a halt before her, and as she stepped from the car, he grasped her by the shoulders and hauled her into him.

When his lips landed on hers, her heart leaped into her throat. Their prior trysts compared so little to that connection, to his insistent hands at the small of her back, holding her so tight, and his desperate tongue plying hers. And dear Lord, what strength. Power rippled beneath his coat, restrained despite his palpable need. All of him inundated her senses, his spearmint toothpaste, musty books, three-day scruff, and the quietest of sighs all tearing down her walls, and Y/N melted into him.

Between breaths and fervent kisses Sam clamored for more, gripping and pulling and tugging as though he could never have her close enough. “I don't want you to leave,” he mumbled against her lips.

She pulled back from him and held him at arm’s length as she looked him directly in the eye. “I don’t want to go either. But I can’t be a hunter. I’m not a hunter.”

He pointed at the house. “That, last night? That’s what being a hunter is all about,” he stated. “Pulling a win out of your ass when a thing has you dead to rights. It’s the Winchester way. We don’t know anything else.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to the questions spiraling through her head, so instead of asking how they had survived all their years, she, once again, logged that away on her ever-growing list. “I still think I got lucky.”

“You did,” Sam agreed. “I’d rather be lucky than dead. Besides, you don’t have to hunt. You could… travel with us?”

Inspiration. “I could use your hunts as material for my books?”

Disgust contorted Sam’s pretty face. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Do not put us in your books.”

His tone had turned so gravely serious in a single second, Y/N knew there had to be a story behind that demand. Her brow knotted as she cocked her head to the side. “Alright,” she said. “But this is… terrifying. I’m uprooting my entire life for you.”

“I know,” he said as he hugged her again, and Y/N, powerless in his presence, submitted to his embrace. “I know this is sudden. I'm not one to rush into things. But I would regret it for the rest of my life if we didn't at least try.”

Regret.

Y/N pulled back once more. “Rather to have loved and lost?”

His smile shined brighter than the sun. “Than never to have loved at all.”

She pushed to the tips of her boots and pressed a kiss to his lips so quick, Sam only just caught her. “If we keep,” he paused to kiss her again. “… doing this…” another kiss, “… I’m going to throw you…” a gasp, “… in the backseat of your car,” a moan, “and tear those leggings to shreds.”

“Oh, so the gentleman is a deviant after all!” she said with a laugh against his lips. “And here I thought the butt plugs were just a joke to creep your brother out,” she teased, but her banter faltered when Sam grasped her by the ass and hauled her into his arms.

“Honey, you don’t know the half of it,” he growled. “But if you come with me, I’d be more than happy to show you.”

His smile against her lips warmed her like the rays of the perfect fall sun breaking through the clouds.

“Take me home, Sam.”

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), you can ask for that, too!

THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27 @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99

Sam’s Sasstresses:

@morganas-pendragons @karouwinchester

There’s Something Strange:

@peridottea91 @amanda-teaches

#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #spnfluffbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #reader/sam winchester

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crowkingwrites · 7 years

Text

Friday Night Fever

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Fic Request: Friday Night Thing is just amazing! Can I ask maybe for pt2, where it became s thing and happened couple of times and with each time Ramsay was becoming more and more obsessed with her, and one Friday its readers day off, and she didn't tell Ramsay about it, because, well, technically they're not together, but she comes to the bar to get Theon spare keys to his apartment, and she's all dressed up and make up, because she is going to club. So Ramsay see her and follow her to the club, and he see some guy dancing with her and gets incredibly jealous. And it ends with club smut and Ramsay making reader admit that she belongs to him.

Words: 2731

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12869268

Author’s Notes: I mention a female DJ duo called 'The Jane Doze'. They were a real dj duo!! They have since broken up and each individual is doing their own thing, but they were so much fun to listen to. I wanted to pay them a tribute by mentioning them in this fic. I loved seeing them live and meeting them, they were big sweeties. If you ever want to get into EDM music/ dance music/ or just trying to find someone new to listen to here's their mix cloud here (https://www.mixcloud.com/thejanedoze/) I highly suggest them!

You hated yourself a lot. You really didn’t know why, but after that first Friday, you let it become a thing. At first, you told yourself the next day it was ‘a one-time thing’. Then, the next Friday came, and there he was with that same, stupid smirk on his stupid face. Next thing you knew, you were in the men’s bathroom with him against the wall, losing your breath.

That next day, you told yourself you would swear off of him. He was no good. You’ve heard rumors about the shit he did. Theon told you how bad of a childhood bully he was. He didn’t sell drugs, but you did hear an awful rumor about how he murdered his brother.

The next Friday came, and you were going to be strong. You were going to tell him no, but the next thing you knew, he was fingering you in his car. And damn, it felt good. It wasn’t like you were cheating on anyone. You were single, and so was he. Every Friday, it would be the same routine. You would tell yourself to not let it happen again. He would bother you until you were frustrated. He would follow you while you were on your break, and then he would fuck you wherever he could.

You didn’t know how he did it. He just happened to manage to get his dirty fingers all over you every time.

This Friday would be different. Yara had hired a new girl to relieve you on the weekends sometimes. Some cutie named Jeyne. You trained her during the week. She was lovely, nice, and it was her first bar job. You sorta felt bad because you knew what she was in for. She assured you that she felt confident to work Friday night, and Theon told you he would man-handle anyone who gave her a hard time. Secretly, you thought they would make a good couple.

Excited, you logged onto a dating site, you recently signed up for. You saw a couple of messages from a guy you’ve been talking to for a week and a half now. He really wanted to go out with you, but since you worked weekends you never had a chance until now.

He was nice to you. He was full of ‘dad’ jokes and dorky memes that made you laugh. He worked as an assistant to a dentist, and he lived only twenty minutes from you. You agreed to meet up with him at a new club in town.

You were moving on to better things, and that made you happy. Meanwhile, Friday evening came around. Ramsay and his bastards came in from the cold and sat in the same spot as always. Groups of friends who sit in the same spot in bars consistently making jokes, placing slap bets, and drinking beer were usually nice people. Ramsay’s bastard Grunt almost punched the people sitting in their seats.

He scanned the bar for you. He looked for the same short skirt and cute low cut t-shirts you always wore. Nowhere. At first, he thought it must be some mistake. The longer he looked for you, the more annoyed he became until a young girl approached the table.

“Hi guys! What can I get for you?” she said with a smile. Ramsay looked at her up and down.

“Where’s the other one?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where’s Y/N? Doesn’t she work Friday nights?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes. The young girl shook her head.

“Not tonight she doesn’t. She’s off,” she explained.

