#Gary Side Table

[bikinibottommall]

🤔Quick quiz: How many times does SpongeBob shout “Gary” in this clip?🐌🧽

[yosefcandraw]

if you’d like to could you draw Indiana? I love you’re style it’s v soft/pos

Here he is!!!

I’m sorry I had you waiting almost half a year for this drawing, life has been a lot. I did hours of research into this guy cause the last time I drove through Indiana was when I was 7 years old. Don’t worry I know that he is more than just corn (he’s got soybeans in his side pockets)!!

Fun bit if you can catch it: His bangs are in the shape of the southern half of the state!!

Next up is Minnesota, they are going to be a fun one!

Followed by: Delaware, New York, California, New Jersey, Oklahoma

[chleem]

Casual /extra II

One shot; college students drew x reader

Warning: explicit language + scenes (read at own caution)

⋆.˚ official one shot | more

♡⸝⸝ "fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Where you going?”

You ask, as Drew stands up. The warmth of his hands caressing your thighs is gone, now running through his hair. “Bathroom,” he mumbles, barely meeting your eyes. He walks off, without another glance back at the table. 

His sour mood is evident, by not only you, but all of your friends. 

To be fair, he didn’t even want to come tonight. He pleaded desperately for you to stay in with him, offering things to you that was ridiculous. Such as, doing your laundry for a month (he doesn’t even do his own). 

But you haven’t hung out with all your friends in a long time, and you missed them. So, tonight was non-negotiable with Drew. 

And he gave up with trying to reason with you, hence, why he decided to join you here, at the nice restaurant. He didn’t even make an effort to engage nicely with them, chuckling under his breath at random times and answering questions with short answers. Whenever you were talking, he would purposely distract you by touching you under the table, making it awkward for you and your friends. 

Drew knows your friends don’t like him; that’s why he’s sour. That’s also why he shows up to these hangouts, just to rub it in their faces. 

“Why did you invite him?” Lucy groans, after Drew was out of eye sight. Your five other friends of this group nod too, all letting out groans of frustration. “Hello, earth to y/n, we. Don’t. Like. Him.”

“He insisted on joining,” you shrug, forcing a smile. 

“Um, you could’ve insisted on him not joining,” Janet, another friend adds on. 

Your friend group was filled with weird people with different opinions, but one thing they’ve collectively agreed on was: they hate Drew. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but that was the only way to describe their feelings towards Drew. 

They’ve expressed it a lot of times, so it’s become numb to you. 

“Are you guys finally together though?” Gary asks, sitting beside you. 

Oh. Every time they see you, they ask this question. 

“Of course not,” Lucy answers for you, sending you a cocky grin. One you always disliked, because it made you feel small. “Classmates, huh?”

“A really bad label,” Stacy adds on. Yeah, as if you didn’t already know. 

Great. Now it’s just your whole friend group judging you for being with Drew. Again. The last thing you needed from them.

“I visited his parents,” you aggressively say, stabbing into your food. Hopefully that will convince them Drew is a better person that what they think, right?

Wrong. They all ‘tsk’ in a disappointed manner, shaking their heads. “And…still classmates?”

“Well, he said I was his best friend,” you stuff the food in your mouth, “To his family.”

“He probably had to,” Josh speaks up this time, “and wow, is that the first time he called you his friend?” 

You don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice, and you send him a glare. He raises his hands in defense, the table laughs. 

You don’t find the humor in this situation. Why were they so judgmental towards the relationship with Drew? It’s not like he’s the biggest jackass ever. You’ve seen every side there is to Drew, they just don’t know him like you do. “Can you guys cut it off?” You say, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. 

“We’re just joking,” Janet laughs, glancing around, “besides, we’re worried for you.”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, sending her an unappreciative smile, “‘worried’ for me?”

“Yes, he’s obviously not… well, in love with you,” Janet continues, “we don’t want you with someone who clearly doesn’t care for you.”

“He cares for me,” you defend, furrowing your eyebrows at them. You look around the table, seeing your friends glance down at their food, afraid to meet your eyes. “He cares for me.”

“Sure he does,” Stacy bitterly agrees with you. That tone pisses you off. “Maybe privately, he does, but what about in public? Starting off with the most basic, labels.”

You hate how right your friends are. As rude and mean they’re being, deep down, you know they’re right. The ‘no attachments’ thing is bullshit, especially when nothing about the two of you is casual. 

Five, no close to six months, nothing about that is causal. 

“That…doesn’t matter,” you murmur. Wrong; it mattered a lot, to everyone and to you. You just hated to admit you weren’t as chill or casual as Drew was, how he made everything romantic seem friendly with you. 

When you look around, everyone is now staring at you pitifully. 

You didn’t like that. That pity stare. There’s nothing to be pity of. Bunch of people around the world right now might be having situation-ships too. Nothing to pity. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Yeah. That’s what you keep brainwashing yourself to believe. 

‘The girl that he bangs on his couch’. Yeah. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Your phone on the table lights up, and it reads bathroom. now. 

Drew. “Um, excuse me,” you stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom. 

As you slowly get up and walk away, your friends weren’t very careful with the volume of their voice. You hear one of them calling you a loser, still hanging around just for a good dick to suck. 

That must be Janet. Her lonely ass must be jealous. 

But part of you knew she wasn’t wrong. You were a loser. The biggest loser to exist. The loser of losers, if that even is a thing. 

Casual. Your friends succeeded once again, in making you doubt everything with Drew. 

——

“Really boring, right?”

Drew pulls you in by the waist, a lazy smile on his lips as he stares down at you. He leans against the sink, making you stand between his legs. 

This restaurant had two bathrooms, each with their own sink inside. So, Drew took full advantage of that. 

“Hmm,” you hum carelessly. You didn’t want agree with him; you tried to make this evening nice, but his attitude towards your friends just weren’t helping. You keep your gaze around the collar of his jacket, not wanting to meet his eyes. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, playfulness still hinted in his words. His hand rub circles around your waist, as he tries to make eye contact with you, bending his head down to your level. 

You advert your gaze even more, now focusing on the bracelet around his wrist. Now that you think about it, he always has this on, since the day you got it for him. 

Was that casual to do? To keep the bracelet on at all times. 

“Look at me, would you?” Drew’s tone turns serious, and he pinches the side of your waist harshly.

You flinch, finally looking up at him. You meet his blue eyes, a mix of concern and something else that you can’t read. His raised eyebrows tell you that he wants you to talk, to tell him what’s on your mind. 

Should you? But, where do you even start? With his attitude tonight, or with your friend’s comments? Or with this whole casual thing, which is basically the beginning to it all.

Your lips pout on its own, resting your hands around his wrist. “That was uncalled for,” you murmur, looking down at his bracelet again. 

“What was?” Drew’s pinch one your waist is more soft this time, wanting to get the words out of you. 

“Doing that,” you say, playing with his chained bracelet. Shit. You’re gonna say it. You’re gonna call him out for his behavior. “Being rude to my friends.”

A scoff escapes Drew. He then brings his hand up to your face, forcing you to look up at him. Like second nature, you lean your face into the palm of his hand, waiting for him to explain himself. “Babe, your friends were the rude ones.”

The feeling inside your stomach is indescribable. The nickname sends you butterflies, but the words that follow don't. 

“How?” You ask, crossing your arms.  

He licks his lips, squinting his eyes at you. “It was so fucking obvious.”

“Was it?” 

“Yes- yes, it was,” Drew straightens his posture, taking his hands off you. The warmth of him is gone, now with the presence of a man trying to explain his reasonable case of being bratty. “They asked loaded questions to me this whole night.”

You furrow your eyebrows, thinking hard to the stuff they asked Drew. Shit. They were. Your friends didn’t even trying to hide their discontent with him tonight. 

“They hate me,” he adds on, “C’mon, I leave the table for like, a few minutes, and they talked shit, right?”

The way he looks at you; he challenges you to disagree with him. But you couldn’t; he was right. Your friends hate him, making you constantly doubt whatever this was with Drew. 

“Wasn’t all shit,” you lie, sending him the smallest smile ever. 

Drew makes the ‘tsk’ sound, shaking his head as he gives you a tired smile. “What they say then?” He asks, leaning back against the sink again. 

His eyes look at you in anticipation, biting down on his lips. 

You do not want to tell him what they said. It was rude, and although it was about Drew, it affected you more than it should have. The seeds of doubt are always planted by your friends, they never put you at ease with this relationship. 

You give him a lazy smile, snaking your arms around his neck. You lean in close to him, a seductive look in your eyes. “Does it matter? They talk shit, all they ever do.”

Drew’s lips slightly part, and he glances quickly down at your lips. A smile appears, “I see what you’re doing. You’re distracting me.”

You shrug lightly, before planting a small kiss on his jaw. “Is it working?”

You hear a chuckle escape from him, and his hand wraps around the back of your head. His eyes keep bouncing between your lips and eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear, “annoyingly so, you minx.”

Without another comment, Drew kisses you, soft and slow. 

You return the kiss, escalating into a whole make-out session. 

You hate how your body reacts to him; feeling a pool of wetness form between your legs. Fuck. 

Something pokes against your lower stomach, and you pull away from Drew. You glance down; he’s erected. “Shit,” you curse, as his hands slide down your body. He squeezes your ass, burying his face into your neck as he breathes the skin there. 

“I…I can’t go back to the table like this,” he murmurs, referring to his erection. 

You watch as his back rises and falls, through the sink mirror. Even with this thick white jacket he has on, you can tell his breathing has sped up. Your lips form a straight line, running your hands through his short hair. 

In the bathroom? Right in the middle of dinner? It was highly inappropriate. 

Wrapping your hands around his face, you pull him up to meet his eyes. He looks at you pleadingly, lips parted with drool on the corner of his lips. 

Fuck. How is one suppose to say no to that look? He looked as if he physically needed you; needed you to calm the… ‘growing’ in his pants. 

“Ten minutes,” you tell him, which immediately lights the spark in his eyes. He looks like a puppy! You smile at that thought, as he straightens himself, switching your positions. 

“Ten minutes? Enough for two rounds,” he teases, lifting you to sit on the sink. 

“No! One round,” you say, which gets cut off by Drew kissing you again. As much fun as two rounds sound, the longer you linger in here, the more obvious it is that the two of you are fucking. 

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs to stand between them. His hands move fast into your dress, slipping your underwear off. The cold surface of the sink hits your thighs and pussy, adding to the heat growing within you. 

Drew trails his kisses down your neck, as your hands work on undoing his belt. 

You moan when he sucks on the sweet-spot around your neck, the belt dropping onto the floor with a hard thud. “Drew…” you moan out, messy hands tugging his hair as he continues to form hickeys around your neck. 

You want to run your hands around his stomach, chest, abs. But the jacket he has on prevents that, being zipped up the whole way. This jacket looked great on him, but would look better on the floor. 

Your hands fidget with the zipper, tugging with no luck of it moving. 

Drew pulls away from your neck, a chuckle escaping, “babe, gently.”

His hands overlaps yours, guiding you to pull the jacket zipper down. It reveals that he isn’t wearing anything inside; a feast to your eyes. “Is that why you refused to take this off?” You ask, referring to before the dinner started.

“I was invited last minute,” he shrugs the jacket off, as if it wasn’t his fault for the improvised outfit. 

“Right, but you weren’t invited,” you remind him, when he insisted on joining you when you were leaving, throwing on a random outfit nearby. You were busy putting your heels on, so you couldn’t see the moment when he got dressed. You didn’t even know he owned a jacket like this. 

“Mmhm,” his mind was elsewhere, attaching his lips to yours again. Sloppy and more lustful this time, as your hands wander around his body. It’s hot under your touch; his abs flexing as you run your hands over them. 

His hand grips onto your thigh, before moving closer to your heat. 

When the warmth of his fingers hit your pussy, you moan loudly into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, “we’re in public, babe.”

The tip of your ears heat up too, from the embarrassment and realization that you’re in public, most likely having people hear you from the other side of the door. “Sorry,” you murmur, burying your face into his neck. 

Drew sticks two fingers into your hole, and starts thrusting at a faster speed than usual. Your breathing becomes uneven, as you try to tone down your moans. 

Drew wasn’t having it easy either, as you hear low grunts escaping him. “Fuck,” he curses, adding another digit, “you’re tight tonight.”

“Just fuck me already,” you manage to say, hands gripping on his biceps. Surely, this was enough foreplay, right? 

He chuckles again, this time at your impatience. He pulls his fingers out of you, his hands going to the back pocket of his jeans. 

The familiar gold packaging comes out, and his hands skillfully rip them open. 

“…couldn’t put on a shirt but bought a condom with you?” Laughter escapes you, as you watch him unzip his pants. 

He glances up at you, and when he sees you smiling ear-to-ear, he can’t help but match you, “wasn’t gonna show up totally unprepared, right?”

You laugh again; what an unbelievable guy. “Shirt’s optional but condom a must. Got it.”

Drew lets his pants and boxers hang around his knees, his cock standing proud. The sight immediately wipes the smile off your lips, gulping as you imagine it stuffed inside you. 

“The chances of fucking you wherever and whenever is high,” Drew says, wrapping the condom around his dick. 

He looks up at you, seeing your gaze fixed on his hard cock. A smirk helps themselves to his lips, as his hands tug on your waist. An idea flashes in his mind as he looks over your shoulder, at the big sink mirror. 

“Get off,” his voice brings you back, looking at him with confused eyes now. “C’mon, trust me.”

You let him bring you back onto the ground, before flipping you over. You see both your reflections in the mirror, your back hitting his chest, his dick poking your upper ass. 

When you meet his eyes through the mirror, you understand where this was going. 

“Watch yourself while I destroy your fucking pussy, hmm?”

Oh. Oh. Was it possible to be turned on by words? 

Drew lifts up your dress, revealing your wet core. You hold onto the sink for support, grip getting tighter when you feel Drew’s tip against your entrance. 

Then, he slips in, going deep until it’s completely nestled inside you. 

“Fuck,” you moan, glancing up at Drew. He sends you a smirk, enjoying this too. His hand goes to your stomach, and he lifts you backward, resting against his chest again. 

“Grip my hair, and keep your eyes open, alright?” His voice drops low, one hand moving to knead your breasts. 

You nod, bringing your hands behind you; one tugging gently around his hair, another around his arm that’s supporting you. 

He starts to thrust into you, rather roughly and fast. “Shit,” you moan, the sensation sending you to outer space. With his thick cock slamming into you, his hands roaming your body, your hands running through his short hair, it feels euphoric. 

Your eyes can barely stay open, as you look at the reflection in the mirror. Drew leaves a trail of sloppy kisses along your shoulder, which sends goosebumps to your skin. 

You watch as one of his hand slips between your thighs, starting to massage your pussy. “Fuck,” you moan, louder than you should be. You couldn’t help it, the pleasure was extraordinary. 

He kisses your earlobe, “i’know baby, but keep it down, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” it barely comes out, as the thrusts and massages to your core intensifies. The familiar knot in your stomach forms, informing you that you’re close. “Drew…”

His pace doesn’t stop, and when you lean your head back on his shoulder, he goes harder, “close?”

You nod with any energy left, and Drew uses his free hand to lift your face up again. He kisses your cheek, “use your words.”

You flutter your eyes open, looking at the two of you in the mirror. It was extremely hot, to see Drew filling you up, his hands all around you. The mirror starts to fog up a little, with all the grunting and pressure filling in here. 

“I’m coming,” you force out, and meet Drew’s gaze in the mirror. His blue eyes meet yours, seething with lust. 

You clench around him, your hand going around Drew’s, which is massaging your pussy. He stops massaging, and he intertwines your hands together. The stickiness doesn’t bother you; why should it?

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts to your g-spot growing sloppy. 

You tilt your head sideways, and you give him a quick kiss, which sends you over the edge. Your orgasm explodes inside of you, cum dripping out and over Drew’s cock. 

Body giving up, you lean completely against Drew, as he helps himself to his. His cock twitches, and you feel the familiar hot liquid filling up. 

Both of you are breathing heavily, euphoria radiating off your bodies. Fuck. This might just be one of the best fucks you’ve had with Drew. But in a public restroom? Who would’ve thought. 

“You’re so hot,” he compliments, before planting a small kiss on the side of your face. 

You giggle at that stupid comment, looking at him through the mirror; He’s got a playful smile on his lips, looking at you with smitten eyes. “You’re great with your words.”

