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gglitch1dd · 5 months

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Angry Dilfs- Midoriya Izuku

Husband Midoriya Izuku x Wifey Reader

Context: Your husband doesn't take lightly to people staring at your ass, especially if it's Bakugou Katsuki.

Warning: Brief SMUT/ Angry sex. It literally lasts like 3 paragraphs, its not that deep, Shouting, TOXIC EX! Bakugou Katsuki, the mention of vasectomies (the horror), Children (the horror x2)

Note: This sort of links to The Contract series that I wrote for Izu.

You leaned back in your chair as everyone laughed around the table. The long dining room table sat big enough to fit your entire family and the Kirishimas who had come over. Your husband sat at the head of the table to your right. He had a resting smile on his face as he looked at the people around you. Your large man, husband of sixteen years, father of five and Number One hero sat with his large figure in his seat, plate long empty as Katsuki told his story. You got up from your seat, moving to take you and your husband’s plate to the kitchen, the kids having gone to play video games or talk amongst themselves, leaving you adults to talk (plus your newborn, Kota who was chewing his hand).

You picked up his plate, instantly taking his attention. You leaned down to him, placing a kiss on his forehead. He moved a hand to your waist. “Want a refill Izu?” You asked softly, motioning to his glass.

He nodded his head with a smile. “That would be wonderful, thank you.” He spoke softly back up to you. You smiled as you moved to the kitchen.

Izuku watched you with a fond smile before turning back to Katsuki. However, the blond hero seemed to have his own crimson gaze following you too. That did not sit well with Izuku. Truth be told, the blond Number two ProHero had been looking at you seconds too long for Izuku’s liking.

Katsuki took a sip of his Manhatten as he leaned back, a chuckle at the back of his throat. “I told her that she should try running after a car going a hundred sixty kilometres an hour and see how she feels.” He jested making the men at the table chuckle.

Eijiro sat beside Katsuki with a smile on his face. He watched as his twelve year old daughter shuffled into the kitchen, her black hair tied down in a braid as she moved to help you in taking care of the dishes.

Katsuki looked to Izuku who had picked up Kota from his high chair and brought him to sit on his lap. The eight month old was a rather happy and giggly baby, never really crying much and had the cutest and roundest freckled cheeks. Katsuki raised an eyebrow at the baby who seemed no infatuated with Izuku’s hand. “So when’s the vasectomy appointment, Deku?” He asked motioning his glass to the green haired man.

Izuku raised an eyebrow with a scoff. “What vasectomy?” He asked.

Katsuki shrugged as he leaned back. Eijiro looked at him uneased, not liking how this might end up going. “I mean you’ve got five kids, don’t you think it’s time you…” He made a scissor motion with his fingers and made snipping noises. The motion made Eijiro shiver at the pure thought of anyone coming near his own pair.

Izuku stared at Katsuki unblinkingly for a moment. Out of pure decency and the fact that he was holding his youngest son with him, he kept his composure. Katsuki had the habit of jesting and poking at Izuku just because he wanted to. Izuku hated it almost as much as he hated the blond himself. He let out a breath as he ran a hand through Kota’s soft green curls. “That’s between me and my wife, Kacchan. If she wants me to do it, I’ll do it.”

“If I want you to do what?” You appeared again, placing down a glass of lemonade in front of Izuku. He never liked to drink whenever the kids were around, even if it was just a glass. If he was going to drink, it would be away from them. You leaned against your husband, your weight barely effecting him at all as you held a warm bottle of milk that you had just warmed up for your youngest son in your other hand, shaking it gently.

Izuku opened his mouth but Katsuki beat him to it. The blond leaned forward with a teasing smirk on his face. “Don’t you think it’s time your husband got a vasectomy?”

Your eyes widened as you turned to look down at Izuku, wondering where that all came from. He sighed as he shrugged, telling you that he didn’t even know where it came from. You turned your head to look back at Katsuki. “Well, I think we will talk about it if that’s how we want to go about doing things.” You worded carefully, not entirely sure what the point of the question was. “Either way, I’m happy with my boys.” You smiled sweetly as you looked down to Kota who was silently staring at Eijiro who was playing peek-a-boo with him, soft giggle escaping his mouth. You picked him up gently, taking his attention making him squeal at the sight of his mother, happy to see you. Bright green eyes holding nothing but happiness and love. You chuckled as you held your little boy in your arms. “My five boys are all I could ever wish for.”

“I’ve given up on having a girl.” Izuku casually stated as he lifted his glass of lemonade up to his lips.

Eijiro chuckled as he scratched the back of his head. “I think I would only ever have girls, if Katsuki-”

“Don’t start with me, Red.” Katsuki dismissed with a hand up and a roll of his eyes. At that, not too far away you heard shouting from the two oldest boys in the house who were shouting about their video game. “Two is enough as is.”

Eijiro stared down at his empty glass, his large hands holding it rather tightly as he kept a smile on his face. “Of course, babe.” He said softer this time, red hair cascading down his shoulders as he stared at his cup. He took a deep breath before looking up with a smile. “Speaking of which, we should get going. It’s getting late.” He puffed out as he stood up in his chair. He looked to you with a grateful smile. “Thank you for the meal, Y/N.”

You smiled. “It’s no problem, Eijiro.”

Eijiro waved to your youngest, making the baby wave a hand back flexing his fingers as his way of saying bye. Eijiro looked to his daughter. “Satomi, sweetheart, say your goodbyes, we’re leaving.” He notified her.

She put down the glass she had rinsed off and looked up with a smile. “Okay, daddy.” She said sweetly as she moved back over to you. “Sorry I couldn’t finish the dishes, but I did most of them. Thank you, it was really nice.”

Satomi was always such a sweetheart, carved from literal gold and gifted from the heavens. She was her father’s little copy and you knew how much she was a light in his life. You put a hand to her face and smiled. “You didn’t have to, Satomi, but thank you. I’ll see you soon, okay?” She nodded her head excitedly and said goodbye to your husband. You turned to look down the hall. “Toshinori! Kane has to go now!”

It took a few seconds before your oldest son who had just turned fourteen appeared, curly green hair mostly hidden under a beanie. “What?” He let out in disappointment. “We were just getting to the good stuff.”

Appearing as well was Kane, thirteen and the splitting image of Katsuki. His puffy blond hair and crimson eyes looked so much like his father, but he had so much softer edges to him than Katsuki. “What!? Can Toshinori and I have a sleepover.” He bargained.

Eijiro chuckled. “On another day, Kane. Not tonight. You can both play video games tomorrow.”

Kane frowned but nodded his head with a grumble, following Toshinori to go pack up their games.

You saw little heads of green hair peaking from the side as well, Toshinori’s three other brothers peaked from over the side, a ten year old, six year old and four year old, giggling with mischief in their eyes. You gave them all a pointed look and motioned up the stairs. “Sprouts! Go get ready for bed.”

They all grumbled, the oldest one of the three of them, ten-year-old Asahi, led his brothers upstairs.

“Kacchan, can I talk to you for a second?” Izuku asked as he stood up, his hands in his pockets. A serious look was on his face as he confronted the blond.

Katsuki rolled his eyes but stood up from the chair he had made himself comfortable in and headed towards the back sliding door that led to the garden outside, following after your large bulky husband. Your eyebrows furrowed in wonder at what they would be talking about but you decided to leave them be. Kota had been drinking from the bottle you had gotten him, safely holding it with his hands as he started to get tired from the long day. You turned to look at Eijiro. “Come, let me get you guys some left over brownies.” You motioned for him to follow you.

Eijiro let out an awkward laugh, his daughter going off to Toshinori and Kane who were still packing up. “You don’t have to, Y/N.”

“Nonsense.” You shook your head. You leaned over closer to him. “Izuku eats too many anyways.” You whispered teasingly.

You handed him Kota making his eyes widen in surprise, but he held the baby properly and supported the bottle that he was drinking from as well. You made swift work of packing a container of brownies that you had baked. Living in a house filled with boys, you had learnt to cook and bake in the masses. You carefully got foil and placed the chocolate brownies in the container. You looked up at Eijiro who looked down at your youngest son with an adoring look. The little one blinking slowly with sleep in his eyes.

You motioned to him. “He really likes you.” You pointed out. “You’re so good with kids, Eijiro. How come you and Katsuki never had more kids?” You asked trying to make sure you weren’t coming off too strong. After you and Izuku had Toshinori, Katsuki and Eijiro got egg doners and a surrogate and managed to have Kane and the next year, Satomi.

Eijiro he looked down at Kota with an easy smile, holding him sweetly as he rocked him in his arms. “Katsuki didn’t see the point in it.” He spoke nonchalantly. “Said too many would get in the way of his career and spot as Number Two. He doesn’t want added pressure I guess.” He shrugged.

You nodded, remembering how serious Katsuki took his career when you both had been dating long ago. Too long ago. But that was in the past. You didn’t say anything more, glancing at Izuku and Katsuki who stood outside, the sliding door closed, blocking any bits of their conversation. However, you could see by their body language that it must have been a heated conversation to say the least.

“What the fuck are you saying, Deku?” Katsuki let out with a harsh crimson glare aimed at the taller man in front of him.

Izuku had his arms folded over his chest as he stared down at Katsuki. Hands gripping his biceps as he frowned at the blond man in front of him. “You heard what I said, Kacchan.” He tried keeping his voice even toned and with less aggression as he could muster. Knowing how Katsuki could get. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring at my wife.”

Katsuki scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “And on what basis would you think I would be doing that?”

“On the basis that I have eyes.” Izuku stated plainly. “I’m not ignorant about your feelings to her have not gone away even after the two of you broke up nearly two decades ago. I don’t know what inner complex or feelings you must be going through,” He motioned to the blond man in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed in seriousness. “But I think it’s for the best you keep those in line and in check.”

Katsuki smirked with a tilt of his head, his crimson eyes finding amusement in the situation as he let out a low chuckle. “Or what, Deku?” He asked lowly with a raised eyebrow. “You’re gonna blame a man for having eyes or are you going to blame your wife for having a fat ass?”

Izuku closed his eyes as his fingers dug into his bicep, he took a deep inhale before looking away from Katsuki. “Okay, I think it’s time for you to go, Kacchan.”

“I swear, Deku,” He stepped forward closer to the Number One hero, “Just because you can give her all the sons she wants and all the money in the world doesn’t take away the fact that…” He leaned in close, a smirk on his face and a whisper out of his mouth. “I’ve been in your wife’s pussy before. It doesn’t take away the fact that at one stage she would have been in the exact same position she’s in now but instead she would be Mrs Bakugou and she’d be having my blond brats instead. So why don’t you stop your high horse because you were lucky to wind up with her, and leave me be.”

The blond stepped back as he moved to leave Izuku outside, heading back inside the Midoriya residence. Katsuki smirked as he moved over to where everyone had now moved to the entrance hall, making their way outside. You held Kota in your arms as you allowed Eijiro, Kane and Satomi outside.

Katsuki smirked as he walked over to you, his hands in his jacket. “You take care now, Y/N.” Katsuki kept his eyes on you with that deep intense gaze.

“You too, Katsuki.” You nodded with a pleasant smile, ignoring his eyes racking over your figure as he stepped to leave outside.

You felt Toshinori step closer to you. Your son having a tense smile as he moved to hold the door. “Goodbye Uncle Kacchan.” He dismissed.

Katsuki scoffed as he looked the boy up and down. He rolled his eyes as he moved over to his Audi. “Midoriyas.” He shook his head.

Toshinori’s face dropped as he glared for a second before closing the door rather. He shook his head with a frown. “Uncle Kacchan is weird.” He stated simply making you chuckle. Toshinori had been getting taller and taller everyday and you were just waiting for the day he would surpass you, already nearly being your height.

You nudged him softly. “You heading to your room?”

He nodded his head. “Yah. Training with dad this morning made me kind of drained.” He explained.

Toshinori had received One for All from Izuku, having been born quirkless and was slowly being trained in dealing with the powerful quirk he now had. One for all was a strange thing, as Toshinori inherited it, it never diminished Izuku’s own power either. Having two holders of such a powerful quirk was something you knew the Commission seemed more than excited to explore once your son hit UA. But you were just glad he was managing the new quirk so well and he hadn’t gotten seriously hurt.

You nodded your head. “Alright, you head to bed. I’m sure you two will be going for another morning jog.”

Toshinori nodded his head, a spark in his bright green eyes at the thought. “Yah! Dad said it would increase my stamina, but honestly I think its also for indurance. Ever since receiving One for All, I noticed the gravity of having to have a lot of energy but also learning to use the energy I have. It’s really interesting actually, especially since I haven’t unlocked all the other quirks yet! I wonder if I’ll be more like dad or grandpa All Might? All the past holders seem really informative but nothing I’ve already received from dad and-” You watched your son drone on a tangent, so passionate about his quirk.

You couldn’t help but smile dearly at your oldest boy. He was so much like his father. You chuckled and nodded. “Alright, alright, Toshi. Just don’t push yourself too hard. You still have time before hitting UA.” You reminded him, pulling on his beanie a bit more. “You head on to bed now.”

He nodded his head and leaned over and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Night, Ma.” He whispered closer to you, remembering his little brother who was now passed out in your arms on a milk coma. Toshi turned to look at the sliding door to where his father was.

You turned to look at Izuku who had his back to the door, standing motionless as he looked out at the garden. You put a hand to Toshinori’s shoulder. “I’ll tell him you said goodnight. He’s probably counting the bunnies again.” Toshi nodded his head and left to go upstairs. “Mind checking on your brothers for me?”

“Not at all.” He spoke cheerfully as he left to go upstairs.

You watched him leave to go upstairs before turning to look at your husband. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry, feeling as though something happened when he was talking to Katsuki. However, you knew he needed some time to collect all the millions of thoughts that buzzed around his head.

“Ah! Izuku!” You cried out as his hands gripped your hips. Your ass slapped against his pelvis hard and fast as he slammed you back onto his cock. His grip on you was bruising to say the least, borderline painful but the pleasure was also just as overwhelming.

You hadn’t expected to end up in this position when you had both retired for the evening, you putting down all the boys, making sure they were all in bed and asleep while Izuku insisted on cleaning up downstairs. He was an attentive husband that way. With all the work he did as Number One, he still always put in work in the home and with you and the kids. You felt lucky to have a husband who managed to balance it all like he did.

