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tojisun · 7 months ago

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the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you.

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle.

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered.

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his.

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home.

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence.

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close.

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him.

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care.

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants.

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there.

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones.

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy.

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release.

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking.

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you.

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched.

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak.

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend.

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him.

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem.

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself.

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding.

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words.

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest.

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead.

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out.

#suns #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #soap x reader #cod x reader #f!reader #read tags!!

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teaboot · 18 days ago

Note

You dont have to answer it. Im just kind of venting because nobody understands or listens to what im saying.

You mentioned financial abuse and women not being allowed bank accounts even though they could work. Every time someone brings this up it feels so similar to my own situation it pisses me off.

I'm a minor. I *do* have a bank account but i can only use it in a physical store and not online or anything because my darling mother thinks it's unnecessary. She says that i can just ask one of them to buy things for me. Even tho there have been times where i have to call her a million times to just buy me a train ticket to get me home. She asks if i have secrets if i want to use my money so much.

It's not about that. It's not about trust, it's not about secrets. It's about independence. Bitch, i will become an adult soon enough, will you stoll treat me the same way? It's about her trust in me. I am a prisoner as it is why does she have to rub it in. I know i'm not a person until i'm 18 i KNOW but like. I'm only living off of permissions and allowances. I can't fucking donate to palestinians because "there is no reason for that" and then i ask her to do and she says she will but DOESN'T. I couldn't buy a bknder i had to have someone else do it.

Oh, let me be clear, you ARE a person NOW. That is incredibly unfair.

If you are old enough and responsible enough to work and earn a paycheck, you’re old enough to spend your money.

I used to fight CONSTANTLY for this sort of thing. Adult responsibilities, child privileges. Do the labour, reap none of the benefits. FUCK that.

And, frankly, you ARE going to make a few dumb financial decisions at some point in your life. The IDEA is that you do it while you’re young and have your family as a safety net in case it’s too big or you fuck up TOO bad and need help- no school lunch money cause you bought games? You won’t go hungry, but you WILL pack a sandwich from home. Baby steps.

Or, what, you’re supposed to go from zero to 100 the day you move out? How the HELL are you going to just *spontaneously develop* the ability to balance a check book, budget, save, prioritize your expenses?

You absolutely have the right of it, one hundred percent. There will come a time when your mother has to let go, but what you are describing is ABSOLUTELY financial abuse and is her way of exercising control over you and denying you privacy.

I do have to ask though, how does your workplace pay you out? Is it possible to request a partial payment in cash? That way, you can have a little on hand in case you need it.

Also… I’m not sure where you live, but if you can, consider maybe stopping by that bank at some point and book in a consult with an advisor. Ask if there’s any way of locking your mother out or getting online banking together for yourself. If she’s the one handling your finances and giving you no access, I wouldn’t trust what she says in regards to what you can do without her.

And if it comes up… this isn’t just a matter of trust, it’s a matter of respect. Or, what, they think you’re stupid? They think you’re a secret drug dealer handling dirty money? What? What POSSIBLE reason could they have for keeping you from spending your own money, unless they think you’re a dumb irresponsible kid, and if that’s the truth, why let you have a job at all? Why not lock you in a tower for the rest of your life? Why let you go to school, if they’re going to be caring for you like a sickly Victorian waif forever? Or do they think you’re so fragile that making a mistake will cause you to crumble forever, like you’re not smart or determined or tough enough to survive a few monetary hiccups in life?

Sorry, Jesus, I’m angry on your behalf. My parents sucked sometimes but financial independence wasn’t something they fucked around with, that’s some feudal lord ass shit right there

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bluudsucka · 29 days ago

Text

juna - bo chow x tomboy!reader

chapter I - chapter II

summary: you were never in touch with your feminine side, being raised by your father and older brothers you knew built a tough exterior. always opting for wearing male clothes and sporting a short haircut, but that was until you stopped at the new local convince store and met bo.

word count: 7k

warnings: smut, female reader, awkward/shy reader, slight mentions of race, loss of virginity, oral sex, noncanonical setting, unprotected sex, slight age gap (nothing too crazy reader is in her early twenties while bo is in his late 20s/early 30s), mentions of other characters

author's note: i had a lot of fun writing this! this is my longest fic i ever wrote so far, so thank you for reading and thank ya'll for the support! <3 (i was also listing to juna by clairo while writing bits of this haha)

“You make me wanna go dancin’, you make me wanna try on feminine, you make me wanna go buy a new dress, you make me wanna slip off a new dress...”

The blistering summer sun nipped harshly at your skin, sweat from the heat and a hard day's work clung onto your chest and forehead while driving your father's rusty car, you'd hope you could pick up a breeze to cool you down.

That of course didn't happen.

He sent you into town with a shopping list of materials your household needed - and seeing as your mother passed last year - it was your duty as a woman to go out and shop for the boys, as your father so 'eloquently' put it. His remarks about your gender bothered you seeing as you were responsible in the cooking and cleaning while also being responsible with manual labor on the farm too.

It was common to help your two older brothers fix run down and broken appliances such as rickety barn doors, leaky faucets, and wobbly banisters. Your hands were covered in cuts, scabs, and blisters from hammering away for hours. It didn't help that during those hours of work your brothers would tease you about not being 'girly' enough, jesting that you were more of a man than them both combined. It also didn't help that your family's budget was tight, meaning you had no choice but to wear their hand-me-downs.

With a tired sigh you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, finally entering the town. The dusty and bustling streets was lively today despite the cruel heat wave that clung on the Mississippi air, breathing in the hot oxygen was like swallowing thick molasses.

Parking the beat-up blue car, you adjusted the dingy green bandana that rested on the temples of your forehead, soft and short curls wrapping around the fabric. You tried your best to style it more feminine after your father cut way too short for your liking - but half of you still felt insecure about the hairstyle.

Your eyes would gaze upon the ebony beauties that would waltz around town with frilly hair pieces and intricate styles, their long, gorgeous dresses flowing in the wind as men would stop and stare - you would stare too. Sometimes you would daydream about being in a moving picture playing the leading lady that had a lover who would do anything for you; give you flowers, love, and affection. The kind of guy who wouldn't be embarrassed about being tender on you.

Slamming the car door after jumping out the sizzling leather seat of the car, your rough hands dug into the front pocket of your oversized denim overalls. Your eyes scanning the chicken scratch of a list your father wrote on stained paper, passing through the crowd, trying your best not to bump into anyone.

nails (three 100 pack)

gun oil

chiken chicken feed

red paint

game meat

horse fed feed

fox repellaint repellent

Walking towards the general store you normally shopped for your items; you noticed something strange; it had completely changed since you last stopped by. The store was bigger - more cleanly. Items within the store wouldn't be organized, as medicine would often be found next to the rat traps, but now just by gazing around the store everything was neatly placed in spots that...Made sense.

You also noticed a man that you hadn't seen before, he was hunched over stacking cans of peas next to the tidy stack of caned carrots. Before any words could slip out of your lips he turned to face you, as if he could feel your eyes staring at the back of his head.

He was handsome, strikingly so.

His jet-black hair was neatly styled, and his lips held a light welcoming smile. He wore a crisp white button up with an onyx-colored vest on top, protecting the white shirt from the grime and dust. Rubbing his hands on his grey pants he lifted from the ground, rolling his shoulders and neck as he stood at his full height.

"Welcome. What can I help ya' with?" He asked, a low southern drawl boomed from him, the sound of his voice made you jump. You didn't expect him to have such a sultry voice. Your warm skin on your cheeks began to tingle as your eyes quickly darted towards your muddy shoes.

"U-Um, I'm just shoppin', sir. Thank you!" You rushed out, stumbling over your words as if you just learned how to talk an hour ago. His lips stretched into a kind and toothy smile, and he nodded his head, dark eyes not breaking contact with your frame.

"Well, if you need somethin', lemme know."

And with that he turned onto his heel and continued to work, you quickly scanned around the store looking for everything that you needed on the list. You wanted to leave the store as soon as possible, not because of the handsome man's actions - but because you felt as if you looked...Terrible.

Your undershirt was a stained long sleeve, a once white fabric now faded into a dingy tan color due to dirt, sweat, and age. The shirt hung off your shoulders, it was your older brother's before it was handed down to you, the piece of clothing was basically swallowing your feminine frame. The muddy overalls that you sported was from your other brother, the second oldest, and it was big on you too.

Wearing these clothes strangers would sometimes mistake you for a boy, which didn't bother you at all, but the thought of this attractive shopkeeper mistaking you for one sent a wave of anxiety through your body. Grabbing the gun oil, the multiple boxes of nails, and fox repellent your hands were already full.

You looked around for a basket to hold your items, but none were found. You stood in the middle of the store your face twisting in confusion as you looked around one more time just to make sure you didn't overlook the baskets to hold your stuff, and the man noticed this.

"Sorry, I just open this place up, last owner's baskets were full 'o holes. I had to toss 'em, won't get new ones till next week."

"O-Oh, it's fine."

"Here." he said as he strutted towards you, his arms stretching wide. Your eyes landed on his toned forearms, they looked strong and powerful, and you couldn't help but to gaze at the vein that pressed against his pale olive skin. Standing in front of you the stranger tilted his head in confusion, and you finally realized that he was signaling you to place the items into his arms.

With a strained and awkward chuckle, you blurted out an apology and gave the items to him.

"Don't worry, I'll place ya' things on the counter so you can shop around some more." He assured as his long legs strutted towards the register that rested on a mahogany table. He noticed you standing stock still as your fingers fidget between each other. Leaning on the wooden table with crossed arms he sent you another gorgeous smile your way.

"You new to town?" He asked, his voice was alluring and warm, you could hear him talk all day if you could.

"No, I live on the outskirts of town with my brothers and Pa, w-we got a farm..." You blurted out, the words rushed from your mouth like a running faucet, which made the man chuckle.

"Hm, and they just let a pretty girl like yourself go shopping alone?"

Your eyes widen like saucers and your already racing heart sped up even faster, it felt like you were moments away from a heart attack. You opened and closed your mouth in quick successions, as if you were a fish out of water.

You were.

You never heard a man refer to you as pretty. They called you strong, reliable, tough, hardworking - but never pretty. Noticing your anxiety rising he spoke again, this time more carefully.

"My name's Bo Chow, I'm from around these parts but I just open this store few weeks ago," He then paused as if scanning his thoughts to find the right words to say to not scare you off. "You said your family has a farm? Ya'll got chickens and such? I'm lookin' into finding a stable source for eggs, got an ice box comin' in later today and I wanna stock up."

"Oh, um. Yeah, we got chickens. Lots of 'em, mean bastards." You mumbled, spitting out a mild annoyance you had with the feathery animals, one of them bit you on the thumb this morning.

Bo blurted out a laugh from your comment, his chuckles crashing into you like a wave, and it made you smile. With fidgeting fingers, you told him your name, which he repeated three times, each time breathier than the last. He told you that your name was beautiful - that it suited a beautiful girl like yourself.

Bo noticed that you were on the shy side, so he toned down his flirty advances towards you, but he still let it be known that he found you attractive. Slowly you eased out of your shell and continued to shop, placing each item on the counter as words and laughter exchanged between you two. Completing your shopping list you paid for the items, Bo carefully bagged them into thick brown paper bags, his dark brown eyes trailing your face as he soaked in your beautiful features.

It stunned him that such a pretty girl was so shy, it was if you were completely unaware of your beauty. With small smile you grabbed the paper bags and Bo reached for the horse feed that rested on the counter.

"Lemme carry this out for you; it's pretty heavy."

"No, n-no! It's fine I can make two trips."

"Nonsense, what kind of man am I to let a lady carry all these bags by herself?" He replied as strong arms lifting the feed as if it weighed nothing, a rush of lust bloomed within your chest as thoughts of his arms holding you tight crept within your mind. But those thoughts were quickly replaced with embarrassment, and you avoided eye contact with the man as you both walked out of the store towards the car.

Placing the bags in the passenger side of the vehicle Bo shot you a smile, which made you gaze at your shoes again, your boots kicking the dry dirt beneath your feet. Crossing his arms against his chest and without thinking he said: "I know some fella is really lucky to have you."

"I-I ain't with no one, not like that." You whispered, biting your lip as you leaned against the hot car door, your eyes meeting his for only a split second before looking away. You had a boyfriend in the past, but the only thing you did with the man was kiss and hold hands, you weren't really attracted to him, and he was only with you for 'convenience' - according to him. So, it didn't hurt you none when he dumped you for another girl.

But you did enjoy landing a right hook square against his jaw after that nasty breakup though.

Just because he deserved it.

"W-What about you? I mean, I'm not sayin' a fella is lucky to have you, unless there is--ain't nothin' wrong with that if there is--I mean--"

"I'm divorced; my ex-wife works at the general store on the white side of town." Bo chuckled, cutting you off from your rambling. You whispered out a meek apology and silence soon followed. The muffle sounds of people's chattering, cars honking, and wheels racing on the dirt road eased your thumping heart a bit. With a sigh Bo tilted his head, his eyes traveling up and down your body as he tongued the inside of his cheek.

"...I know some fellas who own a juke joint, just outta the way of town. They play some real good music there - and the catfish they serve is fresh, pipin' hot never cooked in stale grease, unlike the fish fry across the street." He said as he pointed his head towards the run-down restaurant that was packed to the brim with people. You giggled at his comment - he was right - despite the popularity of that place, their food was disgusting. With a pause his face twisted in deep thought, finding the next words that he truly wanted to say.

"We should go there sometime - the juke joint," Bo casually said, his hands now tucked in the pockets of his pants. "Up to you, of course." He quickly added trying his best not to lay it on thick. Your body stiffed and you scrunched up your face in concern and without thinking you blurted out: "You ain't crazy, right?"

Bo was a handsome man, the kind that you would daydream about as you hammered and worked your days away. It made no sense to you that such a gorgeous man like him would ask you out, he seemed like the type to be paired up with a woman who wore frilly dresses and expensive perfume.

Not a woman in old, dirty hand-me-down male clothes.

He shrugged his shoulders as an airy laugh escaped his lungs, you noticed that he laughed a lot.

The sound of it was music to your ears.

"Just think about it, okay?" He asked softy, which earned a nod from you. With one last smile he began to walk towards the store backwards, his chestnut-colored eyes not breaking contact with yours.

"And make sure your brothers help you with movin' allat stuff."

The drive back home was felt quicker than it actually was, your mind raced with thoughts of Bo. His soft smile, his strong muscular arms, his beautiful deep brown eyes, his thick southern twang with each word he spoke - even though you just met the man you were already falling for him, and you considered his invitation to the juke joint.

Once pulling into the long dusty driveway of your home a quick realization set within you.

How would you take him up on that offer?

Driving back and forth from town wasn't manageable; your father's car drank up gas like it was nothing - and gasoline was expensive. You sighed at the missed opportunity to ask how communication would work between you two. With a lull of your head, your eyes landed on the grocery list that rested on top of the items you bought. Reaching for the stained paper your heart fluttered as you read the numbers out loud, his name scribbled on the bottom of it.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

A few blistering weeks had passed and your relationship with Bo blossomed as you both spent hours talking on the phone, and you were starting to enjoy the tedious shopping trips your father would send you on - that meant you were able to see the shopkeeper in person. But when driving into town wasn't needed you settled on calling the man after finishing your chores.

You learned that the Bo's family was from China, a long way from Mississippi. You would ask about the country and if it was any different from here, his deep voice would sigh and reminiscence about his homeland. His family moved here when he was only a small boy and stated that he lost his accent in exchanged for the Mississippi drawl from living here so long - but he still spoke perfect Mandarin.

You noticed that his flirty persona would slip as he displayed a sillier side to him. Cursing and complaining about customers leaving messes around his store or local vendors who tried to rip him off, his soothing voice would slip into speaking his native tongue, the sound of those foreign words would caress your ears and make your heart flutter. You would ask him to teach you some words and phrases, which he gladly did.

Most of them were curse words though.

You would butcher the unfamiliar words with your southern accent, but he was patient with you as he chuckled out the proper pronunciation of those dirty words, praising you when you finally articulating them semi-perfectly.

He would ask you about your day as well and you told him everything, down to the exact minute you woke up. He would let out a sharp whistle hearing all of the manual labor that you were responsible for - flirting with you about how you needed a break often saying things like: "Sounds like a hard day, you probably have knots in your shoulders - I could fix that, y'know."

Which you would reply: "You givin' out massages now?"

And in turn he would tut out a quick comeback along the lines of: "Only to those who deserves them. I've got magic hands...And a soft spot for women who pretend not to need them."

You would choke and stumble over your words, quickly changing the subject towards something else. Tonight, you were on the phone with Bo, listing intensely at the story he told - your sore hands shooed your nosy brother away as he gave you a lopsided smile. You told your brothers about Bo, and they teased you relentlessly about him.

"So, when am I gonna see you again?" Bo asked, making you bite your lip and shrug as if he could see you.

"I don't know...Maybe soon?" You whispered you didn't want it to come out as a question, but it did, and you mentally kicked yourself for it. You remembered his offer to take you to this 'mysterious' juke joint, it sounded like fun. You love to dance even though you were self-conscious about doing it in front of people, often swaying your hips as you hummed a melody you heard on the radio while cooking or doing chores by your lonesome.

"How...How 'bout we go that juke joint you were talkin' about? That sounds like fun."

"Ah! Lil' miss busy body finally wanna come dance with me?"