He chuckles, his hands tapping against the side of your waist, signaling you to move. You use the energy left inside of you, helping him slip out. Leaning against the sink, you watch as Drew grabs tissues to wipe your core, then throwing his condom away. 

After that, he grabs your underwear on the floor. You get yourself dressed, him doing the same thing. 

“Look, only…only seven minutes passed,” Drew comments with a sly smile on his lips, showing you his watch. 

You roll your eyes, your lips betraying you by forming a smile. “Cocky much?” 

He puts his jacket back on, the last piece of clothing. “Well, you've definitely enjoyed the taste of it.”

You hit his chest playfully, his remark sending butterflies to your stomach. He laughs, zipping his jacket only halfway. Your eyebrows furrow at his exposed chest that pierces through the top; and you reach for the zipper. 

Drew stays in place, and you feel his gaze on the top of your head, his hot breath hitting you. You ignore the tension that pulls; when you’re done, you pat his chest, “all done, buddy.”

“‘Buddy’?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, eyes squinting down at you. 

You send him a soft smile, seeing him glance down at your lips. “What?”

“Call me buddy one more time,” his hands wrap around your waist, and he leans closer to you, “and you’ll get it.”

His dirty and challenging tone sends shivers down your spine, something you find yourself liking a bit too much. The pit of your stomach yells at you at how hypocritical Drew was being right now, but you ignore it. 

And just because it’s fun, you lean into his ear, and whisper, “best buddy ever.”

Tickles are sent to the side of your body, making you jump and melt into his arms. You laugh uncontrollably; Drew knew you were ticklish, using it to his full advantage. 

“Stop! Stop!” You yell between laughter, your legs ready to give up. 

“Don’t call me that then,” he stops tickling you, grip on you tight to make sure you don’t fall. He kisses the tears of laughter from the corner of your eyes, “I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You glance down at his lips, and he does the same to yours. 

Drew gives you the look; he wants to kiss you. 

And you let him, closing your eyes and feeling his lips against yours. 

Is it still casual if you kissed me like it’s the last time you ever will? You hate how this thought appears in your mind again, haunting you. 

You pull away, the pressure of it getting overwhelming. “Let’s head back, yeah?”

“We have to?” His eyes stay glued to your lips. “You know, We could…we could just leave.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “no!”

“Say you got plans tomorrow morning,” he shrugs, “I’ll say it for you, if you can’t-”

You cross your arms, looking up at him. “Why would I leave early?”

Drew parts his lips, and he brings his hand up to your elbow. He rubs the area there in soft circles, a playful look in his eyes, “…grab some froyo?”

You drop your arms, looking at him disappointedly. When he saw that, he hurriedly adds, “and I got errands to run. Really.”

You contemplate in your mind about this; ditching this dinner to hang out privately with Drew? Yeah, that sounded like something fun. It must be better than staying awkwardly, having your friends judge Drew. 

Casual. Casual, casual, casual. Some casual froyo with Drew, and maybe ending up with sex in his dorm room. 

Yeah. Seemed like things people whose ‘casual’ would do. 

“Fine. You’re treating me though,” you unlock the door, walking out the bathroom. 

“I always treat you,” you hear him murmur behind you, following closely behind as you two walk back to the table. 

You interrupt the conversation they’re having, grabbing your purse from your seat. They look at your questionably, before their gaze lands sourly on Drew behind you. “i’ve got something, tomorrow morning, so we’re heading off,” you try sounding apologetic, “sorry to leave this early.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Lucy glances between the two of you, “text us when you get home.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize again, before your friends wave goodbye to you. You don’t miss the hateful looks they leave on Drew, as they tell you to take care until the next time you guys meet. 

After that, you and Drew leave the restaurant, letting the doorman do his job of getting a taxi. 

A warmth around your hand catches you by surprise; Drew holds your hand, pulling you closer to him. You look down at the holding of hands; then back up at him. He’s staring down at his phone, scrolling through his insta feed. 

Holding hands. Something very casual to do, apparently. 

“What are you watching?” You ask, leaning on his shoulder. 

He laughs, showing you the screen. It’s a video of a monkey pointing towards the glass, which has different play-doughs lined along it. 

You don’t get the humor in it, but you smile, because it makes Drew smile. 

The two of you stand there, watching different posts on his phone until the taxi arrives. 

Your mind finds it strange how ‘casual’ you two are. 

Because, in the bottom of your heart, you weren’t so sure if this was casual anymore. Along the way, the lines of ‘no attachment’ seemed to have blurred. Blurred to the point of no return. 

-------------------------------

word count: 4.1k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: goddamn, i would fall for this toxic relationship too T_T

sry for not posting lately, i got very busy lately! i promise you, flashing lights 6 & not a big deal pt4 is coming sooooon. but hope you enjoyed this extra, and also, thx for blowing up the halloween special, was NOT expecting that. thank you sm! your lovely comments inspire me to write these fics!

btw, watched obx s4, and the ending broke me T_T like tffff

elevator | other | more of casual!drew

[covenofagatha]

I love your Agatha stories!! I was wondering of you could write something where reader is the daughter of one of detective Agnes’ coworkers, who she doesn’t get along with, and they met in one of those cop friends reunion. She sees reader in the pool and can’t help but be infatuated by them, and when she discovers who reader’s father is, her needs to defile reader just increases😈

may have been a lil drunk finishing this so hopefully there's not too many mistakes lol

(Not so) Good girl, bad cop

Detective Agnes meets the attractive daughter of her annoying partner at the annual Westview PD Christmas party and decides that she has to have her

Word count: 3300

Warnings: bratty reader, top agatha, fingering, virgin reader, teasing, degradation, daddy kink, implied oral

The house of Agnes’s partner, Gary, is filled with food, music, and merriment for the annual Westview Police Department Christmas party. 

And yet, Agnes would rather be anywhere else. She makes a mental list of the places she wishes she could be instead, the bottom of a ditch making an appearance surprisingly high up. 

Her kiss-ass partner had practically begged Chief to let him throw it at his house, always trying to get ahead some way or another. 

Agnes can’t stand him. 

His smug little face when he took credit for one of her solves. The way he would mansplain things to her. The way he would take his fucking shoes off and put his feet up on desk. 

But she puts on a fake smile and hands him the obligatory bottle of wine when she walks into the home. 

“Ah, Agnes, there you are!” He booms and claps her on the shoulder. She grits her teeth before she removes his hand herself. She grunts as a way of greeting and steps right past him further into the foyer. 

Detectives and officers wave as she passes through the crowd of people to go find a corner to stand in and drink a beer. Everyone seems to be having a good time and she hates it. Hates to see Gary win like this. 

Her bored eyes flit through to find someone interesting enough to talk to, and that’s when she catches sight of someone outside. 

More specifically, a girl in the pool. You. 

Agnes’s forehead creases. All she can see is your shoulders and head and she turns her body fully to the sliding glass door to observe. 

You seem to just be floating around but there’s something about you that has her transfixed. 

Maybe it’s your wet hair matted around your face, or your nose and cheekbones, or the color of your eyes that she can see from inside. 

And that mouth, god. Agnes groans inwardly. What it must be like to kiss those pretty lips. 

Or for them to be elsewhere. 

“Hey, Agnes, Merry Christmas!” Agnes jolts out of her trance to find Chief standing next to her. 

“Same to you,” she says gruffly and then lifts her hand with the beer to point at you. “Who is that?” 

“Oh, that’s Gary’s daughter, Y/N. She’s home from freshman year of college. Met her a few times,” he says disinterestedly. 

But Agnes feels a thrill run through her. She didn’t know Gary had a daughter. Now, instead of just wanting an unknown person’s mouth on her, she wants Gary’s daughter’s mouth on her. The son of a bitch may have the favor of the entire Westview PD, but she is surely going to have you. 

And then you wade through the water to the side of the pool and push yourself out of it and Agnes almost moans at the way your muscles flex in your arms. 

And then she’s able to take all of you in. 

Your skimpy purple two-piece, the low cut of the top and how it shows significant cleavage, and the bottoms that rest just above the hip bones that Agnes wants to scrape her teeth against. 

She barely notices Chief walking away before making the executive decision to shove open the door and go talk to Gary’s daughter. 

You’re toweling off next to your pile of clothes on the patio table when you hear someone stepping out onto the back deck. You figure it’s just your dad, maybe coming to yell at you for being outside swimming instead of “mingling with the guests” like he wanted. 

But you hate these parties, having been to enough of them your whole life. Cops were boring and most of them had the biggest superiority complexes you’d ever seen. 

So you said fuck it and put on your swim suit. 

Footsteps get closer to you and you glance back, bracing for the lecture. 

But it’s not your dad. 

It’s Detective Agnes, his partner. 

You had seen her a few times at cop events you’d been forced into going to, but you had never spoken to her. You’re not sure she actually knows who you are.

However, you certainly know her. 

Her frizzy dark hair. Her piercing blue eyes. The way her lips pursed and her veiny hands would grip onto her belt. 

She is one of the hottest women you’ve ever seen. 

And she came wearing a suit tonight, hair tied back in a ponytail: black pants and a blazer over a neatly tucked in white button-down shirt that makes you want to drop to your knees. And a fucking tie, is she serious. 

The things you want her to do to you…god. Even though you’d only seen her from afar a few times, you still spent quite a few nights imagining her, hand between your legs. 

“Come to swim?” You ask when she finally gets close to you. She snorts and gives you a once-over. 

“Aren’t you cold?” 

You shrug even though the windy December air is brutally harsh against your bare wet skin. The urge to shiver is almost all-consuming, but with her standing this close to you, there’s a faint warmth in your stomach distracting you. 

You know that your body is reacting, however, and you twist your hair up into the towel so that Agnes can see your nipples poking through your top, harder than glass. Her eyes dart down, almost too fast to catch, but the way she gulps and clenches her teeth gives her away. 

“Maybe a little,” you answer. “Just need a way to warm up.” It sounds just as suggestive as you intend it and you can see her eyes darken. 

“Putting some clothes on would surely help,” she suggests and you pout mockingly but pull your long sleeve shirt over your head and wrap the towel around your waist. “Better?” 

You hum in agreement. “Did my dad send you out here? I don’t need a babysitter, you know.” 

She chuckles like something’s funny. “No, he didn’t, but are you sure you don’t? You would’ve caught hypothermia if it weren’t for me.”

“Wow,” you say, voice sickly sweet. “I had no idea my dad’s partner was a better daddy than he is. Look at you watching out for me.” You smirk, hearing her breath catch in her throat. 

But then Agnes scoffs. “And I had no idea my partner’s daughter was such a brat.” It’s impossible to miss the spark that goes straight to your cunt when she calls you that and you simper. 

“What are you gonna do about it, Detective?” You’re not sure where this boldness is coming from, but you like it and you think she likes it, too. 

Agnes growls and takes a step closer to you. You stand your ground, daring her with your eyes. 

“Your lips are blue, doll. The only thing I’m ‘gonna do about it’ is get your ass inside so your father doesn’t kill me when you freeze on my watch.” Her hand clasps your bicep and she practically hauls you back towards the door. 

“You’re really strong,” you remark, enjoying the way her grip tightens around you. “Do you work out?” You do mean for it to sound sexier, like a smooth pick-up line, but with the way your teeth have started chattering, it sounds like you’re slurring and you barely get the words out. She slides open the door and pushes you inside, the balmy air instantly making you feel better. 

“Go take a shower,” she tells you. 

You bite your bottom lip and bat your eyelashes. “Why don’t you come join me? That would really warm me up.” You toy with the edge of her tie, pulling on it ever so slightly and looking up at her through your eyelashes.

“You’re shameless, aren’t you?” She hisses, the vein in her forehead throbbing. “Throwing yourself at anyone who gives you a little attention, begging to be put in your place. Are you like this with all the girls at college, too? Getting fucked by a new one every night?”

You lean in closer so only she can hear you. “I’m a virgin,” you whisper in her ear, blush spreading to your cheeks, and she sharply inhales, almost giving into you right there. She’s going to take Gary’s daughter’s virginity. You can see her neck taunt with restraint and she steps back to put some space between you, almost all the blue in her eyes being swallowed up by her pupils. 

“Go upstairs and take a shower now,” she orders, her voice hard. 

“And then what?” 

She rolls her eyes. “If you can behave, maybe you’ll get a reward.” Heat flares through you and you take the stairs two at a time and shower faster than you ever have before. 

When you come back down, clad in a short red dress, you immediately find Agnes standing alone and out of sight in the hallway to the guest room. You join her, momentarily getting distracted by her loosened tie and blazer rolled up to her forearms. 

“I did it,” you say, voice coming out hushed. She rakes her eyes over you, smirking appreciatively. 

“So you did,” she agrees. “I’m glad you can follow simple directions.”

You wait a second with a raised eyebrow. She says nothing. “Do I get a reward now?”

She barks out a laugh. “So eager, aren’t you, pet?” The new name sends a bolt of lightning straight through you and you nod. “Let’s see if you can behave just a bit longer before I ruin you for everyone else.” 

You stick out your bottom lip like a petulant child and she pats your face roughly. 

“Come on,” you try again, whining. “Why can’t we just sneak away right now? No one would notice if you just came up to my bedroom with me.”

Your fingers play with her tie again, giving her a wicked grin as you tug her in closer by it, but she quickly snatches your wrists off her and pins them against the wall over your head, body pressing against yours. 

A moan escapes your mouth and your heart skips a beat. 

“Is this what you want?” She snarls, husky and deep and heat-filled, and it’s hard to think straight. Her leg presses between your legs and your head lolls back against the wall, tilting so she can lean in closer. “You want someone to punish you for being a bad girl? Want someone to take you rough and fast to teach you a lesson? What would your father think if he saw you this desperate for me? His perfect little darling daughter, grinding on my leg like a slut?” 

You whimper and try to force words out of your mouth, but you have no luck. She huffs and steps back, letting go of you and you instantly miss her heat against you. 

“See, you don’t even know what you want,” she scoffs. “Are you going to be good?”

You smirk. “Why should I, if it gets you this hot and bothered?” She fixes her stare on you, but you hold it, glare unwavering. 

“You know what?” She snaps and excitement rises inside you. “Fuck it.” You open your mouth to ask what she means, but she grabs your hand and pulls you back into the guest bedroom. 

You wonder if she had scoped it out while you were in the shower. Just canvassing the place, trying to find the best place for this. 

Agnes shoves your front against the door, holding your arms behind your back with her body like you’re being arrested, and yanks your head back by your hair. 

“What do I have to do to get you to behave, hm?” She asks. “Bend you over and spank you? Get you so wound up that you’re begging to cum and then leave you high and dry? Or make you cum so many times that your pretty face is covered in tears?”

You can’t help but whimper at her words. “Please, Detective,” you beg, feeling an ache that you’ve never felt before. “Anything.” 

Her hand comes down to rub your ass soothingly and you arch back into her touch. “Are you sure you want this to be your first time?” She asks quietly and carefully. Your knees tremble at the sudden softness and you nod so hard your head hurts. 

“Yes,” you rasp. “I need you so badly.”

She groans into your ear, seemingly very affected by your words. “In case you ever want to stop, say ‘purple’ or tap anywhere on me twice. Got it?” 

“Got it,” you breathe and her tongue licks a hot stripe up your throat. “Please, Detective, please touch me.” 

She flips you around and traces her hands up the sides of your stomach, her warmth seeping through your dress. She studies you. “You know, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that with how you’ve been acting all night.”

“Please, please, want you to fuck me, want you to be my first,” you whine, letting the words pour out of your mouth. “Detective, I need to feel you, please, daddy.” The last word kind of just slips out, but based on her strangled gasp, it seems to turn her on. 

She grabs your chin in her hand and holds eye contact with you. “Say it again,” she orders in a deep voice. Hearing her like this, seeing her like this, is doing wonders to you. 

But there’s still a bit of brat inside you. 

“Make me,” you challenge. Agnes raises an eyebrow and her other hand slips under your dress and cups you over your underwear. 

You sharply inhale at the feeling of someone else touching you there. While you are no stranger to your own body, having Agnes’s fingers against your most sensitive area is a whole new sensation. 

“God, you’ve really been getting off on being a brat, haven’t you?” She taunts, feeling your wetness against her fingers.

“Maybe…” you trail off softly and she pushes your underwear aside. Your knees almost buckle at the feeling of her against you, stroking through her folds. One finger teases your entrance and you try to maneuver yourself to get her to dip inside. 

“Ah ah,” she tuts, refusing to give you what you want. “Say it again.” 