You walked into the bar. You put on a new dress you just bought. A classy little black number with t-strap platforms that you’ve been dying to wear. Your hair had the perfect volume to it paired with beautiful earrings. Ramsay inhaled the air and smelled your perfume from across the room. It wasn’t your normal one. This one was different. Sexier. More mysterious.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself.

He kept his eyes on you. You leaned over the bar and laughed at Theon. Theon stopped in front of you and spoke to you. The only words Ramsay could make out were “Saturday morning”, “errands”, and “see you tomorrow”. Theon handed you over his spare keys and Ramsay watched you leave. Your new scent followed you out the door.

Confused and annoyed, Ramsay flew out of his chair and towards Theon. He tapped his fingers on the bar, staring at him. Theon reluctantly walked over to him.

“What do you want, Ramsay?” Theon knew about your and Ramsay’s trysts every Friday night. Theon made stupid decisions, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Where is she going?” Ramsay asked.

“That’s none of your business,” Theon retorted. “What Y/N does with her life is her business.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Where is she going?”

“Again, not your business,” Theon wanted this thing between the both of you to end. He was ecstatic to hear you were going on a date tonight. He wasn’t going to give Ramsay that satisfaction. Ramsay had his own methods. He reached over the bar and grabbed Theon’s shirt collar and pulled him towards him.

“I’ve been fucking your waitress every Friday for five weeks, you dollar store dildo,” Ramsay began. “And I have never seen her dressed like that ever. Where is she going?” His nostrils flared in Theon’s face. For the first time in a long while, Theon wasn’t scared of Ramsay because Theon realized something.

“Oh my god,” Theon started to snicker. “You’re nervous. Alright, I’ll tell you,” Theon wore his best shit-eating smile he could wear. “It’s your worst nightmare, honestly. She’s on a date.” Ramsay let go of Theon.

“What?” Ramsay’s fists balled up. Theon played a dangerous game.

“Yeah, she’s moving on from you, buddy,” Theon kept going. “She went to the new club in town. Profile? I think it’s called Profile. Anyways, she met a guy who’s actually has a job, is nice to her, and on top of all of that, she’s been talking to him for a while now which means you don’t have a hold on her anymore.”

Ramsay’s eyes widened and he bolted out of the bar. He took Ben’s keys and took his car. Ramsay raced down the streets and tried to find the nightclub, Profile. He saw a line of people in front of a gray building.

He skipped the waiting line to find the bouncer staring down at him. He gave him a crooked eyebrow.

“You know there’s a line,” the bouncer said, pointing to the line behind him.

“I need to get into this club right now,” Ramsay demanded. “Fuck your line.”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to get into the line or leave,” the bouncer explained. Ramsay took out his wallet. “That’s not going to work. I don’t take bribes.”

“I’m not fucking bribing you,” Ramsay took out a fake police badge and showed it to the bouncer. “I’m with precinct 10. I’m working on a case on fraud. My suspect is in this nightclub. If you try to stop me again, I will arrest you on obstruction of justice.” Ramsay stood there and waited for a response. The bouncer nodded his head, and lifted the red velvet rope to let Ramsay in.

Ramsay chuckled to himself. “Works every fucking time.”

The club had a social media aspect to it. The walls were Twitter blue which faded into the darker Facebook blue. Hashtags signs flared everywhere with suggestive tags. At the back wall, there was an average stage where two female DJs played pop-influenced dance music. Their DJ duo name “Jane Doze” in white lights with the amount of Facebook likes next to them.

Ramsay scanned the bars for you. He saw brightly colored martinis and drinks. He saw a guy handling two drinks. Ramsay watched him go onto the dance floor with them and handed one of them to you. You sipped the drink and laughed at something he said.

“What the fuck,” Ramsay muttered. “Who does she think she is?” Ramsay watched you dance with your date. You grinded against him, your body curved into his. Your date grabbed your hips and danced to a remix of Safe and Sound while he got closer to you.

Ramsay didn’t enjoy any of this. He kept watching over the both of you while drinking two shots of tequila. A girl tapped his shoulder asking him to dance, but Ramsay gave her the finger and kept watching you. It wasn’t until the guy kissed you innocently on the cheek that Ramsay lost it.

He pushed his way onto the large dance floor until he got to you and your date. Ramsay pulled hi off of you. You turned around and felt chills go down your spine.

“Ramsay?” you shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“You know, that’s funny. I could ask you the same question,” he responded back at you. Your date came up behind Ramsay.

“Dude, what the hell?” he said.

“Who’s this guy?” Ramsay pointed at your date.

You held out your arms to try to calm down. “Ramsay—

“Y/N, what’s going on here?”

“Yeah, Y/N what’s going on here?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes at you.

“I’m so sorry, Andy,” you apologized to your date. “This is Ramsay, just ignore him.”

“Ignore me?” Ramsay shouted at you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Look, Y/N, if this is some ex-boyfriend you have business with then I don’t want any part in that.”

“He’s not my ex-boyfriend!”

“So what am I then?” Ramsay questioned you. “It’s not like we’ve been fucking or anything.” Andy looked at you and sighed.

“Seriously?” Andy said to you. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I’m not! Ramsay’s just—please listen to me, Andy. Ramsay’s not anything to me. Ramsay, you need to leave. Andy, I just want a good time with you, please,” you begged Andy. He pushed his hair back and took your hand. Desperate, Ramsay took your other hand and pulled you towards him. Ramsay kissed you with full force, letting his tongue go inside your mouth.

Andy groaned and let you go. As he was leaving the club, you reached out towards him. Ramsay smacked that hand away and kissed you again. His tongue halfway in your mouth. You slapped him across the face hard. Ramsay had to take two steps back and recover.

“What the hell?” you pushed him. “I was having a good time and you have to come and ruin everything!”

“Is it ruining everything? You barely knew him.”

“That’s what dates are for Ramsay! To get to know someone, dammit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he shouted at you. The pop-dance music still pumped in the background despite the heated argument between the both of you.

“Why are you here?” you questioned him.

“To protect you from guys like that.”

“Guys like that?” you raised your voice. “He’s a dental assistant, Ramsay! What the fuck is he going to do to me? Threaten to clean my teeth?” Ramsay grabbed onto your dress.

“You know who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,’ you spat back in his face. Ramsay smirked at you. His fingers strayed from your dress to the hem at the bottom. The dress was so tight it hugged your curves comfortably, but Ramsay’s fingers slipped under it, tracing both your skin and the bottom of the dress. Your breath hitched, and he saw it.

