#plus size! reader

The breeze rolls in cool from the sea, making gooseflesh break out on your overheated skin. The mage hands hold your wrists tightly in place, the other two keeping your knees pried apart as your husband watches with a hunger that borders on ravenous as one of the mage hand’s works between your legs. 

Gale’s brow is furrowed as he flicks a hand moving the mage hand away from you again. He’d work you right to the edge, till you were almost sure that that coil would break and you could finally cum only for him to jerk it away from you. You look at him now, smug, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like he’s doing the hard work. 

“Please Gale” You pant as your knees threaten to close, just for some friction against your aching clit. He laughs, something short of a scoff as he looks down at you, all kind brown eyes like he hasn’t been edging you for the past two hours. Like he can’t see the thick drivels of creamy cum leaking down the cleft of your ass and onto the silk sheets below you. 

“You’re a wreck, love” Gale chides softly as he lets a calloused hand pull apart the folds of your cunt like a well loved book. Your eyes meet his, desperation hot in your veins, as you pout and he just presses a wet open mouth kiss to your cunt. When you chase his mouth, the mage hands press your hips back down into the bed, denying you what you want most. He moves back to the end of the bed, pushing away from you like it pained him to do so.

Before he flicked his fingers and you're stuffed full of a mage hand again. Three fingers making relentless curls against a spot that has you screaming so loud that he nearly summons one to cover your cries. But the balcony is open and he wants the people of Waterdeep to hear how he thanks the hero of Baldur’s Gate. 

You're waiting for the loss of sensation, you sob when the hand disappears again. Hot tears of overstimulation wetting your pillow, his name on your tongue like a broken litany. 

“Listen to you,” Gale coos as he slides up your body, bracing on his elbows as he pulls open the front of his pants. “Screaming like a trapped Kobalt.” The mage hands hold you open as he ruts into you like some desperate beast, he is desperate. You can see it in the furrow of his brow each time his cock catches on your entrance, each hiccup of your breath. 

When he finally sinks into the hilt, Gale groans unabashedly like he’s coming home. Your toes curl at his hip, finally being full of him. He sets a brutal pace, one that already has you gasping his name already. Your fingers dig into his forearms as he presses your thighs closer to your chest.

"Beautiful" He murmurs mouthing at your hairline he's losing himself hips stuttering as his thumb makes brutal circles around her clit. "Let go for me, wanna feel it. I need to feel it" He pants as you feel that rush of finally being able to finish. His name on yours lips like a prayer, eyes looking up at him with complete adoration.

His hips jerk a final time as he spills off in you with a quiet groan, holding you through the aftershocks as he presses soft praise into your skin. When he does finally get up from the bed, he has a grin on his face that says he's hardly done,

You step to the side to look in the car, but there’s no one else inside. Just the clean leather and a mini bar in the center console.

“Who’s the Boss?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. But you’ll find out. Please get in, Miss. I am under strict instructions not to leave without you.”

You stare at the empty seat and mini bottles of Bombay Sapphire. All your money was tied up in an offshore account, and you only had the state given $20 for bus fare on you. You doubted that would get you as far as you needed.

At least Baldy might give you a ride to the bank after you found out where this mysterious car would take you.

You give a cheshire grin to the chauffeur and step into the car, its rich leather smell overpowering the metal and sweat from the prison.

“Well then we better not get you in trouble, Baldy.”

The door closes and he sits back inside. “Any music for you, Miss?”

“Put on the radio. Let’s see what I've missed while I've been gone.”

The tinny sounds of electric pop swirl through the car as you relax into the cushy seats and grab a mini, opening the bottle and letting the sounds of the newest pop hits serenade you on your journey to the future.

++++++++++++

You’re singing to yourself, one earbud in, working on tuning up the latest addition to your Boss’ collection. So you don’t hear the clack clack of dress shoes on the concrete shop floor. And you definitely don’t hear him bellow your name as he walks into the garage.

In slow motion you feel a strong grip on your ankle, and the hand pulls you out swiftly from under the car. You act on instinct and come out swinging, catching the man strongly in the knee with your wrench. His other knee gives out too, slamming on the ground next to your head, and before you know it Billy Russo is catching himself on his hands on either side of your shoulders. 

You get a noseful of his expensive cologne before his chest slams into yours, crashing your head into the concrete floor and upending your skid to send it flying across the shop.

“Ow! Fuck, Boss. Warn a girl before you yank her, would you?” You add a smack to his shoulder for good measure before rubbing at the back of your head and trying to push him off you. “We can’t all have those military instincts.”

His low chuckle fills your ears as Billy pushes himself up to sit against the wheel of the car, rubbing his knee. “You’ve got quite the swing there, slugger. But maybe don’t blast the music in your ears so loud while you’re under the car, hm?”

“Sorry, Boss. I’ve gotta protect myself, you know.”

“I know. I’m not complaining, only admiring. It’s not every day I hire a getaway driver, but get a pinch hitter instead.” He grins down at your prone body, still lying on the greasy cold floor.

You roll your eyes, and get up to walk across the shop and get your skid. The less time you spent smiling at Billy Russo the better.

“What can I help you with today, Boss?”

“I’ve got a job for you.”

“Don’t you always?” Your wide, kilowatt smile is almost out of your control before you stuff it back inside.