"Oh, haha," You sarcastically laughed, picking at the skin of your thumb. "How 'bout next weekend? Does Saturday work for you?"

"Of course, I'm free Saturday..." He then paused and you could practically see the wide smile that clung onto his face.

"It's a date, then?"

"Y-Yeah, it's a date."

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Your fingers fidget and twist around each other, the crunching sound of rock and dirt beneath your feet grounded you somewhat, but your palms were already beginning to sweat. Passing through parked cars and couples grinding themselves onto each other, you finally made it to this aforementioned juke joint, the booming sound of music and shouting made a lump rise in your throat.

Stepping towards the large open double doors sat a stocky man. He nodded and waved as people enter and exited the makeshift club - his head snapping forward as his eyes landed onto you. With a wide and friendly smile, he tilted his straw hat with thick fingers - lowering his head in reverence as he spoke.

"Hello, missy. Ain't seen you around here before," His head rise again, making heavy eye contact with you. You figured that this large man was a bouncer, here to try and keep troublemakers out of the juke. "Word gets around, huh? Each weekend more and more people come - since it's your first time here I recommend trying the Irish whiskey. It got some kick to it, haha. All thanks to those twins, of course."

"Y-Yes, will do. Thank you." You mumbled, your shy eyes looking down at your feet. The muddy boots that you wore everyday were replaced with emerald green heels, the shoes hurt your feet, but the sales lady reassured you that they'll break in quickly.

Shuffling around the man you stumbled into the crowded club, your eyes scanning for Bo, but you couldn't find him anywhere. A lost and confused look plastered onto your face - you were starting to feel overwhelmed as second thoughts rushed through your mind. Deciding that you should just leave you quickly turned on your heel, but you bumped into a soft body, strong yet comforting arms steadied you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You repeated with a strained voice, shouting out apologies over the loud Blues that reverberated on the wooden walls.

"It's okay, you alright?" A womanly voice calmly spoke. Your eyes were met with deep mahogany brown irises, her features were beautiful, welcoming. Yet an air of sternness and confidence oozed casually from her as she adjusted her dark blue dress. Her natural hair was done up neatly, framing her face in a way that only enhanced her beautiful features. You couldn't help but to gawk at this woman. Noticing this her smile only soften as she awaited your answer to her question.

"Oh, um. Yea', I'm okay. Thank you," you choked out, your awkward eyes darting around the room as you peered into the dancing crowd. "Have you seen Bo around?" You added with a bite of your cherry red stained lips - for the first time you were wearing makeup.

"So, you're her? He's gamblin' with that drunk 'ol fool in the back." She stated, giving you a friendly grin. She turned her head and stopped a man dead in his tracks as he gave her a look that was tinged in nothing but respect.

"Yes, Annie?" The man asked.

"Take her to Bo and them, would you?" The woman, now known as Annie, casually said which earned a nod from the man. You gave your thanks to Annie as she winked and disappeared into the crowd. You followed the man, pushing pass people dancing and drinking with apologies falling from your lips, bumping into them accidently. But most of them were either too drunk to care or too busy dancing to notice.

"Damn, Bo. I thought you said you was good?" A commanding voice boomed, which followed by a chorus of laughter from multiple men. The music wasn't as loud within this hidden room, the muffled hymns were drowned out by lighters flicking, glass bottles clanking, and cocky chuckles coming from each man that huddled together around the small table.

"I am, but I'm already known' that Slim is cheatin." Bo sighed in annoyance, a cigarette hanged limp between his plump lips as he tossed a card down on the table, stress pulling at his chiseled features and smoke plumed from his mouth with each word he spoke.

"I ain't cheatin'." A man, who was much older, confidently stated as he took a long swig from his metal flask - licking his lips to taste the alcohol that slipped pass his golden capped teeth.

"You is." Bo shot back as he took a drag from the cigarette, pulling it from his lips with an index and middle finger, and leisurely blew the smoke into the already thick hazy air.

"No, I--"

A sharp wolf whistle cut off the older man's defense, which cause the men to snap their heads towards your direction. The whistle came from the man standing, his hands reaching for the red brimmed hat that rested on his head and placed it over his chest, shielding his well-tailored suit.

"Ain't you a pretty lil' thang?" He spoke as his dark brown irises slowly ran up and down your body, he was absolutely undressing you with his eyes. You wore a thin silky emerald color dress that loosely hung onto your body - but the soft fabric outlined and accentuated your curves. Your short hair was styled in finger waves, mimicking how women would wear their hair in the many magazines you had hidden away in your bedroom.

With long mascara covered eyelashes you blinked awkwardly, turning your head to look behind you, confused if the man was talking to you. Bo looked at you with awe, he couldn't recognize you at first but looking deeper at your dolled up face he could see those same beautiful features he'd grown fond of.

You looked amazing, like a movie star that jumped straight out of the silver screen.

"Y-You talkin' to me?" You asked the man, pointing at yourself with your head tilting to the side, the dangling silver earing you wore had small green gems, the light catching the dark color - making the jewelry sparkle. The jewelry grazed the warm skin of your bare shoulder as you lulled your head back into its natural position.

"My, my. And she's humble too," he laughed as he reached his hand out for yours. With sweaty and shaky palms, you placed your hand within the stranger's grasp, it seemed like he didn't care about your drenched soaked palm as he placed a kiss on your trembling hand, the feeling of his moustache lightly tickled your skin. "My name is Stack, baby." He said as he shot you a wide smile, showing off his golden capped teeth that shined under the ember light of the club. But before you could open your mouth Bo quickly cut into the conversation, swatting away the advances Stack was planning on making towards you.

"Watch yourself - she ain't like that, Stack." Bo hissed tossing his cards on the table, quitting from the game which made Slim smile ear to ear from the easy victory.

"Why you care, ain't you married?" Stack jested back, his voice dripping with charisma, sending a wink your way after finishing his sentence.

"Divorced." Bo said curtly.

Stack raised his hands up in a playful display of defeat, his face twisting in mischief as a chuckle fell from his plump lips.

"My bad, Bo. I ain't know you like the sistas." Stack chuckled as he pulled the empty chair from the table, claiming his seat as nimble hands collected the scattered cards - preparing to shuffle them for the next game.

"I ain't know you like 'em either." Bo replied, sitting up from his chair as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, stopping right at the elbows - his cigarette still hanging limply from his mouth.

This statement earned a raspy roar of laughter from Slim as he clapped his hands together, the sound of his foot stomping made you jump a bit. Stack's once confident persona melted as he shot glares at Slim and Bo, which only made Slim laugh even harder.

You were oblivious to their 'inside joke'.

"Whew, you have fun you crazy kids," Slim sighed out, taking another swig from his flask. "And you: get outta ya feelings, boy. Shuffle them cards." The older man places a hard pat on Stack's shoulder, which only made him grunt in annoyance.

"I think you had too much to drink, old man." Stack seethed as he quickly mixed up the cards in his hands.

Putting the cigarette out in the ashtray Bo's striking features eased with happiness as he laid his eyes on you. Holding his arm out for you to grab onto, both of you exited the small gambling room - now out on the bustling dance floor. His eyes were trained onto your face as he pulled you closer towards him, the bloom of attraction and arousal tugged within Bo as he bit his lip.

You were looking damn good tonight.

"I see why you didn't want me to pick you up - you're somethin' else, you know that?" He smiled, the dimples of his cheeks deepening as you shrugged your shoulders at his words, your eyes gazing at him. He looked handsome as always, but tonight he looked dashing. Noticing his eyes that flicked towards your body, you took a step back to show him your full outfit.

"You like my dress? I bought it earlier today - I wanted to wear somethin' new." You gushed out and with a twirl you showed him the back of your dress that exposed the bare skin of your back, but you didn't notice Bo's eyes landing straight on your ass that poked against the thin fabric. Sticking his thumb in his belt loop, he adjusted his pants - he really wanted to see what's under that dress - but alas, he wouldn't outwardly say that to you as his own worrying self-conscious crept in.

Bo wasn't bashful nor shy when it came to intimacy and sex, he was open about his wants and desires. But you were the polar opposite, so he tried his best to keep those lustful thoughts about you to himself, toning the flirty banter down to a minimum. But that was becoming a challenge tonight with how sexy you looked, and it didn't help much that Stack's actions made him a tad bit jealous.

Bo knew you desired him just as much, but he knows it'll take a while for that shell of yours to crack.

Low strumming of guitar strings pulled your attention away from Bo, your eyes gazing at the makeshift stage ahead of you, watching a man that was around your age plucked the metal strings of the instrument. With a low hum you noticed the once lively dancefloor coupled up in pairs, while the singles made their way to the bar to fill up on drinks. With a thumb on his bottom lip Bo, smiled at your sudden ramped attention towards the slow music.

"That's Preacher Boy, he's mighty fine at playin' that guitar," Bo walked forward towards the dance floor with your hand in his. Both your fingers interlocking with each other's. "Care to fancy me a dance?"

You couldn't do anything but to excitedly nod, the butterflies in your stomach were becoming unbearable. With strong arms Bo held you flush against him, you could feel his lean body through his clothes - both of you swaying to the rhythm of the song. Tough hands rested on the small of your back, his calloused fingers resting dangerously close above your ass.

You wouldn't mind it if he rested his hand there.

With threaded fingers he guided your steps, you tripped over yourself for a bit - but you quickly found the rhythm again. Your head rest on his shoulder while he placed his on top of your head, the tender lyrics about love and not wanting to let go echoed through your mind, the lovesick song made your heart swell.

Bo then pulls away from your body, but only for a bit - he twirled you around, making you giggle at the action and with skillful movements, he pressed your backside onto himself. His hands guided your hips against his and you could feel his growing bulge pressing against your backside. You shiver in delight at the feeling of him pressing against you, his lips also pressing against your ear as he sang along the lyrics - switching some of the words with Mandarin. He was singing the song directly to you.

Your loins were on fire, and you tried the ease the ache between your legs by grinding yourself onto his stiffening member. Bo took quick noticed of this, his fingers pressing down on your hips as he steadies himself.

Helping you grind yourself on him.

Turning around to face him again you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, still pressing yourself firmly on his body. Your lips ghosting over his - he leaned forward in an attempt to close the sliver of space between your lips, but you pulled away with a slight grin that danced across your cherry red lips.

"Do you think I'm pretty even when I don't look like...This all the time?" You asked him. Though you enjoyed dressing up and doing your make up - a part of you also found comfort in wearing clothes that weren't 'conventionally' for women. You were shy and sometimes you had some bouts of insecurity - but that was every woman.

You hoped that Bo could understand that.

"The moment I laid my eyes on you - when you came into my store - I knew then that I wanted you," he paused as his brown eyes stared into yours intensely, every word he spoke made you lose your breath. "You're more than pretty; you're beautiful - gorgeous. Doesn't matter what you got on."

With quivering lips, you kissed him, Bo's lips were soft, and his kiss was steady as he guided your unskilled mouth against his - deepening the kiss even more. His warm hands trailed over the exposed skin of your back, the feeling of rough fingers made you spiral, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Bo could feel your wetness too - pressing his thigh in between your legs and against your aching core.

You moaned into his mouth, and you held onto his shoulders for dear life, you needed to feel this man inside you - you were growing desperate to relieve yourself from the intense arousal that bubbled in your core.

"C'mon, lemme take care of you, baby." Bo whispered.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

Slipping away from the crowd, you and Bo found an empty room upstairs of the juke, away from prying eyes. The room was dusty, and the air was stale and thick - as if you both were the first people to enter in years. The slow love song that Preacher Boy sang was now replaced with loud, intense melodies and the once tender lyrics now oozed with raunchy double entendres.

Pressing your back against the wall, Bo's nimble hands ran over your body, stroking and squeezing all of your curves as if his life depended on it - his hands stopping at your breast, cupping them gently through the fabric of your dress. His faced rested within the crook of your neck as his lips sucked at the exposed skin, slightly nipping you with his teeth. Your hands race through his black hair, the strands threading through your fingers as your nails softly scratched at his scalp.

"You see what you do to me, girl?" He asked as he reached for your hand, placing it over his clothed bulge that strained against his pants. You bit your lip as your fingers rubbed against his hard member, his hips bucking into your hand as you pressed down on his dick.

"I-I gotta tell you somethin'."

"What is it, baby?" He asked in between fevered kisses on your neck.

"I ain't never did this before." You sighed out breathlessly. Kissing and grinding wasn't intimidating to you - you've done that before.

But sex, actual sex, was a whole different ballpark. You weren't 'saving' yourself for marriage or anything like that; you never had the opportunity to be with anyone sexually. Until now, of course. Bo stopped in his tracks and pulled away from your neck, his eyes that were filled with lust a second ago soften while his hands rested at your sides.

"...You a virgin?" He asked, which made you whisper out a yes. His eyebrows knitted together as he stared down at you, still pressing himself against your heaving chest. "Sure you want this?"

"Yea', I'm sure...I like you, Bo. A lot, I wanna do it," you paused - your eyes looking away from him and in attempt to try to break the rising tension from the realization of you never having sex before, you spoke again. "Just be patient with me."

"I'll be gentle I promise, baby. It's just like dancin', follow my lead - I'll make sure you feel real good." Bo whispered as his hand caress your cheek, his thumb rubbing circles. Leaning in he kissed you again, but this kiss was different than the last - it was slow and gentle.

You kissed him back and his tongue swipe at your bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss, and you let him. Both of your tongues danced in unison, the taste of cigarette smoke with the hint of peppermint lingered on your mouth with each kiss. His hands reached for the hem of your dress, pulling up the fabric exposing your bare thighs and thin cotton underwear.

His hand rubbed your leg, stopping at the waistband of your panties, his finger tracing over the band and stopping at the wet spot of the fabric. Slowly his fingers pressed against your clothed clit, rubbing small yet firm circles on the sensitive bud, earning a shallow moan that escaped your chest.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Bo asked as he continued rubbing your pussy through your panties. You groan out a breathy yes, encouraging him to keep going.

And he did.

Your hips bucked against his hand, while his free hand pinched at your right nipple with attentive fingers. The sharp feeling of his pinching sent a wave of pleasure towards your loins and your hands gripped onto his toned biceps. With skillful and experienced hands, he stuck his thumb within the waistband of your soaking underwear, slipping the fabric off your hips towards your already shaking knees, his fingers now rubbing against your exposed pussy.

"Oh, Bo. T-That feels good." You whimpered as he continued his movements - now picking up speed, making you moan even louder.

You were glad that the music was blaringly loud.

"Fuck...You're already so wet." Bo muttered as his fingers swiped across your aching entrance. He was practically straining against his pants, but since this was your first time, he didn't want to rush. He remembered his first time having sex - it wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either - even so he still looked back on that memory fondly. The feeling of reaching that level of ecstasy sticks to a person and he was honored to be able to help you achieve it. It was daunting knowing that he's your first, but it also lit a fire within him.

He wanted nothing more but to pleasure you, to make sure that your first time is special. Trailing gentle kisses down your body Bo got on his knees, tugging the panties off of your legs as he did so. Your hands gripped onto the hem of your dress in a tight fist and your eyes followed his every movement.

"I wanna taste you, baby. Can I taste you?" He asked desperately, his eyes looking up at you as if you were an angel in disguise - as if you were a work of art.

You nodded your head, but he didn't move.

"Use your words, sugar."

"Y-Yes, you can taste me." choked out awkwardly, you never talked dirty to anyone before but the act of doing it only made you hornier. Bo smiled wide at your answer, placing a feather light kiss on your thigh and on your sensitive bud. The feeling of his lips on your pussy made you shiver in excitement and slowly he began to lick you.

The tip of his tongue skillfully circled your clit, only stopping to drag it across your soaking pussy. He moaned against your core - savoring sweet taste of your juices that filled his mouth. You bucked your hips against his face, riding on his experienced tongue as he continued repeating his movements.

Chanting out his name with a groan your hands ran through his hair, it took everything within you not to pull at his dark tresses - but the sensation of his tongue lapping up your pussy made your head spin. Working over your core Bo slowly slipped his middle finger inside of you, stopping at the second joint in case you couldn't take the feeling. To your surprise the feeling of his finger inside you didn't hurt; in fact, it felt amazing - it felt heavenly.

Careful and slow he moved his hand, pressing the finger in and out of your pussy as his lips sucked at your swollen and sensitive clit. Lulling your head to the side you rocked your hips to match the pace of his hand, biting your lip as a wave of pleasure washed over you. Bo then added another finger which made you squeeze your thighs against the sides of his head, holding his head in place with a vice grip.

His middle and ring finger worked your over your core, the digits now fully inside of you. Picking up the pace with his fingers your pussy, guttural moans turned into high pitched groans as your left hand scratched at the wall behind you. An unfamiliar yet intense feeling tingled at your core, and something within you desperately needed the feeling to be alleviated. It was as if Bo read your mind and his tongue swirled over your clit and within an instant a wave of euphoria crashed into you as a loud cry fell from your lips, your body shaking intensely like a leaf in the wind.

You came.

Bo's mouth pulled away from your dripping pussy, he didn't want to overwhelm you as his now slick fingers lightly stroked your tender button, easing you through your orgasm.

"Just like that, baby. You got it...Good job, great job." He praised. Looking down at him Bo's chin and the collar of his shirt was soaked with your juices, and it slightly embarrassed you with just how wet you truly were. But that feeling of embarrassment quickly dissipated when he stood up again, his lips crashing into yours - kissing you with fever.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, with shaky hands you locked your fingers together at the back of his head, deepening the kiss. Something about tasting you on his swollen lips made your pussy tingle with a need to be filled again.