“That’s what you think,” he said. Before you could think, Ramsay took a hold of your wrist and put it behind your back. Ramsay pushed you towards the exit. You felt the cold air on your exposed skin. The line of people gawked at you. Even the bouncer watched you carefully. Ramsay winked at him and kept pushing you away from the bar.

“Ramsay—

“Shut up,” he said to you. Ramsay pushed you into Ben’s car and closed the door behind him. He began to go for your dress, but you pushed him away.

“Stop! Take me home, asshole!” you yelled at him. Ramsay’s hands touched the back zipper of your dress, unzipping it slowly. “I said stop!”

Ramsay pulled back and stared at you. You straighten yourself out in the backseat. Ramsay remembered the words Theon told him. ‘She’s moving on from you.’ Ramsay kissed you again. Both of his hands went into your hair, gripping it tight and putting all f himself into it.

You pushed him away again, but Ramsay caught your wrists and kissed you over and over again. You didn’t know why exactly, but it happened. You started to kiss him back. He was like a chemical that activated something inside of you. Your hands went around his neck.

Ramsay kissed your cheek and buried himself inside the crook of your neck. He inhaled your perfume, taking in all he could. He started to nip and bite at you. Ramsay’s fingers felt over your chest and down your dress. He touched every curve you had and made his way underneath your dress.

He stopped. “No underwear?” You stopped breathing. Ramsay stopped kissing your neck and looked at you. You caught some hurt in his eyes.

“You were planning to fuck him?” he asked you. You didn’t answer out of fear of what he would say. “You naughty little thing.” Ramsay’s fingers started to massage your folds. You started to feel yourself becoming wet to his touch. He started to push one finger inside of you.

“He couldn’t do what I can do to you,” Ramsay whispered in your ear. He pushed two fingers inside of you and played with you a little faster. Your body started to respond to him. Your back fully against the seat. Your head went back, leaving your neck exposed. Ramsay sucked on it while pushing his fingers faster inside of you.

You were getting wetter by the second. Ramsay took his fingers out and sucked on them, tasting you. You watched him do it, slowly and with a smirk on his face. His eyes went down to your vagina.

“Spread them,” he said to you. You lowered yourself as much as you could while spreading your legs for him. He pulled down his pants and forced himself into you without warning. “Who do you belong to?”

You moaned in response, not saying any name or giving Ramsay the satisfaction. Ramsay thrusted into you harder while pushing you down into the backseat. You tried to balance yourself, but Ramsay took the collar of your dress and held you in the same spot while creating a hard rhythm.

“I don’t like asking again, who do you belong to?” he asked you, staring into your eyes. You looked away. With the other hand, Ramsay turned your face to him. His face inches from yours as his dick went in and out of you. It was hard to concentrate when your walls grew tighter.

“Look at me. Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Say my name,” Ramsay said, placing his thumb on your clit. His other hand still kept a strong hold your dress. “Say my name and I’ll give you what you need. I’ll give you what Andy could never give you.”

Ramsay started to rub you clit while slowing himself down, torturing you. You needed to go faster. You needed him to move faster. He asked you again. “Who do you belong to, naughty girl?”

“Ramsay Bolton,” you said. He began to go faster. Licking his fingers and then rubbing you in circles.

“Louder.”

“Ramsay Bolton!” you shouted a little louder. Ramsay let go of your dress and went to your hips. His hips rolled against you harder, faster, and better. Ramsay was a better lover when he was jealous.

“Louder!” he shouted at you, enjoying himself. You could feel your end coming. Your walls couldn’t take it much longer. He had been rubbing you in smaller and faster circles.

“Ramsay! I belong to Ramsay!” you shouted and you came while he was still inside of you. Ramsay thrusted against you making your realse that much sweeter. You felt your eyes almost roll back. He slowed and pulled himself out. Both of you caught your breath and looked at each other.

“That’s a good girl,” Ramsay reached over and kissed your cheek. “You belong to me.”

#friday night fever #friday night thing #ramsay bolton #ramsay snow #ramsay x reader #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsay snow imagine #ramsay bolton imagine #fic request #fic sequel #game of thrones imagine #modern au

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ruckystarnes · 7 years

Text

Things Never Stay Hidden

Author: RuckyStarnes

Summary: hidden relationships never seem to stay hidden

Warnings: swearing, slight foreplay

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Words: 1,976

I yawned as I walked into the kitchen and made my way to the coffee pot. Pulling a coffee mug out from the cupboard, I groaned when I noticed the coffee pot was empty.

“Damn it,” I huffed. “FRIDAY, who had the last cup?” “Mr. Barton did, Miss,” the AI responded as I filled up the reservoir with water and scooped out the coffee into the filter. “Of course he did,” I muttered starting the coffee then walking to the pantry to get a bagel. “Well, don’t you look like you had a long night,” a voice from behind me said. “Shut it, Sam,” I muttered, pushing past him to put my bagel in the toaster, then got the cream cheese from the refrigerator. “Who was the lucky guy?” he smirked as he got a glass of water. I shrugged. “Trevor? Hugo? Enrique? I don’t know.” But in truth, I knew damn well who it was. The same guy every night kept me up in the most pleasurable way and woke me the same way every morning. Kicker was, no one knew. They only assumed that I was with some guy I picked up at the bar. “Do you even get their names?” Sam chuckled, taking a sip of his water. The toaster popped up my bagel and I removed it to put the spread on. I just shrugged again causing Sam to laugh loudly. “What’s so funny, Wilson?” I turned my head to see Steve walk in obviously done with his morning run. He walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice. “Nice hair, Y/NN,” he smirked at me. “Y/N had another tryst last night,” Sam answered, nodding at me as I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Is that a bad thing?” I asked, glaring at the men before taking a sip. Both men shook their head. “Good. Even if you thought it was I would tell you to go to hell.” We fell in silence as I ate my bagel by the counter, Sam was busy making eggs and bacon, and Steve read the newspaper like the grandpa he was. Neither one of them made anymore comments of what I did last night, granted I had it coming with my Guns ‘N Roses hair, baggy shirt and boyshort underwear. But I have no shame in it. He was great in bed, after all. As I finished my coffee, Tony strolled in, and seeing me, smiled widely. “Looking good, sex kitten,” he cooed, ruffling up my already messy hair. “I always look good,” I said, winking at him and nudging him with my hip. “And, no, I’m not giving details.” It was a routine. Tony always wanted to know the dirty details of my “one night stands”, but I never gave any. “One of these days,” Tony smirked, “I will get the down low on all these guys you bring back and thank them for this lovely image we get of you every morning.” Pouring myself another cup of coffee, I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. I walked over to Steve, sitting down next to him, and stole the sports section of the paper. Steve narrowed his eyes at me, but I stuck out my tongue and started to read the stats of last night’s game. “You know,” Steve started, “you wouldn’t have to read the paper for the stats if you watched the game instead.” “But sex is just so much more fun,” I whined, seeing his cheeks turn pink. “Cap doesn’t know that yet,” Tony chimed in, which made Sam snicker. “Tony, only I can tease Steve about his nonexistent sex life,” I chided as I rested my head on Steve’s shoulder, taking a sip of coffee. “You know, no one needs to be in my business of my nonexistent sex life,” muttered Steve. Sam shook his head and smiled. “It’s not going away anytime soon. And Y/N, you missed a great game last night,” he said. Oh, it was worth missing, I thought to myself. “According to the paper, I didn’t miss much. Yankees are still the same as ever,” I responded, glancing over the article quickly, and I agreed silently that it was a great game. “Oh look who’s finally awake,” Steve teased the mystery person. I didn’t have to looked up because I knew who it was. “Shut it, punk,” Bucky said gruffly. That voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I took a sip of coffee trying to conceal my reaction. “So, does this mean winter is coming?” Tony smirked over his cup at Bucky, who ignored him. A smile played on my lips as I raised my cup up again. “Winter came this morning,” I muttered quietly in my cup, my eyes still on the paper. I didn’t count on the two super soldiers to have impeccable hearing. “What?” Steve asked, his head turning to look at me. I saw Bucky’s back tense under his white t-shirt, as he was still fixing himself a cup of coffee. “What?” I retorted, trying to say it as innocently as possible, while hoping my blush want noticeable. “Did you say something?” Tony asked, his eyes fixed on me. Bucky turned to look at me, his brown eyes fixed on me sent a wave of warm through my body as I shifted in my seat. “It wasn’t important,” I said getting up from my spot to put my cup in the sink. “It thought I heard you say–” Steve started, but I interrupted him. “It might rain this morning,” I rushed out. I turned on my heel and walked out of the kitchen before they could question more. I really didn’t want to explain that story.