Billy shakes his head, and stays serious. Just a twitch in the corner of his mouth showing any sign of mirth. “Tomorrow’s security detail might go south and I need someone I can trust to get us out.”

“But the senator is a government contract. I know I’m not supposed to be on those. What’s in your head, Bills?”

Billy glared at you, he hated that nickname. And of course that meant you used it as much as you could get away with. “Gerry’s been talking again hasn’t he.”

“He can’t help it. You know how my cheerful disposition and feminine wiles get him going.” 

To your credit, you are pretty cheerful, but both you and Billy know you’re about as feminine as mud on the best of days. After 6 months of working on and off the books for Anvil, Baldy, or more accurately Gerald Simmons III, Billy’s official chauffert, doted on you. He loved to chat with his Best Girl, and thought of you as his second daughter. It’s how you got the best intel on Billy and the rest of the world at Anvil, since you spent most of your time in the garage and kitchen.

The long look Billy gives you isn’t a surprise. He’s always been good at eyeing people up, taking in everything they have to offer. But his eyes bore into your skin where you know there’s grease and rust marks, and the jumpsuit tied around your waist doesn’t hug your plump figure the way it might some of the other women at Anvil.

Slowly he lifts an eyebrow, “Feminine wiles? Is there something about you and Gerry I should know about? I could’ve sworn he was in a loving marriage with a daughter he adored. But maybe that’s a different Gerry on the payroll.”

You roll your eyes and switch the subject back to work. “So what’s up with this job? Why does the senator need me?”

“We think The Punisher is gonna show up. And if he does, we need to get out as fast and as clean as possible.”

Your low whistle echoes through the garage. “Whatever you say, Boss. But I don’t need to tell you Frank Castle is no one to mess with.”

The change in atmosphere is sudden and palpable. “He was in my unit.”

You suck in a breath, “Oh, Billy.”

Where he’d been staring down the other end of the garage, Billy’s head snaps to you. His gaze is a thousand yard stare. You never call him Billy. But you know how the military can get you close to others. It’s like prison, but a smidge more voluntary. And the story of Frank Castle is pretty well known, at least among the underbelly he chased for years and you had made sure your sources never dried up.

It’s no secret, at least among those of you in the inner circle at Anvil, that the Boss had some hard times overseas. Had to make some tough calls. Might’ve been a little more selfish than some of you respected. But none of you really knew what it was like. Sure, Billy employed the military types; those who might understand. But it wasn’t always those who enlisted who carried the biggest secrets for the Boss.

Your heavy steel toe boot-falls fill the space as you walk close to Billy. This is a big leap of faith, and a serious conversation. When you sit next to him, Billy pushes his wrench bruised knee close to your thigh and you can feel the warmth of him through the canvas of your jumpsuit.

He stares at you like a predator stalking its prey, looking for any weakness. But you can see the fear behind his gaze. He’s only being vulnerable because you’ve done things for him. Things he could hold over your head if you decided to sell him out. He’s only hoping you won’t.

Your fingers move to trace his knee, under the guise of checking the bruise.

“So you know The Punisher.”

“Frank is my best friend. My worst enemy. And the reason I’m here. With all this.” Billy gestures to the dozens of cars parked throughout the garage.

“And you’re worried if he gets to you he’ll… what? Get you?”

“That, and… That I’ll get him.”

The garage is quiet. A lifetime of unsaid words between the two of you. Billy’s stare doesn’t meet your eyes; the buried guilt barely visible on his face. You leave it for as long as you can bear it. He won’t say anything else until he’s ready. And you get why he chose you. Why out of all his inner circle you think you’re the only one that knows the truth about him and Frank.

It’s because you trust him implicitly. He offered you salvation, and in return Billy’s always said “Jump,” and you’ve said “How high?” Some of the guys who follow orders do the same, but it’s always been different between the two of you. You’re the only one who is truly indispensable.

“Okay. What’s the plan?”

++++++++++++

24 Hours later you’re in a modest Camry. The perfect unassuming car parked a block away from the senator’s hotel.

Engine idling and music playing softly; you’re on mute, but you can hear the chatter of the comms in your earbud. So far the day has been going well, and they haven’t needed you. But there’s a good amount of day left.

The gunshots in your ears are always a surprise. You roll your neck, take a breath and focus on the info coming over the airwaves. Someone has taken out the soldiers at their posts and Billy is rushing to cover the senator.

You pull the car smoothly out of the spot and head to the rendezvous point, right outside the east stairwell. It only takes a few seconds before you hear Billy’s voice over comms.

“Cheetah plan is go.”

Three minutes later you see Billy stumble out of the stairwell door, supporting the senator as they try to get quickly to the car.

“Get down, stay low, and be quiet.” You command as they shut the door, after falling onto the floor of the car. “First aid is in the swap. He gonna be okay until then?”

“He’ll be fine. Non critical.”

You pick up the pace a little, but stay in line with traffic. No one followed Billy out of the building, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t eyes on it.

Your route to the swap car is meandering and redundant. You’ve only noticed one tail so far, but they’re a good distance behind you.

A few blocks later you pull in the parking garage and speed to the second to last level, backing elegantly into a spot. You take off your black blazer and chuck it in the backseat before grabbing the red heels and matching handbag sitting on the passenger seat. The mirrored sunglasses that were hanging from your little black dress get slipped on your face, and you get out of the car.