This time, you give in straight away, needing her more than your pride. “Please, daddy, just fuck me.” 

She slides a finger into you and you moan, head dropping back against the wall. You can’t believe you're losing your virginity to your dad’s partner against the door to your guest room. You didn’t picture it like this, but you had wished she would be your first, so either way the end result was the same. 

“Fuck, doll, you’re so wet and hot around me,” Agnes says, beginning to slowly move her finger in and out, twisting to hit a spot that has you panting. “If only your father could see me now, fingers deep in his only child. Corrupting his perfect daughter.” 

For some reason, that only turns you on more and you roll your hips against her, drawing her finger in. 

“Please, daddy, need more,” you plead and she chuckles meanly before slipping a second finger into you. The stretch makes you groan but it feels so good. You meet every thrust and you can feel yourself getting closer already. She’s twisting her fingers, not exactly kindly, and you’re a mess, noises falling out of your mouth, doing anything to get her deeper. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you let out a loud moan, her other hand coming to clamp over your lips. 

“Gotta be quiet, baby girl,” she says. “Don’t want the whole party to know what a slut you’re being for me, do you?” 

You shake your head but wrap one of your legs around her waist so she can more easily hit the spot inside you that you have trouble reaching yourself. 

She laughs at how needy you are and fucks you even harder, fingers moving at a bruising pace that steals all the breath from your lungs. 

“Daddy, oh my god, please,” you moan, feeling yourself getting so close. Everything is so much more heightened than it feels like when you’re touching yourself, and you can’t believe Agnes is actually fucking you.

“Want to cum all over daddy’s fingers, huh?” Her question makes you even wetter, clenching around her, whimpering. Her eyes are burning into you and you’ve never felt more alive. 

“Please, yes, wanna cum, daddy, just for you.” You’ve never felt so needy, so desperate, in your life. Your entire body is taunt like a lifewire, electricity crackling and making you feel better than you ever have. 

She laughs. “What a naughty brat, making me fuck you at your dad’s Christmas party like this. Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to act out just to get what you want?” 

All you can do is whine as she forces another finger into you, not even burning a little from how wet you are, and your head falls back against the door. Her thumb starts to rub a rhythm against your clit and your walls flutter around her three fingers. You start babbling, saying her name, telling her how good she’s fucking you. 

Agnes’s lips part, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead, and all you can do is gasp as she continues to fuck you so well. You don’t think anyone else will ever compare to her. 

“Cum for me, baby girl, cum for daddy,” she says, and hearing herself call herself that sends you right over the edge. 

You soak her fingers with a loud moan, riding them until the stimulation becomes too much to bear. She pulls out of you and you still mewl weakly at the emptiness. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” She asks and you drop your forehead onto her shoulder and sigh. 

And then you laugh a little at the situation and she huffs too. “I’m great, thank you, Agnes.” It’s the first time you’ve called her by her real name all night and she lets out a little sound that tells you exactly how much she likes it. 

She strokes a hand through your hair and brings you in for a kiss. You didn't realize how bad you wanted her lips against yours until it finally happens. But her tongue strokes into your mouth and you find out just how good she tastes. 

And just how much you want to taste a different part of her. 

Agnes also seems to have a similar idea. Her fingers tighten in your hair and guide you down to your knees. She unbuttons her pants and your throat goes dry as she slides them down her perfect, pale legs. You can see a bit of muscle in her thighs and it makes you want to lean over and bite them, just to leave marks. 

“You’ve been a brat all night, you know,” she says, peeling over her underwear and revealing her glistening pussy to you. Your jaw drops open, absolutely enthralled, needing to have her on your tongue. You nod at her words, not even denying what you did to get yourself into this position. “Running your mouth, saying the most desperate things, acting like such a brat. Well, I think we better put those pretty little lips to some better use, don’t you?” 

You couldn’t agree more, and you tell her that. 

She leads your eager mouth to her cunt and shuts you up in the best way possible.  

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Ovulation is a Bitch™ - SFW-ish

AO3

18+ MDNI - Tumblr Exclusive

CW: Sex mentioned in vague detail.

John had found a property that would fit everyone. The original house had an addition added sometime in the last ten years. The extra space roughed out to a room per person, minus Johnny who would be sharing with Simon. They took the largest room since it would be housing them both. You got the next largest room despite all arguments. John put his foot down as the ‘owner’ and assigned the rooms out. The kitchen, dining space, and living room all ran together from the front door, two bedrooms extending behind the kitchen. The other

The last of the moving boxes were getting broken down and put in the bin. Moving had been quite a process, trying to decide which of the several options of everything everyone owned you had taken Kyle aside to beg him to convince John to buy a new set of everything for the new house to avoid the headache of trying to find where to store three couches, four kitchen tables, and five separate kitchen sets. John always listened best to Kyle.

Lord only knows how but Kyle convinced everyone (but they wouldn’t let you offer up even a single piece of money) to pool in and buy the biggest couch you had ever seen and a TV to match. If your opinion on the choice of color or which table to bring home held greater weight? Well, you wouldn’t fight them on this front.

Simon would be cooking and Johnny, who was not allowed to touch the stove after the last incident, would rotate around him prepping things for Simon to cook no matter what it was. Finally, after stepping on his lover a few times Simon would pin Johnny to the counter by the hips, kiss him firmly on the lips, and send him to sit next to you as you smirked into your coffee cup. Watching those two dance around each other in the kitchen became one of your favorite pastimes.

It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t so fucking hot.

You were asexual. The understanding of your sexuality sat firm and undeniable in your soul. Except when you were ovulating. The bitch that is your uterus did not care that your soul and mind were finally in agreement, she wanted to be fucked into the mattress and given a baby.

It wasn’t just Simon and Johnny. It was Kyle with his skin that looked so smooth and smelled divine, Gary and his pheromones wafting off him as he slams the front door behind him after a run, and John and his fucking beard that you want to paw through like a cat as he is buried to the hilt in you.

You couldn’t ask that of any of them. The lines you had drawn after they asked you to choose were deep. How did you step over those without confusing the boundaries?

Standing abruptly, you announce to the room you are going on a walk. Kyle and Gary had entered the kitchen sometime while you were sucked into the vortex of your thoughts. Nodding once to yourself of your intentions you leave the kitchen, ignoring all the unspoken communication that must be going on behind your back.

You run into John when you leave your bedroom dressed for your walk. The slight moan that escapes your mouth when you physically slam into him is ignored on both sides.

“Going somewhere fun?” John settles a hand on your back, chest, and stomach flush with the side of his body.

Polyamory as an ace person had been such a delight. You could snuggle with any of them, offer or accept kisses as needed, tickle or tease as needed to help someone out of a funk, and never expect anything more. Right now, though? You fought the urge to rip your flesh off; John’s body against yours fired off every signal in your uterus that you strained to ignore.

“Just a walk,” you smile and step away to retrieve your shoes from the rack next to the front door.

“Sounds delightful, I’ll come if you don’t mind.” John grabbed his own shoes, settling next to you on the couch and skillfully knotting his laces.

Your find stagnates on all the knots he must know that could hold you in place while he makes you feel better. Fingers stilling on your shoes it takes John kneeling before you and replacing his hands with your own to draw you back into your skull and out of your uterus. He handles the task with the competence he does everything before slipping his hand in yours and keeping you close as you leave the house. If your bits throb the entire walk? No one’s business.

The mile loop is enough to take the barest hint of the edge off your desires. John had a way of settling you and making you laugh all at once. It would have been enough if Gary hadn’t come to find you.

Head deep in your closet looking for the vibrator you knew you had packed over from the flat you shared with Simon, you smelt him first. The raw and masculine scent of him called to you, petrichor to your parched lady bits. Biting your lip so hard you nearly drew blood you straightened up.

“Hi Gary, whatcha needing?”

Have you seen my toiletries? I know I moved them over but no one has seen them since we got back from our last mission.

Searching through your memories you can’t recall a single instance of seeing any bottles that weren’t immediately claimed.

“No, but I can show you which ones are mine and you can use those until you get a chance to order some more of yours. Does that work?” You look up at him and smile.

He nods, stepping into your room to offer you a hand up.

Taking it was a mistake.

As you stand you can see the shimmer of sweat across the width of his throat and upper chest and all you want to do is lick him.

You must freeze for too long. Gary crooks a finger beneath your chin and lifts until his questioning face matches yours.

“Gary, I need help,” you whisper.

“Anything-ng-ng,” he whispers back.

“Fuuuuck,” your eyes roll back into your head. He could have said anything but that and you would have been able to talk yourself out of asking.

Stepping around him, you trail your fingers across his abs as you reach for your door, shutting and locking it.

Curling your fingers still on him you hug him from behind, burying your nose between his shoulder blades.

“You know I’m asexual right?”

“Ye-ye-s?” Even his stutter seems to question you.

“Sometimes I still want sex. Only when I’m ovulating, but I swear it’s worse because it only happens one day out of twenty-eight,” you press your nose into him further, taking in a deep breath of satisfying man smell.

He waits. Gary had been government-trained to observe until he could draw solid conclusions.

“The help I need is sexual. I can’t find my vibrator and if I have to look at any one of you deliciously strong, good-smelling men I am going to start to bite like a rabid dog.” Your fingers tighten down on the ribbed tank top and the muscles below them. “Nothing will change in the day-to-day and if that doesn’t work for you, I won’t ask.”

His breath hitches both in your ears and under your touch. The air clicks on, the gentle rush of air entering your room now. Screwing your eyes shut you wait for rejection in the darkness you have created.

Gary’s fingers trail over the back of your hands, peeling them from his shirt. You shift from foot to foot, waiting for the embarrassment to start. Instead of him releasing your hands he brings them to his lips and kisses the tip of each finger. When that is completed, he turns and cradles your face, eyes shining as he searches for confirmation.

“Please Gary,” you whine, waiting for his decision.

He crashes into you like a wave meeting shore, lips fusing with yours.

Taking everything you can from him leaves you feeling half-satisfied. Thank all the gods you bought a new pack of condoms on your last shopping trip; the last ones had expired. It had been over a year since you could reliably have a partner, you didn’t dare have anyone over when Simon might appear at any moment. Taking care of your own needs had never been a problem until the plethora of options before you.

Gary drops a kiss on your lips as you rest in your bed. He had already cleaned you using the pack of wet wipes you kept in your bedside table drawer. They were wonderful for when you forgot to wash your face until you were already settled into bed, and aftercare apparently.

Hold on, let me see if I can get you some more help.

“Who?” you glare up at him unsure if you would prefer John or Kyle.

Dressing in his gym-sweated clothes he ducks.

Guess we will see who is home.

Sitting up you hiss at him to stop before he unlocks the door.

“Leave Simon and Johnny alone,” you hesitate to explain your thoughts. They were too new to each other to dare poke at their dynamic.

Gary nods before ducking out the door.

To your surprise, Kyle appears next. He pampers you, leaving your body shuddering. Kyle is a gentle lover. He is the first man to put his mouth to your clit, sending star across your vision and chuckling as you scramble for purchase in his hair.

He sends in John as the day slips closer to night. John comes bearing dinner. After he pulls his shirt off to settle across your body he eats with you.

“Is this why you were so sparky earlier today?” John glances up at you from his plate.

“Sparky?” You ask, incredulous.

“You looked like you wanted to chop yourself in half rather than be touched,” he dipped one shoulder in a shrug. “Sparky.”

Your mouth opens as you run your tongue across your teeth, frustrated.

“Yes.”

The admission costs you. The Cheshire grin that tugs John’s cheeks to his eyes should have told you what you were in for. He edged you for nearly an hour before fucking you like he was trying to touch your brain. At one point you cried out when you had to use both hands to push back against your headboard and further into his thrusts to avoid slamming your head. John had shushed you and lifted you and rolled to his back, so you rode him.

John settles clothes on your body, deposits you in the bathroom, and retrieves you when you are done. He hands you an electrolyte drink and orders you to bed. When you protest about the sheets he takes great pride in informing you that Kyle and Gary changed your sheets while you were in the bathroom.

“But I want to spend time in the living room,” you protest.

“Are you still feeling nippy? I bet Gary would be ready to go again.” John, nonplussed by offering one of his men up for sex, looks at you with an unfathomable expression.

You squeeze your legs together and stick out your tongue at him.

Taking your act of impertinence as an invitation John kisses you, licking into your mouth.

“To bed bird or I might find the energy to fling you around again,” he growls against your lips.

This time you listen.

Someone let it slip while you were sleeping. Johnny lay nose to nose with you when you woke the next morning.

"Why not me bonnie?" The sadness in his voice hurts you.

"I don't want to cause problems with you and Simon. I love you both and watching you in love brings me so much joy," you rest a hand against his face. The appearence of an early morning beard scratches at your hand. The sadness in his eyes lingers. "There is alway next month?"

He pushes forward, teeth and tongue and pretty little moans marking his intentions to take you next month.

A/N: well that got a bit more steamy then I meant for a SFW version...

@the-loneyest 😘 @lilynotdilly

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Like It’s Nothing

Pairing: Gary "Roach" Sanderson x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, hand-holding, shy!Roach, mutual pining, first kiss, soft and emotional moments

Author's Note: My first time writing for Roach and I already want to wrap him in a hoodie and kiss his forehead. Hope you love this soft beginning to something special.

Summary: On a quiet night at base, you and Roach finally cross the line from tension to something real.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The rec room always smelled faintly of old leather, instant coffee, and Soap’s terrible cologne. Someone had left the lights dimmed—just one corner lamp buzzing softly, casting long, warm shadows over the scarred furniture and faded rug. The TV was on, low volume, playing some late-night documentary no one was watching.

You sat curled up on one side of the couch, worn hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands. Across from you, Roach slouched low, one foot resting on the coffee table, arms crossed loosely as he stared at the screen without really seeing it.

It was quiet, but not awkward. You liked the quiet with him.

Your heart still hadn’t gotten used to the way he made space for you—subtle things, like how he always took the seat next to yours during briefing, or how he waited behind after missions like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere else. And lately, it had grown into something more. Something new.

Like now.

His leg brushed yours—barely, just the edge of his knee—and neither of you moved.

Roach cleared his throat softly. “You warm enough?”

You looked over at him, eyebrow raised. “Are you offering your hoodie?”

A ghost of a grin played at his lips. “You say that like I haven’t seen you steal it before.”

You snorted, pulling your knees up against your chest. “That was once.”

“Twice,” he said, shifting slightly so his knee pressed against yours more deliberately. “Laundry room. Tuesday morning.”

“Okay—fine.” You laughed under your breath. “You keep track?”

“Only when it’s mine.”

Your laughter faded into a softer smile as you studied him. Even in the low light, the warmth in his eyes was obvious—brown and soft, with the kind of quiet focus that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

You’d never seen someone like him in action and off-duty and still feel like you were talking to the same man. Roach was lethal in the field, clean and calculated, but when he was here, like this—hair damp from a shower, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his forearms, one sock missing like he’d lost it in the locker room—he was…

Human.

Kind.

Endearing.

And now, he was watching you right back.

The quiet stretched, and this time, it was charged. Your heart fluttered the way it always did when you got too close to the edge of something good.

“I, uh…” His voice faltered. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

You leaned toward him, resting your chin on your knee. “What’s that?”

He glanced at the TV, then back to you. “About us.”

Your breath caught.

Roach shifted in his seat, turning toward you, arms uncrossing slowly. “I’m not great at this stuff,” he admitted. “I don’t always know what to say. But I’ve been feeling… something. For a while. And I think you have, too.”

The air was thick now, not tense, but full—brimming with the kind of honesty that couldn’t be taken back once spoken.

You sat up straighter, heart in your throat. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I have.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction, and something almost bashful crossed his face. “I want to be careful with you,” he murmured. “Not just rush into something and screw it up. But if you’ll let me… I’d like to try.”

The way he said it—try—was so sincere it made your chest ache.

You nodded, slowly. “I’d like that.”

Silence settled again, but now it buzzed with possibility.

Roach looked down at your hands where they rested in your lap. Without speaking, he reached out, brushing the back of his knuckles along yours. His fingers were rough—calloused from years of weapon grips and climbing gear—but his touch was impossibly gentle.

When he laced his fingers through yours, it was careful. Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to do it yet.

You squeezed his hand lightly. “You don’t have to be careful like I’m going to break.”

Roach smiled—truly smiled—for the first time that night. “I know. But I want to be.”