However, you were surprised to find yourself wrapped up in his arms, pure need and wanting in his intentions. It flattered you to say the least and you took your chance at intimacy with your husband as quickly as you could. That’s how you found yourself face first in your sheets, so glad that your room was soundproofed.

However as much as you loved your husband and how much he filled you up so effortlessly, this was a surprise to you. The aggression he had tonight seemingly came out of nowhere. Now you weren’t totally adverse to how rough he was being, however you had that nibbling feeling inside you that told you that something wasn’t right.

You bit back a moan as you turned to look at him. Your large thick husband seemed deep in his head but also focused as he fucked you. His eyebrows were furrowed and seemed less vocal than normal. That raised enough flags in your head (as well as the bruising you would have on your hips and ass) to tell you that you had to put a pause in things.

“Izuku… Izuku stop.” You let out rather firmly. At your tone of voice, instantly your husband paused. Not even asking or entertaining the thought of pressing on for more sex that could clear his turbulent mind. You looked back at him worriedly. Your husband had never struggled performing in bed, but you knew just how strong his emotions are and how they could effect him.

He let out a low growl. “Shit!” He shouted, pushing himself out of you before letting go of you completely.

You finally relaxed into the sheets for a moment, letting out deep breaths as you tried to collect yourself for a second before turning over to look at your husband. Izuku sat with his head in his hands, turned away from you, his scarred back facing you as he was silent. You bit back the slight discomfort to your sex as you shuffled over to him. “Izuku...” You spoke softly, placing a hand on his back as you sat up. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He let out a deep breath before standing up and out of bed. “Bakugou Katsuki. That’s what’s fucking wrong.” He let out clearly riled up and angry as he started to pace around the room.

You watched him silently, nodding your head, allowing him the moment to vent. “Okay, what did Katsuki do?” You asked him.

Izuku stopped momentarily to look at you. He motioned to the side. “All night, he had been staring at you like you were some piece of meat on a platter for him to take all for himself. I mean, this isn’t the first time, Y/N.” He told you, green eyebrows furrowed in a mix of anger and confusion. “I mean, I see how he constantly looks at you at Hero Galas, when we meet up with friends, school events, even in our own house! Now I decided to talk to him because I don’t appreciate him staring at my wife like that and he comes back to the fact that he’s still adores you! Telling me all about how he’s been inside you before and how you should be Mrs Bakugou. I told you that he would never move past that.”

You shifted uncomfortably, remembering the drama that had happened long ago when you were once in love with Bakugou Katsuki, only for him to cheat on you with the very same redhead man you had eating at your dining room table tonight as well. It was something you still thought about, but one you had gotten peace with. Mostly because you were happy with Izuku, you were happy with the family you had built based off of something you never thought would give you so much happiness.

However, the thought that Katsuki still thought about you in such a way made you uncomfortable. Of course you couldn’t deny that you and Katsuki had had sex before nor the fact that at some point in your life you did fantasize about being Mrs Bakugou, but not anymore. That was the past.

You nodded your head. “I understand your anger, Izuku. I don’t like it either.”

He motioned to you, relieved and glad that you understood his point. “Thank you.” He let out with a sigh. “I never liked having him here, but because our kids are friends and because I know how hard you have worked to getting peace and harbouring no ill feelings, I didn’t say anything. All I want for you is to be happy even if it means having to deal with Katsuki for a few hours, but…” Izuku stopped as he let out another sigh.

He looked to you and shook his head, completely and utterly at his end when it came to this situation. He looked almost as if he wanted to find another solution than the one he was going to give you but couldn’t see one.

“My love, I…” He paused before looking at you serious and having made up his mind. “I don’t want Bakugou anywhere in this house while he still thinks like this. I don’t feel comfortable with him here. I can’t control outside but in here… I just…”

You nodded your head understanding. You didn’t think it would come to this but you weren’t surprised. “Izuku…” You motioned to the place in bed next to you, tapping it gently with a smile. His shoulders lowered as he walked over to you, slowly before lying down beside you. You smiled at him as you ran a hand through his soft hair. “I agree.” You affirmed, half taking Izuku by surprise. “I will not allow anywhere to make you feel uncomfortable in our own home, no matter who they are. I don’t feel comfortable either so it’s okay. This is our home and we get to decide who we let inside and out of it. I respect and understand your feelings.”

Izuku closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. He rested his head on top of yours. “What about the kids?” He sighed. “I don’t want this to effect them.”

You smiled, glad that he was thinking about them. “I don’t think the younger ones care all that much. But with Toshi…” You lifted your head from off his chest and looked up at him. “Izuku, he praises the ground you walk on. Your son idolises you and he isn’t stupid either. He notices things and understands them. He’s a lot like you.” You teased with a smile. “I think if he asks, just sit down and talk to him. This is a good lesson that sometimes even if they are your friends, if they make you uncomfortable, you shouldn’t allow them into your space. He’ll understand, he listens to you.”

He nodded his head as he stared down at you. He gave you a gentle smile and put a hand to your face. You smiled, seeing those clear eyes again. “Thank you, love.” He whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I’m sorry if I was rough with you. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“Izuku, it’s fine.” You shrugged it off, moving to cuddle in to him closer. “We don’t need sex to make each other feel better or at all. This,” you squeezed him tighter, earning a chuckle as he held you in his big warm arms. You leaned your head against his chest hearing his heartbeat. “This with you… in my husband’s arms like this, is much more intimate than anything else.”

He hummed, glad to hear it from you. “Hey Y/N…”

“Yah?”

“I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you too, Izuku.”

-Glitch1d

[Angry Dilfs- Katsuki Bakugou]

[Angry Dilfs- Kirishima Eijiro]

Next we have Eijiro!!

#izuku midoriya x reader #mha x y/n #izuku x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya smut #izuku midoria x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #deku vs kacchan #toxic katsuki bakugou #ex katsuki bakugou #past katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #dilf izuku midoriya #dilf mha #dilf deku

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shewroteaworld · 7 months

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Unsub Bait

Premise: For the fourth time, brilliant sunshine!reader is asked to bait the unsub. For the first time, Spencer has a problem with this.

Word count: approx. 2,000

Tw: canon-typical discussions of violence

Author's Note: Welcome to the second installment of brilliant sunshine!reader (meaning highly intelligent sunshine!reader) x Spencer Reid! While you don't have to read my first brilliant sunshine! reader fic to understand this one, I would highly recommend reading it. It's titled "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoy! :) <3

“Here’s an overview of the first phase of the operation: (Y/N) will go undercover as a college student at Yale. She’ll get acquainted with the unsub at Speakeasy, the New Haven bar where he assesses potential victims. We’ll apprehend him in the act of attempted kidnapping.” Hotchner listed for the team.

You’d played unsub lure almost a comical number of times. Once? That’s a once in a million task required to capture a once in a million unsub. Twice? You’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right? But four times?

You’d already joked to Hotch that you should add “professional unsub bait” to your resume.

It would’ve been more comical if it wasn’t so scary.

You took a deep breath as you stared at the photos of the victims on the mahogany conference room table. Melissa Grey. Audrey Bernstein. Alivia Johnson. You could see your 21-year-old self in their eyes. You remember being so young and full of anxiety; you were near graduating from MIT. You couldn’t sleep at night from worrying if you had already lived up to your potential and would spend the rest of your years a washed up gifted kid– an academic has–been. After graduation, you proved to yourself your worth.

The college juniors in the photographs had their lives cut short by the unsub before they had the opportunity to find out what amazing places their brilliant minds could take them. You were about to allow said unsub to nearly kidnap you.

That is, if you didn’t blow your cover. Then, he would hold you hostage or attempt to kill you as soon as possible by skipping his usual "kidnap and torture" routine.

Rationally, you knew your field experience more than prepared you for this task. Also, you knew your team had your back. They always kept you safe and healthy. The one time you were put at serious risk, you had to fight to be left alone after the case closed. But, you’re not sure if all the facts in the world could adequately calm your adrenal glands.

“Is this necessary?” Spencer suddenly interjected.

You turned to Spencer in surprise. “It’s the quickest way. We have twenty-four hours,” You said.

The unsub had a pattern; a girl was dying once every two weeks, and, when the the local and Connecticut police force combined failed to contain the situation, the BAU was brought into the case 36 hours before the next killing. With his eidetic memory, you were certain Spencer couldn't forget the time restraints if he tried, hence why you were stunned by his sudden brazenness. However, given Spencer's traumatic relationship history and your budding romance, Spencer's behavior was a lot more likely.

You and Spencer had been dating for a couple weeks. Despite being certain the team had their suspicions, you kept your relationship on the downlow. Strong boundaries were a good thing to keep when your relationship was in its fragile, formative era. Plus, you both agreed it was best to keep a high level of professionalism.

This was the first time Spencer broke protocol.

“I think there’s another way.” Spencer continued. “It’s unsafe and illogical to put anyone’s life into considerable risk if there’s another viable option.”

“Are you implying I’m being rash, Reid?” Hotchner asked with a raised eyebrow.

Usually, Spence would look away and take a breath. He’d at least have the decency to act timid, especially given the fact the entire team pulled multiple all-nighters in an effort to catch this serial killer. Instead, he leveled with Hotchner’s glare and asserted himself further. “I just think we’ve gotten a little too comfy using (Y/N) as an unsub lure. The more we do, the more probable a disaster will occur with her in the line of fire.”

“Spencer,” Morgan cut in gently. There was sympathy in his eyes. “We’ve done this with (Y/N) before. We’re good at reading her. And she knows the drill. We’ll keep her safe.”

“Yes, because that’s something we can certainly guarantee when she’s 3 inches from a serial killer.” Spencer deadpanned.

“Reid. A word.” Without waiting for Spencer’s reaction, Hotch left the meeting room. With a hard look in his eye, Spencer filed after Hotch. You were relieved he was still obedient despite being ornery.

For a few moments, the team sat in silence.

Rossi broke the spell with the scrape of his chair. “Well, I for one, am going to take this impromptu intermission as an opportunity to grab coffee. Any requests?” Rossi asked.

“I’ll take a barbajada.” You joked half-heartedly.

“Very funny, (L/N). Any requests the office Keurig can complete in less than five minutes?”

The team rattled off their go-to office drink orders, but it faded to white noise. During your friendship, Spencer would always care for you when you had to lure the unsub. He’d be more attentive on the jet ride in and out. He’d check in on your mental state directly after the unsub was arrested and always called you once you got home. Once, after the particularly stressful unsub encounter, he sent you links to PTSD articles and even offered to help you schedule an appointment with a specialized therapist through the FBI’s mental health services.

But he’d never once intervened with a plan for you to go undercover. You knew Spencer Reid was nothing if not rational. He knew Hotch valued every member of his team. He knew Hotch would never send you undercover if it wasn’t necessary to stop a killing spree before more young women became statistics.

Therefore, you knew Spencer was thinking about Maeve.

You stood.

“Where you going, Beauty Queen?” Morgan asked.

“Just heading to the restroom.” You lied.

You walked down the hall and crept up the stairs. You tiptoed down the east wing of the second floor to avoid clicking your heels against the concrete.

You crept to the side of Hotch’s office. You pressed your back to the wall.

Hotch said something indecipherable. An angry Reid answered.

“And all I’m saying is, she is not a cat with nine lives! She has one life. One precious life, that I think we’ve been a little too careless with.”

“Reid, you know I would never risk putting (Y/N) in harm’s way if it wasn’t the best course of action. She’s experienced with this. The team is experienced with this.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Promise me that if you have so much as an inkling her life is in danger–”

“We’ll do everything in our power to get her out of there.”

“That’s the thing! ‘Everything in our power…’ It’s not enough. How many times have we told families we did everything we could when all they have left is a body bag?”

Your heart froze. Both of the voices lowered. You could only catch bits and pieces of Hotch’s speech. You were never an eavesdropper, but despite your better nature, you crept around the corner towards the door.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone to an unsub, Spencer. I know how it sticks with you. I know how it changes the job. But you have to trust us– the team. We’re going to protect her. And we’re going to be there for you,” Hotch said.

Spencer sighed. "How did you do it?" Spencer's voice cracked. "After Haley, Hotch? I’m not sure if I can survive this.” He sounded seconds away from tears.

At that moment, you knew you would not sleep comfortably at night if you continued to be a fly on the wall. You tiptoed back down the east wing and waited for Spencer at the bottom of the stairs.

Ten minutes passed before Spencer appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Spencer?” You called.

His hazel eyes were tinged pink. He walked down the stairs nonchalantly. “Hey, um, would you mind if we discussed part of the case file real quick? Privately? It could help, um…” He cleared his throat. “Develop your persona.”

“Yes, of course.”

Spencer didn’t look at you as he power walked down the hall towards the janitorial closets. For the first time since you started dating, he didn’t adjust to your walking pace.

He flung a door open and yanked you inside.

Carelessly, Spencer slammed the door behind you. Before you could get a word in, he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Spencer.” You whispered. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair.

You stood in the statue of a hug for two minutes.

“I can’t lose you.” Spencer whispered.

“You won’t.”

Spencer pulled away from you. He bent down to look you in the eye. He squeezed your shoulders. His eyes danced with emotion. There was a deep ache, a whirlpool of sadness that you knew a lifetime may never heal. What perplexed you was the hardness that you could only read as anger.

“I…” He sighed. He hung his head. He dragged his palms down the slope of your shoulders to your forearms. It was like he was taking a cast of you with his hands.

“I’m not dead on arrival. I’m still here. I’m coming back on that jet ride home with you. I’m going to be okay.” You reciprocated his shoulder squeeze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I care about you. It’s a part of the girlfriend package.” Spencer pulled you into another constricting hug.

“I can’t fathom how difficult this must be for you.” You whispered.

Spencer pressed his forehead to yours. “Promise me when you go out there, you won’t worry about me. I want you to only focus on you, your surroundings, and making sure you get out of there.”

“I promise, Spencer.” You said, though you weren’t sure if that would be the truth.

“And one more thing,” He said. His irises were so close to yours you could pick apart the layer of green and brown. “As soon as you feel unsafe, you call someone. If you have any inclination he’s going to overtake you–”

“I call the team.”

He took a step back and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you’re strong. I’m not trying to insult your field work.”

Your heart cracked. “Spencer, love, I know that. I’m so happy you care about me. I just wish this situation hurt you less.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. His brows furrowed. He stared at a random point to the left of your face.