"Bo...I-I need you."

"I need you too." He whispered back between kisses. Your hand reached for the buckle of his belt, fumbling over your own fingers as you tried to free him from his pants. Bo held your hands in his, guiding them in unbuckling the belt.

Finally, being able to free himself from his belt, he led your hand in his pants. You could feel just how hard he was. His member was thick and heavy and feeling the warmth of it on the palm of your hand made your mouth water in the anticipation of him fucking you. Pulling his pants off his waist, Bo's dick sprung free.

With strong hands he lifted you up from under your arms, making you gasp. Following his lead, you wrapped your legs around his hips as he pressed his lean body against yours, pressing you on the wall to steady yourself. Your sweaty forehead rested on his as you both watched him stroke himself, pumping his dick with his hand, precum making a natural lubricant.

With cloudy eyes you watched Bo lining himself towards your aching core he slowly entered you, his head rested on your hot and sweat slicked shoulder and the feeling of his cock entering your tight pussy almost made the man topple over. He was stretching you out and the raw sting of pain mixed with pleasure crashed into you like a tidal wave, your nails clung onto Bo's shirt, scratching at his skin through the cotton fabric.

"Shh, it's okay, I got you." Bo reassured as he paused the movement of his hips - resting his cock inside of you - allowing both of your bodies to adjust to each other. You were so tight, so warm, so wet. It felt like he'd just stumbled into heaven, and it took everything in him not to buck his hips until you were ready. With a nod of your head, you signaled him to continue, your tense muscles melted as he placed a long kiss on your jaw as he slowly began rocking his hips back and forth, fucking into you as softly as he could.

High pitched grunts fell from your lips with each thrust he made, and his thumb rubbed small and supportive circles over the skin of your thighs that wrapped around his hips, grounding you and easing the tense muscles within your legs. Bo began chanting your name, telling you how good you felt, and asking you if he felt good inside you too.

The pain of his cock inside of your once unexplored sex subsided and was now replaced with nothing but pleasure. You moaned against his plump lips as he groaned out curses in Mandarin at the sensation of your pussy squeezing around his member; his hips thrusting into you rapid but steady pace.

"Bo, I think I'm almost..."

"I'm almost there too." Bo mumbled as he rested his forehead onto yours and with a few more thrusts you felt the familiar feeling of a knot formed within your abdomen and with shaking legs your mouth hanged open slack as a silent scream pushed through your convulsing body - the high of reaching your orgasm made you hold Bo in a vice grip.

He cursed in pleasure as his own orgasm crept up on him, backing away from your tight grip with strong arms he pulled himself out of you, pumping his cock within his hand until he reached his climax - coming in his hand as he rested his head on your shoulders, your eyes watching him stroke himself. The sounds of heavy breathing filled the air as your head spin from experiencing your second orgasm.

Your sweaty body leaned against the wall and with a deep sigh Bo steadied his breathing, rolling his shoulders as your eyes met with his. You noticed a bit of blood that was in his hand and the odd sensation of slick clung on your inner thighs, putting two and two together you looked away from him, embarrassment blooming within your already racing heart. But before you could blurt out an apology, Bo kissed your lips - pulling you out of your self conscious state.

"That's normal for your first time. It's okay, baby." He reassured. Cleaning you and himself up with a small cotton handkerchief, you jumped at the soft fabric rubbing against your sensitive sex, which earned a sympathetic chuckle from Bo.

"Hopefully next time we do it we'll have a bed. My back hurts..." You whispered as your hand pressed on the small of your back, getting fucked against a hard wall feels good in the moment, but you know you'll be stiff as a board the following morning.

"Next time?" Bo asked as a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

"I-I mean if you want--"

"I'll make sure we'll have a bed, and besides I promised you a massage, remember?" He smiled and you smiled back at him. After getting cleaned up, you and Bo rejoined the bustling crowd of the juke joint, hand in hand.

You were counting down the minutes until your next 'encounter' with him - and so was he.

#bo chow sinners #bo chow x reader #bo chow x you #bo chow x y/n #bo chow smut #bo chow x reader smut #black reader #bo chow x black reader #bo chow x fem!reader #bo chow x black!reader #bo chow x oc #sinners fanfiction

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robbysreaders · 1 month ago

Note

In love with your jack series can we have a hint of what might of happened to cause them to break up ?

This literally made me so sad i need to follow up with a fluffier moment tonight but it was fun to write, thank you for asking!!!!!

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader word count: 800ish notes: prequel of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack also yes i did steal another scene from ER so SUE ME

It was never one big thing. It was the slow build — compounding fractures on both sides that never quite healed.

Jack wasn’t the one to suggest space. You were. He would’ve let it spiral into a blowout or let his guilt fester into something ugly. But you knew you both deserved better than that.

You’d been dating for six months when you realized you were late. He was on a tangent about work, barely coming up for air.

“These budget cuts are bullshit. We don’t have enough nurses upstairs, the boarders are piling up, and it makes everything ten times harder—”

“Jack,” you whisper, “How early can you get a pregnancy result from a blood test?”

“Seven days. Did I tell you what Robby said Gloria said?”

“Several times.”

He blinked. “Wait. Did you just say… pregnancy? You think you're pregnant? But—we’ve been really careful.”

“I know.”

“Did you miss your period?”

“Three days.”

“Okay. Okay. That could be stress. We’ll figure it out.”

It wasn’t stress.

A month later, you moved in.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, Jack leaned in the doorway, “Will you marry me?”

You sat on the edge of the bed, towel-wrapped and exhausted. “No, Jack. We haven’t even known each other a year.”

“I’d marry you tomorrow,” he said softly. “Any day. I want to make this work. I love you. I love him.” His hand settled on your belly like a promise.

“I know you do. But I don’t need grand declarations. I need the little things.”

And Jack... Jack has never been good at the little things.

Sure, he never missed a doctor’s appointment. But he also ran to the hospital on his days off, stress trailing behind him like smoke. He brought work home and snapped, even when he didn’t mean to.

He was on rotation when your water broke. Of course, he wasn’t answering his phone. You called an Uber to get to the hospital alone.

He saw your texts and rushed to L&D just in time. Everything turned out okay. Except it didn’t feel okay. It felt like the beginning of an ending.

Jack was a devoted father. An incredible one, even. But he was a distracted partner. And you couldn’t blame him, not entirely. Postpartum knocked you sideways. You didn’t feel like yourself anymore. And the truth was, you both were just going through the motions — two tired adults playing house around a beautiful, babbling baby.

Beau was just over a year when it truly cracked.

You were walking through the park, leaves crunching underfoot, Beau kicking his legs in the stroller.

“Jack,” you said carefully, “are you happy?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m good. I’m good.”

“I think you should talk to someone. Therapy’s helped me more than I expected—”

“I said I’m good,” he cut in. “I’m just tired. The baby. Work. It’ll get better.”

You stopped walking. “Jack. I don’t think this will work if we keep going like this. I think I need a break. I’m going to take Beau to my parents’ for a week.”

He blinked. “I can’t really take time off that short notice—”

“I wasn’t inviting you,” you said.

Back at the house, you packed. Enough for you and Beau for a week. Jack held him while pacing the room, in and out like he couldn’t decide whether to stay or bolt.

Finally, you said, “Jack. Just say what you want to say.”

He stopped. Face flat, eyes hollow. Something at the edge of his lips — then he straightened.

“Yeah, um... just let me know what I can do to help.”

The next morning, you left.

Jack called off work for the first time in his career. Claimed he caught Beau’s flu. Robby knew better — especially when he showed up at Jack’s and saw your car gone, the house quiet, Jack hungover on the couch.

It didn’t take long for Robby to coax it out.

“This doesn’t have to be the end,” Robby said, flipping a beer cap off with ease. “She’s giving you space. That’s a gift. Don’t waste it.”

“She’s sick of the big declarations,” Jack mumbled. “Sick of me being all show and no change.”

“As she should be. You want her back, you rebuild the foundation. You follow her lead. Think about what she’s asked for. Start there.”

The next morning, Jack called.

He asked how you and Beau were doing. Asked if your parents hated him now.

“They could never hate you,” you said quietly. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“So, when you get back… maybe we talk? I need to have Beau in my life, and I’ll take whatever part of you I’m allowed. But you’re unhappy, and I can’t be the reason why. I’ll take your lead. If you want lawyers, I’ll pay for both of us to get them. Whatever you need.”

You were silent for a moment, heart cracking a little.

“Yeah, Jack. Let’s talk when I’m back.”

#jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt drabble #the pitt imagine #dr. abbot #dr. abbot x reader #dr. abbott #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #p attempts to start writing #p's asks #ex!reader and babydaddy!jack

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kiwriteswords · 7 months ago

Note

begs nicely for bombshell reader

In the Margin

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell!Female Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, flirting, fluff, finance talk, banter, Hotch is a softie for Penelope.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s weekly budget meetings with you, the sharp-tongued BAU financial analyst, become an unexpected mix of humor, wit, and simmering tension as professional boundaries blur. Between team antics, Penelope’s creative expenses, and your playful challenges, Hotch finds himself navigating far more than just numbers.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure if he hated the newly implemented weekly budget meetings because they disrupted his already packed schedule or because of you, the BAU’s Operations Department Budget Analyst.

No--that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he hated you. It was that he hated how much he didn’t hate you. You were sharp-tongued, confident, and armed with a wit so quick it could cut him to ribbons before he even knew he was bleeding. It didn’t help that you looked like you belonged on a movie set rather than in a conference room dissecting every penny spent by his team.

He adjusted his tie as he entered the room. You were already seated at the head of the table, a tablet in front of you and a pen in hand, tapping it rhythmically against the desk as you scanned a detailed report. He knew that was meant for him. It was always meant for him.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” you greeted without looking up. “Let’s talk about how your team managed to burn through three months of budget in--oh, a month and a half.” Your eyes finally met his, and the smile you gave him could only be described as predatory.

“Good morning, Miss. Y/L/N.” He placed his briefcase on the table and sat across from you. “I see we’re getting right into it today.”

“Well, Aaron”—and wasn’t that a bold move? Using his first name like that—“I’d love to make small talk, but someone”—you leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping as if this was the world’s biggest secret—“decided we needed to order customized iPad cases last month. For everyone. Including” You looked back down to the itemized invoice,"‘Penelope Garcia’s-second-backup-iPad.’”

Hotch rubbed a hand over his face. “That would be Garcia,” he said dryly.

You laughed, and the sound was like a reward he didn’t know he was aiming for. “Oh, Aaron. It’s always Penelope, isn’t it?”

The meetings became a staple of his week, though not by choice. What had started as a quarterly formality became a monthly necessity when you joined the department and discovered Penelope’s propensity for colorful, extravagant expenditures. But the kicker came two months ago, when Penelope had gone rogue with the budget to fund her “absolutely vital” initiative to replace paper case files with digital ones—complete with the max amount of storage, of course. You’d retaliated by instituting weekly budget reviews.

“She knows,” Hotch told Penelope one afternoon in her lair. “She knows it was you.”

Penelope gasped dramatically. “How does she know? Wait—does she have surveillance on me? Did she bug my office? Tell. Me. She didn’t bug my office.”

“She didn’t bug your office, Garcia,” Hotch said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She knows because you send her invoices.”

Penelope frowned. “But those were justified expenses!”

“She’s not convinced.” Hotch sighed. “Neither is the finance department.”

“Well, maybe if she’d loosen up a bit—”

“She’s very loose, Garcia,” Hotch muttered before realizing how that sounded. Penelope’s grin was instant, and Hotch scowled. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with Miss. Y/N Y/L/N. Maybe you like these meetings more than you’re letting on.”

He left her office before she could get another word in.

The meetings evolved into more than budget disputes. You had a way of challenging Hotch that nobody else did. You questioned his decisions—not about cases, but about expenses. You turned a dry meeting into something that felt like a battle of wits, and despite himself, Hotch found he didn’t mind the sparring.

“So, tell me,” you said during one particularly contentious meeting, “why does Penelope need a beanbag chair? Let me guess—‘it fosters creative thinking.’”

Hotch cleared his throat; his years of being quick on his feet as a lawyer somehow always did him good when it came to defending Penelope’s spending. “She has unique requirements for her workspace.”

“Unique, huh?” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, and Hotch caught himself looking before he forced his gaze back up. “And the collection of...neon gel pens? Also, a unique requirement?”

“She…has a system.”

You laughed again, and Hotch felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He’d smiled more in these meetings than in most social situations, not that he’d admit it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you said casually, pointing your pen at him, and Hotch stiffened. You were already standing, gathering your papers. “Meeting adjourned. See you next week, Aaron.”

It wasn’t until two months into weekly meetings that things finally shifted.

You caught him in the break room late one evening, well after everyone else had gone home. “Aaron,” you greeted, leaning against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Did you know your coffee expenses are also over budget?”

Hotch turned, mug in hand. “Should I expect an itemized report on my caffeine consumption?”

You smirked. “Already on your desk.”

The air between you crackled, and for the first time, Hotch saw something beyond the wit and the barbs. He set his mug down and stepped closer, his voice low. “You enjoy giving me a hard time.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “And you enjoy taking it.”

“Do I?” he challenged.

“Don’t you?” you shot back, and the look in your eyes was enough to make him question every professional boundary he’d ever adhered to.

He took another step closer, close enough that he could see the faint trace of amusement in your expression. “This feels like it’s about more than the budget.”

“It definitely is,” you said, your voice softer now. “Maybe I think you could use a little…loosening up.”

Hotch let himself smile just a little. “And you think you’re the person to help me with that?”

You grinned, pushing off the counter and brushing past him, close enough that he caught the faintest hint of your perfume. “I know I am.”

The budget meetings continued, but now, the tension between you and Hotch wasn’t just professional. It simmered, unspoken but palpable, until it was only a matter of time before one of you crossed the line.

And Hotch couldn’t wait to see who would make the first move.

Hotch had a long day ahead of him. Between case briefs, team check-ins, and the weekly budget meeting you’d so gleefully instituted, he felt like the universe was conspiring against him. It didn’t help that Penelope Garcia had texted him earlier with an ominous, “Sir! Big news! You’ll thank me later.”

When he stepped into the bullpen, the team was gathered around Penelope, who stood in the center like a magician about to unveil her latest trick.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, waving her hands dramatically, “I give you the latest and greatest tech upgrade to grace the halls of the BAU!”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose as the team collectively oohed and aahed over the sleek new monitors now adorning every desk.

“Garcia,” he said, his tone low and measured, “please tell me this was approved through the appropriate channels.”

Penelope turned to him with a smile so wide it could only mean trouble. “Of course it was, sir!” Then, after a beat, she added, “I mean, I may have pulled a few strings. But can you really put a price on efficiency and team morale?”

Rossi, seated casually nearby, chimed in. “I’ll admit, it’s a nice touch. Maybe next month, you can swing for some leather chairs in the conference room. The kind that recline.”

Hotch shot him a withering look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Penelope pouted. “Come on, Hotch! You know these upgrades are totally needed. Plus, they match my aesthetic.” She gestured to her own office.

He sighed. “You know who’s going to have to explain this, don’t you?”

Her grin didn’t waver. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

Later, Hotch found himself standing outside your office, mentally preparing for the inevitable. When he knocked, you barely looked up from your screen. “Ah, Aaron,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “What brings you to my humble lair? Let me guess—Penelope strikes again?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You heard?”

“I always hear.” You gestured to the chair across from your desk. “Sit, and tell me why I shouldn’t slash your team's budget to nothing.”

Hotch sat, rubbing his temples. “She upgraded the monitors.”

Your laughter filled the room, light and musical. “Monitors? Really? Did she bedazzle them too?”

“She might have,” he muttered. “Look, I know it’s excessive, but the team…they rely on her. She keeps things running smoothly.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Running smoothly or running through money?”

Hotch gave you a flat look, which only made you grin wider.

“Alright, Aaron,” you said, leaning forward. “Here’s the deal. We can refinance a few line items. Maybe cut back on travel expenses for conferences nobody attends. But I need you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” he asked warily.

You tapped your pen against your desk, pretending to consider. “How about you keep coming to these meetings on time? And,” you added with a smirk, “try not to look so grumpy when you do.”

Hotch’s lips twitched, threatening a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The next meeting was no less contentious, but there was a new edge to the banter.

“You really went to bat for Penelope this week,” you said, flipping through your notes. “Is she holding something over you? A dark secret, perhaps? Did she catch you sneaking an extra slice of cake at Rossi’s last party?”

Hotch gave you a pointed look. “She’s an integral part of the team.”

“And I’m sure the sparkly monitor really enhances her skillset,” you quipped. “What’s next? A gold-plated stapler?”

“Don’t give her ideas.”

You laughed, and he found himself staring at the way your eyes lit up when you did. It was distracting. You were distracting.

“So,” you continued, turning serious, “how do you propose we make this work? I’ve crunched the numbers, and unless you want to start holding bake sales, something’s gotta give.”

Hotch straightened in his chair. “Rossi suggested cutting back on the print subscriptions.”

“Oh, no,” you said, feigning horror. “What will he do without his monthly shipment of Fine Living Magazine?”

Hotch sighed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But only because you make it so easy.”