A few minutes passed like that, hands twined together, both of you barely watching the TV. You felt the thrum of your heartbeat settle into a rhythm that matched the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Then—hesitantly—he spoke again. “Can I ask you something kind of stupid?”

You tilted your head. “Always.”

His thumb brushed over yours, a slow sweep. “Do I get to kiss you tonight?”

That question—that quiet, reverent question—broke you a little in the best way.

You shifted closer, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath as he watched you with a gaze so intense it made your skin burn.

“You can,” you whispered.

And just like that, he leaned in.

It wasn’t fast or hungry. It wasn’t a movie kiss full of desperate hands or breathless moans. It was something softer. Sweeter. His lips brushed yours like he was afraid to startle you—like he was waiting for you to pull away.

You didn’t.

You pressed back gently, hand coming up to rest at his jaw, fingertips brushing the faint stubble there. He deepened the kiss only slightly, enough to draw a quiet sigh from your throat.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. Both of you were quiet for a beat—hearing only the hum of the TV and the soft whir of the old ceiling fan above.

Roach’s voice was barely audible. “You kiss like you mean it.”

You laughed softly, eyes still closed. “I do.”

He gave your hand another squeeze. “So do I.”

Neither of you said anything more for a long time. The TV flickered blue shadows over the couch, and outside the room, you could hear distant chatter—Soap probably hollering about something, Ghost telling him to shut it. But none of it mattered.

Not when Roach looked at you like that.

Not when you knew what it meant.

Not when he kissed you again, slower this time—

—like you were already his.

——

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[heartbreakgirl67]

So Much More.

summary: after kissing and revealing your feelings, you and bucky started to avoid each other. but, when the both of you get put into a mission that had the other worrying, those feelings start resurfacing again.

pairing: congressman!Bucky x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

content: banter, tension, angst, soft bucky, marriage of convenience, (used to be) enemies to lovers, brief mentions of childhood trauma, oblivious fools in love, protective bucky, protective reader, she looks at him like he hung the moon, he looks at her like she hung the moon

a/n: this is kind of a p2 to this but can be read on its own. someone asked me for a p2 that i wasn't planning on doing so this is it. hope you enjoy it!!!

@starstruckfirecat

You haven’t spoken.

For two weeks, five days, ten hours, and 54 minutes, you haven’t spoken with him.

But who’s counting, right?

Since the kiss, since the confession, not once did you both utter a single word to each other. You were hoping that he would have forgotten what had happened the night before, but when you woke up to an empty bed the next morning, you knew he remembered. And you knew he didn’t mean it.

But now you were both back where you started–in Congressman Gary’s office, in creaky wooden chairs, side by side. Except this time, it was silent. Eerily silent.

The congressman felt uneasiness crawling all over his skin, not used to the room being this quiet when the both of you were in each other’s presence. Usually it was loud, full of vulgarities and fallacious remarks about the other—and he oddly preferred that, missed it, even.

“Alright,” Gary uttered, taking the glasses off his face and wiping it with a small thin rag lying on the table, “I’m not exactly sure what happened here,” he directed his glasses between the both of you, “and I’m honestly not sure if I even want to know–”

“You don’t,” both you and Bucky muttered in unison.

Gary paused. “Right. Anyway, I need you to push that aside because you have a mission, which requires the both of you to work together.”

“Are you serious?”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“I cannot work with…him.”

“She is insufferable.”

You gasped. “I am not! You seriously cannot be talking here, Barnes.”

“Well I am, ‘cause I’m right.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“You, um–you just are.”

“Wow, real mature. How the fuck you managed to become a congressman is beyond me,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I heard that.”

“Good. I wanted you to.”

He shifted in his seat to glare at you and you felt time stop. The first time you’ve actually looked at each other in a while. The words suddenly got stuck in the back of your throat, leaving your lips parted and mouth dry. Bucky paused as well, his body frozen and tense, as his eyes stayed glued to yours.

You averted your gaze to Gary, who for some reason had a small smile plastered on his lips. Your eyebrows furrowed, “What’s so funny, congressman?”

Bucky turned to face him as well, wondering the same thing. Gary’s smile grew wider as he stood up, the chair screeching against the tiles. He placed his glasses on his face and walked towards the door. “Your mission is next week. I’ll email you the details later. See you, lovebirds!” and the door slams shut.

~~~

“I swear, I’m going to leave without you if you’re not here in the next five seconds!”

“As if. You need me,” you screamed back from your room. You lost it, again. The little gold bracelet. You were trying really hard to stay calm but as the clock ticked further away into the night, you found yourself unraveling.

“I have a metal arm. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you seem to have that for a brain too,” you retorted quietly.

“I heard that. What are you even doing?” you heard Bucky’s voice float into the room as his boots thudded through.

“I lost the…something,” you came out of the bathroom, going to rummage through your drawers for the seventh time.

Recognition flashed in his eyes. He walks over to you and grabs your shoulders to get your attention. 

“Wait, just give me a second!” you tried to turn away but he pulled you back. He slowly lifts his gloved hand before putting it into his pocket, slowly pulling out the bracelet.

“You–” you reach out to grab it but he puts it out of your reach. You look at him exasperatedly, eyes begging him to just give it to you.

Bucky grabs your hand, clasping it back on for you, pressing the clasp slightly harder than you usually would to tighten it. “There. Now you won’t lose it.” 

You didn’t answer, your hand playing with the band as you looked away from him, not really knowing what to say. 

The tips of your fingers stayed in his grasp, like neither of you wanted to pull away. “You know,” his tone was quiet and soft, “you still never told me why it is so special.”

You pulled your hand away. “We’re late.”

~~~

“In and out, okay?”

“I know, Barnes. I’m not five.”

“Well, you never know how to follow instructions.”

You loaded your gun. “That’s ‘cause your instructions suck.” 

Pulling up the mask that covered the bottom half of your face, you walked past him, going into the compound, but you only managed three steps before Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you back. “Why are you–”

“Behind me.” He pushes you behind him as he leads the way. You tried to slip in front of him a couple of times, but he blocked your move each time.

When the both of you successfully entered the compound, you agreed to split up to find any source of evidence. Anything that could possibly be used against Ms.de Fontaine. “Meet me here in 30 minutes. Nothing more. Understood?” he told you. To which, you waved him off and said, “Yeah, yeah, I know.” an answer he didn’t accept. “Understood?” he repeated, not allowing you to move from the space between him and the wall. You then proceeded to nod, and a quiet “I understand.” was said.

You dug through the stacks of papers scattered on the various sleek metal tables that were all over the room. Nothing.

It was like every scrap of possible evidence was removed and burnt off the face of the earth. You continued digging around anyway until you came across something that made you stop in your tracks–a crumpled black and white picture lying on top of a brown file. 

It was a photo of Bucky and Steve–pre-serum– and they were mid-laughing, all smiles and teeth. You’ve never seen Bucky smile like that before. You don’t think you’ve even seen him smile before, and the thought of that brought an uncomfortable feeling to simmer in the pit of your stomach. You quickly folded up the photo and stuffed it into your back pocket. 

You then picked up the file that was placed under it. It had the name ‘James Buchanan Barnes’ scrawled bright and bold in red on the front. Just as you were going to flip it open, a loud shot came from a couple rooms down. 

Bucky. 

You quickly swiped the file off the table and ran into its direction. Your mind was spiralling, panic seeping into your pores and flooding your bloodstream, taking up your thoughts bit by bit. All you could hear was nothing. Nothing. Silence. 

The second you reached what you thought was the room, you kicked the heavy metal door as hard as you could, and it came crashing down, the loud sound echoing all over the room. 

There you saw Bucky on one end and Valentina on the other, and the gun still steadily held in her right hand. You turned to face Bucky–hair strewn all over the place but he seemed perfectly fine. But he was tense, cold eyes burning into yours–angry.

“Well, if it isn’t the other half of my favourite starstruck lovers. And to think that just a second ago your lovely husband was telling me that he came alone,” Valentina said, walking closer to you. Stopping right in front of you, she reached a hand up towards your face.

“Don’t touch her.”

She clicked open your mask, letting it fall to the ground. “Relax. She’s all yours, loverboy.”

Your eyes shifted from Valentina back to Bucky again. He was staring at you–intently–but he wasn’t meeting your eyes.

Valentina’s eyes panned down to what was in your grip. She smiled. “What were you planning to do with that?” 

You didn’t answer, just subtly moving it behind you. 

Her smile widened. She turned to face Bucky, who was still frozen in his spot. “Aww, look at the two of you, being all so protective of each other, just–” a buzz in her pocket.

She reached into it and pulled out her phone. After staring at it for a couple of seconds, she sighed. “Well, I must get going. Responsibilities and all that,” she waved her hand, walking past you. She pointed between the both of you, “Adorable, really. Call me when you finally get your evidence, okay?” she added sarcastically, leaving you and Bucky alone in the room.

It was uncomfortably silent for a couple of seconds before Bucky quietly walked past you and out of the room. You chased after him–his large strides making it impossible for you to walk at a normal pace. “I found this file about you,” you said from behind him. He didn’t reply so you continued, “I think…I think that it’s about you during your Hydra days. And maybe even before? Experimentation, trials, history, and stuff like that. I thought m-maybe you would like to know. Or not. It looks old so I thought it could be the original. And that you could–you know, do whatever you’d like with it. Keep it. Burn it. Or something. Whatever you’d like.” 

You slowly stopped talking, seeing as if he weren’t listening to a word you were saying. The only sound that was coming from him was the loud stomps of his combat boots against the metal tiles and the faint creak coming from his metal arm.

The whole ride back was silent. You sat at the backseat this time, hoping that if he didn’t see your face, he would feel a little less hatred towards you–that you would be a little less of a burden for him to carry. You’ve never really felt like this in a long time, and especially never with him, despite never getting along. He’s always made you feel like an equal, like every step, every move, and every word that comes from you matters. But this time, movements tense, not talking, and disappointment hanging all over his face, you couldn’t help but let it consume you as it did when you were a child.