“Can you do something for me? Before we leave?” He asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath. He met your eyes again. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“Dance with me. I…” He inhaled deeply. “I never got to dance with Maeve before she…I barely even got to hold her. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

You closed the distance between you and Spencer. You cupped his face in your hands, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. His eyes shone with tears. “I’ll dance with you for the rest of my days, Spence.”

He whipped out his phone. He turned on a slow jazz song you played for him last winter on an impromptu hot chocolate date.

Your heart skipped a beat. You could go on that same date again, but it would have a whole new color to it.

He slid his phone onto a cleaning supply shelf. He pulled you to his chest. Your head nestled right beneath his collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his mid back.

You danced, bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, in silence until the song ended. The symphony of emotions didn’t cease with the final brush of the snare.

Spencer continued swaying with you.

“I’m going to be okay.” You whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You can’t promise me that.” He held you even tighter. “But I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you come home to me.”

Author's Note: Hello to all my new followers! I'm so glad you're here! I'm so grateful for the overwhelmingly positive reception to "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoyed this piece as well!

I hope you have a great day or night wherever you are in this crazy world.

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds

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lunarw0rks · 3 months

Text

SIMON X PLUS-SIZED S/O | HEADCANONS

warning(s): N/SFW (18+), smut/fluff/slight angst, implications of fatphobia, insecurity, body image mention, petnames, size kink (not for reader)??, softdom!simon, afab/fem!reader

w.c: 0.7k

˖⁺‧₊˚ MAIN MASTERLIST ♡ GHOST MASTERLIST ˚₊‧⁺˖

i'm a firm believer that SIMON loves plus-sized partners. he's not the most experienced with relationships, but above all, he enjoys bigger bodies most. so soft between his calloused hands. and warm — which is the perfect aid for his awful circulation.

and god forbid you have any qualms about your size? whether "thick", "chubby", or "fat", he'd never mind. call him crazy, but nothing hits the spot like a cushiony lover to thaw his stubborn heart. oh, how he tried to treat you the same as the rest, deflect and avoid the attention entirely. but there was something so radiant about you. as if your body was meant for him. to hold, to appreciate, to claim — to love.

SIMON grew tired of the superficial propaganda, frankly. no time for it. tomorrow isn't guaranteed for anyone, but especially not for him. for years, he felt trapped in a slump of wasted time, wasted potential. wasted emotions. bitterness for the sake of it, with no gain.

he found sweetness with you, inside and out. every inch of skin, all the bends and indents, ridges and curves that covered you. the stretch marks and cellulite that reminded him of paintings he'd seen in foreign countries; women's buxom bodies worshiped with each stroke of the brush.

once he had you, he knew he had to keep you. earn you. remind you every single day how breathtaking every bit of you was. in some ways, SIMON understands what it's liked to be loathed by nearly every passing stranger. the crinkled noses, squinted eyes, and taunting whispers that seem to follow him everywhere. but you? not a chance in hell he'd let you feel that again.

learns how to spot the signs of discomfort, which wasn't difficult since hyper-vigilance is his status quo. comparing yourself to others around, shrinking into your seat out of habit— that look of hurt in your eyes. he always gives a firm squeeze to your hip or hand, sometimes a faint whisper only you'll understand. "breathe, love." he rasps, not loosening his grip until your tense muscles relax.

even if not at the time or for several days, he always finds a way to reassure you later on. you're being seen by him, even when he's not always with you. there isn't a moment where he isn't yearning for more precious time with you. sometimes, he'll stand behind you in front of the mirror, chin resting on your shoulder. never breaks eye contact, unless you do first. raises his fingers to rest under your chin and adjusts your gaze until you're forced to admire yourself. "my gorgeous girl, look at her." SIMON whispers, pecking along your jaw.

he'd be lying if he said there weren't... other perks to the relationship. so much for his big hands to grip and enjoy, leaving marks for his eyes only the next day. crescent indents of his nails on the fat of your hips, reminding you of what you do to him. the night he had his pelvis flush against your backside, splitting you open on his length. the arch of your back, the jiggle of your ass and tits with every push of his hips. christ, he would do this forever if he could.

his hands often roam, finding purchase anywhere that will ground him. if he's not careful, you'll have him coming undone mere seconds after he is inside you. it's the vision of you; gaped mouth, slick with sweat and arousal, tummy squished against his firm build as his hips grind deep, hitting all your favorite spots.

god, and how you never seem to trust his strength fully. even when he's proved you wrong time and time again like you weigh nothing. and for him, you probably do. that sweet, bashful look in your eyes when he flips you over at the speed of light. or when he pulls you onto his lap, aching cock nestled between your thick thighs.

your hitch in breathing when he gives your plump pussy a solid smack — enough to keep you focused on the moment again. his thick fingers part your folds afterward, stimulating with your clit apologetically. "pay attention, baby. need you here otherwise 'm not gonna be able to cum. you don't want that, do you?" you can practically feel the smirk against your ear, using every ounce of strength within you to focus. he never makes it easy.

that blitzed expression never seems to fade, despite many, many nights of practice. is it wrong of him to hope it never does?

« divider cred. - cafekitsune »

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader

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querenciasturniolo · 5 months

Text

headcannons ⮕ m.s

a/n: 75% boyfriend headcannons, 25% plus sized reader headcannons, but i definitely did my best !! @rainsoakedphoenix , i hope you enjoy, love 🫶🏻💓

❥ matt in the talking stage is very quick to reply, and always has something to add to the conversation. he’s flirty, but subtle about it, not wanting you to think he’s moving too fast, or give you the wrong impression.

❥ this dude is an absolute open BOOK. any question you ask him, he answers openly and honestly.

❥ he hates small talk, absolutely despises it. would rather talk about incredibly deep, philosophical things instead of a simple “how are you ?”

❥ would ask you “what are we ?” instead of just asking you out, idk man, dude’s complicated.

❥ he would not give a fuck about you being plus sized, not a single one. he likes you bc you’re a good person, and nothing else matters to him in the slightest than that.

❥ “get out of here, you’re perfect just how you are.”

❥ hands on your hips and waist when you’re out in public. i wouldn’t say he’s a fan of pda, but he isn’t one to not have a hold of you somewhere.

❥ in a more private setting ? dude is cuddly and needy as HELL. constantly holding you, whether it’s just your hand, his arm around your shoulder, standing behind you with his hands on your hips, shoulders, waist, you name it.

❥ on days where you’re insecure, he’s quick to snap you out of it. he can tell whether you need reassurance or a distraction without you even having to explain.

❥ HUGE on reading body language and tone of voice, can tell immediately if something is wrong just by the way you’re breathing.

❥ pet names for days. “baby”, “babe”, “love”, “beautiful”, “bunny” (fight me, i dare you), dude will throw in “toots” in an awful boston accent, just to make you laugh and see you roll your eyes

❥ whiny, whiny, W H I N Y. constantly asking for cuddles, kisses, hugs, scratches, everything.

❥ huge words of affirmation guy, never gets tired of hearing that you love him or your thanks for him doing something for you. essentially, he’s a giant puppy dog.

❥ always has his hand on your thigh when he’s driving oh my GOD

❥ instead of physical gifts for anniversaries, he’d give you love letters (i’m sobbing)

❥ dude is not afraid to post you anywhere, absolutely ADORES showing you off, even if it’s just of you sleeping in his lap, or an underview of you watching the tv and playing with his hair

❥ “what ? i can’t show off what’s mine ?” (kill me)

❥ supportive of you in every single aspect, not once has he ever looked at you and made you feel like you couldn’t do what you wanted

❥ lowkey possessive, but not in a toxic way ! just wants you all to himself, and gets whiny when you have to go or you have other plans and can’t come over. it’s mostly a joke, and he’d never ever do it if it actually upset you, he just truly does want you around all of the time.

❥ HUGE on setting boundaries early in the relationship, wants to know your ‘hell yes’s and ‘hell no’s IMMEDIATELY

❥ says “i love you” first, no ifs, ands or buts.

❥ “i love you, ya know ?”

❥ is blushing the entire time he’s trying to get it out, but relaxes when he sees your grin

❥ refuses to “argue”, dude only has constructive conversations where the two of you find a solution

❥ “it’s us against the problem, babe. not us against each other. what’s going on ?”

❥ three quick pecks every time one of you asks for a kiss, sometimes more, but never less, and he will absolutely pout if you ever short him.

❥ “what was that ? give me a real kiss.”

❥ some nights when his energy is low, and his social battery is almost completely gone, he’ll just lay with you with his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat.

❥ he’s a little snippy on bad days, but he always catches himself.

❥ “i’m sorry, love. i shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

❥ B A N T E R, he’s a shit, for sure

❥ “oh yeah ? wanna say that to my face ?” (think lori and noah from tiktok)

❥ on days where your body image is bad, he stops what he’s doing and takes the time to just hold you, and reassure you that your body is beautiful.

❥ “look at me, hey. i love you, every single part of you.”

❥ star gazing dates, midnight drives to nowhere, movie nights in the living room, nights where the two of you just stare at the ceiling and enjoy each other’s company.

❥ “penny for your thoughts ?” “what are you thinkin’ about over there ?” “what’s on your mind, beautiful ?”

❥ never shies away from mentioning you on the podcast/in videos.

❥ “oh my god, my girlfriend loves that.” “holy shit, me and y/n were just talking about this !”

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @jellybeanbby , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo headcanon #sturniolo #querenciasturniolo

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seungbinbin · 1 year

Text

meet ugly - hyung line ver.

not every couple has a fairytale start !!

a/n: first headcanons ! idk if i like this format but i thought i could try <3 lmk what u think ! i was also sleep deprived and delirious writing this but i think it’s a little funny heh

warnings: curse words, very ridiculous writing, mentions of food, gn reader ! (lmk if i missed anything!!)

bang chan

you found out there was a new neighbor on your floor

and you were just so excited to make a new friend

plus you heard the lady from the leasing office saying he was really cute 🫣

so you decided to be nice and bake him some muffins for breakfast <33333

what you didn’t know was that your neighbor stayed up until 4am producing a new song

so when you knocked on his door at 8am, bright and early, interrupting his much needed sleep…yeah, he wasn’t very happy

“what do you want? 😒”

oh 😟

you just hand him the muffins, mumble a quick sorry and RUN

he only realizes how rude he was after he wakes up a second time, hours later, seeing the HOMEMADE muffins sitting on his counter with a little note

“welcome neighbor !!!! :)))”

oh my fucking god 😭 he just HAS to apologize

when he finds you (literally knocks on every door on your floor) he says he’s so very sorry and he’s speaking so fast it makes you giggle

“it’s okay, breathe!”

and he decides right then and there that he’ll make it up to you by taking you out for coffee 😋

lee know

studying at a coffee shop was the best thing ever for you

it made it easier to concentrate on your work, it smelled delicious, and the baristas knew you so they always gave you a little cake pop for free <3

you had been hard at work for hours :( poor baby, midterm season is ROUGH

deciding to take a break to rest your eyes from looking at your screen, and your hands from writing, you took a look around and spotted the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your entire life: lee minho !

his hands were full and he looked very annoyed and you thought "woah that's so much coffee!"

what you didn't know is that he had lost the rock, paper, scissors game for coffee duty <///3

and now he was a little (very) irritated carrying 8 cups of coffee

trying to balance 8 large iced americanos was kind of hard, especially in a crowded coffee shop in the middle of lunch rush

but he had everything under control !

until someone bumped into him while he walked past your table

suddenly there was coffee everywhere; on his shirt, on his face and hair, on your face and hair...and all over your table

thankfully, you had managed to pull your laptop away from the disaster before any coffee got on it

however...your review was all wet and messed up

your 6 page, hand-written review you had been working on for the past 4 hours

"holy shit, i'm so sorry-"

and then you were crying 🧍🏻‍♀️ he didn't know what to do

when you explained everything, he offered to rewrite the review for you 🥹

he took the soggy papers with him, then asked for your number (just to ask what he should write and give you the review, totally not because you were the cutest ever! )

changbin

changbin was having an off-day at the gym

he had been trying to beat his last pr but something felt…off

maybe he pulled a muscle while practicing choreography, or his new pre-workout never kicked in

whatever it was, his mind-muscle connection was off and it was beginning to frustrate him

he was so stiff and crampy and ready to go home after his barely-successful arm day >:(

he was angrily typing on his phone with one hand, complaining about his day to chan and holding a 40 pound dumbbell on the other

definitely not watching where he was going !

he walked right into a bench and hit his shin very hard ! ouchie !

which made him lose his grip on the dumbbell and he dropped it

…right on your foot 🥴

“OW, FUCK!”

“oh NO, ARE YOU HURT!?”

“OF COURSE I AM, YOU ASSHOLE, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!”

please don’t yell at him he didn’t mean to ! he tears up when he sees you start to cry in pain :(

so he apologizes (and keeps doing so as he carries you to his car so he can drive you to the hospital)

when you told him your roommates were out of town and you weren’t from the area, he offered to stay with you :(

and also offered to pay for any medical expenses

oh he just felt so bad 😞

but it’s okay! the doctor said it was a minor fracture that should heal up in no time !

and like…changbin made you laugh the entire time and he’s so kind and nice and pretty and buff…

perhaps you could forgive him for shattering your big toe! but just this once !

hyunjin

you just wanted a nice, peaceful day at the park

the weather was perfect for a picnic and a book and you just had to take the opportunity

a lot of other people had the same idea to visit the local park

hyunjin included! he wanted kkami to get some fresh air and to stretch his legs from being holed up in his art studio all day

everything was going perfectly fine

and then kkami managed to get out of his leash

chaos ensued; everyone could hear his dramatic ass screaming and chasing his little dog 😭

surprise! kkami ended up at your picnic bc he wanted to eat your snacks

“hello, sweet boy!”

he was so friendly, everything was going so well! you even offered him a strawberry

and then he peed on your book

and bit your finger 🧍🏻‍♀️

hyunjin gets there 30 seconds too late and now he has to apologize for kkami and his chihuahua-ness

“oh my fucking god, i’m so sorry, i don’t know why he would do that! are you okay!?”

yes you are…there’s a beautiful man right in front of you holding your hand and checking on you ‼️

there’s still dog pee on your book tho

“there’s a bookstore near by, can i buy you another copy?”

so cute <3 thank u kkami

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blueicequeen19 · 1 year

Text

Provoke

Warnings: public unprotected hot tub sex, fighting, public masturbation, voyeur

If there was one thing JJ hated it was Kooks. They were all the same. Entitled, rich pricks. Summer night parties ended with more fights and brawls than a prison with all the egotistical assholes running around. JJ was impulse must of the time but when it came to you.. he could get cruel. Especially in the hot tub at the latest Kook mansion with Rafe Cameron’s eyes tracking your every move.