As the weeks went on, the tension between you and Hotch became undeniable. The banter turned sharper, the lingering glances longer, the air in those meetings thicker with something unspoken.

It all came to a head late one evening, long after everyone else had gone home. Hotch was leaving his office when he saw your light still on. Against his better judgment, he knocked and stepped inside.

“Still working?” he asked.

You glanced up, surprised. “Someone’s gotta keep the lights on.”

He closed the door behind him. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Is that an offer to help?” you asked, leaning back in your chair. “Because I could use a second set of eyes on these reports.”

Hotch stepped closer, the tension crackling between you like static electricity. "You’re good at what you do. The team is lucky to have you.”

For once, your usual smirk faltered. “Thanks, Aaron.”

The silence stretched, heavy with possibility. Then you smiled again, playful and challenging. “Careful, Hotchner. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He let out a rare laugh, low and genuine. “Maybe I do.”

Your eyes widened slightly before you recovered, your grin turning sly. “Well, that’s a start.”

The next budget meeting arrived with its usual dose of tension—and not just the financial kind. Hotch entered the conference room early, a strategic move to reclaim some semblance of control. You were already there, of course, seated at the head of the table, the tablet glowing in front of you.

“Early today,” you said, glancing at your watch with mock surprise. “Did someone finally read my strongly worded emails about punctuality?”

"I'm always on time, and I always read your emails,” he replied dryly, taking his usual seat across from you.

“Sure you do,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s why you never respond.”

“I’m busy running a team of federal agents.”

“And yet somehow Penelope has time to order monogrammed pen holders.”

Hotch sighed, his hand already moving to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”

“Not a chance, Aaron.”

The meeting was halfway through when Penelope barged in, her presence as colorful as ever.

“Sir!” she chirped, holding a bright pink folder that screamed unnecessary expense. “Quick update—I managed to upgrade the entire team’s software licenses. State of the art, cutting-edge, only the best for my BAU fam.”

Hotch stared at her, his mouth a thin line. “Garcia, we discussed this.”

“I know!” she said, beaming. “That’s why I made sure to get a bulk discount. I saved us 12%.”

You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip to stifle a laugh. “Twelve percent? Wow, Aaron, she’s practically a financial wizard.”

Hotch glared at you. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, “with savings like that, we’ll be out of the red in no time. What’s next, Penelope? A popcorn machine for movie nights in the bullpen?”

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, her eyes lighting up. “That’s genius. The camaraderie…I—”

“No,” Hotch said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Penelope pouted, but she left without further incident. As soon as the door closed, you turned to Hotch, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“She’s incredible,” you said, shaking your head. “Completely unhinged--but incredible.”

“She’s a lot of things,” Hotch muttered. “Mostly expensive.”

“And you,” you added, grinning, “are such a softie for her.”

Hotch scoffed, leaning back in his chair, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Softie? I’m her supervisor, not her enabler.”

You laughed, a low, melodic sound that Hotch had come to recognize as the precursor to trouble. “Please. You bend over backward for her, and we both know it.”

“She’s part of my team,” he replied evenly. “It’s my job to advocate for them.”

“Advocating for a new monitor system with glitter decals?” you teased, leaning forward slightly, your grin widening. “Aaron, that’s not advocacy—that’s indulgence. She's like your team's equivalent to 'happy wife, happy life.'"

Hotch crossed his arms, his stoicism cracking just enough to let his dry humor slip through. “I’d call it picking my battles.”

“Oh, really?” you shot back. “And what battle are you avoiding by letting Penelope order custom beanbag chairs?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Do you know what happens if I say no to her?”

“I can only imagine,” you said, leaning your chin on your hand. “Please, enlighten me.”

“She gets creative,” Hotch said gravely. “Very creative. The last time I vetoed one of her purchases, she launched a campaign with color-coded charts and heartfelt video testimonials from the team about how much they needed a slushie machine in the bullpen.”

Your laughter filled the room again, and Hotch let the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “A slushie machine? You’ve got to give her credit—that’s bold....and random.”

“She called it a ‘hydration initiative,’” he deadpanned.

You leaned back, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are such a softie.”

“I’m pragmatic,” he corrected, his tone firm but not unkind. “It’s easier to approve the monitors than to explain to Strauss why there’s a PowerPoint presentation titled ‘Ice-Cold Justice.’”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter, and Hotch found himself momentarily distracted by the way your eyes sparkled with amusement. It wasn’t often he let himself relax enough to notice those things, but with you, it was becoming harder to keep the line between professional and personal intact.

“And yet,” you finally said, regaining your composure, “you’re here, pleading her case to me instead of just putting your foot down.”

“She has her merits,” he admitted, his voice softening just enough to remind you why people followed him so loyally. “The work she does is critical. Even when it’s…excessive.”

“See? Softie,” you said triumphantly, pointing your pen at him. “You can’t fool me, Hotchner. You’re all gruff on the outside, but deep down, you’re just one big teddy bear.”

“I’m not sure that’s how the rest of the Bureau would describe me,” he replied dryly.

“Well,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “the rest of the Bureau doesn’t get to see you begging for beanbags.”

He gave you a long, measured look, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. “I don’t beg.”

“No?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “What would you call this, then?”

“I’d call it negotiation,” he replied, his voice low but steady. “And if you’re not careful, I might actually win.”

Your grin widened. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Hotch allowed himself a small smirk, the kind that was so rare it felt like a reward in itself. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you said, leaning back in your chair, your tone playful and just a little daring. “I live to tempt you.”

For a brief moment, the tension crackled, sharper than the wit you both wielded like weapons. Then you straightened, tapping your pen against the table as if to signal the end of the moment.

“Alright, Mr. Softie,” you said lightly, “I’ll see what I can do about those monitors. But don’t think this means you’re getting that cappuccino machine Rossi asked for.”

Hotch stood, smoothing his tie as if to regain his composure. “One victory at a time.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, your voice laced with amusement. “Don’t forget to tell Penelope her beanbags are still on the chopping block.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you with a look that was almost fond. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time Hotch left the meeting, he felt thoroughly defeated. You had grilled him on every expenditure, from coffee pods to the mysterious disappearance of two office chairs. You’d teased him mercilessly, of course, but you’d also offered solutions, which only made you more infuriatingly attractive.

Later that afternoon, Rossi cornered him in his office.

“Aaron,” Rossi began, settling into the chair across from his desk. “I have a proposition.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” Rossi said smoothly. “I’ve been re-thinking about how to improve morale around here. You know what we need? A cappuccino machine. The kind they have in those fancy Italian cafes.”

Hotch blinked. “A cappuccino machine. We talked about this. We have coffee in the break room.”

Rossi looked hurt by Hotch's definition of coffee. “That isn’t coffee. This is an investment in productivity. Caffeine keeps the team sharp.”

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Hotch exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You do realize I have to explain this to Y/L/N?”

Rossi grinned. “You’re good with words. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

That evening, Hotch found himself in your office again, this time with what he knew was a losing argument.

“A cappuccino machine?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Is that really where we’re at again?”

“Rossi insists it’s for team morale.”

You laughed, leaning forward on your desk. “Aaron, if I approve this, what’s next? A hot tub in the break room? A second private jet for local cases?”

He gave you a long-suffering look. “I wouldn’t put it past Rossi to suggest either of those.”

Your laughter bubbled out again, and a small smile that tugged at Hotch’s lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“You mean brilliant,” you corrected, your tone playful. “Come on, admit it—you love these little matches.”

Hotch hesitated, just long enough for the moment to stretch between you. “I do.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Well, don’t get too comfortable, Hotchner. You might actually win one of these someday.”

“And if I do?”

Your grin turned sly again. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The tension between you and Hotch simmered like an unsaid promise, lingering in the spaces between your words and the way your eyes lingered just a beat too long. It wasn’t until another late night when the office was quiet and the shadows stretched long, that Hotch found himself once again at your door.

“You know,” you said as he stepped inside, “if you keep showing up here after hours, people are going to start talking.”

“Let them,” he said, surprising himself with the bluntness of his response.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “That sounded suspiciously like flirting.”

“Did it?”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “It did. And for the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

For once, Aaron Hotchner didn’t have a retort. Instead, he let the silence speak, the weight of it filled with possibilities he hadn’t dared entertain before.

And when you smiled at him again, he thought that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something worth breaking the rules for.

Hotch stood frozen in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, your words echoing in his mind. “For the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

He cleared his throat, stepping fully into your office and closing the door behind him. It wasn’t often that Aaron Hotchner found himself at a loss for words, but there was something about you—your sharp tongue, your disarming wit, the way you looked at him like you knew exactly what you were doing—that threw him off balance.

You leaned back in your chair, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What brings you here this time? More cappuccino machine negotiations? Or did Rossi decide the bullpen needs a wine fridge?”

“Neither,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “I wanted to talk.”

“Oh, talk,” you said, your lips curving into a playful smile. “That sounds serious.”

“It is,” he admitted, surprising himself again with his own candor.

You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Alright, Aaron. You’ve got my attention. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wasn’t sure how far he was willing to let this go. The boundary between professional and personal was already blurred; one more step and it might vanish entirely. And yet, as you sat there watching him with that sly, confident smile, he found he didn’t care as much as he should have.

“You,” he said finally, the single word weighted with more meaning than he intended.

Your smile faltered for just a second, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Then it was back, brighter and sharper than ever. “Well, that’s unexpected. Flattered, of course, but unexpected.”

He allowed himself a small smile, stepping closer to your desk. “I doubt anything surprises you.”

“Not often,” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t peg you as the type to make the first move.”

“Who says this is a move?”

You laughed, the sound warm and low. “Oh, Aaron. If this isn’t a move, then I’m very curious to see what one looks like.”

He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence hang between you like a challenge. Finally, he leaned forward, placing his hands on your desk, and met your gaze head-on.

“What if I am making a move?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with something that made your breath catch.

For the first time since he’d met you, you seemed genuinely caught off guard. Your confident smirk wavered, replaced by a flicker of something more tentative. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it struck him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter than before. “In that case, I’d say it’s about time.”

His heart thudded once, hard and unexpected, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Forgot who he was. All he could think about was how close you were, how easy it would be to reach across the desk and close the distance.

But then you leaned back, your smile returning with a hint of mischief. “Of course, if this isn’t a move, I’d hate to embarrass myself.”

“Consider yourself safe,” he said, straightening but not stepping back. “For now.”

Your laughter filled the room again, light and teasing. “Careful, Aaron. I’m thinking you actually enjoy these little games.”

“I do,” he said, surprising himself once more with his honesty.

You tilted your head, studying him with a newfound intensity. “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to keep things interesting.”

As he left your office that night, the air between you charged with unspoken tension, Aaron Hotchner realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before: he wasn’t just drawn to you because of your sharp wit or your undeniable charm. He was drawn to you because you made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Alive.

The roundtable room was unusually quiet when Hotch gathered the team for an impromptu meeting. That should have been his first clue. They were always at their most dangerous when they were waiting for the hammer to drop.

“All right,” he began, standing at the head of the conference table. “We need to talk about the budget.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk already forming. “This is about the cappuccino machine, isn’t it?”

“It’s not about the cappuccino machine,” Hotch said firmly. “Though that’s still off the table.”

“Good thing I didn’t submit the requisition for the margarita blender,” Morgan muttered, earning a stifled laugh from JJ.

Hotch gave him a pointed look before continuing. “We’ve been asked to cut back on end-of-year expenses. That means scaling back on travel accommodations for the next few cases.”

“Scaling back how?” Prentiss asked, her tone cautious.

“Fewer hotels,” Hotch said. “We’ll have to bunk up where possible.”

There was a collective groan around the table.

“Bunk up?” Garcia appeared in the doorway, her dramatic gasp signaling she’d overheard. “Do you mean to tell me we, the esteemed agents of the BAU, are being reduced to sharing rooms? What is this, a slumber party?”

“Garcia, you rarely travel with us. Would it kill you to share a room with JJ or Emily for a few nights, if and when you do?” Hotch asked, his tone dry.

“It’s not about me, sir,” Garcia replied, clutching her chest like he’d wounded her. “It’s about the principle. We’re public servants, heroes even. Heroes deserve better than twin beds and bad room service.”

“Twin beds?” Reid asked, looking genuinely horrified.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Come on, Hotch. We all know you’ve got an in with Y/N in finance. Can’t she pull some strings before Garcia does?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Y/N is doing her job, just like the rest of us.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Rossi said with a grin, earning a ripple of laughter from the team.

“Funny,” Hotch deadpanned. “But unless any of you have a better solution, this is how it’s going to be.”

“Sure, sure,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “But if anyone could sweet-talk Y/N, it’s you, Hotch. You’ve got that whole brooding, stoic charm thing going for you. She loves that.”

“I’m not sweet-talking anyone,” Hotch said, his tone clipped.

“Really?” Prentiss chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Because rumor has it you’ve been spending a lot of time in her office lately.”

“That’s called managing the budget,” Hotch replied evenly, though his ears felt uncomfortably warm. “The budget we keep going over. Which is what I’m trying to do right now.”

“Right,” JJ said, her voice full of mock seriousness. “Managing the budget.”

The laughter around the table grew louder, and even Garcia joined in with an exaggerated wink.

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This conversation is over.”

“But the bunking isn’t,” Rossi said, still grinning. “Good to know.”

Later, Hotch sat across from you, his tie slightly loosened after the long day. The hum of your sarcasm was already in the air, a comfort he’d never admit aloud.

“Back so soon?” you asked, glancing up from your tablet. “What’s the crisis this time? Let me guess—the team didn’t take kindly to the budgeting suggestion?”

“They had…questions,” Hotch replied, his tone dry. “And commentary.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, smirking as you leaned back in your chair. “Let me guess: Rossi wants to requisition a wine fridge instead of a cappuccino machine? Garcia--who if I remember correctly doesn’t even travel with the team--staged a protest? Or did Morgan suggest you charm me into pulling some strings?”

Hotch blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “Actually, yes. That’s almost word for word what he said.”

You laughed, the sound warm and far too satisfying. “I knew it. The whole team thinks I’m your budgetary fairy godmother, don’t they?”

“They’re not subtle about it,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly. “And if I’m honest, they’re starting to have…suspicions.”

Your eyebrows lifted, your smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “Oh, suspicions, huh? About what exactly?”

“That I might have an ‘in’ with you,” he said, his tone measured but carrying a hint of something wry. “And that I use it to get my way.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin on your hand. “Well, you do have an in with me, Aaron.”

“I do?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your grin widening. “You come in here all brooding and stoic, with that deep voice and those puppy-dog eyes, and I’m supposed to say no to you? Please.”

He let out a rare chuckle, low and brief. “So you’re saying you find me…persuasive?”

“I’m saying I find you irritating,” you replied, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed you. “But occasionally charming.”

“Occasionally?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Don’t push your luck,” you said, though your smile hadn’t wavered. “Now, what exactly are you hoping I’ll do?”

Hotch straightened, slipping back into his professional demeanor. “The travel budget is tight. We need to cut back on some of the accommodations for the next few cases. If there’s any room to reallocate funds or find efficiencies, I’d like your input.”

You studied him for a moment, your pen tapping against the desk. “You know,” you said finally, “you could’ve just sent an email. But you didn’t, which means you wanted to have this conversation in person.”

“Maybe I thought it would be more effective,” he said, his voice steady.

“And maybe,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “you just like spending time with me.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “Maybe the team isn’t wrong to have their suspicions.”

That caught you off guard, and for the briefest moment, your confident grin faltered. Then you recovered, your smile turning soft around the edges. “Well, if you’re going to keep coming to me, Aaron, I guess I’ll have to live up to their expectations.��

“So you’ll help?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

You rolled your eyes, though your grin didn’t fade. “Of course, I’ll help. But only because I’d hate for Garcia to have to share a room on the rare chance she joined you on a trip. Can you imagine the drama?”

Hotch stood, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you said, your tone playful. “I might make you owe me one.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you. “I think I already do.”

Your laughter followed him out, and Hotch didn’t mind giving up a little control.

The next few weeks blurred into a whirlwind of cases, budget meetings, and what Hotch could only describe as a game of mutual teasing with you that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to win. The team’s jabs about his “in” with you only got more relentless, but the truth was, they weren’t wrong. He found himself seeking out your company more often than he’d care to admit, and not just because of budgetary crises.

One evening, well after most of the team had gone home, Hotch walked into your office to find you perched on the edge of your desk, heels kicked off, and a pen tucked behind your ear as you typed furiously on your tablet.

“You work too much,” he said by way of greeting, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You glanced up, smirking. “Says the man who just came from his own office. What brings you here, Aaron? More budget drama? Or are you just here for the company?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Would it be so bad if it were both?”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, but the smile that followed was slow and dangerous. “Well, well. Are you finally admitting that you like me?”

He hesitated for half a second before replying, his voice low but steady. “I think you already know I do.”

That made you pause. Your usual sharp wit seemed momentarily replaced by something softer, something vulnerable, before you quickly masked it with your trademark confidence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt before, Hotchner. You’re better at it than I expected.”

“I don’t flirt,” he said, stepping closer. “At least, not intentionally.”

“Oh,” you said, your voice dropping slightly. “So this is just you being your naturally charming self?”

“Something like that,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.

You laughed, shaking your head as you set your tablet aside. “You know, if you keep talking like that, I might start to think you’re actually serious.”

“What if I am?” he asked, taking another step closer.