The sun started to peek through the sheer curtains and I nuzzled into Bucky’s chest, my fingers lazily traced circles on his skin, a smile on my lips. I knew he would have to be leaving soon to get back to his room before anyone realized he was here in mine. It was the fourth time this week that he found his way in my bed, and we won’t count the times I found my way into his. It’s not that we didn’t want the team to know, we just like having one thing a secret. Granted secrets do have a way of coming out eventually, but for the time being, we will wait. I liked having him to myself, and not sharing details with anyone. I heard my phone buzz and groaned as I rolled off of Bucky, taking the sheet with me, but two arms pulled me back into that strong chest. “Mmm, it can wait, doll,” he mumbled into my hair, his breath and whiskers tickled the skin of my neck and ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “But if it’s Tony, or Steve,” I whispered, my fingers carding through his tangled brown hair. “OR worse yet…Nat.” He groaned in frustration, rolled me onto my back and was straddling my hips. His metal arm reached out and grabbed my phone, looking at it. He smirked, and tossed it to the floor. “It’s just Wilson,” he rolled his eyes. “Not important.” It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Seriously, when are you two going to stop this little feud you’re having,” I huffed. “When he gives back my Steve,” Bucky smirked. That made me giggle, but it quickly turned into a moan as Bucky’s lips grazed over my jaw to my ear, where he bit down on the sweet spot just below. I dug my fingers into his back, my hips bucking up. It was not hard to want this man. Just as his flesh fingers started to travel lower between us, there was a knock at my door. I froze, but Bucky continued to move his fingers lower making me bite my lip, trying not to moan out loud. “Who is it?” I called out in forced calm, glaring at Bucky, trying to push him away, but failing. “Y/N, did you forget about our run?” Sam answered. I pushed at Bucky again and mouthed a no, causing him to groan quietly as he rolled off of me. I grabbed the duvet off the bed, wrapped it around my body and walked to the door. Opening it a crack, I saw Sam in his shorts and muscle shirt with a smile on his face. “I guess you got your exercise in already, hey Bon Jovi?” He smirked at me. “I like to think I resemble more of White Snake,” I quipped back making him laugh. “You know, I don’t care which 80’s rock band you look like,” he replied. Bucky snorted from the bedroom and I tensed up, hoping that Sam didn’t hear him. But luck wasn’t on my side. “Oh? Mystery man didn’t leave yet?” Sam mused, his eyes shining with mischief. “None of your business, Sam,” I said shutting the door, but Sam’s foot stopped it. “Sam, remove your foot,” I warned, but it fell on deaf ears as he pushed the door open wide, stepping into my living space. “But I think I deserve to know who is taking up my running time with my buddy,” he smirked, making his way to my bedroom. “Sam, please,” I begged, grabbing his hand, but he kept going, pushing the door open.. My eyes widen as I saw Bucky sitting against the headboard, above the covers, completely naked with a smile on his face. “Morning Wilson,” Bucky smirked, sending Sam a suggestive wink. Any other time I would have laughed, but in that moment I was mortified but the image of my best friend seeing the guy he had a “feud” with in my bed. “So this is what you’ve been doing on your nights?” Sam said slowly, his hand blocking parts of Bucky from his view. “Yup,” Bucky answered for me, "and pretty much every night. Sometimes a few times in one night.“ I could walk over there and slapped that smug look off his face, but I was rooted to the ground. "That,” Sam started, his gaze shifted to me, “I didn’t need to know.” I looked at Sam with an apologetic look. “Well, you were one of many who wanted to know,” I said softly. “You and Barnes. For how long?” Sam asked me. “About seven months,” I murmured, my eyes looking up at the ceiling. “Seven long and glorious months,” Bucky chuckled, still sitting in all his glory, arms crossed in front of his perfect chest. “Bucky, you’re not helping,” I muttered. “And go put some clothes on.” I jerked my head towards the bathroom. He got the message and got up, saluting Sam before he went. “There are some things I wish I could unsee,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Sam, please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t tell anyone,” I begged. “Oh, I’m not telling anyone,” Sam smirked. “They’ll find out soon enough.” I looked at him, puzzled. This only made him laugh. “Y/N. Everyone is already up and waiting to see who is coming out of your room. Hell, I think Tony’s making breakfast waiting for him for him.” “Oh fuck me,” I groaned. “I was trying to do that before Wilson interrupted us!” Bucky called from the bathroom. “Shut it, Barnes!” I shouted back. I slapped my hand to my mouth, realizing anyone could have heard that, which, to my dismay, someone did. “Y/N is banging Barnes!?” Tony exclaimed from the hallway outside my door. “I knew it!” Steve yelled. “Ah, shit,” I moaned, falling on the bed face down. Sam chuckled and patted my calf. “Well, we all know who makes Winter come now.”