You walk past the car next to yours before cocking a hip and adopting your persona, stilettos dangling provocatively from your fingers. Rifling through the handbag you pull out your phone and hold it in your palm like it’s on speaker.

“Coast is clear for now, Boss. But they gave me twenty seconds lead. Stay in and down until I say.”

“Yes, Cheetah.”

You roll your eyes behind the sunglasses. The cheetah print ballet flats you’re wearing for this job let you feel every piece of asphalt as you walk toward the swap car, and every ridge in the gas pedal when you get there.

The dull roar of the engine echoes around the corner; your tail is right on time. And seeing what they think is a civilian they bypass checking the level and keep going. As their tail lights pass the barricade you command through coms, “Go. Stay low. Stay steady. White Honda four cars down to your left.”

Keeping an eye on your rear view mirror you watch Billy and the senator stumble toward you, and when they open the door you reach back to help them under the prepped blanket. It’ll look like just a normal business woman with a whole bunch of meaningless clothes and crap in her backseat.

“Sorry senator, it’s going to be a little uncomfortable until we get to the safehouse. First aid is under the driver’s seat if you need it.” You grin at the pile of blankets, and see one dark eye glare at you from the gap by the center console.

Swiftly you exit the parking garage and head toward the hotel. Hoping the tail would think the people he’s chasing would want to stay as far away from the scene of the crime as possible, you’d planned for the safehouse to be on the other side of the city.

The drive to the safehouse is uneventful and unfollowed. Fast and clean, just as requested.

When you get out of the car to head up to the apartment, Billy mentions, “You’ll want to put on the heels to fit in.”

He gives you a wide grin of his own when you glare at him in response, but you lean against the car and remove your flats. Throwing them to him one at a time. And of course the gorgeous bastard catches both of them. 

Your first step is a little wobbly. Sure the heels fit, but they were mostly for show. Billy holds an arm out and you have to take his elbow. In protest you grab the elbow of the senator as well.

Squashed in between a CEO and a senator is a place you never thought you’d be after sitting in a concrete room squashed between a flat pillow and a thin blanket. But at least you’ll fit in when you waltz into the high class apartment building chosen for this safe house.

Walking into the two bedroom corner apartment you direct the senator to the master bedroom.

“We’ll call that we’ve arrived and they’ll send a medic to check on you. Why don’t you take a shower, sir. There should be changes of clothes in the room. They’re only lounge clothes, but they should do the job until you can get back home.”

“Thank you, Miss. Cheetah.” He says it with a leer and a hefty look to your ample cleavage in the little black dress. “And thank you, Billy.” The senator calls at Billy's retreating back when you just glare at the old man. Billy’s cell phone is already against his ear, starting the report and requesting a medic. As he walks you can see the stress climb up his back and his gait starts to change. He’s been injured, and the idiot hasn’t told you.

Once the senator closes the door to the master you lock it quietly then go to check on the Boss. You push open the door and are greeted with a sight you’d hoped to never be blessed with. All million miles of Billy Russo’s bare legs with his rounded butt hugged by sinful black boxer briefs. Only this pair have been sliced open with a gnarly wound right on the back of the thigh where it’d be hard for him to reach. Billy is twisting, turning, and wincing as he tries to get a good look in the full length mirror.

You kick off your heels and sigh. “Yes you’re very pretty, Bills. Let me clean you up before the medic gets here. Lie face down on the bed, please.” Your “please” is an afterthought as you immediately turn around to walk across the small hall to grab the first aid from under the sink. You’d made sure the safehouse held the best first aid possible, for this exact reason.

Billy is in position when you get back, head pillowed on his arms as his eyes follow you. You refuse to meet his gaze, and kneel next to the bed to open the box and pull out an antiseptic wipe, butterfly closures, and bandages.

“So you think I’m pretty.” Billy’s smug voice mentions above you.

“Did I say that?”

“It was implied.”

“Well I'm so sorry to inflate your ego. Oh wait. Maybe my timing was good. Here, let me deflate it a little.” You run the antiseptic wipe over the cut before promptly blowing on the wet spot.

“Jesus Fuck, Y/N!”

You smile gleefully before continuing to clean him up, running the wipe over the cut again, putting the butterfly closures on, and covering it loosely with a bandage so he doesn’t get blood on everything. Standing up to grab a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, you place them next to his head and put one of the packets of aspirin on top.

“Good as new, Boss. Anywhere else I missed?”

“Nah. Just a bunch of scrapes and bruises. Nothing I can’t handle on my own.”

“Well I’ll be out there if you need me. You know I need a snack after a good run.”

You can feel Billy’s eyes on you as you start to walk out of the room.

“Hey, Y/N!” You turn just slightly to see Billy Russo’s soulful stare seeping into your pores and flaying your skin.

“I love watching you in action.”

Your mouth opens and closes, gaping like a fish, before you turn and practically run out of the room. Nearly naked Billy Russo, your very dangerous, very sexy boss giving you bedroom eyes and compliments is a little too much for this moment.

Pasta is the first thought into your mind. Even spiraling you can do pasta.

++++++++++++

There’s a patterned knock at the door, and you softly pad over to let Snips, the medic, in.

“Senator is in the master bedroom, Snips.”

“Smells good. Can I stay when I’m done?”