You always felt Rafe’s eyes on you whenever you were at parties. It made your skin crawl but you couldn’t help but enjoy how possessive JJ became. He’d bend you over Rafe’s table and hold eye contact while he fucked you if you’d let him. But it would only end in a fight and someone getting stitches. Plus, Kooks talked to cops.

“If he doesn’t stop looking at you, I’m going to lose my fucking shit.” JJ growls, his arm thrown loosely over your shoulder in the hot tub. You had a clear view of the Kook sitting on the patio, sipping a beer while maintaining his unblinking gaze.

“He’s a creep. Ignore him.” You plead, sliding your hard across his lap and grabbing his cock in an attempt to distract him. JJ’s attention snaps to you, his eyes darkening as you get him fully erect in a matter of seconds under the water.

“He’s looking at you like a piece of meat.” JJ bites out, his body tensing as you both try to track your movements under the water.

“Yea?”

“Yea. I want to knock his fucking teeth down his throat.” JJ growls, hissing through his teeth when you free him from his swim trunks to stroke him.

“More than you want to fuck me?” You whisper sweetly, teasing his throbbing tip with your thumb. You bat your eyelashes at him as he starts to breathe harder, his eyes barely having any blue left.

“You want me to fuck you out in the open for anyone to see? Remind that fucker who you belong to?” JJ rasps, his hand coming up to pull you closer by your throat. You lean in and run your tongue along his lips, continuing to stroke him as he shudders.

“Please, baby. I’m all yours. Do what you want with me.” JJ’s eyes dart from you to Rafe and back. His lips tipping up in a mischievous smirk before he moves to the opposite side of the hot tub, giving Rafe his back and pulling you onto his lap.

“Fuck me and make him watch, pretty girl. Make him watch you fall apart as I fill your cunt with my cum.” JJ smirks, pulling you in for a heated kiss. You pull back breathless, looking up to see Rafe leaning back casually in his chair without a care in the world as he stares back at you. A brow raises at you, a silent challenge to see how far you’d take this.

The power you felt was unimaginable. The ability to make someone you both hated watch as you fucked someone else had you nearly ready to burst already. Fuck the party and fuck Rafe Cameron.

You bite your lip as you tuck your bikini bottoms to the side and let JJ line himself up with your entrance. Your entire body shudders as you slowly sink down on his thick length, your head tipping back as JJ’s hands move to guide your hips until you’re completely filled by him. Your entire body is flushed and slick with sweat from the heat of the outdoors and the hot tub water along with the very public sex you were about to engage in. It all only heightened your need for release, leaving you on the edge already.

JJ’s hand cups the back of your neck, his other arm wrapping around your waist as he starts to roll his hips. Your fingers dig into his muscular check as your body ignites with sparks and your toes start to curl.

“Look at me, baby. Open your eyes.” JJ rasps, pulling you from your blissful haze. Your eyes slowly open and you clench hard just by seeing the look of pure lust and adoration on his face.

“Look at me while you fuck me. Ride my cock.” JJ practically growls, his teeth bared as he nears his own release. He was so hard and thick inside you, nudging your insides so deep that there was no way you’d be able to walk right after this.

“Fuck.” You pant, digging your fingers in harder as you start to fuck him back, meeting every powerful thrust just as greedily. Just when your body grows taunt and your pussy clamps down like a vice with JJ’s mouth on your throat, you look up to make sure Rafe is watching.

You’re immediately startled by what you find. So startled you let out a gasp and your movements falter but JJ doesn’t stop. JJ groans against your neck as he cums, signaling your own release that has you biting down on your bottom lip so hard you taste blood. The orgasm seems to last forever as you whimper and whither against him, watching with fascination and horror as Rafe smiles back at you just as he cums in his hand under the table, just visible enough for you to see. He quickly covers himself with a towel but there was no denying what has just happened. The disgusting display throws you into another orgasm and you bite JJ’s shoulder to keep from screaming even with the sudden gush of fluid between your thighs. JJ feels it too, his arms tightening around your body as he fucks you through it, murmuring praises and loving words as you finally come down.

You’re horrified by the fact that you just came to the sight of Rafe Cameron finishing. It was disgusting and erotic which made you hate him more. He’d stolen the moment from the two of you and warped it to satisfy his own needs like he does everything else. Instead of getting mad and storming off over your public claiming of your boyfriend, Rafe had jerked off to the sight.

“You squirted in the fucking hot tub.” JJ’s amused voice draws you back from your angry thoughts, his lips still on your neck as he rubs a soothing hand down your back. You also hated the fact that Rafe had caused you to squirt for the first time. Without even touching you. Rafe grins at you like the satisfied predator that he is, discreetly cleaning himself up and tucking himself away before sitting the towel back on the table for some unsuspecting loser to use later.

“Take me home.” You murmur against JJs ear, lifting your hips so he can tuck himself away and slide your bottoms back in place. JJ tries to look over his shoulder at Rafe but you stop him with a kiss.

“Take me home and fuck me in our bed.”

“Only if you promise to squirt for me again.” JJ growls, kissing you hungrily before sliding you off his lap and helping you exit the tub. JJ wraps you in a towel as he throws a satisfied look at Rafe and throws his arm over your shoulder to lead you out the back gate. Your legs still feel like jello as you cling to JJ’s waist, the after effects of the hardest orgasm of your life still lingering in your system when you hear someone jogging to catch up with you both.

“Hey JJ, I just wanted to thank you.” You tense at Rafe’s voice, immediately noting the way JJ’s body stiffens against yours as he stops to face the provoking Kook.

“Stop.” You murmur to JJ but he ignores you.

“For what?”

“For letting me see what Y/N looks like when she cums from watching me jerk off. I bet she felt really fucking good too.” Rafe flashes that cocky smile as JJ pulls away from you to shove Rafe in the chest.

“Stop it!” You cry, completely humiliated and embarrassed.

“The fuck did you just say?” JJ growls as Rafe shoves him back, stepping into his space with a dangerous look in his eyes.

“I said, your cum might be in her pussy but she came thinking about me. So remember that the next time you want to have a pissing contest with me.”

You reach for JJ but it’s too late. His head snaps forward, his forehead catching Rafe’s nose. Rafe curses, stumbling back as blood immediately gushes from his nose and down his lips. Rafe locks eyes with you, giving you a wink before his expression hardens and all hell breaks loose.

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petitemistletoe · 11 months

Text

Grudges

Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader, Potter!Reader

Warnings: angst!

Word Count: 6.2K+

A/N: Alright listen I am a Lily Evans stan through and through but she does not come across the greatest in this fic

“Stop biting your nails,” Regulus nudged you lightly.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, “I just hope the first term went well for Celeste. I’ve missed her so much.” You rested your head on Regulus’s shoulder.

“Celeste sent us about a thousand owls with updates. She’s fine! Plus she’s had Milo with her.” Regulus made a good point. Your daughter, Celeste, had started her first year at Hogwarts at the same time as her cousin Milo.

“Where are Sirius and Remus anyway?” You asked, glancing at your watch, “The train is going to be in any minute now.”

As if on cue, you saw Sirius and Remus running through King’s Cross. Remus was carrying an empty carseat and Sirius was balancing a baby in his arms. They made their way over to your spot on the platform and were breathing heavily.

“Someone,” Sirius panted, “take the baby so I can have a moment to collapse.”

“Give me my delicious little nephew,” you grinned, taking the baby from Sirius and giving his chubby cheek a little kiss, “how are you Teddy?”

Teddy gurgled in response and wrapped a chubby hand around a strand of your hair.

“Why exactly are you two so late?” Regulus quirked an eyebrow at his brother.

“You know how it is, baby stuff.” Remus explained, setting the carseat on the ground and taking Teddy back from you.

“Sirius take too long looking at himself in the mirror?” Regulus chuckled.

“You laugh but it’s under the shroud of wicked jealousy,” Sirius deadpanned.

“Can you believe that our kids are first years! It feels like we graduated just yesterday,” you reminisced, threading your arm through Sirius’ and resting your head on his shoulder.

“They’ll be here any minute now!” Sirius grinned, looking at the wave of students getting off the train.

“Sirius! It’s your turn, Teddy needs to be changed.” Remus was now holding Teddy at arms length, his nose wrinkled.

“Oh no,” Sirius peaked at Teddy’s diaper, “Moony this is a two man job. You guys mind waiting for Milo while we fix this?”

“Go for it,” you waved the boys off. You and Regulus were making idle chit chat until a body slammed into you. You looked down and saw the nicely styled brown and black curls and knew it could only have been your nephew.

“Hi Milo,” you said, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Hey Auntie! Have you seen my dads?” He asked, pulling away and hugging Regulus.

“They’re in the bathroom changing Teddy. Have you seen my daughter?” You responded.

“She’s coming. Her and Harry were saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione at the front of the platform.” Milo shrugged. Your blood ran cold.

“Harry?” You asked. Before Milo could respond you saw Celeste skipping towards you.

“Mum! Dad!” Celeste gave you and Regulus a giant hug.

“Celeste! I want to hear all about your term,” you said with a giant grin.

“Sure Mum! I want you to meet one of the greatest friends I made. He’s actually one of Milo’s childhood friends.” Celeste stepped back and revealed Harry standing behind her. Even if you hadn’t recognized the name you would’ve know that Harry was James’s son. Harry was the spitting image of James, save for his eyes. His eyes were the same color as Lily’s.

“Hi! I’m Harry Potter, it’s nice to meet you Mrs. Black, Mr. Black.” Harry extended his hand to you and Regulus. Regulus had the same gobsmacked expression that you did and he swallowed harshly before saying,

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I understand that you and Celeste have become fast friends.”

“Yes! I’ve known Milo my entire life so he introduced Celeste and I. Milo’s fathers are actually my father’s two closest friends. You might know him, James Potter?” Harry asked.

“Uh, yes. We were in school at the same time as your father.” Regulus said, diplomatically.

“Really?” Harry asked. Before you could continue any further Sirius and Remus returned.

“There’s my godson!” Sirius laughed, wrapping Harry in a tight hug.

“He hugs Harry before he hugs his own son.” Milo rolled his eyes as he hugged Remus and gave his baby brother a kiss on the forehead.

“There’s my boy.” Sirius lifted Milo of the ground in a grandiose show of affection.

“Where are your parents, Harry?” Remus asked.

“Around here somewhere I’m sure.” Harry scanned through the throng of people. He disappeared off and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Alright, love, do you have all your things?” You asked Celeste, running a hand over your daughter’s head, “Regulus grab her trunk.”

“Did you make the Christmas fudge mum?” Celeste asked.

“Three trays of it.” You grinned, pinching Celeste’s cheek.

“Oh Auntie your fudge is the greatest! Dad can we go over to Celeste’s and have some?” Milo asked Remus.

“Why not? You know I have a soft spot for chocolate.” Remus laughed as he tried to juggle both the car seat and Milo’s trunk.

“Give me the baby and give the car seat to Sirius.” You said. Remus went to hand you Teddy but tutted, “Other side, Remus. My shoulder.” You swapped sides and then took Teddy from Remus’ arms and balanced him on your hip.

You were making your way out of the train station when Harry was running back towards you all, a giant smile on his face.

“Alright Harry?” Celeste asked.

“Yeah, yeah. I wanted to introduce our parents. Mr. And Mrs. Black these are my parents James and Lily Potter.” Harry stepped back to reveal his parents. You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“James.” You said, cooly.

“It’s been a while.” James’s tone was as icy as yours.

“Well we should get going,” Lily said diplomatically.

“Yes! Yes. Good to see you. Have a happy Christmas!” Regulus pushed Celeste away before the conversation could progress any further.

Luckily for you all, Celeste forgot all about encounter by the time she got home, had a tin of fudge, and played with her little brother Atlas who had been in private lessons when you all were at the train station. Atlas and Celeste were sleeping peacefully, now, and you were thinking about James as you got in bed next to Regulus.

“Love?” Regulus shook you from your thoughts.

“Yes darling?”

“I was saying that Narcissa called and wants to have tea tomorrow and get all the children together.” Regulus said.

“Oh, sure Reg.” You nodded.

“Thinking about James?”

“You know me so well,” you laughed softly, “it just caught me off-guard…seeing him again.”

“I know. Are you alright?”

“It’s weird, right? Harry and Celeste being friends.” You asked, rubbing your shoulder.

“Yeah, a good weird though. I think we should consider the possibility of telling them that they are related. They deserve to know and it’ll only be worse if they find it out on their own.” Regulus ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know you’re right.” You went to bed that night with your thoughts spinning impossibly fast in your brain.

✰

“Oh my God! How can a child so small poop so much?” Remus said in disgust. His entire chest was coated in what had previously been Teddy’s breakfast. Sirius had been walking over to check on Remus, but immediately turned and crept back down the hallway as quietly as he could. “Nice try, Pads! Get back here right now.”

“How did you know I was in the hall?” Sirius asked with a groan, taking over the diaper change while Remus removed his shirt and scourgified it.

“Werewolf hearing, obviously.” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Dads! When are we going to Celeste’s?” Milo asked, peeking his head into the room.

“We’re going to meet Celeste and Atlas at Aunt Narcissa’s house.” Remus responded.

“Oh fuck do we have to go to Narcissa’s? It’s so creepy there.” Sirius complained.

“Really? You aren’t even going to pretend to act like a parent in front of our kid?” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Aunt Narcissa isn’t so bad,” Milo shrugged, “Draco’s kind of annoying though.”

“Of course he is. He’s the spawn of a Black and a Malfoy.” Sirius rolled his eyes at the thought.

“Sirius!” Remus was unfortunately not surprised at his husband’s antics.

“I have a different question.” Milo shook his head, “so you know how Celeste and Atlas are mine and Teddy’s cousins because Dad and Uncle Regulus are brothers?”

“Yeah?” Sirius and Remus weren’t exactly sure where things were going.