Your grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. “Aaron…”

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that he could see the faintest flush on your cheeks. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said quietly. “But I don’t regret it.”

You tilted your head, studying him as if trying to determine whether he was being sincere. Then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile that he hadn’t seen before. “Well, that’s good,” you said, your voice lighter now. “Because I’d hate to think I’ve been wasting my time trying to get under your skin.”

“You’ve been very effective,” he admitted, his voice laced with dry humor.

You laughed again, the tension between you easing slightly. “Good to know.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, the air between you charged with possibilities. Then you leaned forward just enough that your shoulder brushed his, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “So what now, Aaron? You going to keep playing it safe, or are you finally going to make a move and follow through?”

Hotch held your gaze, his pulse quickening in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and yet oddly welcome. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you replied, your grin returning.

Before he could overthink it, he leaned down, his hand resting lightly on the edge of your desk as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was brief but electric, leaving both of you slightly breathless when he pulled back.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice a little unsteady but filled with warmth. “That’s one way to balance the budget.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I hope that’s not the only thing you take away from this.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, your grin turning wicked again. “I’ll send you the itemized breakdown tomorrow.”

He laughed, a rare, genuine sound, and as the two of you stood there in the quiet of your office, Hotch couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he’d been missing.

The next morning, Hotch walked into the bullpen, his usual stoic demeanor firmly in place—at least on the outside. Inside, he felt lighter than he had in years. But any illusion of subtlety was shattered the moment he saw Morgan smirking at him from across the room.

“Morning, Hotch,” Morgan said, his tone far too casual. “You look…different today. Get a good night’s sleep?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, choosing not to dignify the comment with a response. He made his way toward his office, but before he could escape, Garcia intercepted him, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Oh, boss man, you’ve got that look,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows. “The look of a man who’s either won the lottery or—” Her eyes widened in dramatic realization. “—had a life-altering, swoon-worthy moment with a certain someone in finance.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Garcia—”

“Don’t deny it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I have sources.”

Before he could reply, the elevator dinged, and you stepped out, striding confidently into the bullpen with your signature blend of poise and sass. You caught Hotch’s eye and shot him a subtle, knowing smile that sent a ripple of warmth through him.

Garcia caught the exchange and gasped audibly. “Oh my God! It’s true!”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I knew it. Didn’t I say he had an in with her?”

“You said it,” Prentiss confirmed, her tone amused. “Repeatedly. But he's really getting it in with her.”

JJ just shook her head, smiling. “Well, at least we know why the budget meetings keep getting longer.”

Hotch leveled a calm, measured glare at his team. “I don’t recall calling a team meeting on my personal life.”

“Ah, but your personal life is so much more interesting than budget cuts,” Rossi said with a wink. “You should let us enjoy it.”

“I’m glad you’re all entertained,” Hotch said dryly, turning toward his office. But as he walked away, he caught your voice behind him.

“Don’t be too hard on them, Aaron,” you called amusement lacing your tone.

The laughter that followed was warm and genuine, and for once, Hotch didn’t mind being the subject of it. As he stepped into his office and closed the door, he glanced back at you through the glass, catching your playful smile once more.

Yes, this was definitely worth breaking the rules for.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x bombshell reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #kiwriteswords #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfic

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g0dlyunsub · 1 year ago

Text

favorite addiction.

you’re addicted to cigarettes, spencer’s addicted to you. he finds a way to help you through your withdrawal.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: mentions of cigarettes and withdrawal symptoms, light makeout sesh at the end

word count :: 1.1k

author’s note :: thank you to @ellamaianderson for the original request! i also used actual quotes from a cm episode, iykyk :) + this is set in spencer's apartment

accompanying song :: antidote by orion sun

“what’s wrong?”

you turn to see your boyfriend, who’s looking at you with perturbed eyes and furrowed brows. he sits on the couch, extending his legs and resting with his hands behind his head.

“uh, nothing?” you return, lightly drumming the table with your pen. if spencer can hear through your seething lie, he doesn’t mention it.

everything feels wrong. your mind feels like it’s about to combust, and your fingers twitch as you rummage under the stack of papers at the side of your – or rather, spencer’s – desk.

your coworker’s email was giving you an especially hard time, since he requested a last minute change to the company’s budget reports a minute before midnight. you sigh as you continue to let your fingers hastily surf through the pile, only to stop when you don’t encounter the familiar casing.

“are you looking for this?” you hear spencer clear his throat.

you swallow and shift your body to face him. he’s waving your cigarette pack almost tauntingly, shaking it left and right with a cheesy grin. you sigh as you try to piece together a mental simulation for how your pack moved from your desk to his hand; you could’ve sworn it was underneath your papers just five minutes ago. but that doesn’t matter. the tip of your tongue tingles with an urgent desire to be satiated with a puff of smoke. you need one so desperately.

you walk over to the couch and lay your hand out flat in front of spencer’s face.

“alright, give me that, spence.”

surprisingly, he lets you have it. he gently places the pack on the palm of your hand, watching with anticipating eyes to see your next move.

rolling your eyes, you turn the flap of the box, only to see it’s completely empty. you look to see the culprit staring back at you with wide eyes and an apologetic smile. it’s hard to get mad when he’s looking at you so sweetly, like he’s marveling at you.

“spencer? what did you do with… all of them?” you ask at last, surveying the room for any signs of your lost cigarettes.

silence courses through the entire room until spencer stands. your boyfriend looms over you, and with the room’s gold light swimming between the strands of his hair and his eyelashes, he looks ridiculously handsome.

“y/n, a cigarette takes–”

“six minutes off my life. i know, spence,” you interrupt.

“it’s six minutes less that i get to spend with you,” spencer continues.

spencer and his pretty words. a blush rises over the collar of your shirt. your neck is burning by the time spencer stoops slightly to meet you at eye level.

“you haven’t had one in eighteen hours. you’re doing great. so, so great.”

a dimple blossoms in his right cheek as he speaks, and his warm smile complements his tender voice perfectly. it's embarrassing to know that he's counting the hours since your last cigarette, but comforting to know that he's willing to take the steps to challenge you, for the sake of your own health.

you pout as you run dry of ideas, a refutation failing to surface on your lips. spencer chuckles, watching as your face contorts into a frustrated expression.

“those were ten bucks,” you say as a pucker between your eyebrows surfaces.

“you know, in about six hours, there won’t be any nicotine left in your system, and you’ll likely experience even stronger cravings for a cigarette. you might want to drink some water and stay hydrated,” spencer ignores, instead offering a hand to take you to the kitchen.

but you cross your arms in front of your chest, a disapproving look overtaking your face.

“but what are you going to do about me?” you ask, to which spencer raises an eyebrow.

“what do you mean?” he questions, tilting his head to the side slightly. you roll your eyes.

“well? i’m sad now. i’ve got no more cigarettes. i’m hungry. shouldn’t you do something about that?” you teasingly prod at his chest, and you see how he clenches his jaw.

“what do you want me to do about it?” he inquires further, taking a step closer to you.

“i don’t know, you tell me,” you barely whisper as he closes the gap even further. your breath draws in and out rapidly, and your pulse quickens with rhythmic pounds. you’re sure you can hear the air tremble in your windpipe.

“something like… this?” he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears as he leans to whisper the words in your ear. goosebumps travel along your entire body, making you gulp. he plants a soft kiss at the base of your neck, right above your clavicle. the strands of his hair lightly caress your cheek, leaving a cozy yet shuddering feeling to spread throughout.

“something like that,” you purr, closing your eyes shut when he takes your hand and laces his fingers with yours. his graceful fingers rub against your skin gingerly.

“keep your eyes closed,” you hear him murmur.

“for what, spence? if this is another one of your ploys– mm!”

before you can finish, spencer’s lips are pressed against yours. your mouth parts slightly, and you can taste his tongue – a blissful blend of double-shot espresso, chocolate, and salted butter. your hand moves up along the back of his body and rests in his tangled hair, light curls wrapped around your fingers like they want to latch on to your warmth.

there's no need for words. your inhales and exhales increase in pace with each passing second, and spencer’s hand snakes between the side of your chest and your hips, driving you a little bit insane.

you only realize that the warmth on your lips is gone when he transfers his soft kisses to your neck right under your jaw, a wet string of saliva slipping from your tongue to the moist area near your thyroid.

after several heartbeats, you open your eyes to see spencer drinking in the sight of you, warm eyes twinkling and hypnotic under the lighting.

“did you know that popcorn could help with cigarette cravings? it’s actually best to avoid spicy and sugary foods when you’re trying to quit, since they tend to make cigarettes taste better. so… do you want some?” he breathes, lightly squinting as he asks.

you laugh before leaning in to kiss him once more, “so that’s why you tasted like salted butter.”

“is it working?” he replies after you pull back.

“i think so,” you say whilst grinning, and bury your face in his shoulder.

he pulls you in close before marking a tender kiss on your neck once again.

maybe you could get used to this.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid

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fordiaz · 2 months ago

Text

No Ties (Evan Buckley, Eddie Diaz) ౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪🎻

“Christopher deserves to have you close. But the life I’ve built here… the people I love, the career I’ve made, my roots — they’re here. You knew I couldn’t follow.” ༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

Synopsis: When Eddie makes plans to leave for El Paso without telling you, it feels like a betrayal you can’t ignore — so you walk away. The one person who stays is Buck, your best friend and quiet constant. As you help Eddie pack and say your final goodbye, you realize the future you once imagined might not be the one meant for you — and maybe, just maybe, love was waiting right beside you all along.

Genre: Angst, Comfort, Slowburn

AU: None

Pairing: Ex!Eddie Diaz x Afab!Reader, Evan Buckley x Afab!Reader

Warnings: None

Note: Based on a dream I had after a billion attempts to try to sleep because I kept waking up for some reason in the middle of the night, I can’t believe I’m already caught up with most of 911 and I’m not ready to let go of Bobby just yet. 😭 (P.S: This is my first fic with an epilogue because I felt generous, love you guys!)

Eddie hadn’t meant for it to happen like this.

It started with a listing. Then two. Then three. And before he knew it, his browser history and his iPad were full of El Paso real estate and bookmarked school districts.

No words. No announcement. Just a secret contingency plan growing like ivy in the background of his life in Los Angeles.

At first, it was just a maybe.

But the truth was that Christopher had been distant ever since the Marisol fallout. The kid didn’t talk much about it—he didn’t need to.

The disappointment had been loud in other ways: the sudden move to his abuelos’ house, the lack of text replies, the cold stares when Eddie dropped off dinner on weekends.

Eddie had cheated. And no matter how you justified it, the damage was done. What was worse was that Christopher had probably seen him differently since. Less hero. More stranger.

So, when the thought of El Paso came up, it made sense. Be near his son. Rebuild what he broke.

But he hadn’t planned on Buck finding out that day at his house.

Buck had shown up unannounced at Eddie’s door, flour smudged on his hoodie and a box of still-warm scones and other baked pastries in hand. He looked like he hadn’t slept, eyes a little too bright for someone who claimed to be “fine.”

“I almost relapsed and called Tommy,” he said, not even waiting for Eddie to ask what was wrong. “So I baked every speck of flour in the house. Here, eat a scone,”

Eddie raised an eyebrow but took the scone with a nod of gratitude.

“You good?”

Buck walked into the kitchen like he belonged there—which, in many ways, he did.

“Not really. But I will be. Eventually.”

As Eddie sat beside him, taking a bite, Buck’s gaze flicked to the table.

“Why’d you flip the tablet like that?” he asked, smirking. “Kinda suspicious, man.”

Eddie stiffened, reaching for the device—too slowly.

Buck beat him to it, fingers curling around the tablet as he turned it back over and tapped the screen to wake it. His grin faded the second the listing loaded.

“Wait… you’re looking for houses?” Buck frowned. “With your budget?”

Eddie hesitated. “They’re not in L.A., they’re in El Paso”

Buck stopped short and looked at Eddie as if he had dropped a nuclear bomb on him, before he clears his throat.

“Jesus, Eddie,” Buck breathed, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and hurt. “You were gonna move and not tell anyone?”

That same night, you came over for dinner. You always did when Eddie had a night off and you both needed a little breather from work.

The meal was warm, filled with laughter and touches—like most nights were with Eddie. You thought things were steady, maybe even building toward something more permanent.

He was warm with you. Attentive. Hands brushing over your back when you passed by, lips pressed to your temple. Nothing about him screamed ‘I’m planning to disappear’.

After dinner, you went to grab your phone from where it had slid into the couch cushions—and noticed the iPad sitting face-up on the coffee table.

You didn’t mean to snoop. But when the screen lit up, it was still open to a listing. And then another. All of them in El Paso.

Your heart sank.

Eddie walked out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine, but he stopped when he saw your expression.

You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t accuse.

You just looked at him, tears in your eyes, and said, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

He paused, guilt spreading across his face. “I was going to. I just… didn’t know how.”

You stood up slowly. “You were going to move and never tell me?”

“It’s not like that—” he tried.

“It is like that,” you said, shaking your head.

“I get that Christopher is your priority as his father, and I respect that. I love that about you, Eddie. But you should’ve given me the decency of a heads-up, or I don’t know, you could’ve eased me into it by talking to me about moving.”

Eddie put the glasses down. His voice was low.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“And instead you disrespected me, when you know damn well I’d never hold you back and would support you every step of the way.”

The quiet that followed was louder than any yelling could’ve been. You looked at the man in front of you, the one who’d made you feel safe—wanted. And now you felt like a temporary chapter in a story that had already moved on.

You grabbed your bag from the counter and headed for the door.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for in El Paso,” you said, voice trembling. “But I won’t be the one left behind without a goodbye or be the person to fix you and meet you halfway.”

You didn’t look back and just decided to go home.

The knock on Buck’s door came just past 9PM.

He wasn’t surprised to see you standing there, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes already glossed with unshed tears you hadn’t given yourself permission to cry yet.

You didn’t say anything—just walked in when he stepped aside, like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Kitchen’s open,” he said softly.

You gave him a tired smile, slipping off your shoes by the door. The scent of cinnamon hit you first, then the sound of something bubbling in the oven. He was barefoot, hair messy, flour dusting his black shirt.

There was a gentle domesticity to the scene that made your throat tighten.

“I figured you might need sugar therapy,” Buck joked, grabbing a spare mixing bowl. “Or, you know, an excuse to destroy the kitchen.”

“I needed somewhere to go,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “Somewhere that wasn’t my apartment, where everything still smells like him.”

Buck didn’t push. He just handed you a whisk.

The two of you moved around the kitchen in comfortable rhythm—like you’d practiced this a hundred times before, even if you hadn’t.

You poured ingredients. He told you about a weird call from last week. You added vanilla extract. He made a joke about Ravi nearly setting the firehouse toaster on fire again.

You laughed for the first time that day.

“I can’t believe he was just going to leave,” you finally said, voice cracking as you sifted flour over the mixing bowl. “Not just L.A.—us. Me. Like it wouldn’t matter.”

Buck paused, hands still in the dough. He looked at you, really looked, and saw everything Eddie had failed to.

“You’d never hold him back,” he said gently.

“I wouldn’t,” you said, tears threatening again. “He should’ve just talked to me. That’s what you do when you’re partners. You make decisions together, or at the very least—”

“You’re honest,” Buck finished for you.

You nodded.

The silence was soft. Safe. Just the sound of the oven humming and a spoon clinking against glass.

“I didn’t expect it to hurt this much,” you added. “It’s not just the leaving. It’s how he didn’t even think I deserved a heads-up.”

Buck reached for your hand, sticky with dough. “He messed up. Big time.”

You looked down at your intertwined fingers, a little surprised by the comfort it brought you.

“I think I knew this version of him wasn’t forever. But I didn’t think I’d lose him like this.”

“You didn’t lose him,” Buck said, voice firm but kind. “You found out who he really is when it counts. And that’s not on you.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Why does it feel like I wasn’t worth the truth?”

Buck’s gaze softened. “Because you gave him your heart. But that doesn’t mean he knew how to hold it.”

The timer went off, but neither of you moved to check the oven.

For a while, you just stood there, wrapped in the quiet, breathing in the cinnamon and the safety of the one person who’d always shown up when it mattered.

It was a slow day at the station, unusually quiet for once.

Everyone had scattered into their corners of routine — Chim fiddled with inventory, Hen was writing up incident reports, and Buck… Buck was entertaining Blaze, tossing the tennis ball across the bay with a kind of frantic energy that hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You sat nearby, head down as you double-checked the trauma kit, hands moving but mind far, far away. You hadn’t spoken to Eddie since that night.

Not beyond clipped sentences at work. Not since you stood in Buck’s loft, clinging to the last of your composure, admitting out loud that the man you trusted most had made a decision about his future without even thinking you deserved to be part of the conversation.

The bounce of the tennis ball against concrete was steady—until it wasn’t.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to leave, you know,” Buck said suddenly, loud enough for the words to cut through the room like a blade. His voice was tight, rough around the edges, a boiling point barely kept in check.

Everyone stilled.

Eddie turned from the lockers, his face drawn in confusion.

“What?”

Buck’s hands tightened around Blaze’s ball.

“I said, you’re not the only one who knows how to walk out when things get hard. You want to talk about leaving? Let’s talk about how you were ready to disappear without telling anyone—again.”

The words weren’t just meant for Eddie. They were for everyone in the room. Hen looked up. Chim’s pen stilled mid-signature.

Your chest tightened, fingers curling against the strap of the kit you were repacking.