You look over your shoulder to where Billy has emerged from the bedroom. It’s up to him who stays and who goes.

“Fine by me.”

Snips nods and heads over to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“Cacio e pepe, Boss.” You walk toward the kitchen, intending to serve him.

“Sure you don’t want to change into sweats? I’m done in there.”

“Nah. I’ve been told I look pretty alright in this little number.” You wink at him before cringing and beelinging toward the meal you prepped.

Billy’s chuckle follows you, and so do his soft footfalls on the hardwood.

He moans into the bowl you served him and doesn’t even say anything, just keeps eating. Which for Billy is saying a lot.

You keep your hands busy prepping bowls for yourself, Snips and the Senator. By the time you finish plating and take your first bite the rest of the group have joined you.

Dinner passes smoothly with the Senator and Billy yammering away about politics. You and Snips are content to sit quietly and fade into the background. It’s Billy’s job to rub elbows with the elite.

You’ve taken all the dishes to the sink to busy your hands with washing them, and over the water you don’t hear Snips finish with Billy then leave or the senator go back to the room.

“Here, let me dry.” Billy’s soft voice is a shock to the silence and your humming, and you nod to acknowledge him.

Together, quietly you finish the dishes and Billy puts everything away. Occasionally brushing your hand to take a dish, or gently pressing his full palm against your back to get by. Every time he moves the sharp citrus scent of the soap they put in the shower mixed with the gunmetal musk unique to Billy wafts around you.

Maybe seeing you in anything other than greasy overalls has been the kick in the butt he needed to really make a move. His eyes have been following you ever since he first saw you, greasy and sweaty in ill fitting clothes, slightly drunk from his limo mini bar, stumbling into his office where he offered you salvation.

You know it’s dangerous, but you can’t help but be captivated by the charismatic man, a full head taller than you with shark eyes and an angel’s face.

“You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.” The words from Billy sound like a command, but his body language is casual as he flops down to lie on the couch, feet toward the door so he can sit up and shoot, just in case.

“Yes, boss.” You hurry into the room, looking forward to the hot shower and taking off your shapewear. The sweats in the drawer will be a little baggy, but comfortable.

Your makeup, hair product, and nervous sweat run down the drain. The citrus scent of the shampoo reminding you of Billy pressed up against you drying dishes, and the heat of his palm burning your back.

You remember the way his ass looked in those tight black briefs. The soft hair tickling your fingers as you cleaned him up; a prominent bulge peeking between his legs.

Your core starts to heat up and you can’t help but be tempted to really enjoy the shower. Maybe you can accomplish multiple goals at the same time. Let Billy hear you, get him really turned on, and show him you’re definitely interested.

The water rolls over your curves as you tease over your folds, letting soft moans and whimpers out as you play. Slowly you run your finger around your clit, letting your body make any noise it wants. The loudest moan comes when you finally touch your sensitive bud, the warm water mixing with your juices to slick the way for you to go as fast as your body wants.

You chase your climax, rubbing your clit over and over until you moan out “Bills” as loud as you dare. The water, starting to turn cold, takes the evidence of your arousal down the drain too, and you revel in the softness in your limbs for just a moment before turning off the water and stepping out.

You wish you could fit in his button up, and walk out into the living room like someone as svelte as Madani could. But you know this oversized gray t-shirt is intimate and hugs your body just enough for you to feel soft and sexy post-orgasm. In the bathroom you dry off and slip the soft shirt over your head.

Humming the song that is stuck in your head, you step into the bedroom only to be greeted by a shark-eyed Billy Russo. He’s shirtless, one leg stretched out the other planted so his long fingers can play a staccato pattern on his raised knee.

“Hey, Billy.” You whisper, as you feel the water from your hair soak further into the shirt that touches the tops of your thick thighs.

“Did you think you were quiet?”

Your silence says nothing, and the way you avoid his eyes gives Billy a hint of what your answer is.

“I need you to say it, Kitten.”

In a split second you make the decision, and the confidence swells within you. “I wanted you to hear me, Sir.”

You take bold steps toward the dangerous man who is your boss, your savior, your partner; placing your most intimate parts in his hands to rip and tear and pull apart as he desires.

Slowly you crawl up the bed, feeling the softness of his sweatpants against your freshly clean skin. You straddle his raised leg, pressing your warm center against his firm thigh, and placing your hands against his sculpted chest.

Billy moves his leg just so to create perfect pressure against your core, and a desperate mewl leaves your lips. Worshiping your skin with his fingertips, his hands move so slowly up your thighs to grip you, those long fingers you’d always admired finding perfect purchase in the plush pillows of your wide hips.

With his firm grip making you feel centered and safe, he pushes and pulls you against his thigh; encouraging the natural thrusting motions you can’t help but make.

Slowly you work yourself against Billy, grinding and letting out little gasps and moans. He delights in watching you, with dilated eyes, take your pleasure as he squeezes your soft flesh between his fingers and feels your wet warmth pressed against him.

When he’s had his fill of watching, Billy pulls your mouth to him, claiming your lips in another filthy kiss and caressing your tongue with his own. His soft fingers thread gently through your hair, before he tightens his grip.

Billy, never breaking the kiss, uses his lithe strength to roll you on your back; covering your body with his and sinking into the softness of your skin. As he grinds his hard cock against you, chasing his own pleasure, your hands sneak up his abdomen to caress his nipple. A low growl from Billy sends pleasurable shivers down your spine.