“And you know how you two were best friends with Uncle James and Aunt Lily in school?”

“Yeah…” Now Sirius and Remus had an idea where things were going and they didn’t exactly love it.

“Why was I never allowed to have Harry and Celeste over at the same time? And why were things so awkward between everyone at the train station when Celeste’s and Harry’s parents met?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Remus said quickly.

“Yep, Milo, you’re crazy.” Sirius nodded.

“Wait a minute,” Milo’s brain was moving quickly now, “isn’t Auntie’s maiden name Potter? But she doesn’t have a brother…is Uncle James her cousin? Are they fighting? Have they been fighting since before any of us were born? But Auntie always talks about how important family is…did Uncle James do something to break their bond? They must’ve been close since they would have been just a year apart at Hogwarts. And you two are still very close with her and Uncle Reg…in fact Dad I remember you said that Auntie was the person that reunited you with Uncle Reg. So it had to be something really specific between Auntie and Uncle James. Aunt Lily’s face was almost as red as her hair and Uncle Regulus was glaring at Uncle James when we were at the train station so I bet it was something about Auntie marrying Uncle Regulus and Uncle James marrying Aunt Lily. But Uncle James and Aunt Lily got married first so it was probably a fight between Auntie and Uncle James about Aunt Lily!” Milo looked very pleased with himself.

“You’re way off, Milo, it wasn’t like that at all.” Remus said weakly.

“How did you do that?” Sirius was looking at his son now like he was dripping in radioactive waste.

“I knew it!”

“Okay, Milo, listen you can’t tell Celeste or Harry. This is not our information to share.” Remus was very serious.

“Of course, Dad. The secret is safe with me!” Milo beamed.

✰

“Oh my God Ron! How has it taken you this long to cast a communication spell? Fred and George showed it to us like four times before we left for holiday!” Celeste whispered. She was underneath her covers as it was past one in the morning but Milo had sent everyone an owl saying he had an urgent message and needed to talk face to face.

“It was hard, Cel!” Ron tried to defend himself but Harry was laughing too hard to be heard for anyone else on the call to hear him.

“Okay, okay. Milo what’s your news?” Hermione asked, shaking her head.

“I just discovered something big! Something about Celeste and Harry.” Milo said excitedly.

“Does it have something to do with how weird our parents were at the train station?” Harry asked.

“Yes, indeed. Celeste’s mum and Harry’s dad are cousins!” Milo paused to allow the revelation to skin in.

“No way! Why wouldn’t they tell us?” Celeste gasped.

“Apparently they had a really bad falling out and I think it’s because Celeste’s mum and Harry’s mum hate each other!”

“Why would they hate each other?” Hermione asked.

“No idea. But you two are going to have to find out.” Milo grinned.

✰

“So mum,” Celeste asked after you all returned from the Malfoys, “I have a question for you.”

“Sure, love. Did you want any more fudge?” You asked, taking out a tray and cutting off a few pieces.

“Thanks mum!” Celeste took the plate from you.

“Hey Atlas! Do you want any fudge?”

“Yes yes yes!” Your eight year old came running into the kitchen. Atlas looked just like Regulus, dark curls and bright green eyes. Celeste looked more like a potter…more like James, in fact: tanned skin, warm brown eyes, easy smile. Celeste and Harry had looked like twins at the train station. It filled you with an uncomfortable heartache.

“Giving the kids more sugar?” Regulus quipped, helping push Atlas’s chair closer to the table.

“It’s Christmas.” You smiled, “there’s a fresh batch of egg nog in the fridge from this morning if you’d like to join me in a glass.”

“Read my mind, Mrs. Black.” Regulus poured you and him two glasses and you sat at the able with your kids.

“So Celeste, you said you had a question for me?” You asked, leaning back so you were resting against Regulus’s shoulder.

“Are you and Harry’s dad cousins?” Celeste asked. Your back went rigid as Regulus sputtered and choked on his eggnog.

“Why…where did you hear that?” You asked.

“Milo.”

“I’m going to kill Sirius.” Regulus shook his head.

“The truth is, yes, James and I are cousins.”

“Did you have a falling out because you hate Harry’s mum?”

“Oh my god,” Regulus rubbed his temples.

“Who’s Harry?” Atlas asked.

“I do not hate Harry’s mum.” You sighed, “James and I are just not as close as we used to be.”

“You know what,” Regulus stood, “we’re going to Sirius and Remus’s. We can let them explain everything since they felt so strongly about sharing it in the first place.”

“Good idea.” You hoisted Atlas onto your hip, even though he was far too big for it now and apparated as Regulus grabbed firmly onto Celeste’s wrist to apparate them both. You were standing in Sirius and Remus’s living room and you set Atlas down as Sirius entered the room with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius tried to turn on his heel but you grabbed him by the back of the shirt.

“You’ve got a big mouth, Black.” You shoved Sirius down on the couch.

“Moony! Milo! Can you come in here please?” Sirius called as Regulus and Celeste apparated into the room.

“What’s up, Pads?” Remus entered the room, Milo right behind him.

“Hey Auntie,” Milo said shyly, sitting between his fathers on the couch.

“Milo, when we speak to you do you hear words or is it just the Charlie Brown whomp sound?” Remus said with a sigh.

“Sorry,” Milo shrugged.

“We’ll deal with you later. Take your cousins up to your room while your aunt tears me a new asshole.” Sirius sent Milo, Atlas, and Celeste out and then cast a silencing spell over the living room for good measure.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You said, slapping Sirius on the chest and arms after each word for emphasis.

“Milo guessed it! It was really only a manner of time considering your behavior at Kings Cross.” Remus said with a sigh.

“You’re right.” You flopped on the couch next to Remus and put your head in your hands. Regulus sat down next to you and rubbed your back.

“Do you think it might be time for you and James to reconcile? It’s been ten years since you two last spoke.” Remus asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve been carrying this resentment so long I might feel lonely without it.” You said with a weak chuckle. There was a loud crack in the air and James, Lily, and Harry were standing in the living room.

“Sirius!” James roared, “I’m going to kill you!”

“Milo has another parent! Why do target me?” Sirius threw his hands in the air.

“Kids are upstairs, Harry. Why don’t you join them while we talk?” Remus sent Harry upstairs.

“I think we should have a conversation about how we’d like to proceed. Celeste and Harry are closer than ever and I don’t think any of us have been very fair.” Regulus said with a deep sigh.

✰

“James!” You said in a sing-song voice as you set your book down and settled down on the blanket that James had spread in front of the lake. James, Sirius, and Remus had been taking advantage of the nice day and were studying outside by the Black Lake.

“What is it?” James was pretending to be exasperated but he couldn’t hide his smile. He always had a soft spot for his baby cousin.

“I need your potions notes. We’re brewing liquid luck and Slughorn assigned me a terrible partner.” You said with a sigh.

“Who’d he assign you?” Sirius asked.

“Your little brother,” you said with an eyeroll.

“Come on,” Remus exhaled lazily, handing you a joint that he’d lit a few moments before, “as far as Slytherins go, Regulus is pretty good at potions.”

“Yeah, yeah he’s a potions wiz. I don’t need him mansplaining potions to me so I need to read up on liquid luck and show his ass up.” You said before taking a long drag of the joint, “This is really good, Remus.”

“Thanks, I did get an O in herbology.” Remus laughed.

“Here,” James was forever organized and was able to locate his notes from last year rather quickly, “use them wisely.”

“Hey Prongs did you tell the young Miss Potter your news?” Sirius asked, taking the joint from you.

“No! What’s your news, Jamie?” You poked James in the ribs playfully.

“Now that Lily and I have been dating for a few months now, I’d like for you two to officially meet.” James said with a grin. Your stomach turned unpleasantly. You had only ever seen Lily in passing, considering you were in Slytherin and a year younger than the Marauders. You hadn’t liked how James had pined after Lily considering she did not make it a secret how she despised him. Sure, James was a bit immature sometimes but he had the biggest heart of anyone you knew. You swallowed all that down and grinned,

“Can’t wait. When are we going to meet?”

“Why don’t you come to the Gryffindor common room tomorrow night?”

“Sounds like a plan.” You grinned. You had to leave the warm sun and your friends an hour later to meet with Regulus to start the potions work. You didn’t care for Regulus. Being a close friend of Sirius meant that Regulus was naturally more haughty towards you and you thought he could be unnecessarily cruel whenever he was around Barty Crouch Jr. To you had been less than pleased when Slughorn had paired you together would be an understatement.

You found him sitting at a table in the corner of the library, bent over a book.

“Hello Regulus,” you said, sitting down next to him.

“Hi. I thought we could start with raiding the greenhouses to find some horseradish. The first step of brewing Felix Felicis is to mix ashwinder eggs and horseradish.” Regulus said.

“I think it’d be better actually to substitute wasabi for horseradish. Apparently it makes the potion more potent.” You said, setting James’ notes out in front of you.

“These notes are brilliant,” Regulus snatched up the page and studied it.

“Thanks, they’re my cousin’s.” You shrugged. You worked for a while with Regulus before walking together back to the Slytherin dorms.

“You know…it’s funny.” Regulus said with a small shake of his curls.

“What is?”

“You and I both have close family in Gryffindor. The Gryffindor/Slytherin mix isn’t super common.” Regulus said.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“We’re not so different are we?”

“I’m nothing like you, Regulus. I’m not cruel.” You crossed your arms. You were at your door now and weren’t entirely sure why Regulus had walked you all the way up to the girls dorms.

“The Felix Felicis takes six months to brew. I bet you’ll be under me by then.” Regulus said with a confident laugh.

“In your dreams, Black.” You said with an eyeroll. You entered your room and huffed but had to admit it was a bit hard to hide your smile.

✰

You were nervous as you ascended the steps up to the Gryffindor common room. You didn’t know what it was exactly but you weren’t looking forward to meeting Lily. You shook the thoughts from your brain as Sirius let you into the common room.

“Remus!” You said with a grin, jumping into Remus’s lap and accepting the joint from him. Lily was perched on James’ lap and she was grinding down on him as they made out like their lives depended on it.

“Break it up, love birds, you have company.” Sirius said, slapping James upside the head on his way back to the couches.

“Sorry,” James said, sheepishly, setting Lily down next to him. James introduced you two.

“Lily, it’s great to finally meet you. The guys talk about you all the time.” You said with a smile.

“Ditto! James always says you’re one of the most important people in his life.” Lily grinned.

“Yeah. James and I are both only children so we really felt more like siblings than cousins.”

“Are you the first Potter in Slytherin?” Lily asked. It was an innocent enough question, Lily could not have known that it had been a sore subject in your family. You were the first Potter in Slytherin. No Potter had been in a house that was not in Gryffindor for over one thousand years. It had been a shock to your family.

“Uh, yes I am.” You tried to hide your discomfort over the question.

“Oh. Good for you.”

“And you’re a muggle born, right?”

“Yes.” Lily’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Good for you.” You responded. The rest of the night passed rather quickly and then James walked you back to the Slytherin dorms.

“So?” He asked excitedly.

“So what?”

“So what did you think of Lily? She’s great, isn’t she?” James was beaming.

“She’s something.” You pursed your lips.

“What do you mean?”

“I hate her.” You said with a head shake. James was shocked. He tried to get more out of you, but you told him you were tired and went to bed. James felt like his brain was in shambles as he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. Only Lily was left, reading a book by the fire.

“Hey love,” James sat down next to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Hi James. Have a good walk?” She asked.

“Yeah, yeah. You liked my cousin, right?”

“Your cousin?” Lily said nervously, “Yeah! She’s quite spirited.”

“Oh my god you hate her, don’t you?” James’s heart felt like it had dropped into his ass.

“I do!” Lily groaned, “But honestly I barely know her. We’ll get together more and more and hopefully we’ll become good friends. It’s clear to me that we both care about you a lot and want the best for you.” Lily said. James could only shrug.

✰

As Lily and James became closer and closer, you started spending less and less time in the Gryffindor common room. You also became closer to Regulus as you continued working on your potions project together. You were finally able to meet Regulus for your final potion check before you submit it as a final to Slughorn. As you made your way down you ran into James.

“Hey! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. I miss you.” James said, slinging an arm over your shoulders.

“I know! It’s just been so busy with classes and finals but I’m about to submit my potions final so that’ll be a huge weight off my shoulders.” You said with a grin.

“We’re going to the Three Broomsticks tonight, why don’t you meet us there? Celebrate the end of potions for the year” James said, “We’ll get properly pissed.”

“That sounds great. Who all is going?” You asked.

“The whole gang! Remus, Sirius, Mary, Marlene, Lily.”

“Lily?” You faltered.

“I know you aren’t her biggest fan but I promise it’ll be fun.” James begged.

“Alright! I’ll see you later then. Have a butterbeer waiting for me.” You called as James reascended the steps. He sent you thumbs up before disappearing around the corner. You walked into the potions classroom and saw Slughorn was peering over your cauldron as Regulus explained away.

“Ah Ms. Potter, nice of you to join us. I was just about to review your potion. I believe you and Mr. Black were assigned Felix Felicis.”

“Yes sir, we were.” You nodded.

“As I was saying,” Regulus said with a quick nod in your direction, “we decided to add wasabi instead of horseradish to the potion in order to increase its potency.

“Very smart.” Slughorn nodded. He mulled over the potion for a full two minutes before nodding. “Outstanding work you two. I knew great things would come from the two of you. Your reward is that you are able to keep the potion. I’m sure you both understand, however, that use of the potion during a Quidditch match is strictly illegal.”

“We understand, professor.” Regulus nodded. Professor Slughorn stalked out of the room. You and Regulus hugged tightly.

“We did it! Do you want the potion? I don’t have any use for it.” You said with a shrug.

“Yeah.” Regulus nodded. He uncorked the vial and swallowed it down.

“What are you doing?” You raised your eyebrow and looked at him.

“I needed it for what I’m about to do.” Regulus said. Before you could ask him what he was talking about, Regulus grabbed you by the waist and kissed you hard. You were surprised at first but then you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

“Oh wow.” You said when you broke apart.

“Will you go out with me?” Regulus asked, brushing his curls out of his face.

“Yeah. Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me?” You asked.

“Yeah I do.” Regulus grinned.

The two of you walked hand in hand to Hogsmeade. It seemed that the Gryffindors had started without you and the group was very, very drunk. Lily was perched in James’s lap again and you tried not to roll your eyes.