“Fuck off, Sam,” I growled as I made my way to the bathroom.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #buckyxreader #winter solider x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier fanfic #avengers fanfic #avengers #marvel #marvel universe #mcu #superheroes #things never stay hidden #tnsh #ruckystarnes

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natasha-cole · 7 years

Text

Hey Bartender Chapter 5: Another Vice

Pairing: Bartender!Reader x Rock God!Rob

Chapter Summary: You told yourself you wouldn’t end up here. Maybe you could learn to live with being a one-night stand; being a cheater is a different story.

Word Count: 5867

Warnings: drinking as usual, swearing, suggestive language, gratuitous flirting, unprotected smut, cheating

Catch Up: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

The week following your sudden tryst in the alley with Rob only left you questioning yourself. You had put yourself in a position of weakness with the man; not only giving into how attracted you were to him, but also putting yourself into the position of being a cheater. You beat yourself up over it the entire time, feeling somewhat bad for having been in such a compromising position with someone who wasn’t your boyfriend. All the while, thoughts of Rob still remained. You didn’t stop thinking about the way his lips felt on you, or the way he made you feel when he got you off in a very public place.

This might have been awkward thinking of him this way when you were at home, but true to form, Tyler remained MIA most of the time. You spent your nights in your bed, alone and allowing yourself to think about another man. You shouldn’t have felt guilty about it, because you never knew what Tyler was up to most of the time. He could be doing the same thing; or worse, for all you knew.

You went into work Friday night, grateful to see that Briana was working with you again. You knew she would have questions, considering the fact that she had been more excited about the possibility of you hooking up with Rob than you had been. You had all but dodged her texts all week, praying that she wouldn’t show up at the bar to nag you. You felt that you were finally ready to indulge her now, and work was probably the best place to do so.

“What happened last weekend?” She asked finally. You had been working for a few hours already, waiting for it.

“Well, I left with the guy briefly.”

“I know. I saw you. I figured you were going home with him, until he came back and you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t go back inside after…” you trailed off, wondering if it was too much information.

“After what?”

“After we… fooled around out back.”

Briana’s eyes widened, a ridiculous grin spreading across her face.

“Details! I want details!”

“We made out, he’s a really good kisser.”

“That can’t be all.”

“He kept trying to take me home with him, to which I said no. And then… stuff happened.”

She waited eagerly.

“Did you fuck in the alley?”

“No!” You exclaimed, a little hurt that she thought you’d even do that. “He may have got me off.”

“Naughty,” she smirked, “I’d be more proud if you had slept with him though.”

You laughed at her, shaking your head as you turned your attention back to the customers at the bar.

Most of the night stayed fairly steady. You had your usuals pop in, only because it was a Friday night and many patrons were just looking to unwind after a long work week. You made small talk, prepared drinks, and gave some of your attention to those that you knew well. You managed to stay busy enough so that you weren’t constantly thinking about last week and what had happened at the show.

Halfway through your shift, you had almost forgotten about Rob completely; too busy talking and working. It wasn’t until you glanced up toward the door by chance when you noticed Rob and a couple of the other guys wander in. He was with Jason, as usual, and they were accompanied by Billy. You felt your breath catch and your heart beat quicken at the sight of him; suddenly overcome with thoughts of how he had made you feel last week in that alley. Your excitement was short lived however when the memory of the fact that you had allowed any of that to happen in the first place crept up on you; reminding you that you were a cheater.

He and his friends made their way to the bar and you tried hard not to acknowledge them right away. Surely you could behave like an adult, but you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy now that he was here. The men chose to sit at the bar, directly in front of where you were already making drinks for some other customers.

“Hey bartender,” Rob said first. You glanced up at him, noticing a mischievous grin pulling up on his lips when you finally paid attention to him. You were sure he was probably thinking the same thing you were; he was probably remembering what had happened the last time you saw each other.

“Hey guys,” you replied after a brief pause, trying to keep your cool, “let me drop these off and I’ll be right with you.”

You quickly grabbed the drinks and delivered them to the customers at the end of the bar, taking your time as you cashed them out and walked back over to the guys. This was a lot more awkward than you had expected it to be, but then again, you had never been someone’s fling before. You really didn’t know how to act right now. You stopped in front of the guys, pulling your focus away from Rob and looking between Jason and Billy, trying desperately to avoid Rob’s stare that was currently burning through you.

“What can I get for you?”

“The usual,” Jason answered. You nodded and moved to grab three beers from the cooler. You placed them on the counter, opening each one and placing them in front of each man. You left Rob for last, thinking it would somehow be less awkward. As you set the beer down in front of him, he quickly grabbed for it, capturing your hand in between the bottle and his own hand. You looked at him, watching his grin grow wider until you finally pulled away from him. Even the contact of his hand against yours was making your stomach flip and all you could think about now was how he had turned you into a shaking mess in that alley just by using that exact same hand. It was almost as if he knew it too.

“How is my favorite bartender?” Rob asked, shooting you a wink as he brought the bottle to his lips, taking a drink.

“I’m good,” you replied, “and I’m sure you ask all of your bartenders that.”

You had very easily slipped back into your flirty, almost cocky alias. Even though the man had you a mess; he was no match for how well you could play your role. Now, you were making eye contact; determined not to let him affect you anymore.

“Trust me, I’m very faithful to my bartender.”

You weren’t sure why you let his words get to you. There was a sudden pang in your chest as he said it though. You almost felt that he was taking a dig at you and how you were anything but a faithful person.

All you could do was force a smile before you had to turn away from him; unsure of what he really meant by it, but knowing that his words sort of stung. You had spent years avoiding hooking up with random men that came through here, you also prided yourself on being a loyal girlfriend to Tyler no matter what came your way. In one instance of, what you kept telling yourself was a drunken mistake, you had let yourself become all that you never wanted to be. You had started to break all of your rules.

You looked at Bri, hoping that maybe she needed help with something and you could get away from the awkwardness; but she only smiled at you, seemingly encouraging you to stay with the guys. You felt a hand grasp yours suddenly and you turned to see that Rob had placed his hand over yours on the bar. When your eyes met his, he gave you a sympathetic look.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, almost as if he had read your mind.

“Okay,” was all you could muster as you pulled your hand away from his. The closeness to him was almost uncomfortable and you knew it would only be bad news to allow him to touch you.

“I just mean that I don’t have other favorite bartenders.”