“Did I say you could touch me?”

You jerk your hands away from his skin abruptly, and respond- “No, sir.”

His devilish smirk widens, and he sits up so he’s straddling your middle. “Take them off, Kitten.”

Your eyes grow wide, and you watch as your own hands grip the waistband of his pants. Slowly you push down the elastic and his soft skin covered in fine hair is revealed. Billy isn’t wearing underwear and the measured exposure of his cock is a slow motion thrill.

You push his sweats down as far as they can get and look up at Billy when his erection is freed from its confines.

“May I touch it?”

He looks down at you, your hopeful eyes shining back with the thought that the gorgeous man will let you pleasure him. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek and when he pulls you onto him, your hand wraps around him and your tongue reaches out to caress his tip.

Your mouth waters at the soft saltiness of his skin, and your tongue lathes up and down gently. Increasing the pressure, and adding the texture from your lips, you tease Billy’s already hard cock to the hardest it can be. Your hands add to the sensation when you wrap a fist around the base, and pump up and down to match the rhythm of your mouth swallowing him down.

The small groans and twitches of his hips feed your ego, and you continue to pleasure this alluring man. When you add a twist of your hand around his tip on the upstroke, Billy’s deep whine of your name is imprinted in your head forever. And when you continue the stroke, adding more and more wetness so your hand can glide smoothly over his engorged skin, the deep breath he takes before commanding you, “Stop-” sets your heart pounding and more slick coating your pussy.

After you drop his cock like a hot poker, and sit back abruptly, Billy slowly leans forward to caress your face, and wipe away some of the spit from the corners of your mouth.

“I want to come inside you. May I?”

His deep stare grabs onto your soul, and your heated core gives a mighty lurch before you exhale, “Yes, please.”

The wide, boyish grin he gives you in response is everything you could’ve ever dreamed. This beautiful man, who you never thought would look at you twice, has the most joyous expression you’ve ever seen on him just at the thought of being with you intimately.

You’ve seen the power and passion Billy has when he fights, and you just know he’s going to put that same passion into fucking you. After you return his wide smile, he sits up, and crawls over top of you, settling between your thighs with your bare skin pressed together.

While keeping eye contact, he strokes his whole hand from your knee down to your thigh, and rubs the backs of his fingers gently against the seam of your pussy.

“You’re so wet for me, Kitten. Do you think you’re ready?” As he asks, he ever so slowly puts pressure against you, rubbing slowly up and down so your clit gets the barest tease of pleasure.

“Please, Billy.” Your breath hitches as his hands takes the briefest pause, “Sir, yes. I can take it. I want it.”

“Then I'll give it to you.” He kisses you as he enters, swallowing the pleasurable noises you make as you stretch to take his girth.

The rhythm starts off slow, Billy getting you accustomed to his shape and size. His hips thrust gently into you until your legs wrap tightly around him, and your hands join them to grab at his shapely butt to pull him deeper into you.

All you can say are single words as he picks up the pace. Driving over and over into you as you pant, “Yes! Harder. Please!”

Billy leans back so he can slip a hand in between you and circle your clit. “Fuck. I can feel you tighten around me. Ugh I’m close.”

“Yes! Me too.” His circles get sloppier and faster, while his thrusting slows to a more even pace. The thought of him making sure you cum first is what tips you closer, and closer, then over the edge when he tells you, “I want to watch you cum on my cock.”

You let out a brief shout, as your pleasure seeps through your body into your voice. Billy lets out a few grunts with you as he feels your wet pussy contract around him and continues to thrust; speeding up and growing more erratic.

Reveling in the glorious carnality, you scrape your nails down his back, and Billy cums; the slight pain mixing deliciously with his pleasure. As he does, he bites into your shoulder; your pussy giving a few more aftershocks in response.

Together you breathe, feeling the soft feel of each other's warm skin. Billy occasionally kisses your bare body in the moments before he pulls out and flops next to you. He grabs you by the hips and holds you close as you both fall asleep.

+++

The slam of the door is what wakes you up in the morning. You jerk awake, sheets pooling around you as you realize Billy’s side of the bed is cold. Taking a deep breath, and running your hands over your face you get out of bed and seize the day.

Billy’s back is what greets you when you walk out the bedroom door. He’s shrugging on a jacket and talking to his guys on speakerphone. There is a box of cereal with a clean bowl and spoon on the table, and you pour yourself some breakfast to wait for Billy to finish.

The ride back to Anvil is quiet. Billy says nothing so you say nothing either. Unsure of what to say, where to go, after a night that left you tingling all over with a man so forbidden.

+++

The awkward days turn into weeks. It feels like nothing has changed, and yet everything has. Billy still visits the garage, checking on the cars and asking his usual questions. You try to pretend it’s all the same with your mundane answers and nonchalant jokes. 

But you long to crowd into his space, feel his arms around you again, or the press of his body as he’d ravish you against the gleaming black paint of his prized possessions.

Billy watches you space out as you talk together, your eyes growing distant as you stand a world away staring into the newly shined surface of the bullet proof SUV you’re discussing. He sees you shake your head and clear your throat, but he says nothing. He imagines you are frowning because he is there. Because he has not asked his burning questions. Does not wish to compromise you.