“What are you two doing here?” Sirius asked, slurring his words a bit, “I mean…what are you two doing here together?”

“We’re friends, Sirius.” You rolled your eyes. You and Regulus were able to catch up to the rest of the crowd quickly.

“More than that.” Regulus laughed and slung his arm over your shoulders.

“Really?” James narrowed his eyes.

“Why not?” You snuggled yourself deeper into Regulus’s arms.

“He’s a Slytherin. He’s dangerous.” James snapped at you.

“I’m a Slytherin.” You bit the inside of your cheek harshly.

“So you finally made your way over to dark wizards? Guess you really are a Slytherin.” Lily giggled.

“And you’ve proven that you can live up to the stereotype of annoying muggleborns.” You shot back.

“Stop it.” James frowned but it was too late. The storm between you and Lily had been brewing for six months and there was no stopping it now.

“You know what James, I can’t do this anymore. It’s her or me.” Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh come on! Like James is going to pick some girl he’s been dating for less than a year over his cousin.” You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t do this. You both are being unfair.” James said.

“James didn’t tell you? After we graduate, we’re moving in together.” Lily spat at you.

“Make your choice James.” You said coldly.

“No.” James shook his head.

“Fine,” you said, standing and grabbing Regulus’s hand, “I’ll make it for you. Goodbye.” And you stormed off.

✰

There was quite a bit of electricity in the air during the Quidditch final. It was already charged, being a competition between Gryffindor and Slytherin. You and Regulus were both playing as chaser and seeker respectively. This was an important match for you, you were being scouted by four different professional Quidditch teams and the representatives were all in the stands. You still had a year of Hogwarts left after this one but the teams were ready to make an offer that would work around your school schedule.

You couldn’t think about that right now, though. You wanted to stomp Gryffindor into the dirt. Your blood was pulsating in your ears as Madame Hooch blew the whistle to signify the start of the match.

The match was vicious, with you and James diving at each other and playing dirtier than you ever had to before. You were flying next to James and you shoulder checked him rougher than you should’ve. James nearly fell off his broom but he was able to swing all the way around and restabilize.

“That was a cheap shot!” James spat at you.

“Guess I’m just a lousy Slytherin.” You spat back. “At least I’m not wrapped around the finger of a witch with a stick up her ass.”

That was too far, you knew it, but you were too upset to care. James yanked at the back of your broom just as a bludger rammed itself into your chest. You fell hard and Madame Hooch had been too enraptured in a squabble between the Sirius and the Slytherin beaters to notice what was happening until it was too late. You hit the ground hard and heard a sickening crunch sound as your arm was wrenched awkwardly behind your back. You groaned as Madame Hooch started running towards you and blowing her whistle wildly. Before she reached you, though, your broom did and it embedded itself in your shoulder. You were screaming so loud your throat was raw. You tried to grab at your broom with your other hand but realized that the broom had impaled the fleshy part of your shoulder and was anchoring you to the ground.

“Oh my God,” Madame Hooch gasped as she made her way towards you. Madame Pomfrey was hot on her heels and she knelt down next to you. Regulus made his way down to you next. He dropped to his knees next to you and grabbed at your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Then Sirius landed. He took one look at you and promptly vomited into the grass. James was there next, his face paler than it had ever been.

“Alright love, I’m going to move you over to the hospital wing where I’ll give you a sedative and assess the damage.” Madame Pomfrey said. You wished that Madame Pomfrey had given you the sedative before she moved you. You had never and would never again experience such pain. Not when you gave birth, not when you had been a victim of cruciatus curse, not ever. Madame Pomfrey had to move you again to St. Mungos and a team of healers were put together to remove your broom from your shoulder and patch you up.

When you were finally stable again, the doctor who had been presiding over your case made his way to your bedside. Your parents and Regulus had been by your side for the entire four day period.

“It will take time for your shoulder to heal. It faced an unbelievable trauma and even after much physical therapy, rigorous potion taking, and rehabilitation your shoulder will never reach its full, working capacity.”

“So I’ll never play Quidditch again.” You said bitterly.

“Oh darling let’s just be happy that you’re okay.” Your mother tried but you shook your head.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Potter, but no. Playing professionally will not be possible.” The doctor bowed his head.

You refused James’s visits for the next two weeks until you were able to be discharged from the hospital. You were home, laying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. You wanted to rip down your Quidditch posters but you couldn’t extend your arm that far up yet. You were forced to just glare up at them.

“Hey, can I come in?” James asked, knocking on your open door. You looked at him and turned back to stare at the ceiling. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I have never felt more terrible in my entire life. I thought you were going to die,” James had tears in his eyes, “and it would have been all my fault. All over something so stupid. But I’m glad that you’re alive. But I am so so sorry that I cost you your career. If I could go back and erase it, I would.”

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” You said softly and stared at the ceiling until James left the room.

✰

You and James did not speak for four years. He got married and you got married and it was bizarre. All of a sudden you were no longer speaking to your best friend. Good things came out of the situation, though. You and Regulus got married and had a baby. Regulus and Sirius repaired their relationship and Sirius and Remus married and had a baby as well. You and Reg had Sirius and Remus over often, watching the newly one year olds play together.

“I still can’t believe that you named her Celeste.” Sirius shook his head.

“Why? You don’t like the name?” You asked with a soft laugh.

“I just can’t believe you stuck with the celestial theme.” Sirius rolled his eyes. Regulus laughed too.

“It wasn’t even my idea,” Regulus laughed, “my darling bride thought of it. She wanted Celeste for a girl and Atlas for a boy.”

“You really are a Slytherin.” Sirius laughed and gave you a kiss on the cheek before scooping Milo up.

“We should get home and give Milo a bath before bed. I don’t know why people think that having babies is hard. Milo’s a dream.” Sirius shrugged. He apparated out. Remus was about to follow when he turned to you.

“What is it Remus?” Regulus asked.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but James and Lily are in a rough place. James might try to reach back out to you.” Remus said.

“I’m not interested in that.” You said, looking down at your lap.

“I know. Just thought I would give you a heads up.” Remus said with a smile before apparating out.

“Celeste still has so much energy. Should we let her play for a little longer before bed?” Regulus asked, settling into the couch.

“Yeah, why not.” You shrugged. You and Regulus chatted idly for a bit longer before you heard a knock at the door.

“Think that’s Sirius forgetting something?” Regulus asked. You stood up and headed for the door,

“Doubt it. When has Sirius ever knocked?” You laughed. You opened the door and your jaw dropped in shock when you saw James at your doorstep, Harry on his hip.

“Hey.” James said softly.

“James. What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Who is it?” Regulus called from the couch.

“Uh, it’s James.” You responded.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus walked up over to where you were, “I thought you said James but I must have mis-” Regulus went silent.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I, uh, I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk about things.” James said, bouncing Harry on his hip a few times.

“Why don’t you come in,” Regulus stepped back to let James in. He lead James into the sitting room where Celeste was sitting on the ground and playing with her toys.

“Thanks, Regulus.” James said as he entered.

“Why don’t you let Harry play with Celeste?” Regulus offered. James set Harry down next to Celeste. “I’ll go make some tea.” Regulus left you and James sitting on the couch in awkward silence.

“Harry looks like you.” You said softly.

“Yeah, yeah he does. Celeste looks like you.”

“Seems like they were fast friends.” You said. Harry and Celeste were curled up, yawning and grabbing at each other’s feet.

“That’s good. It’s good for cousins to be close.” James said.

“I heard things between you and Lily are rough right now.”

“It’s just a rough patch. But I’m sorry about the way things happened. I want Harry to have his cousin in his life. I want my cousin in my life.” James was nervous, you could tell.

“I don’t know if it’s fair to set up Celeste for that kind of heartbreak. Wouldn’t want the kids to get close only to have Harry abandon Celeste for some girl and then nearly kill her.”

“That’s not fair,” Regulus said, setting down the tray with the tea.

“I don’t have to be fair. James cost me everything.” You said, your jaw set.

“I want to start over. Please. I love you, I miss you.” James begged.

“Then why did you choose Lily?” Emotion was cracking through your cold exterior.

“I didn’t!” “You did! I’m your family! You never should’ve chosen her over me.” You said, rising from your seat.

“You never should’ve made me choose!” James screamed back.

“Maybe we should revisit this later when everyone has had a chance to calm down.” Regulus stood between you and James now.

“No. I think you’ve made it very clear. Sorry I tried.” James scooped up Harry and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

✰

“No, we haven’t been fair.” You said, “But I’d like an apology.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry for everything I did to you.” James gushed, grabbing your hand.

“Not from you,” you shook your head, “from Lily.”

#james potter #atyd marauders #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #regulus black #regulus black angst #regulus black x reader #wolfstar

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Text

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them.

It started as petty crime—the theft.

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days.

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad.

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious.

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect.

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation.

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths?

You consider yourself an artist.

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.”

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation.

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it.

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season.

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips.

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running.

Your body moves to it.

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.

But beauty takes time.

You’d look better with those pearls.

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation.

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation.

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds.

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.”

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric.

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.”

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.”

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.”

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking.

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?”

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.”

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding.

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river.

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks.

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped.

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent.

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them.

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm.

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone.

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head.

“So, here for Victor’s party then?”

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.”

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part.

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.”

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron.

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so.

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another.

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to.

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up.

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there.

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand.

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do.

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing.

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind.

You blink, sighing under your breath.

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days.

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time.

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.”

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping.

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat?

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle.

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it.

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.”

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs.

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them.

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns.

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately.

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him.

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule.

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes.

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely.

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins.

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back.

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks.

“Affirmative, Lt.”

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him.

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.”

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull.

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence.

A flash of red catches his eye.

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be.

It was you.

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside.

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock.

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air.

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all.

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat.

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp.

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions.

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck.

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames.

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues.

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence.

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon.

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back.

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head.

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents.

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers.

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?”

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate?

Was he a thief like you, or hired security?

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.”

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you.

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow.

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest.

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!”

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks.

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall.

“Get over here,” he snaps.

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!”

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together.

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.”

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.”

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.”

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall.

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide.

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!”

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad.

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric.

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?”

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip.

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again.

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat.

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind.

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down.

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught.

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement.

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.”

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery.

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here.

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step.

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated.

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk.

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?”

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself.

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you.

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night.

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later.

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick.

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex.

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal.

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving.

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking.

“And Gaz?”

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.”

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed.

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options.

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea.

It was perfect.

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces.

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag.

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order.

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him.

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting.

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play.

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly.

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently.

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?”

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?”

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway.

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you.

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain.

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught.

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips.

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.”

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse.

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow.

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking.

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest.

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders.

A bullet whizzes past your face.

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths.

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool.

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him.

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing.

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders.

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head.

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again.

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form.

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest.

Both of your eyes lock in a battle.

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose.

You needed to disappear again.

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.”

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another.

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked.

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand.

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

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bookshelf-dust · 11 months

Text

all the time

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 7,206

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, family drama, best friends to lovers type beat (lemme know if i missed anything, as always)

a/n: this got pretty long, and i’m sorry about that. i put a steve option in my 1k celebration poll, and i haven’t been able to get over it, so that’s what this is. i thought i could try it out. i haven’t really had this much fun with a fic in a long time. i know my steve audience isn’t as big, but i guess there’s a chance someone might like it.

————

The crumbs from your crackers drop into your lap, the crease of your book catching them. You set your spoon back down, flipping the hardback over to ensure no crumb will be left lingering in between the pages.

You’re curled into the end chair at the table, just as always, legs crossed and book nestled against your bare legs. Your parents sit across from each other, talking about whatever, but you aren’t listening.

You dunk a cracker in your soup, holding it there for a moment to let it soak up the broth, before tossing it into your mouth. You continue on this way—alternating between scooping up noodles or chicken and drowning saltines—until you have nothing left but the dregs in your bowl.

You mark the page in your book, tuck it under your thigh. You’re tipping the bowl backwards, drinking the rest of the soup, when your mother says your name loudly enough to tear you from your stupor.

You swallow and wipe your mouth haphazardly with a napkin. “What?”

“Your father and I were just talking about your sister’s wedding.”

You raise your eyebrows, wondering if she’s actually being serious.

“No shit.”

Your father sets his cup down, glaring at you. “Language.”

“Sorry,” you say, though there’s no real meaning in the word.

Your sister has told practically every goddamn person in Hawkins that she’s getting married at the end of the month. Everyone is talking about her wedding. A wedding that you don’t give one singular fuck about.

She’s marrying her high school sweetheart, they’re moving into a sweet new house in the suburbs, blah blah blah. She’s doing the same shit every other peaked-in-high-school woman her age is doing. And you can’t be bothered to care.

Not only that, but you have to be a bridesmaid. You’re not very close with your sister, so her choosing another friend as her maid of honor really didn’t hurt you. Frankly, you would’ve been fine if she’d left you out of the bridal party completely.

None of this is really as spectacular as everyone’s made it out to be.

“Anyhow,” your mother begins, “you know she’s allowing her guests to bring a plus one.” She pauses, and you raise your eyebrows again, not understanding the need for dramatics here.

“Well, she asked if you were going to bring someone, and I told her that you were.”

You push back from the table, entirely too confused. “What?”

“Honey, don’t get so frantic. I didn’t think you would want to be alone, especially considering your attitude towards the entire function.”

You take a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your eyelids.

“I thought you could bring that boyfriend of yours. Actually, that’s what I told her. She’s already put in the name for a place card.”

“Mom, are you out of your mind?”

She gasps, taking a sip of her wine to gather herself. Your father chooses this moment to begin clearing up the table.

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” you exclaim.

Her eyes widen. “What do you mean? I told her you’d bring that boy, Steve. You spend an awful lot of time with him for him to not be your boyfriend.”

You feel like you’re choking on air. Like your dinner is going to come up if she doesn’t cut this out. “That’s because he’s my friend!”

“You’re always with him, sweetie. Much more than I ever was with any of my male friends.” She clearly doesn’t believe that he’s not your boyfriend. Like it’s impossible that he isn’t.

You shove past her and into the kitchen, utterly exasperated. Why are people making decisions for you? Why is your mother suddenly proclaiming to everyone that you’re in a relationship you didn’t even know you were in?