“What about Bri?” you asked.

“Bri is great,” he replied, “I mean, she’s a lot of fun and at least I know her name, but I’ve already decided that you’re my favorite.”

“And why is that anyway?” you chuckled.

“You give me great advice,” he said, lifting his beer to his lips, “and you take care of me.”

“Well, that’s what I do. Get my customers nice and drunk.”

“I also like that you let me take care of you,” he smiled broadly. He had gone from feeling bad about what he had said, right back to his flirtatious self very quickly. Your heart began to race again, remembering exactly what he was talking about. You looked back and forth between Billy and Jason, who had both been sitting there very quietly during the conversation. They each grinned, shooting Rob knowing looks. You were sure you were blushing again, certain that these guys knew exactly what he was talking about as well.

“Well, I’ll just let you believe that you took care of me,” you replied.

“You’re saying I didn’t?” He asked. You had expected to shock him, hurt his feelings, something. Instead he kept his eyes on you, a look of disbelief on his face. You hated that he knew damn well that he had made you feel amazing that night.

“I don’t know that this is the place to discuss this,” you said, still eyeing the other two men who you didn’t necessarily want to be in on this discussion.

“Fair enough,” he replied, “it’s your place of work. Another time.”

“If you’ll excuse me, there are other customers here,” you said as you walked away from him. Thankfully there were others that needed your assistance. The conversation had started to get to be a bit too much, and you wanted to get away from it. Mostly, you wanted to get away from how attracted to him you were. The thought of it was really getting to you. You knew damn well you shouldn’t have went there in the first place, and now all you could think about was his offer from that night when he had said there was more where that came from. You desperately wanted to know what it would be like. You also desperately didn’t want to continue down this path with him.

You all but ignored the men the rest of the night, letting Bri take over on their orders as you attended to other customers. It made it a bit easier, not standing there right in front of Rob. You could still feel those blue eyes on you as you worked the rest of the night; the feeling making you extremely nervous.

By closing time, Jason and Billy had left; leaving a tipsy Rob in his bar stool when he insisted he wasn’t ready to leave. Bri was gone, her shift having ended an hour ago. It was up to you to kick the last few patrons out, including Rob.

“Time to go,” you reminded him as you walked about the bar, shutting off lights as everyone else filed out of the door.

“We didn’t get last call?” Rob asked.

“Last call was an hour ago.”

“I knew that.”

“Okay, get your stuff,” you started, walking toward him as you picked up his jacket and other belongings so that you could hand them over to him.

“Let me walk you out,” Rob insisted. He reached for your hand suddenly, catching you off-guard. Out of the corner of your eye, you also saw that the movement caught Matt’s attention. He had been waiting for you, as usual, for you to close up so he could escort you out. He made a movement for you and for some reason, you held up a hand to him, indicating that you were okay. He stopped in his tracks, still watching the situation intently.

“I already told you, I don’t let customers walk me out,” you explained. You paused for a moment, thinking hard about what to do next. It was against your rules to let anyone but Matt walk you out, but, you sort of wanted to let Rob prove that he wasn’t a creep. “Hey, Matt, you can go ahead and go. I’ll lock up.”

“Really?” Matt asked, surprised by your statement.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Want me to walk him out first?” He asked, pointing to Rob with a disapproving look.

“No, he’s okay,” you insisted, “I trust him.”

Matt very hesitantly made his way out, only stopping twice to look back at you just to make sure. You laughed him off, grateful that you always had him to at least worry about you. You knew you were going way out of your comfort zone with this move, but the man really did intrigue you.

True to his word, Rob walked you out of the bar, watching as you closed up. You walked toward your car with him in silence, not really sure of what to say. When you approached your car, you fumbled with your keys, unlocking the doors.

“You’ve been at the bar all night and you’re driving home?” Rob said.

“I’ve been working,” you reminded him, “how did you get here anyway?”

“Jason drove…” he trailed off, looking around the empty lot, “I guess I’m calling a cab.”

“Do you need a ride?” You asked, immediately regretting the offer.

“Really?” He asked, “Isn’t that breaking one of your rules?”

“You don’t know my rules,” you said, “and besides, I think I’ve broken most of them for you anyway.”

“Okay, you can give me a ride, only if you walk me to my door and kiss me goodnight.”

“Shut up and get in before I change my mind,” you rolled your eyes, holding back a smile as you watched him get in your car.

You drove in more silence, following his directions that he occasionally gave you. When you found his house, you parked the car, turning the engine off for some reason.

“I had a really nice time tonight, bartender,” Rob said.

“Stop calling me that.”

“I will if you tell me your name.”

“It’s Lola to you.”

“First of all, that’s a ridiculous name; secondly, I bet your real name is boring anyway.”

“Get out,” you ordered him, sort of getting fed up with the intense teasing and flirting. You already knew this was a bad idea to begin with. The last thing you needed to do was continue to engage in this back and forth with him.

“You could at least be a lady and open the door for me.”

“Seriously? This isn’t a date.”

“You’re right, I’ll get yours so you can at least walk me to my door.”

“I’m not going to-” before you could finish your thought, he was already out of the car, walking around so that he could open your door.

“You are so weird,” you pointed out as he took your hand.

“Come on, make sure I get in safely.”

You laughed as you got out, taking your keys with you; again, you didn’t know why.

You walked him to his door, feeling ridiculous in the moment. Normally, you called the shots; but he had you jumping at his every whim.

When you stopped at his door, he stopped to stare at you again.

“You’re very beautiful, bartender.”

“Okay, thanks,” you replied, now feeling uncomfortable.

“Do I get my goodnight kiss?” He said with a cocky smile. You didn’t say anything, mostly because you sort of wanted to kiss him. You thought back to that night in the alley, how good his lips had felt against yours, the way they felt brushing against your skin. It wasn’t like you to let a man win at these games, and you decided that you wouldn’t start letting him win just yet. Even with the little voice in the back of your mind reminding you that this was wrong, you leaned in anyway. You brought your hands up to his face, letting your fingertips brush against his beard before you pulled him in.

Based on his reaction of freezing, you figured you had surprised him. But, he let you kiss him, easing into it very quickly. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him as you kissed each other. It was heated and intense, and every ounce of you wanted to push him away. You couldn’t though. The longer you kissed him, the deeper you let it get; until you were gasping against his mouth, your hands now carding through his hair as you tried to bring him closer to you. When he moved against you, grinding into you as he moaned into your mouth, you realized you had let it go too far. You pushed him back, breaking the kiss; wondering why you had allowed it to happen. You figured that in the moment when you all you wanted was his hands on you, you had gone too far.