The cars are nothing. You are Billy’s prized possession, and you have no idea that he’s bought most of these cars for you.

It is a late night when the dams finally break.

+++

You turn at the smell of fried dough and soy sauce. Billy slams a large paper bag on the metal table behind you, right next to the parts you’d been cleaning.

“You’re nit picking. It will all go fine tomorrow. You’ve checked everything.”

You roll your eyes at him, but put your cloth back in the sink and pull up a stool to the table. Billy keeps pulling out container after container of your favorite Chinese food.

“I know you usually stay late prepping for big contracts, but this isn’t a new one. It’s routine. What’s going on?”

The strong exhale out your nose signals your resignation. You’ve been stressed and anxious ever since that night, and work is the only thing that helps. You’ve been staying later and later so all you can do is collapse and sleep when you get home. Not giving your brain time to go back and forth with thoughts of talking it out or keeping it in, waiting for Billy or making the first move. You’d forgotten Billy has been your closest friend for years now and can read you like a book.

“What do you want from me, Billy? Outside work. You trust me, you talk to me, you fuck me. And then what? Leave me alone in bed and hope I forget it happened?”

He has the self preservation to look sheepish as he tries to explain. “I didn’t want to push myself on you. My desires. I’m the boss. But you’re under no obligation to sleep with me. I wanted it to be your choice.”

“I initiated it, you dumbass!” You throw a piece of chicken at the bastard. “You heard me in the shower on purpose. When at any point did I say my desires didn’t match yours?”

“You didn’t. I assumed you’d panic about sleeping with the Boss.”

“Billy. I had that panic years ago. I’ve thought about it. Over and over-

You roll your eyes at the smirk that appears on his handsome face, knowing exactly into which dirty places his mind is going.

If we want this to go any further we will have to sit down with HR, but I do want to make a go of it. The whole thing. I want to go to those fancy parties with you. Eat Chinese over my work table together. Be close friends and partners. But I need you to actually talk to me, you know? Not just assume.”

His long fingers make their way across the table to tap against yours. You turn your palm up, and he brushes against your palm and the pads of your fingers as he answers.

“It's a flaw of mine. Not being able to turn off the What Ifs. I’m sorry I couldn’t see past that enough to have this conversation sooner. I want those things too, and more.”

He takes a breath, but stops. His eyes are focussed on your hands tangled together, calluses against calluses. You give his hands a squeeze, urging him to keep going. Talking about feelings has always been like pulling teeth with Billy, but he seems more willing than usual tonight.

“I’ll request a meeting with HR, and we’ll go as soon as they’re free after the job tomorrow. I-

Billy hesitates, gently stroking your fingers and staring daggers into the table trying to find the right words.

I- your friendship means the world to me. And I admire your work so much. You’re incredible. And I don’t want to lose you.”

He pulls your hand up to his mouth and places a gentle kiss against your palm, then your knuckles, and the tips of your fingers. It seems there’s nothing more he’d like to say.

“Okay. Thank you. I won’t lose you either, Bills.” Your “I’d never be the same-” is a whisper as you both smile softly. Happy to have your feelings out on the table, and a plan in place.

You polish off the rest of the food, and if Billy talks you into being dripping wet, and takes you hard and fast against one of the vehicles for the job, well… That’s not for HR to know, even if you do have to spend some extra minutes buffing your stiff nipple prints off the shiny clean getaway car.

++++++++++++

The photos are not mine they are from Pinterest.

NSFW head cannons: 

- Steve is a soft dom to a t; he is gentle and caring but remains in control. 

- Steve 100% has a praise kink, tell him how good he makes you feel.

- Steve is into light impact play, something like a playful spank nothing that causes you too much pain. 

- Steve is also into cockwarming, he loves the feeling of just being inside you.

- Steve is pretty tame when it comes to kinks but would love to experiment with you if there was anything you wanted to try.

- Steve is a boobs and thighs guy; he loves leaving hickeys on your breasts and squeezing your thighs. 

- Steve’s favourite positions are cowgirl and missionary. 

- He loves you being on top of him, his hands gripping your hips, he loves to meet your movements with thrusts of his own. 

- Even when you’re riding him, Steve’s still the one in controlling, telling you what to do and how you’re being such a good girl for him. 

- He loves missionary because he gets to watch your breasts bounce while he thrusts himself into you. 

- Steve loves slow and passionate love making, but when he’s feeling particularly feral, he will be much rougher. 

- Steve always checks to make sure that you’re still comfortable with what’s happening during sex. 

- Steve is very good at aftercare; he cleans you up and places gentle kisses on your forehead telling you how well you did. 

The Two Instances of Neediness

He’d promised you safety. Above all else, he had promised that he would keep you safe and make sure you were cared for when he couldn’t be with you. It seemed only half of that promise came through.

For the last year and a half, you’d been diligently waiting for him to retrieve you from Outpost 3. Safety had been provided, as promised. The white stone and dark wood walls were kept warm for the dozen or so people that resided inside the structure. There were enough rooms and beds for everyone to have their own space. A small mercy in the grand scheme of things.

When you finally saw Michael Langdon again, he had certainly changed. The way he carried himself, the exquisiteness of his clothes, the length of his hair… Everything looked and felt different. He looked and felt like everything he was meant to be. Divine yet deadly, comforting yet cruel. He was the sweet taste of antifreeze coating your tongue, euphoric and paralyzing all at once as he snuck into your system and shut you down from the inside out.