 So you sat there, with the file held close against your chest, never opening it.

~~~

The apartment door opens with a swing as Bucky speeds through, leaving you to trail behind him. 

You shut the door, placing the file on the coffee table, and following him into the kitchen. He had his back to you, gloves removed, flesh and vibranium pressed against the cool granite of the counter. You could tell he didn’t want to talk to you but you didn’t like him angry–especially when it directed to you. He got annoyed at you, yes, but never angry. But even without seeing his face, you could just feel it emitting from him.

“Bucky, I…” you started carefully, not wanting to push the wrong buttons, “I didn’t mean it. Whatever it is, I’m sorry. I–” you paused, noticing the way his shoulders tensed. “I don’t totally get it, but if you’re really unhappy about it, I won’t do it again. I promise. Tell me and you won’t have to worry about it again. Just please–please don’t be mad at me, Bucky.”

“Don’t say that.”

You got startled at the sound of his voice–low, heavy, his.

“W-what?”

He turned to face you. His eyes were red–not from crying, but from tiredness–accentuating the ice blue of his irises. “Don’t say that. Don’t beg me for anything. Don’t make me that important to you.”

Your frown grew deeper. He didn’t want you that much? You meant that little to him?

He saw the look on your face and immediately shook his head. “N-no. No. Not because of you, I promise. It’s me.”

“But you are important. To me.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Too bad.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared. Trying to read you, to see if you were lying–hoping that you were–but all he saw was truth. Laid bare, handed to him, pure and honest truth.

“Why?” he asked, the genuineness in his voice made your heart break. You didn’t like the way he saw himself, but then again, that’s how you noticed him.

You stepped closer to him, head tilting up to meet his eyes. “I don’t need to have a reason, Bucky. I don’t need to have an excuse to have you close to my heart. Because you are, and I want to keep you there forever. Although, I don’t think I’d ever be able to rip you out of it. I’ve tried, I couldn’t, and now I don’t want to. I want you there, stuck, forced to keep it beating till my dying breath. Even if I wasn’t in yours.”

He frowned like that was the most outlandish thing you’ve ever said. “You are.”

You knew he was just trying to not make you feel bad about it so you tried to change the topic. “Why were you mad at me?”

You could tell he knew exactly what you were doing, his eyes said it all, but he decided to let it slide–for now. He sighed, “I wasn’t mad. I could never be mad at you,” he mumbled, looking down at the ground, “I was just…scared, I guess. I told you to meet me in 30 minutes. It had been 32. You weren’t there. And then I saw Valentina, and I freaked. I thought she might have done something to you but then she asked me if you came with me, and I tried to convince her that I came alone. Then she shot the ceiling, knowing that you were going to come. I didn’t. Then you did. And, I don’t know, I hated the idea that you would risk yourself for me like that. But I shouldn’t have treated you like that. To make you think like that,” he looked back up to meet your eyes, “the thought shouldn’t have even crossed your mind. You’re so much more than what you believe you are. So much more.”

You weren’t much for physical touch, and you knew he was worse when it came to it, but almost like it was instinct, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms–tight–around his neck, pulling him flush against you.

Bucky froze, hands hovering over your back–hesitant and scared. Then, slowly, softly, like it wasn’t even there, he held you back. The heat from the fleshed hand penetrated through your clothes, as did the cool of the vibranium of his left hand, making your head spin in a way that made you want to hold him like this. Again. And again. And again. Till your bodies moulded as one and your brains turned to mush.

[butterbabyflapjack]

just a scene from wild animals where you and Brian have a pedophile strapped to your kill table.

From where he’s sidled up beside you to steady your waist, Brian smiles. “Sorry to distract,” he says. “Just wanted a better view. This is much more interesting than I’d anticipated.”

Gary doesn’t seem as delightfully interested in whatever’s going on here–what he still hasn’t wrapped his thick skull around.

“What the fuck is this?!” he shrilly demands from where he’s naked and bound, fat body wriggling atop the cabin’s table; his attempts to tear through rolls and rolls of plastic heightened tenfold. “What are you–What–Wh-Who are you people–?!”

Brian raises a brow down at where he’s strapped Gary solidly in place. Soft lips casually pursing, though he says not a thing. And when he glances instead at you, it’s as if he’s waiting for you to speak; for you to address your prey, or perhaps to object if he himself does. And when you don’t say a thing, the anxiety of this situation unforgivingly crashing into you, he slips quite easily into orchestrating things on your behalf.

“Well,” he says to Gary at last, with his arm still snuggly ‘round your waist. Good-natured, in what seems his exposition. “This is Ava’s aunt, as you’ve already been introduced.” He flashes a handsome grin; one shared in the politeness of greeting. “And I’m the guy who’s going to watch her kill you.”

There’s a second which hangs in time, in which language and time itself no longer make sense, no longer drag forward, with you all caught inside its sluggish web. And then those halted seconds all catch up at once, speeding forth and crashing into you, into Gary, until his eyes are nearly bulging from his head, a fat vein on his sweating brow skipping.

“You…” he struggles to say. Like he can scarcely comprehend what it is Brian’s saying. “You… You… what…?! You… You can’t…” He trails off. Can’t seem to bear repeating what was said. Yet Brian waits, patiently silent, as though unspokenly demanding this from him.

And eventually, with no other options…

“You can’t… You can’t kill me–!”

“Oh, I’m afraid we can,” Brian returns, quite simply. “And we’re going to. Just as soon as your lovely executioner’s finished preluding your end.”

Gary’s a broken record; plastic twisting with his every failed attempt to somehow free himself.

“Y-you can’t–!”

“Yes, you said that already,” rumbles Brian; dark eyes shining. “Might I recommend you try a different angle from all those potentially leading out of this? Perhaps a remorseful prayer? Or you could try tearfully begging...?” Gentle lines crease beneath his eyes as he smiles, oh-so-helpful. “I’m not sure either would work, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

You can practically hear Gary’s heart slamming against his ribs, the tape strapped across his brow sheening as he tries again and again to shift his head, to move it even a single inch to either side of where he’s cocooned.

“I–I–”

“Words, Gary,” Brian chastises from above him, “I’m not a mind reader.”

“I… F-fine,” Gary stammers at last. Horror wide in his gaze; imploring, “I… I have a p-problem, okay? I can’t…”

“You do have a problem,” Brian mildly agrees, though it seems he isn’t thinking of quite the same problem Gary is.

Gary tries to shake himself. To keep his head on straight. You can see it in the wildness of his blinking. “I couldn’t.. help it,” he says, soon desperately babbling. “I-I-I… I couldn’t h-elp myself, b-but… but I’m going to get help! I’m… I’m going to…!”

Brian purses his sculpted lips again. Glancing thoughtfully, for a moment, about this abandoned little cabin in the woods, before his eyes return to those of the man strapped to its table.

“I don’t think anyone here’s going to help you, Gary,” he smoothly says. “Not in any way you’ll immediately appreciate, in any case. Though you’ll certainly be abstaining from all those things you just can’t seem to help yourself with for a while, so…” His slow-formed smile’s all cheek. “You’re welcome~”

[cod-dump]

HEAR ME OUT PLS

Teen!Ghost waking up early to watch a Pokémon marathon right-

But kid!Roach also waking up early because he's a child and that's how they roll, but becoming fixated on the TV when the episode starts because of all the colours and the cool animal things and ends up watching with Simon.

Then they end up doing this every Saturday morning (when Pokémon airs for me, each week there's a marathon which starts at like 5:30 and ends at 10:30) and it just becomes this little thing for them.

Pokémon (teen!Ghost au)

___

He set his alarm early for this. A Pokémon marathon. He's seen it all by this point but he doesn't care.

Simon ran downstairs, Riley chasing after him. He propped the kitchen door open so Riley could go outside as he prepared the pup's breakfast before he focused on making his own breakfast and snacks for the marathon. He would've hijacked the TV in the basement but the chance of his father having to work, forcing him to move upstairs, was too high.

He's already warned his family of his plans and everyone seemed to be on the same page: Simon had the living room TV for the day and he was willing to fight anyone over it.

Simon had everything set up on the coffee table and end table. He will only be moving during commercial breaks unless there was an emergency. He was just setting the pillows up when Riley bounded into the living room... with Gary.

"Oh... Hi, Gary."

The kid stared at him silently before he looked to the TV. The marathon hadn't started yet but there was colorful commercials advertising toys, other shows, and some events. Gary was hypnotized.

"You wanna watch with me? You like Pokémon?"

Gary nodded and Simon decided this was the perfect opportunity to bond with the kid. He was skittish but he was warming up to everyone. He loved the pets, loved bothering John and Nik, and liked hanging out with Farah. She took up some babysitting with the agreement she would get paid even though she offered to do it for free in the beginning.

Gary wasn't close with Simon or Kyle.

"Want a waffle?"

That sealed the deal and Gary wandered over to the couch and got on. Simon knew he had less than twenty minutes to toast another waffle and add extra provisions for the addition of Gary. So he gave Gary his own waffle and ran into the kitchen to make another waffle before the marathon started.

_

John was heading downstairs quietly, knowing that Simon was glued to the TV and would snap if he was disturbed. So when he peeked into the living room he was shocked to see Gary on the couch with him, both absorbed by the TV. He took this opportunity to take a picture and send it to Phillip.

'Your kid likes Pokémon.'

John went on to the kitchen to silently make some coffee and get some food ready for the rest of the household. Riley had decided to join him, demanding attention by sitting at his feet while whining and tapping his paws.

"Si too focused to play with you, huh?"

John gave Riley a pat who licked his hand. He can't believe he was against getting this dog.

John finished making his cup of coffee when Kyle sneaked into the kitchen. John snorted when he saw he was dressed as a ninja. It was a cheap Halloween costume he bought with pocket money and it has made random appearances. Such as this morning.

"Son, what are you doing?"

"Blending in. If Simon sees me he might bite."

John snorts, "Sit down and I'll get you a plate."

Kyle chose to instead walk over and get in his father's space, pressing against him as he eyed his cup of coffee.

"Can I have some?"

"No, you're hyper enough as is."

"But-"

"No, it'll stunt your growth. Do you want to stay shorter than Simon forever?"

Kyle glared at him before he removed himself from his side to sit at the table. John refrains from laughing, he doesn't know how long that'll keep working and he doesn't want to push it. Kyle was pouting at the table when John gave him his plate.

"Simon is gonna be taller than me..."

"He's Nik's kid, he's going to be huge."

Farah walked in the kitchen, "I saw Gary with Simon."

"Great, he's replacing me with a new baby brother."

John grinned as he walked around and wrapped his arms around Kyle, "You're still my baby boy."

"DAD-"

John pressed several kisses to Kyle's head as he struggled to escaped, Farah laughing. Kyle was grinning even though he had a hand trying to shove his father away. Nikolai walked in at that moment, half asleep.

"Get any louder and Si is going to kill you."

John decided to show mercy, giving Kyle one last kiss before he released him. Farah was giggling and Kyle was forcing a frown by this point. Nik was on auto pilot, pressing a kiss to John's cheek as he passed before heading straight to the coffee pot.

John had a feeling Nik didn't see the scene in the living room and walked over. He had his phone out and silently showed Nik the picture he took, the man staring at the screen in confusion until he finally woke up enough to see what was on the screen.

"They're bonding," he muttered and John nodded.

"Over colorful, cartoon animals that do not exist in real life."

"It's adorable. I need that printed and hung on the wall."

Farah leaned over and whispered to Kyle, just low enough John couldn't hear. Kyle lit up with a grin before he stood up and ninja'd his way out of the kitchen. John sighed, turning to Farah who immediately gave him an innocent smile.

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," oh she had a charming smile, he would've believed her if he didn't know her.

Nikolai was the one to figure it out, way faster than what John would have.

"Those Pokémon ball things. The stuffed ones."

"Oh no-"

John raced out of the kitchen to stop Kyle before he signed his own death certificate. Farah laughed wickedly and Nik sipped his coffee, utterly content in the life he had.

___

[dragonnarrative-writes]

KinkVember 12 - High Protocol

Gary "Roach" Sanderson x Reader, Featuring Ghost, Mace, Gaz, and Soap

Read on AO3

CW: Partial nudity, non-con touching, physical strike (not as a part of established play), kneeling, knives (present, but not used), praise

Notes: Gary "Roach" Sanderson experiences mutism due to injury to his throat. He uses British Sign Language, but he and the reader have established hand signals that are not standard BSL as part of their dynamic. When Roach is speaking, Simon interprets for the people at the table who aren't fluent in BSL.

You tilt your head when you hear a low whistle from the den. You finish the serving platter you're working on with an answering two-note whistle. It's the work of a moment to slide the platter into the fridge and trade it for five bottles of water before setting out to see to Gary and his guests.

You see Johnny, Kyle, Simon and Mason looking at you as you walk in. Their eyes dart down to your breasts and then down to the skirt that you know doesn’t fully cover your ass. You cock one hip for them to admire your bare legs, but you only have eyes for your Dom.

You preen a bit when Gary looks up and almost signs for water, then grins to see you've anticipated his request. When he circles a finger, you step into the room and start offering water to his guests.

It’s an interesting headspace to be in. You feel their eyes on you, but you’re not partially nude. This is your home, where you are most comfortable. You’re partially clothed, for their sake. You offer refreshments because Gary’s guests are your guests; there is no deference, or shame. You follow Gary because you want to, because he offers orders freely and demands nothing from you. You have power here, even if you’re not in control.

So, when Johnny runs an appreciative hand up the back of your thigh, you don’t hesitate to knock his arm away and then crack your palm against his face.

Gary’s whistle stutters as he tries to call you though his laughter. You go to stand behind his shoulder, and offer your hand for his inspection. He holds your wrist gently, but he doesn’t need to check you for injury. You know how to hit a man, and the slap was more of a warning than anything. He kisses the inside of your wrist before addressing the rest of the table.

A solid hit, he signs, as Simon interprets. He grins at Johnny’s quickly reddening face. Told you to keep your hands to yourself. To you, he signs, Kneel.

You consider the kneeling pillow he’s placed by his side, then fold into it. He signals position 5 or 7, so you settle with your back straight, hands on your thighs, shoulders relaxed. From this angle, you can only see thighs, and Gary’s left hand. He pinches three fingers to his thumb. Hold.

Above you, Mason rumbles, “Don’t think she should be punished for that.”

Gary’s hand disappears, and Simon’s voice says. “’She’s not being punished. She gets to relax now. None of you gets to look if any of you can’t follow the rules.’”

“Ye cannae blame me,” Johnny whines, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “She’s a right bonnie thing. An’ she usually likes to play.”

“'She’s in a mood,” Simon rumbles. “’You’re lucky she has her orders. She’s armed…’ Where the fuck is she armed?”

Gary snorts as his left hand appears with the hand signal to present arms. Above and to the side of you, you catch Kyle watching from the corner of your eye as you slip your hands under your skirt to unsheathe your palm knives. You raise your hands above the table.

“Steamin’ jesus,” Johnny laughs.

Gary signals for you to resume position 5, so you do. He taps your shoulder, once, twice, three times. Good. Very good. Perfect. You don’t break position, but you purse your lips to catch the edge of his wrist in a kiss.

“Should we go after this round?” Kyle asks, tapping his poker chips on the table in a nervous rhythm. “If she’s not comfortable with us being here.”

“’You wouldn’t have made it through the door if she didn’t want you here.’” Simon chuckles and knocks his own knuckles on the table. “Sounds like she runs the damn ‘ouse, not you. ‘Doesn’t Bambi?’ Olright, you’re not wrong there. But we don’t ‘ave nearly the amount of rules an’ signals that you do.”

You let the noise of their voices turn to background noise as you center yourself. Above the table, Mason shuffles cards. Johnny’s left leg bounces - he’s got a good hand, then - and Kyle stops tapping his chips. Gary’s hand enters your sight line to give you one more signal. Easy. Then he touches the top of your head and gently nudges you to lay your head on his thigh. He taps, once, twice, three times. Four.

Good. Very good. Perfect. I love you.

[goldingwrites]

after hours (chapter 18)

⯈ previous chapter: chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six - chapter seven - chapter eight - interlude - chapter nine - chapter 10 - chapter 11 - chapter 12 - chapter 13 - chapter 14 - chapter 15 - chapter 16 - chapter 17

⯈ pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x female!reader

⯈ summary: the nights in Gotham are always unforgiving, you, you strip for money, to feed your son and to forget some of your troubles. it’s easy, it’s simple until Vengeance appears in your night.

⯈ rating: mature.

⯈ tw: violence (description of physical abuse), blood, angst, minor character death, hospital settings & medical procedure (FOR THIS CHAPTER)

⯈ chapter word count: 6.7k

⯈ note: here is the june update, please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this chapter, LOTS OF ANGST, we are picking up right where we left off! the next update will be mid july, enjoy!

“BRUCE!”

...

In hindsight, you both should have seen it coming. Because doesn’t life work like that? What goes around must come back around. Or something as poetic as that? Isn’t it the very definition of justice?

Something completely unfair?

Something cold and undiscriminating? 

Maybe.

You’ve never screamed so hard and so loud in your entire life.

Even while you were in labor, surrounded by doctors and nurses, drenched in your own sweat, tears, and even some of your blood. You still felt some pain despite the medication, but you knew it was for a good reason. From the suffering, something very good emerged. From the suffering, you created a life. A whole fucking life, but not just the pain from that operation table, God no. It took months and months of so-called love and affection, years of neglect and brutality, all culminating in one moment, all resulting in something good and pure.

Because that’s justice too.

But this?

THIS?

Natasha is dead.

You saw it in front of your very eyes, and you could still see it. Bruce just apologized, and now, in front of multiple screens, in front of all of them, flames are dancing in front of your eyes. Raw fire, destructive fire, annihilating fire. One tear rolls down your right cheek as this minute and this moment seem to drag forever. And yet, you’re breathing, and yet your heart is pounding so loud you can feel the taste of your blood in your mouth, it’s wet and dry at the same time, and, and, and...

“Alfred, Alfred...” You say the name of Bruce’s guardian, breathlessly. “What’s going on... What’s going on?”

“I...” He sounds shaken, you turn to him, and the distress on his face is gone in an instant. Just like that, in a flash, it’s gone. Yes, it’s chilling the way his expression shifts and his demeanor changes, you know, just like you, Alfred is worried, except he knows the next minutes will be crucial. And he must fulfill his duty, not just to Bruce but to Vengeance as well. “Let me see if we can get anything from the police radio. we need to know exactly what’s happening, it’s important.”

You nod, seeing Alfred and hearing Alfred sound so sure of himself is comforting in a way. Internally? You want to grab his shoulders and remind him that there was a bomb next to Bruce. How can he be so sure Bruce is okay? Does Vengeance suit protect him against that? Shit, you should know those answers, how useless can you be? 