“Come in,” he breathed out, eyes blown with lust as he kept his hands firmly at your hips. You could feel his fingertips digging into you and it had you excited.

“I can’t,” you replied. God knows you wanted to.

“You can’t, or you won’t? Because there’s a big difference.”

“What do you mean? I said I can’t.”

“I mean, you say you can’t because you feel like you shouldn’t; or you can’t because you don’t want to?”

“I shouldn’t.”

He pulled you toward him again, and you let him as his mouth crashed against your in another heated kiss.

“But, you want to?”

You nodded slowly, pissed off at yourself for the way this man affected you. You were not submissive, you were not one to let a man sweet talk you, your whole job depended on you being a sarcastic flirt who mostly just led men on. At no point was the mutual flirting with a customer supposed to lead to this. Something about him was exciting though, he was different than anyone you had ever met. You felt a strange mix of comfort and nervousness all at once when you were around him. This is why you felt that you might be letting him in too much; that and the fact that you were very much taken in the relationship sense.

“I really do have a boyfriend,” you said out loud, mostly to remind yourself now that you realized you really wanted to take him up on his offer.

“That didn’t stop you last time,” he pointed out, “I’m not judging you. Obviously, things aren’t so good on the boyfriend front, otherwise you wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You know nothing about my relationship.”

“I do know that you’ve let me kiss you, repeatedly; you’ve let me do a whole lot more for you. I also know that you’re really considering coming in right now.”

“I am not.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

“I don’t know…” you muttered, honestly asking yourself the same question. It should have been easy for you to leave; it should have been easy to not end up here to begin with.

“Look, it sucks for me that you have a boyfriend, but I’m more than happy to make up for whatever it is that he lacks.”

“You are so arrogant.”

“We’ve established that,” he said, hands still gripping your hips, “and yet, you are still here.”

You stared at him for a long time; mind racing with the pros and cons about what could happen if you walked through that door with him. Eventually, you decided that the pros would probably be far more exciting than the cons.

“Okay, I’ll come in,” you whispered.

His face lit up at your words, that cocky grin spreading across his face. He said nothing, but pulled out his keys and unlocked his door, holding it open for you. You walked past him, entering his home and you wondered if you were making a mistake. You knew that technically, this was all a mistake, but you couldn’t help but feel as if it might be the best mistake you could ever make.

“Make yourself at home,” Rob said as he shut the door behind him, “I’ll get us drinks.” He walked toward his kitchen as you stayed in one spot, looking around the space for a moment. His home was surprisingly nice. You had almost expected it to be a mess, but that was mostly your own judgement about how men lived given the fact that Tyler was a slob.

“You’re full of surprises,” you called out as you finally willed yourself to follow him toward his kitchen.

“What do you mean?”

“This is a nice place.”

“It’s pretty humble, after all, it is just me.”

“Well, I live in an apartment with a man who is a pig,” you pointed out.

“I’m barely ever home long enough to make a mess,” he replied as you watched him pour two glasses of whiskey.

“So, you’re like a legit musician?”

“Uh, yeah, I have a band and everything.”

“You have a nice collection of guitars.”

“Just a few things I’ve picked up along the way.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“With the band?” He asked. He took a sip of his drink as he thought, “twenty years or so, it’s been a long time.”

“And you just play in bars?”

“What? No. We travel and stuff too. The bar scene is just fun to do once in awhile for the local fans.”

“Really?”

“You do realize that we’ve made six albums, right? It kind of requires some traveling and we’ve gather a pretty decent fan base. We’re working on a new album right now actually.”

“No way,” you replied, honestly impressed, “I had no idea. So, I guess you weren’t lying when you said that music is literally your job?”

“That’s all I do.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“I love it. There’s no other feeling in the world better than that rush I get when I’m up on stage. Well, there might be one other feeling better than that.”

“What? That feeling you get when you hook up with groupies?” You teased.

“No. I don’t do that. You forget that I was in a relationship not too long ago.”

“Yeah, the first time you played at the bar, you had that girl with you.”

“My ex, yes,” he replied, scowling at the mention of her.

“Touchy subject?”

“Sort of, that one kind of hurt.”

“So what do you do; drink every night, hook up with random women now to get over her?”

“No. Maybe the drinking part, not the hooking up part. Although, I don’t doubt that you could make me forget all about her.”

“I would ruin you,” you said, a grin creeping up on your lips at the idea of just how much you wanted to ruin him..

“I think I need to judge that for myself.”

“You’re insane.”

“So, bartender, tell me something about you. Tell me about your boyfriend. What’s the story there?”

“There is no story.”

“Oh, there’s a story,” he insisted, “If there wasn’t, then why are you here?”

“Because you invited me in.”

“What were you expecting out of tonight?”

“I don’t know. Deep conversation? Maybe a game of Scrabble?”

“Sex?” He asked blatantly.

You felt your face flush at the word, knowing damn well that this is what you wanted.

“Honestly?” You began, feeling brave suddenly, “Yes.”

He put down his glass, moving toward you now. When he reached you, his hands were at your waist again, pulling you in so that he could kiss along your neck. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in how good he was making you feel already.

“I think the story is that he’s not good to you, and you just want to feel good.”

You nodded as he continued to tease you.

“I can make you feel good,” he promised, “do you want that?”

Still unable to form words, you nodded again, realizing that you were giving him the green light to take this further. Again, your conscience told you no, but every other part of you was saying otherwise. You wanted him though, and no self-doubt or sense of guilt was going to change your mind now.

“We can take this somewhere more comfortable,” he said as he pulled away from you. You whined at the loss of his mouth on you. He took your hand and led you to his bedroom where he immediately pounced on you. You couldn’t remember the last time you had ever felt like this with anyone. You let him kiss you, touch you, you let him pull your clothing off in an almost desperate frenzy. You in turn, went immediately for his jeans; undoing his belt and working at the button and zipper. You reached into his jeans, palming at his cock which caused him to suck in a breath at the contact.

“You’re full of surprises too,” he groaned against your mouth.

“What did you expect?” You asked as you stroked him. He whimpered now, pushing himself against your hand.

“I expected you to be a little shy, the complete opposite of how you are at work.”

“It’s not all an act.”

You removed your hand from him, pulling at his jeans and boxers as he helped you remove them finally. You let him finish taking them off and went for his shirt, pulling it up and off of him. Your breath caught at the sight of him. You knew he was an attractive man, but seeing him like this was something new. He was beautiful and you suddenly felt inferior.

“You’re gorgeous,” he muttered. Again, it was as if he could read your thoughts. Any insecurity or doubt that you had, he seemed to be able to push those thoughts from your mind almost as soon as they showed up.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied.