You watched him with a wondrous smile as he strode into the library. Your teeth sank gently into your lip in an attempt to keep from crying out his name. Surely he would still remember you. He surveyed the room with a self-satisfied smirk upon seeing the entirety of the Outpost gathered for him. When he spotted you, though, the smirk morphed into a painfully familiar look.

Eighteen months ago, you stood inside of Outpost 3 clad in nothing but your underwear following the mandatory decontamination process all new survivors had to undergo. A redhead with a pinched, strict face stared at you with a sneer, her eyes taking in every extra curve and flaw of your body. You stared right back at her with a smirk, daring her to make a single comment, when you both knew why you were there. Michael’s own people had brought you here on his behalf. Whatever this woman thought of you? It mattered for nothing in comparison to him.

Now, Michael stood at the center of the main library floor below you, gazing at you with the same sneer and furrowed brow that Venable bestowed upon you that first day. Your grey dress was plain and ill-fitting; at least if you’d been able to fashion some sort of belt or tie it could have almost looked appealing. The high bun was ridiculous and hurt your scalp something awful. Every night you let your hair out felt like a thousand bees stinging the follicles. Any alterations to the servant uniform you had been given were strictly forbidden. As was everything else.

You had been given safety, yes, but cared for? No. And now you stood there, eyes brimming with unshed tears, as he scowled hatefully at you and you could feel your heart crumbling piece by piece. Maybe he’d sent you here as a way to get rid of you. Maybe he’d found someone else, someone smarter, stronger, more conventionally beautiful. Perhaps his gaze would have been different if you had been granted the elegant drapery of the Purples. The corsets that cinched their waists and lifted their breasts gave them the perfect hourglass shape of a goddess. Your full figure would have been the very image of voluptuous and desirable then. There was no way you could bear to look at him now.

Days went by without seeing Michael. Between your work around the Outpost, your blatant avoidance of him, and his nonexistent attempts to reconnect, the opportunities were--thankfully--sparse. Conflict raged inside of you. Part of you wanted to confront him, to see what the fuck he thought he was playing at with your life and your feelings. The other part was happy to live in the questionable bliss of ignorance. You didn’t want to hear of whatever new love he’d found that superseded the love he’d claimed to have for you.

While it was easy to avoid his person, it was much, much harder to avoid his name.

“Langdon” was all anyone could talk about. How handsome he was, how skillful he must be in the bedroom. Gallant was certain that Langdon had his gorgeous blue eyes on him, and you’d never hated the hairdresser more. You hoped he choked on his cube. When his grandmother revealed that she had seen him having sex with someone, you resigned yourself to the fact that you had lost Michael for good. If he was interested in lean blond men, he certainly wasn’t interested in you anymore.

Venable assigned you to keep tabs on Gallant while he was strung up awaiting punishment. Once a day, you would throw a bucket of water over him to keep him clean. He still received his daily rations that you had to feed to him yourself since his hands were chained up. All you would have to do was shove the fork a liiiittle bit too far down his throat, and all the disparaging words he’d whispered just loud enough for you to hear behind your back, all of the times he’d tried to make you doubt your worth would all be over. There was only one man that you allowed to sow seeds of doubt in your mind. You froze mid step when that man’s voice drifted under the closed door of Gallant’s “cell”.

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on Earth,” his sweet voice dripped with contempt, “and you almost are.” The slow drawl of Michael Langdon’s voice continued inside of the room, bouncing tauntingly around the circular walls. “It’s not because you’re not physically attractive. It’s your neediness.” His tone of voice shifted dramatically from dulcet and slow to cutting and cold. It made you shiver, even as you felt the anger burning inside of your skin. It wasn’t for Gallant. Oh no, he could mock that shallow, conceited man all he wanted. “You’re desperation to be seen and loved. The hole you need filled isn’t in your face or your ass--it’s in your heart.”

No, your anger wasn’t on behalf of Gallant. You couldn’t help feeling he was also talking about you. How you’d often sought reassurance in him, and hoped to feel loved to validate the feelings that you felt for him, too. Above all, you were angry because you knew his words would have cut himself deeper than any other before he’s become this...this creature. Where was the man you knew and loved before the bombs fell?

“You’re pathetic.” Your lips trembled and tears burned in your eyes. The words, while not directed at you, punched the air from your lungs. Is that how he felt about you? Was that why he was avoiding you as if you had radiation sickness? The footsteps and the opening of the door didn’t register through your self-imposed turmoil. Before you knew it, the man that had been on your thoughts stood before you.

“No.” The word left your mouth before you could stop it. Your eyes narrowed at his and you stepped up, toe to toe, with his immaculately polished shoes. “You’re pathetic, Michael Langdon.” For the briefest moment, his glacial eyes melted and looked from your tears to the anger and hurt in your eyes. “You forget that I know you, Michael. Or at least I did once. No one needed love more than you, and now you weaponize that fact against someone else? Is that how you feel about everyone?” You bit into your lip as your entire body shook, the water you carried in your arms sloshing against the sides and mimicking the raging sea of emotions tearing you apart. “Is that how you feel about me?”