The thought strikes you as Alfred seems to be playing with the buttons of a very old radio, looking for a signal. You come closer as he detects nothing but static, and just as you’re about to ask him about Bruce, a voice comes from the other side. Someone is coughing loudly, they spit next, and from experience, you know, they just spat some blood and a lot of it.

“CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME? Shit, shit... it’s a fucking set up... we’ve been played... everything is... the bank is burning, not just, the history museum and shit... Arkham... multiple squads have been hit, we lost signal... we NEED back up. Please, please... my partner isn’t moving... shit, Gary, please... PLEASE!”

There’s a sob, and it’s gut-wrenching, it shakes you in your boots, and you have to hug your own body just so you don’t end up in the same state. Whoever is on the other side, whoever is sending this message, they don’t have long and they probably know it.

“Alfred...” You put one hand over the man’s shoulder. “We... we can’t let him out there, we have to go get him.”

“Agreed,” Alfred is up on his two feet next, a firm expression on his face. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but the circumstance...”

“We’re past the point of no return, Alfred, ask away...”

“Can you use a weapon? Of any kind?”

“No, unfortunately no.”

“Then, you leave that to me, you’ll be driving.”

“I can do that.”

“Miss... If we go retrieve Master Wayne, you have to do as I say, when I tell you to do it.”

“I will.”

“We won’t be rescuing anybody else, unfortunately.”

“I get it, we get Bruce and we come back here.”

“Exactly.” Alfred nods. “Now follow me.”

You nod, and you automatically follow Alfred. You don't know if it's his tone or his confident stride as he leads you to another corner of Vengeance's base of operation. But you follow, you're ready to follow, to listen and to do anything he tells you to do, especially if it means finding and retrieving Bruce.

He has to be okay.

He just has to be.

He made a promise to you.

No, correction, they made a promise to you.

Both of them. Vengeance and Bruce, they made a promise to you. But it doesn't mean that you are going to sit idly and wait for him. No, for them, you will do the impossible. He's only human, that's something that Bruce tends to forget, and quickly at that, you don't unfortunately. How could you forget that simple and yet very important fact when you've spent so many nights cradled and shielded in his arms?

With your ear pressed right against Bruce's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

That is your favorite melody, one you could always dance to.

You should tell him next time you see him.

Alfred pushes open a heavy set of doors, and you're not even surprised or phased as you face multiple arrays of weapons: guns, rifles, knives of various sizes, and even a few swords. You're waiting for his instructions, and the first thing he does is to give you a bulletproof vest and tell you to watch what he does. He passes one too, securing it with a belt at the bottom, and you copy Alfred's movements quickly and easily.

"Good, very good."

You know he's not talking to you, Alfred still gives you a once-over, probably to make sure you are going to be protected. Once that's done, he grabs a bag and starts shoving a few weapons inside. Various firearms, a few grenades, and finally a first aid kit. You know the weapons are for him to handle, you're one hundred percent sure of it, especially when seeing the resolute look on the older man's face. He closes the back quickly, and finally, he grabs what you know is a shotgun, and finally, Alfred turns to you.

"Let's go."

Next, the butler leads the way to the familiar garage. You don't take any of Bruce's fanciest cars, no, Alfred chooses a practical car, and he hands you the key to an SUV. You nod, still silent as you slip into the driver's seat and fasten your seatbelt. You're trembling, you realize it as you grip the steering wheel, your knuckles change color, and when you turn to Alfred, you find him inputting your destination into the GPS.

Gotham National Bank, Vengeance's last known location.

When he turns to you, he offers you a soft smile.

Your mouth is so dry, part of you is scared, terrified even, are you really about to do something so risky? Yes, you think the next second, for Bruce, you will do absolutely anything.

Alfred says your name with his usual kindness, pauses, and then continues. "From now until we reach our destination, I want you to drive. And just drive. Don't stop at any sign or red lights, just drive."

"Okay." You nod once more. "What about roadblocks or potential police cars?"

"Well, this car is registered under Master Bruce's name, so we can afford a few transgressions, and honestly? I think, and I'm hoping no one notices us in the chaos."

"Good point. Okay, let's go, I don't want to waste any more time."

"Of course."

You exchange one final look with Alfred, and finally, you start the car.

This isn't your first time driving, and yet, it feels like the first time. Everything is new and daunting. You're glad for the cold and empty voice giving you directions. It's a few minutes before you will reach the center of town, and unsurprisingly, the streets are empty on this side of town, no pedestrians, no other vehicles. Peaceful and quiet. You follow Alfred's advice and you ignore the stop signs and the lights, you just drive. Foot pressed on the accelerator, you don't stop, you can't stop.

No, there's too much on the line.

After a particular sharp turn, it's been some time since you drove a vehicle this side, you see the chaos and the madness. And more importantly, you hear it. Yes, the very distinct siren of a fire truck, yes, one speeds past your vehicle, without paying any attention, and that's when the flames come into full view. Orange, red, soaring, and powerful, a couple of buildings are on fire, and there's some sort of rampant panic in the street, as people are running away from those buildings. Police officers, civilians, fire fighters, it's a slew of people moving, shouting, coughing... surviving.

"Take the next left and you will reach your destination in three minutes."

You snap out of it; Alfred gave you some precise instructions, and right now? You're so glad he did, you're just here to drive. Drive to Bruce. Drive to the one man who made you think that maybe you deserved a little bit more.

Drive to the man you love and hopefully find him in one piece.

Drive to the man you love.

Fuck... you should tell him that. Before you lose any chance to do so.

Because it has to be love... right? 

Right?

You steer left, it's sloppy, and you hit the curve, but Alfred doesn't comment, and neither do you. Once the wheels of the car are straight, you push on the accelerator with renewed purpose, because it has to be less than three minutes. You have to make it now. Now or never.

"You have reached your destination, National Bank of Gotham City. Have a pleasant evening."

You refrain the urge to roll your eyes at the GPS and its disembodied voice, it doesn't know the whole situation after all, or why you're driving in the middle of the goddamn night. You stop the engine and turn to Alfred.

"Now what?"

"Now you follow me and we go get Master Bruce."

Almost in sync, you both exit the car.

Outside? it's worse, it's so much worse, the first thing that invades your senses is the very distinctive smell of burned fabric. And burnt flesh, part of the building is still on fire, but you spot two firetrucks and a slew of firefighters and police officers, one side of the building is being hosed down by a giant spray of water, and you can only pray that's wear Bruce is located.

"Follow me!" Instructs Alfred, and it's easy to do so.

Yes, amidst the confusion and the chaos, it's very easy to just enter the bank. Maybe someone shouts at you to stop, maybe someone tells you to go get checked by a doctor, but as you enter the bank and you see the broken glass everywhere, you're welcomed by a chill silence and smoke everywhere. You just focus on Alfred, the square sureness of his shoulders as he makes his way up the stairs. You're running the next second, retracing Vengeance's steps and actions. You don't have a motorcycle, so it's slower, and the higher the climb, the heavier that white foggy smoke becomes, and the more you cough. Both you and Alfred but neither of you stops, no, you don't. 

"Come on, just a little bit more..."

Alfred's voice guides you and for a few minutes, it's like your anchor, you force a deep breath as you finally stop climbing the stairs, fucking, and you almost regret it when you cough the next second. But you don't stop, you keep following Alfred, and soon enough, he forces his way into a locked room. The hard shove he gives the door doesn't seem to cut it, so, almost naturally, he shoots at the handle with his powerful gun. The sound is loud, but not as loud as your heartbeat, not as hard as the rustling of the wind invading your ears as you enter this room.

There's no smoke, no, the floor-to-ceiling windows have been smashed, and there's a cold wind in the room. Some flames are still dwelling about, but they are about to disappear and...

"BRUCE!"

There he is, in the center of the room, that dark, unmoving form, it's him? Right? The shape of his suit, the shape of his mask, and that pale jaw? You know it's his, you know it's him, you've traced the contours of his face so many fucking times: in your sleep, in anger, in desperation, in a middle of a desperate embrace... it's him, you'd bet your life on it, it's fucking him.

You're faster than Alfred, you don't know how, but you are, and immediately, you rush to his side. Instantly, you're on your knees, grabbing his face. You remove the mask as gently as you can. His eyes are closed, there's blood everywhere on his face, and the contrast is so striking with his pale marble skin, you want to cry. You want to cry and go do the same to the person who hurt him, yes, you want to tear and destroy, just because of what they did to him.

Alfred is there too, and he immediately checks for a pulse; you take in his relieved sigh as he detects one.

"Please, tell me you can hear me, Bruce, we're here, open your eyes, please..." You cradle his jaw with shaky hands, you just need him to open your eyes to signal that he will, somehow, against all odds, survive this. 

"His heartbeat is faint but here and... we'll have to take off the suit to see the state of his injuries and..."

"Alfred, there's so much blood on his face, why is there so much blood on his face?"

Just as you ask the question, your hands move to his head, that's when you detect a soft spongy spot, that's where the blood comes from, and Alfred groans when you show him your hands covered in blood.

"He might not come to for a while, we need to... okay, hold him like that." Alfred pulls out the first aid kit, and you watch him work as quickly as possible. He presses some sort of compress to Bruce's head to stop the bleeding and probably stop any further complications. Bruce makes a sound of that, but still, his eyes remain shut. The sound alone? It feels like a knife slicing you in half, but you ignore it, this isn't about you right now, this is about him, you need to do everything you can right now...

"I.... we need to take him to a hospital, this is beyond my expertise, and he needs proper medical attention."

"Alfred, how are we...? They can't know, nobody can know."

"You're right... But there has to be a back entrance, something, we'll head there, you bring the car around while I wait with him, and in the car, we remove his suit and go to a hospital... Okay?"

"Okay, yes, let's... let's just..."

For the next part, you have to let go of Bruce, he's safe in Alfred's arms, and if you were doubting the other man's strength, you don't anymore, not when he manages to get Bruce up to his feet, one of Bruce's arms over Alfred's shoulders. They make for a sore sight, especially with Bruce's head just falling down, the blood still on his forehead and nose, and... you gasp loudly next.

"What?" immediately asks Alfred.

"Look, his right leg, it's..." The angle isn't right, and if Bruce were awake, you are one hundred percent surer he would scream in pain, absolutely no doubt of it.

"I see... it appears to be broken. Even more reason to take him to a hospital, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, agreed."

You nod, without a single hesitation, you plant a quick kiss on Bruce's lips, and you move, ready to bring the car around and to leave this madness.

You need to; this isn't just about you now.

***

Breathing is an automatic process, a natural phenomenon. And for that, you're glad, because you're pretty sure you would have forgotten to take a breath otherwise, with all that's currently happening.

Oddly enough, it's easy to bring the car around the bank, and Alfred is right, there are multiple back entrances, probably for deliveries and such, and it's easy to meet him and Bruce back them. Outside? In the cold night air? Bruce looks even worse, but you somehow manage to lay him down in the back seat of the car as quickly as possible.

You don't need Alfred to tell you to drive you to the nearest hospital; you do it without a second thought. Once again: automatic. Driving also is, once your hands are around that steering wheel, you know exactly what to do and what direction to take. You don't need to use the GPS, you're more than familiar with the route, and you take Bruce to Gotham's general hospital. You pass a few cars, but like Alfred instructed you before, you don't stop. No, while you drive, you hear the older man strip Bruce of his suit, leaving him in loose black clothing. 

Alfred doesn't find any more blood, he tells you, so Bruce is lucky in a way. But there's that spot on his head where he stopped the bleeding earlier, his broken leg, and one of his flanks has suffered some mild burning. Alfred doesn't offer you more information, and maybe that's for the best; you wouldn't be able to drive otherwise.

You're silent when you reach the hospital and the emergency room. Alfred takes the lead then. He lies so easily, as nurses and people suddenly surround Bruce. Bruce had a meeting with investors at the bank. He stayed behind to go over some files, and that's when the bank was attacked, that's when he was attacked, and the explosion occurred. It's a good story, plus, who's going to question the richest man in the city? Of course, he'd have a private meeting at the bank; it makes sense.

The doctor informs you that the urgent matter is Bruce's skull; they need to assess if it's fractured or if it's more damaged. His legs and his burning marks are secondary, according to the doctors.

"But he'll wake up, right?" You hear yourself ask the doctor, surprised to hear that you found your voice. For Bruce, you would, of course, you would.

"We'll know more after the first series of exams," the doctor offers you an impersonal reply and an empty smile. You suppose that it's just another day for him. "It's a good thing you brought him when you did... We will let you know as soon as we get the initial results.... and if anything needs to be decided and signed, you'll be notified."

You nod, it's the only thing you can do before your gaze falls on Bruce. On that hospital bed, he looks massive. He looks even paler and yet still impressive. The very picture of a fallen giant, you hate that comparison, you hate it even more when the hospital bed is pushed away and Bruce disappears from your view. You almost jump out when Alfred presses one hand to your shoulder, but still, you let him guide you away. To a waiting room.

But not the usual waiting room, this one has actual comfortable chairs, a water fountain, and the heating works. There's no one in sight, and you can't even laugh at the privilege that money brings, or roll your eyes at it. Honestly, you're glad, you don't want to be facing anyone right now. You've heard the radio signal and you know many police officers and some civilians' lives are in danger, but... You don't care. As bad as it sounds, all of that is background noise, all that matters is Bruce and Bruce only.

You find a chair easily, your feet are on it too, as you fold your legs and press your knees to your chest, just so your chin can rest on them.

"Now we wait?" You mumble, eyes on Alfred next.

He's still standing, and he nods. "Yes... I do have to leave you for a moment, some matters to take care of... I also need to check something on the police feed... I need to make sure that..." Alfred pauses, a sad expression on his face when he resumes his sentence. "They have found Natasha's body."

"Yeah, that makes sense." Your voice is miles away as you say this. She's dead, she's dead, and you're not crying, there are no tears in your eyes, if anything, you feel tired. From this night, from every other night, from the dread, and for worrying. It's horrible, but in a way, you don't have to worry about Natasha anymore, she's dead, right?

That's the final leap... isn't it?

Gosh, you're such a horrible person.

Just as you think that, your lower lip trembles and Alfred appears in your field of you. He's on his knees in front of you, and he grabs your two hands.

"I know this is hard, but believe me, the hardest part is done. He will wake up, I'm sure of it... Master Wayne has been stubborn since he said his first word."

You chuckle despite yourself, so glad for Alfred, and you squeeze his hands next.

"Okay," you manage.

"I won't be too long... I will also grab your mother and the little one and make sure they are safe at the manor."

"Oh yes, that... considering everything happening tonight... yes. Thank you."

"But of course, you're family and so are they. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Alfred leaves you with an honest smile, a miracle considering the circumstances.

***

You wait.

There's nothing else to do but wait.

Sat down on that chair, you wait, all on your own. It's quiet and strangely calm in the room, as if, a few feet away from you, the one person who made you want to change is not in a critical condition. But that's the thing, you don't know. You're no doctor, but you know blood spilling from Bruce's head? It can't be good. You do your best not to focus on that, and you wait. Your eyes are glued to the clock on the wall; your arms wrapped around yourself in some sort of pathetic attempt to warm you up.

And tic-tic-tic... the arrows move, they follow their own pace, they follow their own rules, and they move. 40 minutes pass before your phone, deep in your pocket, buzzes. It's a text from Alfred: your mother and your son are safe back at the manor, security is there, and they won't go out until it's absolutely necessary. You send a simple thank you in response, and when the phone disappears, it's back to waiting.

It's an hour before you face the same doctor you addressed earlier, and once he has confirmed your name, you are one of Bruce's emergency contacts, he gives you the news.

Bruce's right leg is indeed broken.

That's not worrying, what's worrying is that he is suffering from internal bleeding, right inside his brain, and if they don't move forward with an operation, it could lead to some dangerous consequences.

"It's early enough that if we operate now, Mr. Wayne is likely to wake up in the next 72 hours without any permanent damage. He'll have to take it easy and see a neurologist regularly, but-"

"Yes. Go ahead, whatever you need to do, do that," you interrupt the doctor, and loudly at that, without a care in the world, how could you care when there's a chance this night actually end.

He nods, you sign the piece of paper he hands you, and it's back to waiting.

Hours pass.

Hours upon hours, and at 3 am, your bladder and your stomach have decided that you have had enough. Alfred isn't back, you have no more messages from him, you did message him right after the doctor left you in the room, after all, he's the man who raised Bruce, he deserves to know about his well-being and his future. But since then, radio silence. You suppose he is busy, he's not just Bruce's family, he also looks over Vengeance's shoulder, so he has to make sure everything is okay there too.

After all, Natasha is dead.

The thought brings you back to your feet, and you venture into the hospital. Finding the toilets is easy enough; you keep venturing down until you find a vending machine. You buy a bottle of water and a Coke with crumbled dollars from the back of your pocket. The hallway is noisier than the waiting room you left, and despite yourself, you follow that noise. It's always been ingrained in you, it seems, to follow the noise, to follow the chaos. Your feet lead you into what is an emergency room. Doctors, nurses, and hospital personnel are moving about, shouting orders at each other, as they do their best to help all the people here.

By your estimate, there are at least 50 people here, mostly police officers, but not just, you see people without uniform, you see people bleeding, people crying, people praying... All crammed here, in one room. While you're in a pristine waiting room, waiting for Bruce to be treated.

The nausea is there, it's by pure chance that your stomach is almost empty, and you force yourself to swallow your saliva so you don't lose grip of reality.

Because this is unfair, isn't it?

The best doctors in the hospital are probably with Bruce.

But what about those people? They deserve the best too, they're suffering too. There is no way in hell, this is fair. 