When you turn around from facing the sink, both of your parents are staring at you. “What now? Something else you’ve told the whole damn town about me?”

Your mother reaches out to you, but you brush her off. You’re a little too pissed for any sort of cooing right now.

“I’m sorry I assumed he was your boyfriend, honey. But you have to bring him, or else the family will ask questions and there will be an empty space next to you. Personally, I’d find that embarrassing.”

You push your way out of the kitchen, more than done with this situation. “You’ll be lucky if I even go to the damn wedding. And, personally, I wouldn’t go blabbing about things I’ve just assumed about my own daughter rather than just talking about them with her.”

When you turn down the hall, your father is rubbing his forehead, and your mother is looking at you like you should be grateful for her having assured you have company for the big event.

“This could be good for you!” she shouts, and your only response is the slam of your bedroom door.

In hindsight, of course the slam was childish, but you really can’t believe your mother.

You’ve never been so frustrated with her in your life. And yeah, you’ll go to the wedding, but what gave her the right to do that? This is your life. Not hers.

Normally, you would call Steve about something like this, but shit, you can’t.

Steve. As your boyfriend?

That’s too much for your brain to handle right now. You throw yourself on the bed and call it a night.

————

“So, let me get this straight,” Robin begins, holding up her hands so as to count off your main points. “Your mother just told everyone that you have a boyfriend, that this boyfriend is Steve, of all people, and that he’s your plus one to your bitchy sister’s wedding?”

The countertop is cold when you press your forehead against it. “Yes,” you whine.

You’d gotten up first thing this morning and head to Family Video, needing to spill your guts to the one and only person who would surely match your energy and try to help you handle the situation.

Your arms are laid out in front of you, hands dangling over the edge of the counter and reaching for Robin on the other side. She grabs hold of them and squeezes. “That’s one hell of a pickle you’re in. But! Lucky for you, I’m gonna help you figure it out.”

You squeeze her hands back, only to jerk your head up at an alarmingly fast rate. Robin cringes like you’re going to give yourself whiplash. You’ve just had an absolutely terrifying thought.

“Steve’s not working today, is he?”

Robin tries to think off the top of her head, but there are too many thoughts rambling around in there, so she’s quick to consult the schedule pinned to the wall behind her. She probably could’ve told you the times of each of his shifts if only you hadn’t asked.

“He won’t come in until this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank fuck. I’m not ready to see him yet. He’s going to notice something’s wrong and then he’ll want to talk about it and then it’ll just be a big fat shit show.”

Robin props her chin up with her hand, elbow resting against the green countertop. “You know, maybe that’s a good thing. He already knows you so well that he’ll probably make a great boyfriend.”

“Robin, what?”

She’s plotting and you’ve never felt more afraid.

“Well, you can’t just not take him to the wedding after all of this, right? It would be ten times messier now that your mom has told all of Hawkins that Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. And you know he’ll agree to go, being ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and whatnot. Besides, you’ve gotta admit that there’s chemistry between the two of you.”

You go to speak, but she holds a hand up to stop you.

“So you tell him about your little predicament, and maybe he can just act as your boyfriend for the night?” She smiles nervously, shoulders rising in slight fear of your reaction. “You two are best friends, no one’s bound to be the wiser.”

“Robin, are you suggesting that I just fake-date the man?”

She raises her hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “What’s the harm in it? It’s just a one time thing. You go, you get it over with, and Steve will be there the whole time. It’ll be totally fine.”

You drag your hands down your face, peeking at her through your fingers. This is insane. This is fucking delusional. But it could work, couldn’t it?

A customer comes in, and you step to the side while Robin helps them at the counter. Chemistry? Maybe Robin’s right. Not that you’d ever tell her that.

Last Valentine’s, Steve showed up at your place after dark, flowers in hand, knowing full well that you hate the holiday. “I just wanted you to feel special,” he’d said. “And I love you and everything.” You’ve been saying that to each other for forever it seems. And you mean it. He’s your best friend. But now you’re wondering if maybe he means it in a different way. Or if that’s just what you want to think.

Steve doesn’t know that you pressed a few of the flowers to keep, or that you’ve saved the stubs from the movies you’ve seen together. You think about how he holds your hand on the way up the theater stairs, keeping you from tripping and spilling popcorn everywhere. How he offers to go out with you when you need to be away from home, not wanting to leave you alone. That he takes your bag from you the second he notices you adjusting it, straps digging into your shoulder.

Your hands start to sweat, and you feel like this could either go just as Robin’s told you, or it could go really fucking badly.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Robin’s voice breaks you out of your stupor. She’s waving her hand in front of your face.

“Listen honey, I can see your brain working from here. I know you’re coming up with every possible way that this could go wrong. Just talk to him! It might go really well. You never know.”

Robin boops you on the nose and starts to walk towards the staff room. It’s her way of signaling that you need to get your shit together.

“Good luck! I love you!”

You grab your keys and make for the door, flipping her off as you go. She only blows a kiss in response.

————

You’d been pacing your room when Steve called and offered to take you to the bookstore. Really he just wanted to spend time with you, and you needed to spill your guts. You spent an hour contemplating calling him, going over to see him, maybe even just cutting yourself off from him as a whole. In fact, cutting yourself off from the world had crossed your mind, but he’d since prevented that.

Now Steve hovers behind you while you wander down an aisle filled with mystery novels. None of them are catching your eye.

There’s a warmth behind you, and you look up to see Steve. He reaches above your head, one hand on your waist, and pulls something down. He flips it around in his hands before holding it out to you. “What about this one?”

Surprisingly enough it does sound vaguely interesting. “You have to read it after I do.”

He grins. “Yes ma'am.”

And we will read it. You know that he will because he’s done it before. He’s sat on your couch and blabbed about books to you, whining about this character, asking you a question about that plotline. Robin’s voice chirps in your head. Chemistry. Shit.

Steve takes the book back from you. He never lets you carry anything.

You walk further into the store, your feet carrying you to the same places they always do. You end up in a quiet corner, and your heart rate picks up. Not telling him is only hurting you more. You take a deep breath.

“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the end cap. “Shoot.”

“You know how my sister is getting married?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say I’m familiar with the event.”

You’d smile if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you might puke at any moment. “Well she decided that guests could have a plus one.” Steve hates the way he warms up at that. At the fact that he wants you to take him. He nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Well my mother decided to tell everyone that I’d bring you. As my boyfriend.”

Steve coughs, and your head jerks in his direction. “Your boyfriend?”

You press your hands together. “Yeah. She said she assumed that we were dating because we’re always together, and when my sister asked if I’d be bringing someone, she just told her that it would be you.”

You make eye contact with Steve. His cheeks have gone red. “So naturally, she’s already had your nameplate printed. And now, what I’m saying is that I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go to my sister’s wedding with me.” The last part spills out of your mouth faster than you’d intended.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you start to panic. It’s as if you’ve been sent into overdrive, like every sense in your body is on high alert. If this goes wrong, Robin’s ass is grass.

You back into the corner of the aisle, book spines pressing into your back. “I realize I said I need you to do this, but I should have prefaced it by saying that of course you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to–”

“I’ll do it.”

Steve pushes his hair back from his forehead.

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”

“Steve, are you sure?”

He’s moving into your personal space bubble, hands grasping for your arms where you’ve tucked them behind your back. He pulls them out, hands sliding down your forearms until he’s got your hands in his. His palms are warm, and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are. There’s a ring on his pinky finger too, and it takes you by surprise, considering he’s not usually one for jewelry. You’ll have to ask him about it later, assuming you survive this.

“I’m sure. I’m not just going to let you show up after your mom did all that shit. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, if you ask me. But I promise, I don’t mind. I’ll go and be your boyfriend. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but hey…we’ll see.”

You pull your hand away to smack him on the arm. He winces like you’ve brutally wounded him.

“Don’t you dare say that, Steven. You’d make an excellent fake boyfriend. And a kickass real one. Don’t let me hear that shit again.”

You let go of him and start to walk away.

Steve chuckles. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll beat your ass, Harrington. And you’d definitely lose that one.”

He catches up to you and his hands find your waist again, though he struggles to hold on when you’re continually moving.

“Hey,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out at you. “Not fair.”

You look back up at him and reach up to pat his cheek. It’s warmer than you’d expected, and still all rosy. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s not very nice of a fake girlfriend.”

You snort. “Ha! I guess my fake girlfriend skills aren’t up to the great Steve Harrington’s standards.”

“You’re being so mean to me today.” He rests his chin on your shoulder while you pick through a sale pile.

“Only yanking your chain, dearest.”

He chuckles, and you can feel his breath against your neck.

You start to wonder if maybe everyone has a point. You do spend the majority of your time with Steve, and you are touchy, but that’s just the kind of person Steve is. You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed physical touch from another person, even when it’s the most mundane action, until him. Robin is the same way, always holding your hands or leaning on you. They’re spoiling you.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve started to crave Steve’s touch when he’s not around. At night when you feel lonely, when you’re staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts engulf you, you wish he was there to give you a hug. You wish he was there when you’re eating lunch alone and his leg isn’t pressed against yours under the table. You miss the warmth and the weight of him beside you on the couch. It’s like there’s a part of your brain that’s reserved for him, and suddenly you’re worried that this fake dating Steve thing might be the worst decision you’ve ever made.

————

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, and I’m going to leave this with you until the masquerade is complete so that both of you morons have a reminder of your agreement.”

Robin sits on Steve’s couch, white board in hand. She’s brought way too many markers with her. She decided it would be best if you and Steve had a list of things that are acceptable for your temporary fake romance. She also insisted she be moderator.

“Masquerade? Is that really what we’re calling this?” Steve looks at you.

“No. It’s not.”

“Both of you! Focus!” Robin uncaps a marker and throws the lid at Steve. He catches it. “Now, what kinds of things are okay to do during this little performance? I’m talking, hugging, handholding, kissing, the lot of it. Now shoot.”

Steve looks at you again. “What do you think? This is your family that we’ll be around.”

Your knee starts to bounce.

The majority of your little charade will be during the reception, and having to stand during the ceremony is saving you much more trouble than you’d realized. You never thought you’d be grateful to be a bridesmaid. But now there’s the added pressure of knowing Steve will be watching you then, that your family will be watching the both of you afterwards.

Steve catches your shaking leg and is quick to put a hand out to steady you. He knows you’re nervous.

“See? That’s good. Believable.” Robin is staring at the two of you, or more specifically, at where Steve’s hand rests on your knee.

Steve pulls his hand back. “Okay, so we can hold hands?” you say, questioning yourself already. “You can touch me, like that or like you usually do.”

“I can do that. Hands, arms, back. That alright?”

You start to warm up. “Yeah, that works. What about you? I don’t want to be too handsy or anything but it might be weird if I don’t touch you at all.”

Steve sits back in his chair while Robin scribbles away, her bulletpoints little stars. There are two sides, one for each of you.

“All of that is fine with me too. I really don’t mind, and I think you know I like physical affection. But you know when you like, hang on my arm sometimes? I really like that.”

Robin smiles brilliantly. “That’s good! Makes you look super lovey-dovey.” She jots it down under Steve’s name.

You try not to let it show, but Steve’s words are running rampant in your head. I really like that. He does? You hadn’t realized it before.

“What else?” Robin asks. “Kissing? How do we feel about that?”

“Uh—I hadn’t really thought about it,” you tell her. And you hadn’t. The thought of Steve kissing you at all, other than the top of your head like he’s done before, makes you feel like your heart has just dropped out of your ass. “But I suppose it’d be weird if we didn’t at all, you know?”

You’re looking at Steve, hoping he’ll feel the same way, searching for some sort of consolation.

“No, yeah, that’s a good point.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing, “What about your cheeks and forehead and stuff? Maybe the face is fair game? And you can do the same for me.”

You wipe your palms across your thighs. Kissing Steve. Steve kissing you. You’re losing your shit.

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. That works.” You’re amazed that you’ve even managed to get the words out.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know?” Steve’s expression is soft. You know he’s being serious with you.

“I know. And I don’t want to make you feel that way either. I want this to be a perfectly comfortable evening.”

“And I’m sure it will be!” Robin claps her hands together, setting her board down against the couch cushions beside her.

She stands abruptly. “Basically you’re just behaving like you normally do, but with a little more hands-on action, you know?”

Steve quirks a brow, taking a furtive glance at you. “What do you mean, like we normally do?”

Robin moves towards her best friend and crouches, taking his hands in hers. “Uh…what are you doing?”

“Listen, little Stevie, you’re a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you’re always all over the lovely lady to our left. You can’t deny that.”

“I mean—yeah.”

Robin nods her head. Steve struggles to keep eye contact with her, knowing you’re watching the interaction.

“And you’ve rubbed off on her! She wasn’t really like this before you, Harrington.”

This time he jerks his head towards you. “Really?”

He’s thinking about your hugs, how you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze. About how you always take his hand when he offers it, or how you'll toss a leg over his on the couch. Any other sort of behavior would feel strange.

You feel yourself go all warm. Feel your chest squeeze. You’re forgetting how to breathe. She’s completely right. Steve has brought out a side of you that you swore you didn’t have. The side that longs for affection. Maybe more.

You nod your head at him.

“Yeah,” Robin says, “Most I’d get out of her was some hand holding before you came around.”

She releases Steve from her grasp and rises once again.

“But my point is, you two are going to make a fantastic fake couple. And maybe even an excellent real one.”

Steve face palms. “Robin.”

“Sorry, sorry! Make sure to take pictures for me, alright? I’ll be so sad to miss this happening in person.”

Steve stands, grabbing Robin’s bag for her. “Yep. Alright. See you later, Rob.”

He looks at you with what you’re quite positive is fear in his eyes. He leads her to the door, and you can’t help but chuckle, even if you’re nervous as shit, as he reassures her that there will be pictures, and that you’ll tell her all about it.

————

“Just hang it up on the doorframe, and then you can hold stuff up to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

You sit cross legged in the center of Steve’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s going to knock your dress on the floor if he doesn’t quit his frenzy.

You’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he coordinate his outfit with yours, but he insisted, so you brought your dress over for him to see. Steve has a feeling that when he sees you in it he’s going to lose his shit, not that he can tell you that.

“You know, I never thought these would be useful. But I guess your asshole dad dragging you to business events pays off sometimes.”

Steve lifts a bunch of hangers from the rack and pulls them out of his closet, setting them on the bed beside you.