He was now leading you to the bed, walking you backwards as he kissed you softly; hands still everywhere. He instantly went for the usual, pressing you down onto the bed as he moved on top of you. Your heart was racing, your breathing frantic, entire body buzzing with excitement. You enjoyed the weight of him on you and you laid there as he took his time kissing you. While you were enjoying yourself, you realized that you hated the idea of being submissive, especially with him; especially when you had spent so much time dreaming about what it would be like to dominate him.

Feeling brave, you pushed him off of you, letting him fall over onto his back on the bed when you quickly moved to straddle him. It caught him by surprise and he watched you now, eyes wide as you worked your hips against him, teasing him.

He groaned, letting his head fall back.

“Surprise,” you said softly as you reached for his cock, lining it up with you before easing yourself down on him. You gasped as you did so, a bit surprised yourself at how he filled you up. You paused for a moment, letting yourself adjust to his size until you decided you couldn’t wait any longer. You slowly began to rock your hips against him, hands already clutching at his chest. You moaned at how good he felt inside of you, now moving your hips just a bit faster. You could hear him gasping and groaning as you rode him and you smiled at his sounds.

You only assumed the man talked a big game, and based on his shitty attempts at picking women up in the bar, you weren’t prepared for this. You really thought you’d be on control. However, you understood that you were wrong when you realized that he was now gripping your thighs, controlling your rhythm. You were coming apart fast, almost lost in how amazing you felt. You didn’t even notice the exact moment when he took control.

You noticed it now. While you had him in a submissive position, you were definitely not in control anymore. You were now whimpering and gasping each time he pulled you down on him while he in turn thrust into you.

At this point, you had given up trying to reclaim control of the situation. You basically stopped moving, allowing him to guide you. When he realized you had given up your position of power, he rolled you onto your back, not once losing contact with you. He kissed you, letting his tongue tease yours as he pulled your legs up to wrap around him. Once he had you how he wanted you, he began to thrust into you harder, deeper. The sounds of his own moans were all but muted by yours. Now that he was able to fill you completely, you didn’t hold back in letting him know how amazing he felt.

You could hear him muttering praises against your neck as he bit and licked at your skin. The sensation made the heat in your belly grow faster and you knew that he was going to make you cum soon.

You tried to stifle your sounds, biting your lip until you were sure that you could taste blood. You didn’t want him to know how good he was, because you knew you’d never hear the end of it.

It wasn’t until he leaned in to whisper in your ear, that you let it all out.

“Let me hear you, baby.”

That was it. That was all it took for him to tip you over the edge. The climax that had been building finally broke. You grasped onto him, throwing your head back as you came.

“Oh, fuck! Yes, Rob,” you called out. You were already muttering his name repeatedly as your release came, which was embarrassing for you as you thought you still had a chance to take control. You arched against him, desperate to feel him deeper as you moved your hips against him. You were still in the throes of your own release, chasing that high when you felt his own release crash down. His body stuttered against yours, slick with sweat as he continued to fuck into you. He cursed against your neck, and you were sure you heard him mumble “bartender" at one point.

When neither of you could move anymore, he pulled himself out of you, rolling over to lie next to you as you both struggled to catch your breath.

“So,” he panted, “do I get your name now?”

You chuckled at him, finding it adorable that he was so persistent about it.

“Does my name really matter?”

“Do you want me to call you bartender every time we fuck?”

“Oh, you think this will happen again?”

“I hope so. You were fucking amazing.”

“I’m sure you tell that to all the girls.”

“Like I said, I only have one favorite bartender, and I’m very loyal to her.”

You turned to face him, unsure of where exactly he was going with all of this.

“Why do you have to know?”

“I just do.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, now deciding whether or not you should indulge him. It was your number one rule; not telling customers your real name. Every rule that you had already broken with Rob had been in place because at some point, you had let things happen that caused someone to get to know too much about you. You had put yourself in a dangerous spot in the past, all because you trusted too easily. For some reason, Rob didn’t make you uneasy. You actually had grown to trust him, obviously since you had just slept with the man.

“My name is Y/N,” you whispered finally. You felt your heartbeat quicken again, this time because you had decided to tell him your name without really knowing why you wanted to. All of this could be nothing more than just sex. You were in a relationship, now cheating on your boyfriend, and in the end; your name didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know your name, but you wanted him to know.

“Y/N…” He repeated, letting your name slide effortlessly off his tongue. The sound of it coming from him was exciting. You liked that he finally knew.

“Yes, and that’s not a lie.”

“How many rules do you have left?” He asked. “Because I’m in the mood to break all of them.”

“I knew you’d be trouble,” you said.

“I could say the same about you.”

“How does it feel to know my true identity? Is it all that you’d hoped it would be?”

“Honestly, this feels less exciting now. I should’ve just stuck to calling you bartender.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I think you kinda like it.”

“Hmm, apparently I’m attracted to jerks,” you joked.

“Rude, I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

He reached over to you, wrapping an arm around you as he leaned in to kiss you lazily. You parted your lips for him, basking in the feeling of his tongue against yours. While you knew this was a possibly a one-night stand, maybe a fuck buddy situation; you couldn’t help but feel comfortable with him. You hadn’t been kissed like this in a long time, hell, you hadn’t been fucked like that ever; but you weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was. You were sure Rob felt the same way. His whole goal from the moment he met you was to get you to go home with him. He had succeeded in that, and you knew that he had you just where he wanted you.

It wasn’t until he had fallen asleep later; your mind still racing with thoughts about what had happened, what this meant for your relationships, and how you had managed to let this man in on your name; that you quietly moved out from under his arm that was draped over you. He was a heavy sleeper and didn’t even stir as you slipped out of his bed. You dressed quickly, finding your keys as you headed for the door.

He never said you couldn’t stay the night, but even you understood how this worked. You had come to terms with the idea of just being a bartender that he occasionally slept with. You never wanted to be that girl, but you had already went down that path, unsure if you could even stop yourself at this point.

The one thing that you couldn’t come to terms with just yet was the fact that you were now a cheating girlfriend. That part was a bit harder to accept.

So, you left his house, knowing that it didn’t matter to Rob if you stayed or left. The only thing that did matter was that you at least went home to Tyler; regardless of whether he was waiting there for you or not.

Tag List: @lamthetwickster @riversong-sam @nekodresden85 @destielschild @itsfunnierin-enochian @waywardswain @destielschild @capital-eyyyy-ohhh

#hey bartender #rob benedict x reader #rock god! rob #bartender!reader

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