You can't stay here, you decide, you're physically fine for once, and you feel like an intruder. Or one of those visitors at the zoo, peeping through the glass windows. But this is not a fucking game, no, this is life and death.

You take a deep breath once you're back in the waiting room, and you empty half of your bottle of water, just to steady yourself.

Fuck...

You just need this night to end.

***

Bzz... Bzzzz...

It's 6 am when you move again, but only because your phone is ringing in your pocket. You slowly go for it, you're half dreading a call right now. If it's your mother, you won't be able to tell her or explain to her where you are and why.

Oh, yeah, you know Bruce that you love so much and think I should probably settle down with? He's actually a masked vigilante, the masked vigilante, he dresses up as a bat, goes out at night, and administers his own brand of justice.

...

A great conversation, you're one hundred percent sure of that.

Thankfully, it's Alfred, and you're glad for it. He's calling you and not texting, meaning it must be important, and after a deep breath, you pick up.

"Yes?"

"Sorry for the early call..."

"No need to apologize."

"Any news on Master Wayne?"

"No, I'm guessing the surgery is still ongoing, no doctor or nurse came back to talk to me, so..."

"So, for now, you're waiting."

"Yes," you sigh as you let out the simple word. You're more on edge than at any other time in your life. Maybe in a few days, you'll be able to look back on this moment, to this very moment, and find that you overreacted a little bit. Or maybe underreacted? You have no way to tell for the moment.

"Hang in there, I'm sure Master Wayne is in very capable hands." Alfred pauses, and you nod. "I wanted to update you on our situation..."

"Go on."

"They've found Natasha's body, and her family has been informed."

"Oh, that's good."

"Yes, she was married, the police have informed her husband." A husband? Natasha never mentioned anything of the sort, you suppose that all the info that she gave you at the club, about her crazy life, and her need for money? That was completely fake, just a way to gain your trust and see if you could give her some intel in return.

"Is there a TV in the waiting room?" Alfred asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Hmm..." You look around and finally spot the lifeless black box. "Oh yes, there is."'

"You might want to turn it on soon, the mayor will make an address, from what I have heard."

"Is she?"

"Yes, it's... well, it's worse than we thought. There were multiple explosions, you see, at the same time, at the bank, the museum, but not just. There was also an explosion at the Arkham Asylum."

"You're joking, right?" You hear yourself.

"Oh, I wish I were, but there was, and turns out about 40 percent of the prisoners were able to escape and hide amongst the chaos. So, it wasn't random, it was..."

"A trap." You finish for Alfred, a tired expression on your face. "Just a trap. You heard what Domi... what he said before everything went down." You stop yourself from revealing too much in here. Who says the hospital is safe? No one, absolutely no one. "That he was the one pulling the strings, he knew about Natasha, he knew where we would be tonight, and everything was timed? And well executed? And they didn't take anything from the bank or the museum, I bet?"

"You are correct," drily confirms Alfred.

"No surprise there. Natasha did say someone in the asylum was being a supplier; it's almost as if it was their goal from the beginning. That as well as weaken the police department and... Vengeance."

"Hmm... as much as I hate to admit it, I believe you are right in this instance." Alfred sighs, you can still sense the irritation and frustration in his voice, two emotions that you share. "We've been played and expertly at that."

"Yeah, we have..."

"I.... I have some matters to look at. Are you okay on your own?"

"Of course, you do what you have to do. We both know, the moment Bruce opens his eyes, he'll want some answers, and as fast as possible."

"Yes... Please text me if you need anything, I can send Orlando over."

"Will do, thank you."

"Don't mention it."

You hang up. Soon after, you grab the remote lying on top of a stack of untouched magazines, turning up the TV. You don't have to wait too long before a BREAKING NEWS logo appears on the screen. Just as the camera zooms out and focuses on Bella Reál, the mayor of Gotham, you find your seat again. The black woman is at the police station, and you can tell after one glance that a couple of microphones are in front of her, and a few flashes are going on at once. After a brief pause, she speaks.

"My fellow Gothamites, it is with a heavy heart that I speak to you today. As many of you are already aware, several buildings in the city have been attacked by a criminal organization and its leader, Domino. Most of the victims have been police officers and their fellow colleagues. For those who are hurt and seeking medical help, please make your way to the nearest hospital where we will take care of you, regardless of your status." She pauses, you are focused on her face, how could you not? She sounds the part, and she looks the part. "I now declare the city of Gotham to be in a state of emergency. over the next few hours and days, several measures will take effect to ensure the protection of all the citizens of Gotham. The first one will be to close the city off, with the help of the national guard, no one is to come in and out of the city until this matter is resolved." She sounds so sure that you shiver in your seat. This feels too familiar, it's almost been three years since the flood and that nightmare.

Is the city back to square one? 

Was nothing done? Was nothing changed?

"I urge every citizen to limit their trips outside, remain at home safe, and to report any suspicious behavior to the police." Your mother and your son are safe at the Wayne Manor, this is probably the safest place in town right now, most likely.

"Now, to the criminals and any person with ill intent watching this... let me be clear: none of this is tolerated. You will be apprehended, you will be arrested, and you will be prosecuted with the full extent of the law." Bella now sounds downright vicious. She takes this personally; there is no doubt in your mind. “There are tough times ahead of us. The next hours and the next days will determine who can roam our streets freely or not. But make no mistake... Justice will prevail." With that, the mayor's address ends, and it's replaced with a journalist reminding people of the helpful numbers and all the hospitals they can get access to in town.

This is... chilling.

This is another crisis, and there is no escaping this.

You need Bruce.

****

"Miss? Miss?"

By some fucking miracle, you did fall sleep and that hand over your shoulder wakes you up. More importantly, it startles you awake, and you have a full-body shiver as you move your eyelids. The lights are bright, your mouth is completely dry, and judging by the clock on the wall... It's going to be 9 am in exactly 10 minutes.

Oh, there, you got your wish.

The night did end.

Your gaze falls on the doctor next, he's still wearing scrubs you wear for an operation, you know this much, minus the mask and the gloves.

"Sorry, I did not mean to scare you," he says in a tired voice, but you nod negatively. Out of the two of you, he's probably more tired than you are. He's probably completely exhausted; he just had someone's life in his hands, and what did you do? You fucking fell asleep.

"It's fine... any news?"

"Yes, the operation went smoothly, and we were able to stop the bleeding. Mister Wayne is being placed in a room right now. I'm assuming you want to see him?"

"Yes."

You've never answered so fast in your life. You spring to your feet, probably too quickly. Yes, there are stars in front of your eyes, clouding your vision, as well as your unruly curly hair, you push it to one side of your face. You use all of your strength to follow the doctor. He leads you up, you realize, there's another elevator, and you know, for sure, you've never seen this wing of the hospital. You're even more convinced than before as the door slides open, once again, it's too pristine and too clean for a hospital.

"This way," the doctor leads you away, and after a brief pause where he talks to a nurse, you finally have a door number. 713. You follow him to the room, and you freeze in place once you can finally see Bruce.

...

This is not what you were expecting, yes, it is foolish to expect him to be smiling that one smile of his, the one that makes him look a bit dangerous, it's more of a smirk than anything else, and it's usually a private expression he has for himself, when his blue eyes are not focused on you.

It's even stupider to expect him to look as peaceful and as calm as he does when he is asleep, when the night has properly settled in, so much so that morning is about to arrive, so much so that Bruce looks pass out, exhausted, but happy, his face buried in your neck because that's his favorite spot to be in. 

To your eyes? Bruce looks worse than the man you found at the bank. No mask, no armor, no nothing, just him, pale and frail, in a hospital gown and on that bed. His right leg is in a cast and it's raised in a sling; he won't be able to move it for a while, you figure. There's a tube going to his left hand, liquid going through, clear and slowly moving, and finally that face... his eyes are closed and he's bruised all over, his eyes are slightly swollen, and yeah, he looks like he took two heavy and painful punches straight to his face. 

"... and he'll need some physical therapy regardless, but as I mentioned earlier with this type of surgery, he will need to see a neurologist regularly. We'll have to keep him for a few days once he wakes up and..." The doctor's voice is distant as he reads from the chart.

"But he will wake up, right?" Once again, you interrupt the doctor, without a single hesitation or even guilt, you need to know. This isn't just anybody in that hospital bed. As you ask, you finally step into the room, and that's when you take in all the machines beeping and moving about, monitoring Bruce's health.

"Yes, everything indicates that he will, despite it being a routine procedure for us, it is a heavy surgery for the body. We can't rush this, so he'll have to wake up on his own..."

"I see."

"There is no reason not to be optimistic, as I say, from a surgical point of view, it was a success, but it could take days for Mr. Wayne to wake up, weeks even."

Weeks even.

You nod, the doctor is trying to manage your expectations and to ultimately do his job. You fully understand and you resist the urge to inform him that no, you're not fucking optimistic. At all. You've seen life, you've had life beating deep into your skin, into your bones even, you've even had life growing in your guts and you screamed as you fucking pushed life outside of you, bringing you onto the verge of death. So, you know, you don't need to be told that it's cold, that it's fucking cruel, that it's downright brutal at times, you know.

"I see," you repeat, and finally, you pull up the chair next to Bruce's bed. "Thank you for... everything." You mumble, and again, the doctor gives you that professional, chill, and impeccable smile.

"I'll leave you to it." 

When it's just you in the room, you fall into the chair without any finesse, your two hands finding one of Bruce's much larger and rougher ones. He's cold to the touch, which is a major difference. You remember warm embraces, you remember those very hands trying to carve imprints into your skin... It's not the case anymore, and as you look at his unmoving and marked face, you can't help yourself. The night is done and gone, the results are in: no one fucking won, no one at all, and now, there are tears silently rolling down your cheeks. Those are warm and hard to ignore, even more so when you have a full body sob the next second. 

"Hey Bruce?"

You have so much to tell him.

He promised, he can't leave you like this, he has to fucking wake up, he has to wake up and make whoever did this to him pay. He has to, Bruce, Vengeance, whoever comes back to you, whoever, whatever, you'll take him, you'll accept him, kiss him, and make a life with him. 

Whoever and whatever comes back.

"I love you."

It's barely louder than a whisper, it's half muffled by your tears and the bip bip of his heart rate monitor.

But fuck... It's the truth.

[bikinibottommall]

🐌Meow meow meow meow (I am going home~)🍍

[totaly-obsessed]

can you write for Katie where her and reader have been dating for awhile and meeting eachothers parents and them getting on well :)

Meeting the Parents

Katie McCabe x reader request

-> Meeting your girlfriends parents goes better than you would have thought

-> @ anon I hope you like it! -> Another short one

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Anxiety wrecked through your body as you stood in front of Katie’s childhood home – Today was the day you would meet her parents. With ten siblings it's hard to get them alone, but tonight everything worked out. Your girlfriend of five months wanted to introduce you to her family gradually, and not throw you into cold water, meeting all of them at once.

“What are the chances that you’d let me not meet them, then tell them I died or something and we can run away together and—”

“Breathe, baby. Please!” The Irishwoman couldn’t help but laugh, finding your nervousness cute, but she obviously already knew her parents, and you didn’t. “They’re gonna love you, don’t even worry your pretty little head about it.”

Instead of knocking like you wanted to, your girlfriend just pushed the door open. “Mum! Dad! We’re here!” her loud voice drowned the soft background music out, as two figures made their way towards you from the kitchen.

“Oh it is so lovely to meet you – look how pretty Gary!” Katie’s mum immediately started to fuss about you, pulling you in a bone-crushing hug, before keeping you at arm's length, looking you up and down. “We need to get some meat onto ya!”

Wow. This was a lot.

But Katie couldn’t help but smile, watching her mum be so excited towards you and openly inviting you into her family home. Her dad gave her a firm pat on the back, obviously a lot calmer than her mum was – but he also pulled you in a quick hug, making you feel very welcome.

No ten minutes later after getting a tour of the entire home, the four of you were sat at the dining table – or rather Katie and Gary were sitting, while you insisted on helping Sharon carry the many side dishes and help cut the bread. It was delicious – a pasta mushroom ragout with incredible homemade bread, very hearty and filling.

Everything was going well and Katie admired the way you just fit in perfectly with both her parents. Sharon and you shared a passion for cooking and gardening while Gary admired your subtle and funny digs at his daughter.

“So what do you do for a living?” Gary had swatted at Katie to help her Mum clear the table, making you sit back down again, insisting that you had already helped enough and that your girlfriend was indeed able to do some work, even if she would try to convince you from other things.

“Oh, I’m a Bank Teller. I help our customers cash checks, withdraw money, move transactions to different accounts, create checking and savings accounts, and provide checks to customers – stuff like that.”

Both Gary and Sharon had wide eyes, that just screamed impressed – while Katie had that annoying, cocky smirk on her face as her hand rested on your thighs. “Told you she’s smarter than all of us!”

You could see where Katie had gotten her wit, humor, and compassion from. Her parents truly were incredible. Eleven children was no easy feat and all of them had grown to be lovely human beings. It made your eyes water a bit, hearing the parents brag about their youngest getting good grades and finding passion in drawing.

“Katie here was always a little special though.” You couldn’t help but laugh at your girlfriend’s wide eyes – she was fucked. The conversation had turned from her sibling's embarrassing stories to her own and she knew it. “We once went to church, and the priest raised his voice at the end of his sermon, to emphasize his point. And because Katie here, wasn’t allowed to shout in the house, she stood up on the pews and yelled at the top of her lungs ‘Inside voice only!’ – the whole church laughed!”

Gary could barely tell the story, or get through the impression of his daughter without nearly dying of laughter – and you joined him. Katie could only watch you, mesmerized that you fit in so well, that she didn’t even care that her parents were just completely embarrassing her with story after story until your belly hurt from laughing so much.

The way out took at least thirty minutes, someone always found something else to say. You were sure that you had hugged Sharon at least five times now. “Okay! We’ll be off now!”

Once again you hugged both of her parents, whispering a small ‘Thank you for having us’ in their ears while Katie watched. “Oh get some leftovers, would’ ya?” And with that you were gone again, leaving your girlfriend with her father by the door.

“Do you like her?”

“I think I like her more than you.”

Katie scoffed. She could definitely understand her father, and she was happy that the evening had gone over so well.

Meanwhile, Sharon and you were in the kitchen, making a huge box of leftovers to take home with you. “Thank you for loving my daughter. You were one of us from the moment you started taking care of her.”

“Thank you for giving birth to Katie – and for welcoming me!” Both of you laughed through the tears at your clumsy statement.

You left Katie with her parents, already getting in the car to give them a moment alone. The night was cold and Katie’s coat only did so much to keep you warm, but the box of food still emitted a warmth. Not only because it was still hot, but also because it felt like home.

“I’m gonna be honest my love. Watching you guys together made me glad because I know you have someone when your mum and I leave this earth.” Sharon still had tears in her eyes, and now Katie did too.

“Don’t say stuff like that Dad, make you look old!”

[cillianhead]

Give us thigh riding with Cill or Tommy, please 🙏🏻😮‍💨

Thank you nonny for this wonderful request <3

Lazy Sundays || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: Smut, thigh riding, cursing, sort of exhibitionism (Cillian is on the phone while... reader rides his thigh), choking, Cillian being a little rough with reader, degradation, general adult content!!

18+ Minors DNI

The sun had barely risen when you woke up, and Cillian was nowhere to be found, which was unlike him so early in the morning. You frowned as you sat up, rubbing your sleepy eyes, and softly slipped out of bed to find your husband.

You found him at the bottom of the stairs, grumbling on the phone with someone. You assumed it was something work-related. You quietly padded down the stairs and sat down next to him with a gentle smile, still incredibly sleepy and wanting to go back to bed.

"Hey baby," He mouthed to you silently before grumbling something back to whoever was on the phone was. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling you into his side. You curled around his arm and nuzzled your face into his soft sleeve. "Thanks, Gary... bye, mate." Cillian muttered before hanging up the phone.

"Cillian..." You whispered with a pout. "Let's go back to bed... you promised a lazy Sunday today... and it's too early..." You winged.

"Sleepy girl," He chuckled breathily, leaning in and pecking you on the lips. You hummed happily at the little sliver of love he gave you. "Come on, darling... let's go back to bed." He extended a hand out to you as he stood up and you took it gratefully as you yawned dramatically.

Cillian gave you a gentle smack on your ass as you crawled into bed. "Why'd you do that?!" You whined.

"'Cause I can," He snickered, pulling the both of you under the covers and pulling you close to him, conveniently placing his thigh right in between your legs. "You're so beautiful." His voice was low and gravelly; he was still quite groggy from how early it was in the morning, and the low vibrations made you feel so fucking dizzy.

"Cillian..." You whispered as he slipped off his long sleeve shirt and ushered you to take yours off too.

"Morning sex?" Cillian asked as if you would say no. "Please, baby? Fuckin' had the nicest dream about you last night."

"Oh, yeah?" You grinned, the both of you fully topless and Cillian's thumbs rolling easy circles on your exposed nipples. "What happened in it-"

RING! RING!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Cillian groaned, reluctantly pulling away from you slightly to reach over to his phone that lie on the bedside table. "It's from the same bloke... he's tryin' to arrange a time for an interview." You whined as he started to get out of bed.

"No... stay..." You clung onto him, digging your fingernails into his biceps. "I'll be good... I promise..." You gave him those eyes you knew he couldn't deny.

"Alright, just be quiet..." He said cautiously, laying back down as he brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, Gary... what's up? Somethin' wrong?"

As you zoned out of the conversation, scooting yourself slightly closer to Cillian, trying your best to seem as casual as possible. Cillian hummed as he discussed a time and place and chatted on the phone, not paying mind to the fact your thinly-clothed cunt was beginning to slowly grind itself on his thigh. Biting your lip, keeping in your whines as you looked up at Cillian, feeling incredibly flustered by how nice his thigh felt against your clit. You noticed the stubble that accumulated along his picture-perfect jaw and rolled your eyes into the back of your head as you found the perfect rhythm. He was so perfect; every part of him fit perfectly with you... or inside of you. No one else's thigh could get you off the way his do.