“Buck,” Eddie warned quietly, glancing at you, then back to him. “This isn’t the time.”

“No?” Buck raised his brows, feigning surprise. “I figured since you didn’t have time to tell her you were moving, maybe now’s the perfect time for some honesty.”

Your heart pounded in your ears.

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “That’s between me and her.”

“Was it?” Buck asked. “Because it sure felt like it involved all of us when you decided this whole place didn’t matter anymore.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence fell again—crackling and tense. The kind that fills the air just before lightning strikes. You stood then, voice calm but cold as you crossed the room with the med kit slung over your shoulder.

“Cold shoulder today?” Eddie asked softly, trying to sound casual, like it was just another awkward shift between calls. But you saw the tightness in his mouth, the way his eyes flicked toward you for something—anything.

You didn’t give it.

“We’re still colleagues, Diaz,” you replied, tone neutral but firm. “I can’t let this get in the way of work.”

You stepped past him, the click of your boots echoing louder than the breath he seemed to lose when you stopped just short of the bay doors.

“And like you said,” you added, glancing over your shoulder, “you had no ties in California.”

The words were a scalpel. Clean. Precise. Cutting straight to the core.

Eddie didn’t chase after you. He just stood there, regret painting his features, his silence saying everything his words had failed to.

Buck watched him. For a second, neither of them spoke. Then Buck dropped the tennis ball.

“You really hurt her, man.”

Eddie swallowed. “I know.”

But the truth was — he hadn’t known how much until now. Until he saw you walk away without looking back.

The days after Buck’s public callout at the station were quiet. Not logistically — calls kept coming, the city never slept — but emotionally.

For Eddie, everything had dulled into a strange limbo.

The bay echoed a little louder, your laughter never rang through the common room like it used to, and Buck had taken up more space, not intentionally, but just by being who he was to you.

It wasn’t hard to notice the change in you. Eddie had always been good at reading people, and with you, it was impossible to miss.

You were still professional. You still responded to him during emergencies. Still stood beside him when lifting stretchers, still called out vitals clearly during triage. But it was the in-between moments that hurt the most — when your eyes slid right past him, or when your smile found Buck first.

And God, that smile.

Eddie hadn’t realized how much it meant to him until it was no longer his to see.

You’d been more withdrawn lately — not cold, not cruel, just distant. Like someone had hit the dimmer switch on your light and left you floating somewhere he couldn’t reach. He’d catch you zoning out in the rig sometimes, eyes on the city streets but not really seeing them.

Once, he swung by the loft to drop off something and saw you leaning over Buck’s kitchen island, flour in your hair and that familiar, easy expression on your face — the one Eddie used to think was reserved for him.

That image stuck with him longer than it should have.

But maybe, deep down, he knew.

You weren’t just seeking refuge in Buck because you were hurt. You went to Buck because you trusted him. Because Buck never would’ve blindsided you like Eddie had.

He had opened his loft to you like it was second nature — no questions, no conditions, just the kind of unwavering support that Eddie hadn’t thought to offer when you needed it most.

Jealousy wasn’t something Eddie liked to admit to, but it crept in nonetheless. In the glances you shared with Buck across the station.

The way you brought him coffee before anyone else. The way Buck’s hand lingered at your back in the smallest ways, protective, unspoken. The way you laughed again — not often, not yet fully — but when you did, it was around him.

Eddie didn’t blame you. Not really.

Because the truth — the part he’d never said out loud — was that he never would’ve met you if it weren’t for Buck.

It had been Buck who introduced you both, back when Eddie had first started letting people in again after the darkest corners of grief and therapy.

You were one of Buck’s longtime friends from before the tsunami — someone who had stuck through the messy aftermath of his recovery, someone who hadn’t been scared off by his highs and lows. He’d mentioned you more than once, in the way Buck did when he was proud of someone he loved.

And then one night after shift, Buck invited Eddie to a small get-together at his place.

You had walked in carrying a pan of enchiladas and laughing about the parking in his building, and Eddie swore the room tilted just a little.

You were bright. Grounded. Warm in a way that was quiet but deeply rooted. Not showy like the people Eddie had tried to love before.

Just real.

The first conversation had been easy — talking about food, Christopher, shared books. Buck had hovered nearby, excited like he’d accidentally set two puzzle pieces next to each other and realized they fit.

“He’s been through a lot,” Buck had told you when Eddie was in the kitchen grabbing a beer. “But he’s solid. And you… I think you’d be good for each other.”

And you were. For a while.

Eddie remembered thinking how rare it was to feel seen again. How your love didn’t come in fireworks, but rather in gentle mornings and shared silence that didn’t need filling.

You never asked him to be someone else. You never treated him like a project.

But Eddie had done what he always did. Pulled away when things got too heavy. Made decisions in isolation. Assumed you’d stay, even without offering the full truth.

Now, he watched from the edges as you poured yourself into someone who never made you question your place.

And Buck, for all his flaws, had always been there.

So yeah, Eddie was jealous. But more than that… he was ashamed. Because he’d had something good. Something real. And he’d thrown it away not out of malice — but out of fear. Out of habit.

Out of that old instinct to protect himself before anyone else.

Maybe this was just the part where he had to live with that.

Still, he couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering too long when you brushed shoulders with Buck in the hallway. Or when Buck made you laugh, really laugh, and Eddie could hear it all the way from the kitchen.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be the thing he regretted most when he left California behind.

Because no matter how close he got to Christopher in El Paso…

He had already pushed the best thing he’d had here — away.

That evening, Eddie paced his living room, nerves eating at him as he fluffed the throw pillows on his couch for the third time.

He didn’t like the idea of renting his house out to a stranger, but the move to El Paso had to be real. Permanent.

It wasn’t just about logistics — it was about Christopher, about putting down roots again where he could be the kind of father his son deserved.

Still, the idea of someone else living here — in this house where memories with you lingered in every corner — left a strange taste in his mouth.

A knock came at the door.

Eddie checked the peephole and sighed. Buck. Of course.

He opened the door, already exasperated. “Buck, listen — I’ve got a guy coming to view the place. He’s supposed to be here any second—”

But Buck was already brushing past him into the living room, eyes darting around like he owned the place.

“God, Buck, you’re so selfish,” Eddie snapped, louder than he meant.

“What is it now? I know this is about you, and I can’t make this any easier for myself, but you can’t make me choose between you and my son. Because if that’s the case, you’d lose every time.”

Buck froze mid-step, a bit stunned.

“W–What? No, Eddie— I get it, okay? I completely understand why you’d want to be with Christopher. I’m not here to argue that. I’m not trying to make this about me.”

But just as he tried to explain, another knock interrupted them.

Eddie groaned. “Get out. I can’t have you sabotaging this one again.”

Buck lifted a hand, voice pleading. “I promise, I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes and opened the front door — only to find Chimney, Hen, Bobby, and you standing on the porch.

He blinked. “What are you guys doing here? I have a renter coming over any second now—”

Chimney chuckled as he stepped inside. “You still haven’t told him?”

“Told me what?” Eddie asked, now fully thrown off.

Buck cleared his throat, sheepish. “So… not to make this all about me—”

“Oh my God,” Eddie muttered.

“—but it’s me. I’m your renter. I replied to your listing using a fake name.”

“You’re… Freddy?” Eddie looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Yep,” Buck nodded, hands behind his back. “Freddy Fakeman.”

Hen burst out laughing and Chimney nearly wheezed. “Freddy Fakeman? How’d you let that one slip by you?”

“It’s more obvious when you say it out loud, okay?” Eddie muttered.

“But—what about your loft?” he asked, baffled.

“It’s not mine anymore. I gave notice this morning,” Buck said simply.

“Now you don’t have to worry. The house will still be taken care of… by someone who already knows every squeaky floorboard.”

Eddie was silent for a moment, unsure what to feel. Buck, as always, had this way of showing up — chaotic, emotional, but somehow right on time.

Soon, the laughter faded and the team scattered around the house.

Chim and Hen went to check out the kitchen again, Bobby stepped out to take a call. Buck lingered by the window, quietly inspecting the curtains like he was already picturing them in his routine.

You wandered through the living room slowly, fingers trailing the walls, each step heavy with something unsaid. Eddie watched you — the curve of your shoulders, the quietness in your breath.

When the others stepped outside to give Buck some privacy, Eddie took his chance.

You turned when you felt his gaze, standing by the couch. His couch. The one you used to curl up on during long shifts, those rare mornings after staying the night.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly.

You nodded.

“I just…” he started, swallowing. “I know things haven’t been easy. And I know I deserve the cold shoulder.”

There was a beat before you looked up at him. You met his eyes then, but it didn’t soften the sting in your voice.

“We’re still colleagues at the end of the day, Eddie, and it’s not like I’m gonna give you the cold shoulder forever. Like you said — no ties in California, so, no hard feelings.”

That line hit harder than you’d expected. You saw it in the slight hitch in his breath.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered.

You exhaled, folding your arms tightly.

“I know. But it’s what you said. And you didn’t even give me a chance, Eddie. You decided for both of us, and just… expected me to be okay with it.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked down, ashamed.

“I never wanted to hold you back,” you continued, voice smaller now.

“I would’ve supported the move. I would’ve understood. You just… didn’t give me a chance to show up for you. And that’s what hurt the most.”

Eddie stepped forward a little, heart in his throat.

“You’re right. I shut you out. I thought I was doing the right thing by not asking you first, because I thought I’d be telling you to uproot your life… but I realize now that maybe I should’ve come clean to you as a partner.”

Silence fell between you both — heavy, thick with everything unsaid.

You broke it first. “I shouldn’t have shut you out either. That wasn’t fair. I was hurt, and I let it dictate how I treated you. But I don’t want to carry that into whatever this next chapter is.”

Eddie nodded, something bittersweet in his expression.

“So… friends?” you offered, lifting your hand just a bit.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Friends.”

But even as the word left his mouth, Eddie couldn’t help but glance toward the window, where Buck stood talking to Bobby outside — Buck, who made you laugh again, who brought you comfort, who offered you his home when Eddie didn’t offer you a future.

Eddie shook the thought away, but it lingered at the back of his mind, unspoken.

Because as much as he told himself he was doing the right thing by leaving —

He couldn’t shake the possibility that maybe, just maybe…

He was leaving you behind too.

And this time, Buck might be the one waiting for you when the dust settled.

Later in the week, after another dinner (courtesy of Buck), once the rest of the team had trickled out and the noise of laughter and farewell hugs had faded into quiet, Eddie stood in the hallway of what used to be his house — now Buck’s.

The ownership had technically changed hands, but the emotional weight of the place still lingered in his chest.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as he watched you and Buck in the kitchen, moving around each other like clockwork — the way your elbow gently bumped his as you passed him a mug, the way he instinctively shifted to give you space before you even asked for it.

There was a rhythm there. A familiarity.

And it wasn’t the first time Eddie noticed it.

He’d seen the shift after Maddie had gone missing — after that terrifying, silent stretch of time where everything felt like it was unraveling. That was when you and Buck had grown closer.

At first, Eddie had told himself it was just the trauma of it all, the need for comfort in a world that had briefly fallen apart. You were his best friend, after all. Who else would you lean on?

But now, standing there in the shadows of what used to be his home, Eddie saw it for what it was — energy. Something unspoken that buzzed between you both like a quiet static.

It wasn’t loud or obvious. It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense, not yet. But it was something.

And it made something twist in Eddie’s chest. Not jealousy — not in the bitter, possessive way. It was more complicated than that. More human.

Because he knew you. Knew the way you loved, the way you gave without restraint. And he knew Buck too — the way his heart wore thin but big, how he crashed into things with everything he had.

He couldn’t blame either of you. He probably wouldn’t have met you if it weren’t for Buck in the first place.

It was Buck who introduced you to the 118 when you first moved to LA. Buck who dragged you to Eddie’s welcome-back barbecue after his recovery. Buck who always seemed to be orbiting your world in some shape or form.

Eddie blinked, pulling himself out of the spiral as you laughed at something Buck said — a soft, genuine sound that made Eddie’s chest ache.

He’d made peace with leaving.

But watching the way you looked at Buck — and more painfully, the way Buck looked at you — Eddie realized that some pieces of him weren’t coming with him to El Paso.

They were staying here.

In this house.

With you.

The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound filling the loft.

Jeeyun had finally gone down for the night — after a bedtime story that turned into two, and Buck pretending to be a very sleepy giraffe just to get her to laugh.

You watched the whole thing from the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, smiling faintly.

It was oddly grounding — watching Buck care for her like that. Like he was made for softness in a world that never gave him enough of it.

Now, in the kitchen, you were helping him tuck leftovers into mismatched containers and wipe down counters while a sleepy calm settled between the two of you.

“You didn’t have to stay this long,” Buck said softly, elbowing you gently as he dried a plate. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I wanted to,” you replied, eyes still on your hands as you sealed another container shut. “Didn’t feel like going home yet.”

He nodded, understanding. You always understood each other quietly like this.

After a beat, Buck cleared his throat. “So… remember how Tommy dumped me.”

You looked up, surprised by the sudden admission. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, laughing without humor.

“Said he didn’t see forever with me after I asked him to move in. Said he wasn’t feeling like I wasn’t all in and that it would end in heartbreak.” He leaned back against the sink, eyes on the floor. “I really thought he’d be the last one.”

You didn’t mean to — but you let out a soft, bitter laugh.

“Yeah,” you muttered, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Me too. About Eddie, I mean.”

Buck looked at you then. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” you whispered. “It just… hurts, you know? Because I thought he saw me. I thought he knew what we were building.”

Buck put the towel down and stepped closer, his voice gentler now.

“You did everything right,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You looked at him, truly looked at him. And it struck you then — how many nights like this you’d had. How many times he’d been the one showing up, even when he was unraveling himself. How many times you’d felt safe here — not because of the place, but because of him.

“I was thinking,” you said slowly, “you and I… we’ve been the only real constants in each other’s lives. For years. Through chaos, breakups, breakdowns…”

He raised an eyebrow, cautious but open. “Yeah?”

“So maybe,” you continued, “we just try. And if it works, it works. And if it doesn’t…” you trailed off, letting the thought hang.

Buck stepped even closer, his eyes searching yours now, not with pressure, but with something tender — reverent even.

“We don’t let it ruin us,” he said, finishing your thought.

“Because you’re already home.”

Your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Because I already lost something I thought I’d have forever. I’m not losing my best friend too.”

And just like that, something shifted — not loud, not dramatic. Just quiet understanding. An old kind of love that had always been there, only now beginning to take shape.

Buck reached for your hand, his fingers warm over yours.

“We’ll take it slow,” he said. “No pressure. Just… honesty.”

“Okay,” you said, squeezing his hand. “Honesty.”

And in the soft light of the kitchen, surrounded by leftovers and a lullaby hum from the dishwasher, something new — and deeply familiar — quietly bloomed.

Eddie’s house was quieter than usual, stripped of almost everything that made it feel like him.

The walls were bare, the kitchen echoing, boxes stacked by the door.

You and Buck stood near the living room, watching as Eddie sealed the last box with a long strip of tape, his shoulders tensing slightly with the sound.

“Guess that’s it,” he said, trying not to meet your eyes.

You nodded, arms folded as Buck carried the last few bags outside to the truck. For a second, it was just the two of you again — the silence heavy with everything left unsaid.

“Thanks,” Eddie said, his voice low. “For coming. For helping.”

“You didn’t have to thank us,” you replied, your voice soft, but firm. “We were always going to help you. No matter how much it hurt.”

He finally looked at you then — like he was memorizing your face one last time. “I didn’t want it to end like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said. “But you did.”

He swallowed hard, and you stepped closer, not in anger, not even in pain — just in peace. Acceptance.

“I respect why you’re doing this,” you added, “Christopher deserves to have you close. But the life I’ve built here… the people I love, the career I’ve made, my roots — they’re here. You knew I couldn’t follow.”

Eddie nodded slowly, regret flickering in his eyes like a shadow.

“I thought I could let go of everything to start over. But watching you and Buck… I realized maybe I let go of the wrong thing too soon.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Maybe. Or maybe you just weren’t meant to hold on to us forever. Chris needs you, Eddie.”

Buck walked back in, wiping his hands on his jeans and sensing the finality in the air.

“You ready?” he asked Eddie.

Eddie gave one last glance around the home that no longer felt like his, then back at you — eyes lingering a moment too long.

“Yeah.”

You all walked out together, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the driveway. Buck loaded the last box into the truck, while you stood off to the side, the wind tugging gently at your jacket.

Eddie turned to face you one last time. “Be happy,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “You deserve that.”

“I will,” you replied. “I hope you find peace in El Paso.”

He gave Buck a brief nod and a hug before climbing into the truck, and as the engine started, a weight settled over your chest — not grief, not longing… just closure.

Buck stepped beside you quietly, his hand brushing yours, and you leaned into him ever so slightly.

Eddie pulled away from the curb with a final wave, and just like that, he was gone.

But as Buck wrapped an arm gently around your shoulders and the cold wind from the rain lingered, you knew you were exactly where you needed to be.

Not chasing what was lost — but holding on to what stayed.

Epilogue:

Eddie Diaz wasn’t used to quiet.

El Paso was filled with it — the stillness of empty rooms, the hush of his broken air conditioning, the long silences between strained conversations.

There were moments the house didn’t feel like a home anymore, just a halfway point between what he wanted to fix and what he feared he’d already lost.