The answer never came. His arms remained, as always, clasped behind his back. Wide eyes narrowed dangerously to scan the surrounding halls to see if anyone was there to witness your outburst. His head bowed to yours, forehead to forehead and nose to nose, before he spoke.

“I will be conducting your interview this evening. Ms. Venable is already aware that you will not be attending dinner.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall in perfect, casual strides. You turned and let your back thud against the wall. The stone was cold against your back as you slid, shaking, to the floor

“What the fuck was I thinking?” You muttered to yourself several hours later when it came time to make the journey to Langdon’s office. You dreaded hearing whatever he had to say. Now he would be in the privacy of his own rooms and be able to rage against you however he saw fit.

“Come in.” Michael’s voice beckoned you before you could even lift your hand to knock. You opened the door slowly, heart heavy with dread, and kept your eyes down. Movement from his desk let you know where he was. “Now, now. No need to look so shy.” He approached you slowly, a smirk on his lips, and reached out a hand to cup your chin. “You forget that I know you, too,” he threw your words back at you.

You finally managed to lift your gaze to his and found it resting on your lips. The hardened ice of his gaze dissipated with an inquisitive tilt of his head, and your heart skipped at the familiar gesture. His warm hand on your skin, gently holding your face, brought back so many memories. The next thing you knew, he was stepping back from you and scanning your form from head to toe. The same glare and curl of his lips appeared as the first night he had arrived. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around yourself and attempted to shrink away as much as possible. He exhaled in a heavy, aggravated sigh. So he did think of you that way, too, then.

“She is going to pay for this,” he growled. Your head shot up in confusion. She who? Pay for what? Michael pressed his lips into a thin line of displeasure. “I specifically ordered that your position within the Outpost be among the elite. This is a blatant disregard for my commands. If I had known sooner… Take it off.” Mind still muddled in confusion, you simply blinked up at him. Michael gestured with his elegant, jeweled fingers curling into his upturned palm. “That ridiculous uniform. Take it off. And let down your hair. I can only imagine how uncomfortable that must be for you.”

This had to be some form of trick. You were supposed to have been a purple all along? He’d promised that you would be safe and cared for... No, he was using any trust that you had left in him against you--just like he had toyed with everyone else in the Outpost. The realization made you quickly shake your head. You were not going to expose yourself to him just so he could mock you and hurt you any further. His face fell at your refusal, and his brow furrowed.

“Please. It’s been so long. Knowing you’ve been right here with me the last few days without being able to truly speak to you has been excruciating. Please let me see you.” Oh, how you wanted to believe him. How badly you wanted to think he had missed you and desired you. When you still didn’t move, he came towards you again and forced you to back up against the door. “Perhaps you need a bit of help.”

Michael stooped down and gently captured your ankle in his grasp. He removed your shoe with the effortless tug of his hand to toss it behind him and repeated the process on the other. Next, his hands ran up the sides of your legs. Gentleness was a foreign display from this new Michael, but it was one that your Michael had used often in ascertaining his feelings for you. A soft whimper slipped past your lips from the way he carefully gathered the fabric of your plain dress.

“Look at me, my love.” The command was a gentle one that you couldn’t help but to obey. His eyes mirrored the soft, passionate pleading of his words, and the feeling in the room shifted to something much more in your favor. “How I have missed you.” Several silent tears dripped down your cheeks. It would only be a matter of time before things came crashing down. You could feel it. “Now, take your dress off for me.”

He sat back on his heels and waited, smirking up at you quite happily. Every bit of you screamed no, to remain still, not to become so vulnerable in front of him. Yet, you could still see a part of the man you knew in those glistening blue eyes. A renewed determination filled you, and you removed his hands from your dress to tug it over your head. You tossed the dress into the corner and held your arms out to him in a show of exposure so against your usual nature it was painful. If you were lucky, a pit to hell would open up beneath you and save you from the tragedy. Or perhaps you were already there.

“Is this what you wanted to see? So you could mock me for my appearance, for my neediness to be appreciated and loved for more than what everyone sees? Fuck you, Michael. There was a time that you needed to be loved more than anything. That you wanted to be loved more than anything.” Your legs shook slightly from the willpower it took not to crumple in on yourself.

“Yes.” The words came from Michael as a hiss. Still it seduced you to him like the snake of the Forbidden Tree. His eyes appraised you as he stood, wide and remembering, taking in every curve and dip of your body that made you so scared and so uncertain of anyone’s affection. “This is what I wanted to see. To see you.” Michael’s smirk grew and he placed his hands on your waist. “There are only two occasions in which neediness is not a thing to be mocked, but to be adored.” The hands on your waist pulled you against him. Another whimper blended into a moan at the feel of his warm body against you.

“The first instance is the neediness for me that drips off of you. The second,” he pushed to sigh, “is how badly I need you. To see the image of perfection that I have dreamt of every day for the last 18 months. The warmth that has been absent from the bed beside me for too long.” The gentle pressure of his hands on your sides softly moved upwards over your breasts, along the tops of your shoulders, fingers dancing along your throat, the final destination being your cheeks. Love spread over every inch of your body. His words to you were nothing but the truth. A slight tremble to his lips broke the calm composure of the man the outpost knew as Langdon, Cooperative Agent. In his place stood Michael Langdon, your Michael Langdon, and he very eagerly captured your lips in his.