It took Cillian a few moments to realize what was happening, and by then, it was too late to stop you. He raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. You knew he couldn't say anything, which made you smirk. He could just push you off of him, and you'd stop, yet here you were, shuddering with pleasure as he flexed his thigh precisely to enhance the pleasure you were feeling. He kept talking nonchalantly, acting as if his hot wife wasn't fucking herself on his leg, acting as if he didn't have a raging boner that was begging to be touched. The man on the other end of the phone had not even the slightest clue that there was anyone else even in the room with Cillian.

"Sounds good," Cillian hummed. "Alright, yeah... see you then." And when he tossed his phone to the side (not before turning it completely off), he looked at you with a fire blazing in his eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "I... don't know... what... you're talking about..." You said through tiny gasps.

"Yeah?" He quipped as he jolted his thigh right up into your pussy, causing you to let out a loud mewl. "Why the fuck is there a wet patch on me leg then? Hmmm?"

"Don't know... Cillian..."

He shook his head in disbelief before curling his fingers around your throat and pushing you down into the sheets until he was hovering above you, his hand still choking you firmly. "Such a spoilt whore," Cillian growled as he slipped your soaking panties down until you were entirely bare before him. "You couldn't even wait five minutes for me to get off the bloody phone."

"J-Just... I'm so horny..." You whined, voice high pitched, and your body writhed for any sort of touch as he held your thighs open. Your glistening hole was on display for him. It felt shameful and humiliating the way he was looking at you. Despite the fact he had seen you in every angle there was to be seen and had seen your vagina countless times, it still felt painfully vulnerable when he had you spread out like this. "Please..."

"I know," He soothed, running a finger down the smooth skin of your inner thighs. "You just can't help it..." He cooed, and you smiled at how sweet he was being. "Y'just so dumb and pathetic, aren't you? Can't think about anything except gettin' fucked when I'm around... know you can't help it, yer just a girl..." He whispered into your ear, and you were revelling in his words and gentleness until he placed a harsh and hard smack right on your poor clit.

"Fuck!" You cried, arching your back. "Why'd you do that?!"

"Don't pretend to be innocent, Y/N," Cillian muttered as he switched the position so you were straddled on top of his thigh. "Go on, ride my thigh." He demanded.

"But..." You slid your hands up his other thigh to where his cock fought with his trousers to be free. "I want you... inside of me..." "Too bad, eh?" Cillian smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yer not getting any help either, gonna have to do it all yourself... like a big girl." Cillian leaned back, a smug grin on his hauntingly beautiful face.

So slowly, feeling awfully embarrassed, you pressed your naked sex against his hairy thigh and began rocking yourself in slow motions. You closed your eyes, holding onto Cillian's waist for balance as you picked up the pace, moaning desperately for release.

"Look at the mess you're making," Cillian scolded with a 'tsk tsk', eyes fixed on the way you rubbed yourself on his thigh. "Gushin' all over me leg, you look so cute."

"Let me cum on your thigh..." You whined quietly, head hung low with shame as you felt your impending high coming closer and closer. "Please." "You're gonna cum already?" Cillian laughed condescendingly. "Go on then, give me a show."

You nodded and mumbled a sweet little 'thank you' before grounding your pussy even harder and faster into his sticky thigh until you found yourself trembling on top of him. His hands now reached out to you, guiding your hips along for you while you let yourself be swallowed whole by your orgasm. He knew you were too limp to do it yourself and even once you were done he kept rocking you back and forth with his hands, moving you like a puppet until you were begging for him to stop.

"Please... Cillian..." You cried, trying to raise your hips up to stop the torturous friction. "Please... it's too much." "Nuh-uh... want one more from ya... then I'll consider giving you my cock."

You squeezed your thighs tightly around his, clit aching from the sore friction and how overstimulating it was. Cillian was mesmerized by the way you looked, too busy watching the way his thigh grew wetter and wetter and the way your hips looked in his hands. It was the most beautiful sight to be seen... and with the added sound of your sweet moans of his name... he felt like he could cream his pants without even laying a hand on his cock.

"That's it, angel girl," He praised, bucking his thigh up into you harshly. "You look so pretty, so perfect, getting me all wet."

"Gonna cum... again..." You choked out, eyelids squeezed shut as you began convulsing.

"There we go, give it to me," He cooed, voice low and intoxicating. "Fuckin' hell," He could feel your cum leak out onto his thigh, it was almost a bit ridiculous how wet you got from him and how much of a mess you made. "Good girl... good girl... that's right."

You collapsed on top of him once he finally set you free. You panted, crawling up so your head was by his, and you kissed him gently. "Thank you... thank you... Cillian..." You whispered, all dazed and sleepy since it was still early in the morning.

"Not done with you yet," Cillian whispered, running his lips along your sensitive neck. "I think you've been good enough for a treat."

Your ears perked up at that and suddenly your eyes were no longer drooping. You sat up like an excited dog and looked at him with your head tilted. "What is it?"

"Gonna let you suck me cock," He grunted, slipping the band of his Calvin Klein briefs down until his hard cock laid flat on his stomach, oozing precum from his pinkish head. Your lips parted as you drooled at the sight and wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft. You were practically making heart eyes at it. "Don't act all shy on me now, love... go on... I know you know how to suck me off... now go on and do it, and I'll cum down your pretty throat."

-----

i listened to cry by cigarettes after sex on repeat while listening to this. i hope you enjoyed! it's short but i like it :-)

[allthingsfangirl101]

Number 1 Client Part 2 – Gary Johnson

Part 1

Gary woke up to the sun shining on his face. He looked down, his eyes instantly landing on his girl. He sighed as he gently reached up and ran his fingers through her hair. He couldn't help but smile when she tucked more into him.

It was then that he remembered why he was staying at her place instead of his. Ever since his Sarge told him to step away from this case, he's been staying with her. He refuses to leave her side. He's practically been living with her ever since someone tried to grab her.

Gary drives her to class, waits for her outside, and takes her home. He spends his day focused on his girl, but more focused on the people around her. Every time a guy walks too close to her, Gary pulls her closer. Every time a guy looks at her, Gary steps in front of her.

Y/N didn't mind. She felt safer with him right next to her. She knew that if that guy came after her again, Gary wouldn't let him take her. She looked out the door and saw him waiting for her in the foyer of the building.

Gary sighed when his phone started ringing.

"What do you want, Elliot?" he answered.

"You sound like shit."

"Well, someone tried to kidnap my girl and you're still not any closer to finding them."

"We're looking," he sighed.

"Then I am going to continue sounding like shit until you can assure me that my girl is safe," Gary threatened.

"We're trying, man. I swear. How's Y/N?"

"She terrified," Gary sighed. "I've been saying at her place. She won't leave without me. I drive her to campus, walk her to class, and wait outside for her. She doesn't want to go anywhere or do anything alone."

"Are you with her now?"

"Sorta," he said, craning his neck so he could see her. "She's in class right now. I'm waiting outside."

"You armed?" Elliot chuckled. He cleared his throat when Gary didn't answer him. "Gary," he sighed. "You can't be armed on a college campus."

"I will be armed until my girl. . ."

"Is safe," Elliot cut him off. "I know. I know. I promise, man. We're looking everywhere, pushing every lead to find the guy."

Gary stopped listening to his friend when he noticed Y/N's class was getting out.

"Keep me updated," he said before hanging up. The second she walked out of the classroom, he went to her side. He gently grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers.

"How was class, baby?"

"It was fine," she said softly making Gary's heart sink. She hasn't been acting like herself ever since the failed kidnapping. All Gary wanted was to arrest the son of a bitch and help Y/N feel like her old self again.

"You want to get some dinner on the way home?"

"Sure," she said, her voice sounding like she was lost in thought. She grabbed my arm, stopping me. "Actually, G. . . I have somewhere else in mind."

* * * * *

Gary stood in front of the shooting range, not sure how to feel about his girlfriend's decision on where they went. He looked at her to see her nervously playing with her fingers.

"Are you sure about this, baby?" He tried to gently double-check.

"Yeah," she said, not sounding sure. "I think. . . It might. . . It could be good for me."

He gently grabbed her arms, pulling her closer to him. "You don't need to do this, gorgeous," he whispered. "I am here. I can protect you. You don't ever need to hold a gun. . . I don't want you to hold a gun. You're too pure for that."

She smiled briefly, but it didn't last long. "Not anymore," she mumbled before walking inside. Gary didn't wait before chasing after her. He grabbed her hand and held the door open for her.

As they went through and signed the release forms, Gary kept watching his girl. He hated that she wanted him to bring her to a gun range. The only reason he brought her here was because he was willing to do whatever it took to help her.

When they stepped up to the table with their protective glasses and headphones, Y/N was nervously playing with her fingers. Gary went into a sort of automatic mode as he loaded the gun. He shot the gun once but stopped when Y/N jumped.

"I don't know how you do this," Y/N mumbled as she watched her boyfriend lower the gun. He looked up at her and instantly put down the gun. He gently grabbed her shoulders, making her look at him.

"It wasn't easy at first," he whispered. "But I choose to focus on the people I protect. Like the girl I'm mad for. The girl I would literally kill a thousand guys to protect."

Y/N closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his waist. Gary tossed the gun onto the table and wrapped his arms around her.

"I will always protect you," Gary whispered. "No matter what."

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms until Gary's phone started ringing.

"What?" Gary answered his phone as he took a small step out of their embrace.

"We got him."

"You did?" He asked, pulling out of Y/N's arms. He stared into her eyes as he waited for his friend to confirm.

"The nephew of a guy you put away a few months ago found Y/N and wanted to make you pay," Elliot explained. "Turns out, he's a coward. As soon as Y/N fought back, he ran."

"So, she's safe?"

"She is, man," Elliot chuckled.

"Thanks," Gary said before hanging up. He didn't look away from Y/N as he put his phone back in his pocket.

"They got him?" She asked, her voice breaking.

"They got him, baby," Gary said, matching her tone. With happy tears in her eyes, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He instantly wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back.

Y/N broke the kiss with a small chuckle. "Gary?"

"Yes, gorgeous?"

"Now that we know I'm safe, can we leave?"

Gary leaned in and gently kissed her lips. When he broke it, he leaned his forehead against hers.

"We can go anywhere you want to go, baby."

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 10 - Final Part

I love this story so much and I want to squee and cry at the same time because now I can only visit them as a spectator.

Part 1 is here. AO3

CW: Vague mentions of sexual acts.

It became a code between them, 150. Any time, any place, if they wanted an out or just a reason for intimacy the number would be said and you and John would disappear. The guys of the 141 caught onto it quick enough. When John starts leaning closer, dropping kisses on any small piece of you he can reach they all know to listen for that one number that meant the two of you were either leaving or they were getting kicked out.

The fifth time it happened Kyle, Simon, Gary, and Johnny were watching John flirt with you across the kitchen counter as you are putting away the leftovers from their team dinner.

Simon leans closer to Gary and mutters quietly, “If he says one-fifty I’m gonna need someone to fifty-one-fifty me.”

Kyle, who had the unfortunate timing to be taking a sip at the moment of this comment, shot beer through his nose. The coughing laugh drew both yours and John’s attention. Johnny was the only one confused at the table.

You pass John a towel and watch with concern as Kyle wipes his face and then the table where he made a mess.

Johnny turns to Gary and whispers, “What’s a fifty-one-fifty?”

Gary smirks as he replies in a hushed tone, “It’s the code for an involuntary psychiatric hold in the States.”

“Oh! Because they are h—”

The towel cut off Johnny’s suddenly normal volume voice from across the table. Kyle’s aim hit dead on even as his body still shuddered with coughs. Everyone knew that Kyle had finished his coughing fit because he is wracked with a massive sneeze.

John looks over his men at the table, eyes narrowed.

“Anything to discuss muppets?”

“Oh leave them alone John,” you call from your place head in the refrigerator.

Everyone but you watches as John catches sight of your half-bent state and his demeanor takes on a lascivious cast. Side eye is shared between the four men at the table.

Skirting the counter John sidles up to you as you straighten, one hand falling to your back, resting above the rise of your pants, and the other gently pushing the door of the fridge closed.

Despite what the guys assume to be his best efforts John’s hushed voice carries. Must be a side effect of either him using his captain’s voice for so long or the intrinsic quality in his men to tune into his voice.

“Can I offer you 150?”

Glancing up under your brows you fight down a smile. Your hands drift around John’s middle, resting on his waist.

“How ‘bout zero? I have drinks with my friends downtown in thirty minutes and your men are still here.”

Pouting is a new look for John. Gary makes a face as if he has just seen the devil’s ass and found it covered in boils.

“Love you, John, have a good time with your guys,” you lean up and press a kiss to his lips before stepping back and addressing the team. “Have a good poker night guys.”

You leave with a chorus of goodbyes on your heels. For all their annoyance with John and his inability to maintain focus with you nearly every one of the guys liked you and had added you to their mental shortlist of good people.

Simon started to rise to grab the poker supplies but froze at John’s abrupt hand slash. The familiar movement to wait caused all the men to hold their positions. When the sound of your car pulling away and down the road finally fades John looks at his men.

“I have something to show you. Stay.” He takes off from the kitchen, feet eating up the distance to his destination.

He is back in less than a minute. Simon sat back down while waiting for his return. Both Kyle and Johnny sent their sergeants questioning glances, but neither Gary nor Simon had any clues.

John set a jewelry box on the center of the table. Gripping the small knob between two fingers he pulled out the bottom left drawer. It sat empty except for two rings, one with a large clear stone that could be nothing but an engagement ring and the other a matching plain band.

“Gonna wife the bonnie up?” Johnny waggled his eyebrows at John.

Rolling his eyes John looked at the rest of them for their reactions. Simon shrugged, arms folded across his chest.

“She’s good people.”

Gary nodded, “I doubt you could ever find someone better for you. She treats us like the good side of the family.”

Kyle half stood and pulled both rings from the drawer.

“I would marry her myself if I thought I could fight her away from you.” He narrows his eyes as he looks at something on the inside of the band. “What’s the 150 by the way? Must be important if you had it engraved on the band.”

The men had never seen their captain embarrassed, let alone go beet red.

John straightens up, hand reaching back to rub the back of his neck and scratch at the base of his hair.

“I might have offered 150,000 to see her naked before we got together.”

Guffaws and full-throat laughter cloud the room as John snatches the rings from Kyle, shoves them back in the drawer and returns the jewelry box to its place of honor on your dresser. It sits next to a photo of the two of you at the first New Year’s at Kyle’s, the one taken before John disappeared and nearly died.

Stepping back into the dining space the laughter has died down into the random chuckle and snicker when anyone would look at John for too long.

“Alright boss, tonight we are betting on truths because I desperately want to the full story about offering to see your bird naked,” Gary launches the challenge across the table.

That is how the night goes, John fighting for his proverbial life to keep his secrets to himself and losing to odds that casinos would weep for.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

It takes him a few weeks. A few weeks of girding his loins after getting the needed approval from his men to ask you. He had spoken to your father who placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder and said “If she finds out you asked me before her no god will be able to save you.”

With that, deeply concerning and somehow still accurate, warning ringing in his ears John starts to plot. He wanted to give you a grandiose event where he paid for a flash mob and the biggest damn bouquet he could find. He ran the idea past Simon who blinked at him as if trying to dislodge the thought that he willingly followed an idiot.

Simon placed a hand on the same shoulder your father did and gave a single shake of his head.

“She would hate that and you know it,” he walks away as if he didn’t just singlehandedly ruin John’s plans.

Falling into bed that night John sits next to you, back resting against the headboard as he runs a hand over your shoulders. You don’t cuddle when you are ready to truly get to sleep. It’s hard to cuddle the way you cock one leg, twist and strangle your pillows and finally flop into the oddest positioning claiming it is for comfort.

The thought slips out, like every part of him but his mind is ready for your answer already.

“Would you marry me?”

Your breath hitches under his touch.

Pushing up to one elbow and one hand you look up at him. John focuses all his years of training on keeping his face even.

“Of course, I would marry you.”

“When?” He probes.

You tuck your knees up under you, kneeling on the bed now. John lets his hand fall to yours in your lap.

“Tomorrow.” The serious look on your face is enchanting.

“No white dress or cake or fancy party?” Narrowing his eyes at you he wonders at your response. You had no doubt imagined and even designed the dress of your dreams.

“The frills don’t change the goal, just the timing of it,” you thread your fingers through his as you knee walk closer to him. “I love you and would marry you now, except any judge we have to wake to marry us would probably tell us to piss off and come back in the morning.”

Lifting a hand to your cheek John’s heart swells in his chest at the weight you rest in his palm. The soft look on your face makes his decision for him. Leaning forward he drops a kiss on your lips.

“Close your eyes and don’t open them till I say.”

Your lids drift close without hesitation. John climbs from the bed, retrieving both rings he bought for you. Blowing a lung’s worth of air through his nose he kneels, one knee pressing him up from the floor and the other a resting place for his elbow as he holds out the ring with a stone. He tucks the other onto the pointer finger of his left hand. Would hate to lose that.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

It takes you a heartbeat to locate him, eyes blinking before settling on him.

“Yes.”

You don’t let him even ask.

“Typically I need to ask—”

“Nothing about us is typical. Yes.”

John laughs, nerves shivering through his body as he sheds the layers and layers of stress he had built up in his mind.

Sticking out your hand impatiently you wiggle your fourth finger at him.

“Hurry up John. I want to fuck the lights out of you. Now get up here.”

Never a man to turn down an offer like that John slides your new ring into place and stands to be devoured by your kisses.

As you ride him into oblivion he places the flat ring on the ring finger of your other hand.

Never has a man been more lucky than he to take a nap at a seamstress’ shop.

Part 9 | Fin

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

@madsothree