The move was supposed to be about healing. About Christopher. About starting over. But nothing had been as easy as he’d imagined.

He sat on the worn couch one late Friday night, still dressed in his usual hoodie and jeans, the soft hum of the TV in the background doing little to distract him. The iPad — the same one that once held his secret plans to leave L.A. — pinged with a FaceTime notification.

Buck (incoming call)

A small, tired smile crossed Eddie’s face as he accepted.

Buck’s grinning face appeared instantly. “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Eddie replied, voice rough with fatigue. “Late night?”

“Jeeyun’s out like a light. Maddie and Chim left her with us again since the baby is coming soon,” Buck said, shifting the camera slightly. “But— someone wants to say hi.”

Eddie’s breath caught as you leaned into frame, cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy from what looked like a cozy night in.

You were wearing one of Buck’s oversized shirts — probably borrowed, maybe not. And then, with a bark and a blur of golden fur, a puppy popped into view, scrambling into your lap.

“Meet Rocket!” You laughed, trying to hold the squirming pup steady.

Buck chuckled offscreen. “She named him after Groot’s buddy.”

Eddie let out a short laugh, despite the weight in his chest. “Of course she did.”

You smiled warmly, not quite the same smile you used to give Eddie — this one was lighter, freer, filled with a kind of peace he hadn’t seen in you in weeks, maybe months.

“I keep meaning to send you a photo,” you said softly. “He’s got Buck wrapped around his little paw.”

Buck groaned. “I’m a softie, sue me.”

Eddie nodded, eyes fixed on the way your shoulder brushed Buck’s, how easily you fit together now, the domesticity of it all like a snapshot from the life he once thought he could have with you.

“He’s cute,” Eddie said, his voice quieter now. “You look happy.”

There was a beat of silence. You met his eyes through the screen.

“I am,” you said. “It took a while, but… yeah. We’re good now.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “That’s good. I’m—” He paused, unsure if he had the right to say it. “I’m glad you have him.”

Buck shifted the camera to focus more on the dog, giving you a moment. You stayed on screen, gaze soft but steady.

“I hope you’re okay, too,” you said gently.

Eddie let his head fall back against the couch.

“Some days are better than others. Chris… he’s still angry. Or maybe just hurt. And I get it, I do. I just wish I’d done it all differently.”

“You’re trying,” you said. “That counts for something.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just watched the way Buck laughed as Rocket barked at something in the kitchen, your hand resting comfortably on Buck’s knee, the kind of small affection that said everything words couldn’t.

You were his once. But the version of you on the screen now? That wasn’t the same person who had stood in his kitchen heartbroken weeks ago.

This was someone who had rebuilt. Reclaimed. Moved on.

“I keep wondering,” Eddie said finally, “if things would’ve been different. If I had just… stayed. Talked to you first. Let you in on the plan instead of shutting you out.”

You smiled, but it was tinged with something softer, sadder.

“Maybe,” you said. “But if you had… I might’ve never found this version of myself. And you? You might’ve never had the space to fix things with your son.”

Eddie nodded slowly, his throat thick. “I just… I miss you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I miss you too, sometimes. But it’s not the same kind of missing anymore.”

He understood. It wasn’t a wound — it was a scar. Something healed, but not forgotten.

“I hope you find someone who makes you feel like you belong again,” you added, your voice kind.

And Eddie, ever the soldier, nodded once more. “I hope so too.”

As the screen dimmed after the call ended, Eddie sat in the silence again. But this time, it didn’t feel as hollow.

You were happy. Buck was there for you. And though the sting still lingered, he had peace knowing he hadn’t ruined you — only rerouted you to something real.

He glanced over at the half-packed box of Christopher’s old toys — things he was finally allowed to bring back into the main room again.

It wasn’t perfect. But maybe one day, it could be.

Meanwhile, the thing about losing people, Buck had learned, was that it didn’t always look like slammed doors or shouting matches.

Sometimes, it looked like letting go before you were ready — like watching someone drive away with the last piece of your heart and having to accept that they weren’t yours to keep.

That used to be the story of his life.

First his parents. Then Daniel. Then Abby. Then Tommy, and now, Eddie.

But not you.

You came into his life like you’d always been meant to be there — like you fit right between the cracks he thought no one could fill. It started quiet.

A knock on his door in the middle of the night. An “I can’t be alone right now” without needing to say it out loud. A slice of cake shared over talks about your messy shifts, the kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled.

He didn’t mean to fall in love with you. He really didn’t.

But maybe it happened when you stole his favorite hoodie and never gave it back. Maybe it was the way you remembered his favorite cereal and kept buying it. Or maybe it was the way you said his name when the weight of the world was too much for him to carry alone.

The night you told him you’d ended things with Eddie, he didn’t expect you to look so… steady. Sad, yes. Hurt, yes. But grounded.

And it made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could finally stop running from the idea that he didn’t deserve something lasting.

“I thought Tommy would be the one,” Buck had confessed that night, drying a plate while you put away leftovers. “He said I was too much. Didn’t know what I wanted. Said I might break his heart in the end.”

You leaned against the counter, turning to face him. “I thought Eddie was my last.”

“And now?”

You smiled softly. “Now I think… maybe it’s not about finding your last. Maybe it’s about choosing someone who never makes you feel like you’re too much.”

That sentence lodged in his chest like a cornerstone. You hadn’t just offered him a place in your life — you offered him the kind of love that stayed.

That’s when everything changed.

You stayed. Even when he had a bad day. Even when he overthought. Even when he accidentally set the toaster on fire (again). You stayed.

And when Eddie left for El Paso, you held Buck’s hand the whole time. Helped him tape up boxes. Laughed when Eddie grumbled about Buck’s ridiculous name on the rental application.

Buck never said it out loud — not to Eddie, not even to himself — but part of him felt guilty. Like he was standing in the space someone else had built. But then you kissed him for the first time, quietly, slowly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And he knew then that this wasn’t stolen.

It was something new.

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mizgnomer · 3 months ago

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Time Crash - Behind the Scenes - Part Nine

Excerpts from Benjamin Cook’s interview with Peter Davison and David Tennant in DWM #389:

DWM: Famously, Peter, you were advised by Patrick Troughton to do three years in this role and then leave, which is what you did. David, you're coming up to three years. Is that the optimum tenure for a Doctor, do you think?

DT: That's a very leading question! [Laughs] When I think back to The Christmas Invasion, it does feel like a lifetime ago - not in a bad way, but so much has happened, and so much has moved on and changed. It's been an action-packed three years so far.

PD: I might as well have done another year, except in those days we were very pushed on budgets and time, so you were faced with stories that were a little substandard. That was part of the frustration. It's a different world now. You can go off and do other things without feeling that Doctor Who is going to stick with you. That's the biggest fear. It's not exactly typecasting, it's people just not employing you because you were the Doctor

DT: I would agree with that reading of events, but I suppose time will tell. I'll probably need to look back objectively in days to come

PD: I don't think it will be a problem for you, David. It wasn't so much a problem for me, because I was, like you, kind of known before I did Doctor Who. As long as you're enjoying yourself, there's no reason to worry about when or when not to leave.

DT: I'm still having a great time. In some ways, playing the Doctor will always feel like a novelty.

PD: One gets used to it.

DT: One does, I suppose. But I don't mean one gets blasé. Last year, I still felt a bit like the new boy, but now I'm positively an old hand, aren't I? [Chuckles] I'm not really a new boy now. It's funny how three years can change your perspective. It's an overused phrase in terms of film crews and stuff, but there's such a sense of family now, and so many people have been here for as long as I have, if not longer. Even people who are new just fall into the sort of bosom of it, which I'm really pleased about. It makes it a great thing to return to. It's nice when guests come in - like you, Peter, coming back to do this - and seem to get a sense of that, and kind of become part of that as well. It's a very happy place to be.

- - - - - -

Link to [ part one ] of the Time Crash Behind-the-scenes posts, or click the #whoBtsCrash tag, or the full episode list [ here ]

#david tennant #peter davison #rtdedit #doctor who #with special thanks to the radio times #for sharing these long after the event #I'm so glad they got to see the light of day #because they're adorable #future father and son-in-law #bless them #stuff i posted #whoBts #whoBtsCrash #I love that we can still get new things #after all these years #time crash #dwm

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red5cars · 2 months ago

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shepherd's pie - the meeting

soap x f!reader tags: mentions of religion and purity culture (purity rings), lighthearted, soap being an ass an: been thinking of johnny tormenting his poor religious neighbor and this came to be. moreso for fun (a rarity). enjoy!

imagine moving across the world for your faith. maybe that wasn't the entire reason but the little town you picked were filled with people like you.

devout, condescending, catholics.

it was different, but familiar, home away from home. at the very least, you wouldn't feel out of place.

or so you thought.

the apartment was.. quaint, to say the least.

nothing outlandish considering the budget you were working with, but it seemed it was made with the intention of hosting one person and one person only.

though, who were you to complain about one of god's gifts? (or rather, your pastor's connections if you'd like to get specific)

moving to a different country is no easy or cheap feat, packing up your life to start anew in a place where no one knows you.

in truth, you were aching to get away. there was nothing wrong with the town you originated from, all the citizens sweet and southern, but static. unchanging in a world that was known for nothing but change.

it was like a broken record, interacting with the same people day in and day out. a change of scenery was in order the moment you realized you could predict miss julianne's answer to "what did you do this weekend"?

prophetic gifts or not, staying there offered nothing but stale comfort. and you needed, deserved something fresh.

which lead you here; standing in the middle of an unfurnished, off-white, cramped flat. aka, your new home.

well, you need to make it feel like home first.

knock knock.

before you can even start sifting through boxes, a firm knock on the door interrupts you. strange, you're positive the moving company got everything (if they didn't, it's no big deal. you had to downsize a considerable amount for the move), so it could just be someone knocking on the wrong door.

you chalk it up to just that, moving back to the task at hand. grabbing your key, lining it up with the edge of the tape before digging it in and-

knock knock knock.

okay, maybe they have the right door.

the knocks continue, becoming quicker in succession as you make your way to the door. your fingers pinch the lock, taking a deep breath before twisting it and then the doorknob.

"'bout time ye opened up th' door, makin' me wait till fuckin' christ- …mas.."

a man, with the most obscene haircut you've ever saw, stands in front of you. for a moment, it seemed every bone in his body had nothing but hate. that is, till he laid his eyes on you, disappearing and leaving confusion in it's absence.

"..ye're not mitch," he says, looking you up and down, deciding if you're real or not.

in response, you shake your head, offering up a soft smile, "no, i'm not. i'm actually the new tenant, and you?"

he stares at you for a minute longer, darting between your face and the space behind you. it's almost uncomfortable how long it takes for him to process this information but the moment he does, his lips curl upwards, body leaning against the frame.

"new tenant?" he repeats, watching you nod your head in confirmation, "well, didnae ken mitch left his place ta such a bonnie thing," he sucks his teeth in after, eyes roving over your form in a different way. secular, sensual, words that begin with 's'.

strange and discomforting flattery aside, you've only just met the man. may as well give him the benefit of the doubt.

you hope he doesn't notice the slight strain in your smile, "yes i actually just moved in this morning." you give him your name, which he immediately tries on his lips. "bi' foreign," he says, and you can only nod in agreement.

"and you are-" he hardly gives you a chance to ask, reaching out and taking your hand in his. he shakes it enthusiastically, the force of his movement making you follow along. whatever benefit you gave him is long forgotten now, as well is the appropriate amount of time for strangers to make physical contact.

"johnny, but a'body calls me th' most braw jim ye'll ever meet," while not the most clear, his cocky attitude communicates enough. to think one of the first people you meet in this apparently "holy" town seems anything but.

the smile on your face becomes harder to maintain, especially when he has not let go of your hand. desperate to get away, you begin to slip your hand out of his, the other pushing on your door, "well, it was nice meeting you, johnny, but i'm a bit busy so if you'll excuse me," you manage to retract your hand completely from his grasp, only needing to close the door and you'll be rid of him.

unfortunately, it isn't that easy.

it happens in a blur, johnny grabbing your hand again, not to shake, but to examine. his sudden movement takes you by surprise, and you can no longer maintain pleasantries with this brute, "johnny!"

"this a purity ring?" he asks abruptly, turning your hand over in his, steel blue eyes honed in on the metallic band on your left finger.

his question stuns you. this.. caveman, who has done nothing but eye you, squeeze your hand, and just make you uncomfortable is now brushing his thumb over the engravement of Matthew 5:8 on your purity ring, which you didn't even expect him to know what it is!

then again, he has done nothing but subvert your expectations since meeting him five minutes ago.

rather than a simple slip, you go ahead and yank your hand away, cradling it in it's partner, "yes.. why?" it's like soothing a burn, the memory of his skin still hot on yours.

his eyes are still glued to your ring, slowly ascending to meet your gaze. in a way, it's intense, holding all of your attention. then, he eases it by breaking into a simple smile, "well, didnae take ye for a religious hen, bonnie. i myself am a believer," his hand moves to his shirt, fishing out a necklace from beneath the collar. no way, he can't, it-

sure enough, dangling from his gold chain is a dainty cross.

"..oh," it should reassure you, but does anything but.

johnny only nods, tucking it back under his shirt, "aye, nae as devout but i still partake every now an' then," he says, rambling a bit as you attempt to make sense of who the man before you really is.

"..got a purity ring myself," you tune back in when he says it, noting the way his smile has shifted back into a grin. you're tempted to say something in response, but nothing comes to mind, still reeling from the prior discovery.

"y'ken," his voice drops to a whisper, "i hav' it on me" it's like he's sharing a secret, the way he inches closer as he speaks.

your mouth remains shut but your eyes ask where is it? which makes him crack into a full grin.

he gets closer, a hairs breadth keeping you apart. johnny's hand reaches back out for your ringed one, stroking your finger as he tells you:

"well, had ta get it resized to fit 'round my cock."

it's the last straw, pulling yourself back and slamming the door shut on him. as you lean against the door, you can feel your heart pounding in your ears. oh gosh, this man, he's.. he's..

"nice t'meet ye, neighbor!"

he's the devil himself.

#sgt soap #soap x reader #tw religion #tw catholicism #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #reds writes

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gabbytvclarke · 3 months ago

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The dog and the postwoman PART 5 (FINALE): To the moon and back

Part one here! ♥ Part two here! ♥ Part three here! ♥ Part four here!

• Summary: Arthur and reader's relationship blossoms over the months as they struggle to keep it a secret, and dating rumours get in the way. • Pairing: Arthur TV x female!reader, italianbaach x reader??, (Also friend!basically all the other youtubers in this circle) • Smut, angst, fluff, and insta AU • Warnings: a tiny bit of relationship anxiety/jealousy, secret relationship, swearing, harassment, innuendoes, and LOTS more sex (including dominant Arthur 👀) • Word count: 8,417 words • Note 1: Ngl I'm not sure if I like this one... • Note 2: A slightly different writing style, but I thought it worked on this part • Note 3: Sorry for the late post, I was on holiday then got really sick :(

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

NOW:

@ Twitteruser1: HAS ANYONE SEEN ARTHURS VIDEO??????? @ Twitteruser2: y/ntv is real FUCK everyone who denied it ↳ @ Twitteruser3: im SO HAPPY FOR THEM

@ Twitteruser4: Um y/n's instagram post!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm DYING

@ Twitteruser5: I'm about to lose it #y/ntv

@ Twitteruser6: Arthurs latest video AHHHHH I’m crying rn ↳ @ Twitteruser7: VIDEO?? you need to see their instas

3 MONTHS BEFORE NOW:

Arthur grumbles as he rolls over to his left with an outstretched arm, his eyes flutter open as he feels an empty space. It's been a while since he's awoken alone, spending time together in secret means that sleepovers are the safest choice. He thanks his luck that his roommates are always travelling for brand deals. He sits up and rubs his eyes, his ears focusing on one of his favourite songs: anything that y/n is singing. "Hm?" he hums to himself near silently. He pulls himself out of bed but can't see the grey hoodie he'd thrown on his desk chair the night before, he chuckles to himself as he grabs another hoodie and follows y/n's melody.

He finds her in his living room, humming away while carefully packing some of his small house plants, as Arthur is in the middle of moving into the same building as Isaac. Sneaking up behind her, he wraps his arms around her waist and plants a sweet kiss to the side of her neck, causing her to jolt slightly.

"Jesus!" She gasps, following with a small giggle. She puts the parcel tape down and swivels to return Arthur's hug. "Good morning sunshine!" She chirps before pecking a small kiss to his cheek.

"G'morning! Nice hoodie." He smirks back, as she steps back and curtsies. "You know you don't have to do all this." He gestures to the array of boxes, some packed, some half full, and some empty, but the bags under his eyes suggest otherwise. Arthur's been juggling video recordings, podcast recordings, and preparing to move for the past month and it seems to be taking a toll on him.

"I don't have to, no, but I want to baby." She replies softly, not even thinking. She doesn't even notice the word rolling off her tongue so easily. Arthur does and he can't stop the childlike smile that creeps up on his face. "What's that face for?" She asks with amusement.

"Nothing, nothing. You're just adorable." He shrugs sheepishly. Despite how comfortable he is around her, she still makes him shy at times. Even though it's been 46 days since that fateful time at his flat; the breakfast, the food fight, the love making. Not like he's counting the days or anything. Then he gets an idea. "Do you want some pancakes?" He asks warmly.