“Fancy,” you say, smirking.

He rubs his hand over his chin, the other braced against his hip. “Yeah.”

You can tell he’s a little frazzled at this. The reminder of dressing himself up to be paraded around by his father—a father who doesn’t spare Steve a second when not in the public eye.

You hate that you’ve made him dig up all these memories.

“They all fit okay?” you question.

He nods, that one insistent lock of hair slipping free. He pushes it back before you have the chance to.

You slide off the side of the bed and stand. You gesture for him to sit and that gets a smile out of him.

After he’s settled, you lift each suit up one by one, seeing which matches the blue of your dress best. You’re only glad that your sister picked a nice shade: a dark, rich midnight blue. The kind you’d be able to spot from far off in a department store and need to take a look.

You get to a sort of soft gray one, and Steve stops you. You hook it up on the doorframe beside your dress.

“I think that looks nice, yeah?”

You walk backwards until your spine meets Steve’s knees. You brace yourself, hands on his calves. His chin meets the top of your head because of how high up the bed is.

“I like it a lot, Harrington.”

He snorts, and you can feel the puff of air against your scalp. He’s warm, his presence all around you. His cologne, maybe his shampoo if you let yourself fall in between his legs. But you don’t. You stand.

“Looks pretty solid to me,” you tell him, though your grin falters just slightly enough for him to catch it.

He puts a gentle hand on your cheek, making sure you keep your eyes locked on his.

“Hey. It’s gonna be great, okay? You’re going to kill it in that dress. Probably kill me, actually,” he laughs. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

“Alright, Steven.” You’re trying not to over-analyze that comment. This is not the time to get sweaty.

He stands up, hand sliding down from your cheek to cover your collarbones. You wrap your arms around his back on instinct, and you swear you see him blush as he moves to encircle you in his own.

“Does being your fake boyfriend mean your incessant picking has only gotten worse?”

You rest your forehead against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. You think about how nice it might be to do this all the time. What it might be like if he weren’t your fake boyfriend, but your real one.

“Mhm,” you mumble. “I plan on continuing it, too.”

Steve’s hands run up and down your back.

“I look forward to it,” he whispers. There’s a part of you that knows he means it.

————

Steve hasn’t stopped looking at you since you met him at the door to the wedding venue.

You’d run down, more than happy to have company that wasn’t your sister's bitchy bridal party.

He stands with you now, waiting until he’s allowed to take his seat, and you can feel his eyes burning into you.

Not that you’re any better than he is.

His suit fits him just right, and every time he pushes his hair around, you watch his shoulders move under his jacket. It’s driving you insane. And he’s wearing that fucking ring again. Except this time, there’s also one on the middle finger of his opposite hand.

The sun is hitting him just right, turning his eyes this amber color. It’s mesmerizing. You notice then that his tie is the same blue as your dress.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Did you have that? Just lying around?”

He follows your gaze to his chest. No, he absolutely didn’t. He ran out and picked one up in a shade as close as he could get it to yours. Wearing something that felt like a piece of you had his mind abuzz. Abuzz with you.

It’s the same way he feels about these rings Robin bought him. She said you were into them, always talking about Steve’s hands or something. He’s started to like them, but really it’s for you. Most things are.

“Yeah. I found it in a drawer.”

Robin would slap him if she were here. He doesn’t know why he lies, but he does. And then you’re blushing and he’s got to sit down. He squeezes your hand one last time, an encouraging gesture, but one that has so much more buried beneath it.

The ceremony thankfully goes quickly for you, and you’re grateful, hating having to stand up there like you give a shit, like your sister is some saint.

For Steve, it’s the slowest wedding he’s ever been to. You look so fucking gorgeous and he can’t keep it together. He barely even pays attention to the wedding, too busy looking at you. The way your indifference shows on your face, even if you know you’ll hear about it later. The way your hands wrap around the little bouquet you’ve been given. The way the setting sun sets your skin alight, and he thinks that you might truly be the death of him.

When the ceremony has concluded, when Steve is looking for you in the reception hall, he realizes he has to tell you so. You deserve to know how gorgeous you are. He’s beating himself up for having said you looked ‘great,’ and that was all.

You spot him first, and rush to him like you had before, anxious to be near him.

“My mother is looking for me,” you tell him.

“You want to get some air?” His hand finds the small of your back, already leading you away from the crowd and just outside the doors.

“You’re such a good fake boyfriend.”

You suck in a breath of cool air, shake your hands out.

Steve smirks, hands moving up to massage at your shoulders before he even has a chance to give the action a second thought. “Just knew you’d like to get away is all.”

Knew.

The word hits you and you feel like you’ve been slapped. Goddammit, Robin. She’s been in your head all day, and you’ve done nothing but pick up on the little things Steve does for you, the things he seems to know about you, that make him so much more than just a best friend.

You’re fucked.

“Thank you, Steve. For that, and for coming to this. It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’d do it again.”

He’s looking at you with such fondness, and you have a feeling he wants to say more. You grab hold of one of his wrists, locking your eyes with his in hopes that it will communicate the message. Go ahead.

He exhales. This sort of thing used to be so easy for him, but it’s never been that way with you. He knows it’s because you aren’t just some chick he wants to take out. You’re everything. And he’s fumbling for words.

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you that…” You squeeze his wrist, and he continues, albeit with a shaky voice. “I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful.”

A smile creeps up and onto your face before you can stop it.

“I mean, you always look beautiful, b-but tonight you’re just—stunning. Like, totally breathtaking. Don’t let anyone hear this, but I’d even say you look better than the bride.”

You let out a laugh then, the kind that comes straight from your belly, rich and sickly sweet. It makes Steve laugh, too. He can’t believe you. You’re unbelievable.

“Sorry, Steve, I just–fuck that was so funny.” You straighten up, putting your serious face back on. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m serious, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and plush against your skin.

You go all warm and fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Stevie.”

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, just because he can.

“You look pretty too, you know.”

Steve blushes at your comment, and it’s at this very moment that your mother’s voice rings out, “Sweetie! Come in here, people want to see you!”

Fear flashes across your face, any trace of the sweet flirtiness there seconds before having vanished.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, watching you gesture towards your mother, telling her you’re on your way. “Let’s do this, yeah?”

You make eye contact with him, and he grabs hold of your hand, weaving his fingers between yours. “Yeah.”

————

“So, how’d the two of you meet?”

You’re surrounded by a crowd of women, some are your family–your mother and sister–some women you’re not even sure you know.

“School.” Steve saves you from having to speak first. “We went to high school together, but we met through a mutual friend.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “Robin,” you tell her.

“Oh! What a lovely young lady.”

Steve snorts and you slap him on the back. Not that anyone could’ve seen it with how close he’s got you pressed to his side. “Yep,” Steve coughs, “She’s great.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hoping it’ll give him a moment to suppress his smile. Your sister steps away from her friends, catching the action.

“So, Steve, does she treat you okay? I know my sister can be a bit frantic sometimes.” You watch your mother down the rest of her wine, and you know she’s hoping nothing breaks out between the two of you like it has plenty of times before.

Steve’s arm wraps more firmly around you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. Everyone has their eyes locked on you, waiting, hoping that Steve will spill some sort of secret that they can spread throughout Hawkins like wildfire. Nothing beats good gossip around here.

He squeezes your hip, and for a split second you think the gesture might be possessive. Protective, even.

“She does. Your sister is considerate and thoughtful, and she’s the best woman I know. I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do with her. And if she’s ever frantic, it only helps her deal with me when I’m the same way.”

You feel like you could pass out. Because you know he meant every damn word of that. You know he isn’t lying.

Your sister looks between the two of you. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.” Her smile is nothing but insincere when she walks off to greet another wedding guest.

One of your aunts swoops in, and Steve feels you clutch his side a little harder. He has a feeling you’re about to be ridiculed.

“Such a lovely day, isn’t it? You two ever think about tying the knot?”

Steve pinks and your hand slips under his suit jacket, clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead. Is this really the time?

“No,” you pipe up. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

The woman frowns at you. “Well, isn’t that silly? You better get around to it sooner than later, honey. Take after your big sister. You won’t be young forever.”

You go to speak, but Steve’s already begun. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t have to get married on anyone else’s terms. Hell, she doesn’t have to get married at all, and I can say that in utmost confidence. Maybe back off, okay?”

Your aunt looks absolutely scandalized, as if she cannot bear to accept what just happened to her.

Steve starts to lead you away from the group. “Come on, baby.”

Baby.

Steve called you ‘baby.’

You don’t have time to analyze that though with the way he’s escorting you back outside. He parks you on a bench and starts to pace in front of you.

“I can see why you didn’t want to do this now. Jesus, are they always like that? I thought my dad’s colleagues were dicks, but my god.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wait—can you call judgmental ladies dicks?”

You snort and bury your face in your hands. “Yes, Steve, I think so.” It comes out muffled, but he hears it all the same.

When you look up, Steve is staring at you, and he’s much closer than he had been. He starts to say something, but both your mother and sister have shown up, looking for you.

“Sweetie! What are you doing out here?” Your mother looks frazzled, and maybe a little tipsy. You knew your sister would be a bitch on her wedding day, but apparently your mother hadn’t yet realized.

“Escaping the mob.”

“Your aunt isn’t entirely pleased with your behavior, I’ve been told.”

You stand up then. “Honestly, mom, I don’t really give a shit. I came to this wedding, like you told me to. I brought, Steve, like you told me to. And I just don’t care anymore. I’m sick of your bullshit.”

She looks aghast, way more than your aunt had.

You look at your sister, who’s clearly hoping to see you fuck up.

“Congratulations on fucking yourself over. You’ll have a severely depressing marriage.”

“C’mon, Steve.”

He takes your hand, and he can’t help but giggle as he follows you out.

————

“Sweetheart? You comin’?”

You’ve stopped halfway up Steve’s stairs, a far off look in your eyes. He’d brought you back to his place to stay the night, and now that you’re here, it’s like every thought you’ve had about him is fit to burst. This cannot just be a tonight situation. You can’t let this end here.

You drop your dress where you’d been holding it up to prevent yourself from tripping.

“Maybe Robin’s right. About the chemistry.”

Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s got no idea what you’re on about, but the way you’re looking at him is enough to have his heart rate kicking up a notch. “Chemistry?”

“Yeah. She pointed it out. And she said we’d make a fantastic couple, remember?”

He blushes. He hopes this is going where he thinks it is. Tonight has made him realize how much more you are to him than just a friend. He wants you all the time. “Yeah, I remember.”

Your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t really breathe, but if you don’t say this now, you’re not sure you ever will.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s never been so stressed in his life. He’s actually starting to sweat.

You exhale and push the words out. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend. I want you to be my real one.”

He coughs, chokes really, and you move up the stairs towards him to make sure he’s okay and not actually sick over the matter.

“Are you sure?” he asks, surprising himself with the ability to speak considering how raw his throat feels.

“Wouldn’t have said so if I felt otherwise, Harrington.”

There she is, he thinks. You really want him. Just like he does you. He can’t believe it.

“Again with the picking. You’re so mean to me.”

You smirk, your hands finding his sides again. You seem to have some attachment to them, and Steve wonders if it’s because you know there are scars underneath. If you’re telling him more than what you can bear to say. Giving him a glimpse of all you have to offer him, all the love you might hope to share.

“I’ll show you mean, you little shit.”

You press your lips against his before you can second guess yourself, before you let that little voice win.

Steve hums in surprise, but it’s clear he’s not upset by the gesture with the way he responds to your touch. His hands find your neck, thumbs stroking over your cheeks.

He’s kissing you back, and fuck if he’s not trying to tell you everything he’s been feeling.

When you pull away for air, Steve’s too greedy to let you go. He pecks your lips once, twice more, and when he really can’t breathe, he peppers your face instead. Now that you’ve given him the chance, he seriously can’t get enough of you.

“Damn.”

You laugh, and push that strand of hair back where it goes, this time getting to it before he can.

You take Steve’s wrist in your hand. It’s late. You hadn’t realized how worn out you were, but you are.

“Can we go to sleep?” you ask, searching his brown eyes. His lashes are unfairly long, but you’ll have to berate him about it later.

“Do I get another one of those before bed?” He’s already hauling you up the stairs, wanting you settled.

“If you’re good.”

————

“So when did it happen?” Robin’s voice is almost accusatory.

“What?”

You’re standing close enough to Steve to ensure that you can hear Robin on the other side.

“When did this love confession take place?”

“That’s not what it was—”

“Just tell me when, dingus!”

“Last night, after we got home. She told me she didn’t want it to be fake anymore.”

“Shit!”

Steve rolls his eyes. You fuss with the belt loops on his jeans, trying to figure out what she’s been up to. “What did you do?” he asks.

“I owe Dustin twenty.”

“You bet on us?” Your voice is loud enough that she hears it, and you know she’s cringing even if you can’t see it.

“Maybe? Yes. I bet that you’d give up the act later than that, that you two would be cowards about it. Figured you’d both wallow in self pity for a while before you just came out and said how you feel.”

Steve looks at you, and mouths: Are you hearing this?

Robin keeps going. “Dustin said you’d come to your senses quicker than that. He bet on the wedding day specifically. Goddamnit!”

You take the phone from Steve, and his forehead meets your shoulder. You can feel the way he shakes with laughter.

“Thanks for having so much faith in us, Rob.”

She chuckles. “What? You’re both extremely good at lying to yourselves. I expected this to be much more dramatic.”

“Mhm,” you start, a plan forming in your mind. Steve can almost feel it. “Hey, Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Just for that, I’m calling in sick for Steve today. That shift is all yours.”

“No. Nononono—”

You hang up the phone. That means there won’t be the buffer that is Steve Harrington to prevent Robin having to interact with Keith. She’ll be stuck with him all evening.

“That was just cruel,” Steve laughs.

You cross your arms. “Oh, so you wanna go in then?”

He smiles at you and holds his arms out. You move into the circle of them. His hands find your waist and squeeze. “No, I didn’t say that. I haven’t had a day off in months.”

“So quit whining.”

“See? I’ve only been your real boyfriend for like, a matter of hours, and you’re still being so mean to me.”

You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to appease him.

“Was that mean?”

“Not at all.”

You grin and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Mean and a tease. Wow.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Only for you, Stevie.”

He takes your face in his hands, fingers pushing gently into your skin.

“Damn right.”

————

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