"Reminiscing are we?" She teases, catching him off guard, his once relaxed eyes now full of surprise. She giggles and plays with his hair, eliciting a laugh from him. "Yes to pancakes, but let's share the workload this time." She squeezes his hand as they head to the kitchen area.

The pancakes are once again a success, although not as fancy as last time due to Arthur's smaller contributions to the flat's food budget. There's also a clear difference between the one's flipped by Arthur and the ones flipped by y/n.

As they start eating in a contented silence, Arthur stares ahead of him and begins to frown without realising, catching y/n's attention. "What's wrong Arthur? Is there a pube in your pancake?" She jokes. He fights every fibre of his being to not spray his mouthful, swallowing it whole and coughing as he laughs. He takes a sip of his water and clears his throat.

"Wow. You never seize to amaze me, y/n" He beams, lightly thumping his chest.

"Sorry I almost choked you, but are you OK?" She asks, her smile shrinking as anxiety creeps in. She'd been enjoying the silence, but now she's worried that perhaps his busy schedule could be making him rethink their time together. They’ve spent so much time with each other recently, but maybe he’s getting bored?

"It's OK, I'm OK, I just..." He trails off as his eyebrows knit together again. Her lungs begin feeling tight. She thinks about how maybe moving out of his flat isn't the only chapter in his life that he's closing. Arthur's eyes blink from his pancakes to y/n's face.

"Y/n, am I your boyfriend?" He asks with innocence and sincerity. She's taken aback, the mouthful of food she'd crammed in was meant to stop her from crying not grinning. Her eyes are wide as she chews quicker to swallow and answer.

"Sorry, bit of a weird and sudden question, I know." He chuckles, “I’ve just been wondering recently, that’s all.” He shoots her a gentle smile, nervously waiting for her answer. She gulps.

"Do you want to be?" She asks sweetly, trying not to smile too hard in the moment.

"Very much so." Arthur replies with a fast nod. He sets his knife and fork down, knits his fingers together and rests his head on them. "But it depends, how does that hoodie feel? Like boyfriend material perhaps?" He cocks his eyebrow as he watches her lips curl up more.

She giggles before rubbing her hand along the sleeve, pulling an intrigued face. "Wow, you know, I think it does." Without hesitation, Arthur's chair scrapes along the floor as he rushes to hug her, rocking her back and forth slowly with a Cheshire Cat grin. She scoops her arms up and behind to hug him back, unprepared for such a welcomed attack.

"I can't wait to tell Bach and the others, you’re finally my girlfriend!" He exclaims in her ear, pulling away to look at his beautiful girl, his eyes twinkling. She feels ridiculous for doubting him, for thinking he'd allow the stress of moving to cloud his feelings towards her. His happiness in that moment, the emphasis on 'finally', the way she could swear she saw tears building in his gorgeous eyes. She stands to her feet and pulls him into a proper hug.

"I'm the happiest man on the planet!" His voice cracks as he boasts, his head nestled in her neck as she feels the heat of his cheeks burning against her. "I'm so happy too Arth!” Y/n replies, also fighting tears. She cups his jaw as he locks eyes with her again and pulls him down to give him a loving kiss, which he returns enthusiastically. He begins giving her small pecks, whispering “My beautiful girl” and “My darling” in between, until a familiar poking feeling in her hip shifts the mood.

“Mr Frederick, what’s going on?” Y/n smirks as she slowly pulls away, looking straight into his chocolate eyes.

“Oh… I guess I got too excited, I’m sorry.” He chuckles, heat radiating from his face even more as he shyly looks away. Still gazing up at him, y/n slowly sinks to her knees, her hands gliding down his bare legs as she goes. “…Y/n!” Arthur exclaims, in shock.

“What’s wrong? Doesn’t my boyfriend deserve a treat?” She quips, her fingers pulling down his boxers agonisingly slow. Arthur’s breath hitches in his throat, still in disbelief at how lucky he is. His cock springs out as his underwear drops and pools at his ankles. He removes his hoodie within less than a second, so the thick fabric won't be able to block his view.

Y/n clasps her soft hand around the base off his cock, licking her lips before planting small kisses along the shaft. Arthur hums lowly, threading his hand through her hair. Her pecks head towards the base, before licking a stripe back up to the tip and wrapping her lips around the head.

“Mmm, there she is. My talented girl…” Arthur whispers, before sucking air through his teeth as her nose suddenly hits his lower abdomen. She looks up at him as she bobs her head, seeing his head thrown back in ecstasy, and watching his toned chest rise and fall rapidly. “F-fuck… y/n…” He groans through gritted teeth. He tilts his head down and makes eye contact, his brows are low and his eyes are dark. He bites his lip as he watches her worship his cock with her pretty mouth. “Good girl... so good.”

It doesn’t take long before his whimpers grow more intense and his stomach forms a knot. She’s ready to milk him then and there, but Arthur stops her. “Y/n, wait a sec.” He utters breathlessly. She pulls her head off with a ‘pop’, peering up at him and catching her breath as she eagerly awaits further instructions. “Come ‘ere.” He pulls her up gently by her hands until she’s standing again. He cups her cheeks sweetly as he looks intensely into her eyes with burning desire. “That was incredible, as always, but your mouth isn’t where I want to fill you this morning.” Before she can react, he turns them both slightly and pushes y/n backwards, the backs of her legs hitting the table.

She lets out a small yelp in surprise, before laying herself down across the table, pushing her plate out the way. Arthur leans over her, looking at her how a wild animal looks at its prey. He’s quick to remove her underwear as he plants wet desperate kisses along her neck. “Take it off.” He growls in her ear before nipping right under her earlobe. She hums with excitement as he stands back, hungrily watching her whip the stolen hoodie off. “So beautiful.” He whispers, his hands magnetising to her breasts as his lips crash into hers. He breathes soft whimpers into her lips before planting wet kisses further down her body until he reaches her belly button. He stands upright and grabs his wet cock, giving it a few pumps before raising one of her legs over his shoulder.

He rubs his tip over her clit, before his gaze flicks up to meet hers. “How much do you want this right now?” He asks intensely. Y/n’s surprised at this more animalistic side to Arthur, but it’s more than welcome.

“S-so much Arthur.” She breathes, feeling a wave of shyness wash over her at his new demeanor. He sinks his cock into her as a raw raspy moan leaves his throat. He leans himself lower while she adjusts to the stretch, giving her a quick peck on the lips.

“My girlfriend needs spoiling too.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning over her face. He begins thrusting, his big hand squeezing her soft thigh as it’s pressed against his body. The pair can’t keep quiet as Arthur soon begins pounding into her relentlessly, the kitchen filling with the sounds of gasps, grunts, creaking table legs, and skin slapping skin. He cups her cheek and studies her face, watching the pleasure written all over it, which only spurs him on more.

Feeling his orgasm fast approaching again, he slows down and gives y/n passionate kisses, whispering “You’re incredible,” against her lips. She’s too lost for words to form coherent sentences. He pulls out of her and grips her thighs, manoeuvring her so her hips are slightly off the table. He stands straight and wastes no time ramming himself back into her, trying to keep his noises down so he can enjoy listening to hers, while his hands hold her waist tightly. Her lower tummy fills with butterflies as she watches Arthur pound her senseless, the sight driving her even closer to the edge. His fringe stuck to his forehead, biting his lips between his teeth as he grunts, his eyebrows furrowed while he peers down at where their hips meet. The way he looks at her like a starving man looks at a 5 star meal.

“I know you’re close baby, don’t. hold. back.” He instructs with each thrust. His moves become sloppy and more desperate. She stutters his name to warn him she’s about to burst. “So close,” he mutters, only seconds before the pair release together. He moans her name over and over again like it’s the only word he knows, like he’s ensuring the entire building knows who makes him feel this good. Her whole body quivers as her pussy fills with his cum, overflowing and trickling into the floor.

Arthur drapes over and rests his head on y/n’s belly. “Wow, y/n!” He exhales.

“Arthur… where did that come from?” Y/n managed to croak out, still dazed by the new side of Arthur she hadn't seen before. Arthur chuckles against her tummy before standing up to grab her some kitchen roll for their mess.

“Well, months ago when you were on Becky’s channel, you said something about the idea of nerdy guys ending up being a bad boy in bed,” he explains as he helps her off the table and passes her his hoodie back, “and, well, I always forget about that everytime we got down and dirty, until today.”

Y/n is gobsmacked, she didn’t even remember saying it as it had been a few months since then, although it was true. And Arthur was the perfect example of the kind of nerd she had in mind, and today he proved he was that kind of lover too. “Well, that’s a side of you I didn’t know you had, but it was definitely fun.” She giggles, still feeling giddy.

“Honestly, I didn’t know I did either, but I’m glad you enjoyed it too.” Arthur replies. “Oh look, we wasted our pancakes again.”

Y/n reaches for the plates. “We can microwave them, but we did just fuck near them.” She laughs.

“I don’t mind that, but maybe I should clean the table and floor first.” Arthur chuckles, heading to the bathroom and returning with a fresh cleaning cloth. As y/n loads the microwave, Arthur gets to cleaning.

“I’ve just gotta keep my mind focused for the session tomorrow.” Y/n states, gritting her teeth in an exaggerated manner.

2 MONTHS + 29 DAYS BEFORE NOW:

Y/n sits across from Isaac and Arthur, awaiting the go-ahead from the producer and director to begin. Finally, y/n is guest starring on the ‘Bach and Arthur’ podcast. They’re in their new set, much more space themed, which impresses y/n as it’s the first time she’s seeing it in person.

The podcast begins, the episode’s main subject focusing on ‘The science of icks’, after the heavy shipping between y/n and Arthur. The pair haven’t come out as a couple yet and don’t plan to for a while, so they’re prepared to struggle to not accidentally let anything slip out. Ironically, Isaac is most worried about outing them.

“It’s so nice to have you on here, and by popular demand too.” Isaac states, gesturing over to y/n as if bowing in her presence.

“Honestly it’s an honour being here,” she replies, looking around the set with wonder, “it’s so much bigger than it looks on screen!” Arthur chuckles and puts his head in his hands, anticipating Isaac’s response.

“Guilty, as charged.” Isaac quips, before shaking his head and laughing awkwardly.

At one point, Isaac goes off on a tangent about how pheromones work and y/n’s mind starts wandering. Isaac uses dogs as an example, which takes y/n’s thoughts back to earlier that morning, just before she and Arthur headed to the studio.

The day started innocent enough. Y/n slept over again as Arthur still had the flat to himself and they were filming the podcast in the afternoon. They stood side by side brushing their teeth, y/n using ‘her’ toothbrush in Arthur’s bathroom.

Everything was fine until y/n had her shower and returned to Arthur’s bedroom in just a bathrobe. He was in the middle of getting dressed when she waltzed in gleefully, looking forward to the day ahead. “Wow, your arse looks amazing in those boxers.” Were her exact words, and that was all it took for Arthur’s brain to start turning wild again.

“Oh yeah? And how’s your arse looking today darling?” He flirted, watching eagerly as y/n turned and raised her robe, sticking her butt out in a half seductive, half playful gesture. It was still a little damp and foamy from the shower, its shine begging for his touch. “Fuck.” Arthur whispered to himself, wasting no time in standing behind his hot girlfriend and grabbing a handful of bubbly cheek. His breath tickled the back of her neck when he asked: “How much time do you have to get ready?”

“Plenty.” Y/n replied in a teasing tone, sensing the mood. Arthur gave her a light spank as he chuckled into her neck, his hand lingering as he gripped another handful. Soon enough the clothes he’d just put on were tossed across the room. Y/n turned her upper body back to kiss Arthur, their tongues dancing together, as he gently edged her closer to the bed. Y/n fiddled with the knot in her belt loop, quickly loosening it and discarding the bathrobe altogether. Arthur pushed her onto the bed, with her landing on her hands and knees with a cheeky giggle. Perfect.

Arthur’s hands roamed around her ass cheeks as he watched the small soap bubbles get wiped away. “Fucking beautiful.” He stated as y/n gave Arthur a little wiggle, arching her back and pushing her butt closer to him. She gasped when she felt how ready he was for her so quickly, as his hard tip made contact with the back of her thigh.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Arthur mumbled as he spat on his fingers and rubbed them between her plump cheeks. That feeling alone driving her crazy.

“Please…” Y/n whimpered, eager to feel that stretch again. Arthur’s hands kneaded her cheeks again as he stepped closer, moving the up to grip her hips. His tip pressed against her entrance as he stood still.

“Please what, baby girl?” Arthur asked, she could hear the grin in his voice.

“Please Arthur, please fuck me.” She begged. He hummed out a chuckle as he pulled her onto him, his hips making swift flush contact with her ass. Y/n exhaled a loud moan in both surprise and bliss. It wasn’t long before Arthur pounded away at her needy pussy, his velvet voice calling her name and telling her how good she took him. His fingers digging into her hips, definitely leaving marks behind as he pulled her on his cock again and again, adding pleasure every time his hand planted another slap to her ass. He painted light scratches down her back as he approached his orgasm, only minutes before he filled her to the brim again with his warm--

“Y/n?” Isaac asks, his lips curled in amusement. She blinks, feeling her face begin to burn.

“What- I’m so sorry my brain must’ve just switched off there.” She smiles awkwardly, her confession causing the boys to laugh.

“Wow y/n honestly, we invite you on with the kindness of our hearts,” Arthur reprimands jokingly as y/n hides her face behind her hands, “and you just ignore us!”

“So rude, that’s an ick right there.” Isaac chimes in with a grin as y/n continues chortling in embarrassment, turning redder.

“Hm, maybe your yapping was such an ick that her brain short-circuited Bach.” Arthur smirks.

“I’m sorry guys, I promise I have your full attention now.” She assures them, sitting up straighter.

“Out of curiosity, what were you thinking about?” Arthur asks sincerely, being sure to keep his tone platonic.

“Oh, something Bach said made me think of something that happened this morning.” Y/n answers, shrugging as nonchalantly as possible. Arthur quickly takes some water from his mug, trying his best to not show a reaction.

“What happened this morning?” Isaac asks with genuine intrigue, having fallen for the couple’s ‘normal’ behaviour.

“I can’t say, it was something personal.” Y/n giggles awkwardly, avoiding Arthur’s eyes at all costs. Arthur’s mood shifts ever so slightly for the rest of the recording, seeming quieter than usual as he’s reminded of their morning activities too. This allows Isaac to take the reins.

After a while, the topic of listing each other’s icks become the new segment of conversation, each of them listing an ick and discussing their thoughts on each one. Again the three are very careful not to shed light on y/n and Arthur’s relationship, so they keep as vague as possible on some of the icks mentioned.

“Another one for me is when someone doesn’t like animals.” Y/n states, shaking her head in feigned disgust.

“I agree with you there.” Arthur adds, having regained his composure by this point. “I don’t get how someone can dislike any animal.”

“Well there are venomous ones out there and ones that attack humans.” Isaac guesses with a small shrug.

“Yeah, dangerous ones, that's fair enough. But I’m thinking more like domestic animals; dogs, cats, rabbits, etcetera,” Y/n confirms.

Isaac then brings up people who are rude to waiters as an ick, which sparks a whole conversation of people the three have met who do this. They finish the podcast with reading the viewers’ stories of their own icks, some of the anecdotes are ridiculous and make for great talking points. The recording session finishes without a hitch.

As everyone is preparing to leave y/n talks to the crew to introduce herself a bit more and to congratulate them on their usual good work, while in the corner of her eye she sees Isaac pat Arthur on the back sweetly.

Arthur then slips away for the toilet, being sure to tell y/n through text as to not disrupt her conversation. She leaves the staff to their close-down procedures as Isaac approaches her.

“You know, he’s really happy with you.” He says quietly with a beaming smile. “It’s really nice to see. I don’t think it can be picked up on camera, but he really does light up more when you’re around.” Y/n is taken aback by the sweet words.

“Thank you… Bach? Isaac? That’s so sweet.” She chuckles awkwardly.

“Isaac’s fine. People usually only call me Bach on camera.” He assures her as he puts on his jacket. “But thanks for looking after him. I will kill you if you break his heart though.” The pair break out into laughter as Arthur returns. They all leave the building together but Isaac heads off to meet Liv.

2 MONTHS + 13 DAYS UNTIL NOW:

Y/n frowns as she scrolls through TikTok, having stopped on a glambyflo video where she's dressed up all fancy. She enjoys the video and gives it a like, opening the comments to compliment Flo when she sees the top voted comment:

‘Are you and Arthur Tv together?’

Followed by loads of likes and replies. The replies were a variety, some saying they live together, some saying they’d make a sweet couple, then there's one of someone pointing out that Flo wore one of Arthur’s hoodies in an instagram post. Y/n trusts Arthur 100%, and she knows what shippers are like and has experienced them herself, but something about that comment gets to her.

She continues reading through the thread of replies when the same girl pointed out the date of the instagram post in question as proof. Y/n tells herself that she’s being silly, and yet, there she is looking through Flo’s instagram and finding said post. Seeing said hoodie. It is one of Arthur’s. It deeply bothers y/n that she herself has worn that exact hoodie. Her boyfriend’s hoodie.

She darts back to the comments on Flo’s TikTok video and there’s more separate comments about Flo and Arthur being a couple. Some people were replying saying that Arthur is clearly into y/n, but others replied comparing the girls. It starts making y/n feel queasy, she leaves the sweet comment for Flo and closes the app down. She lays back in Arthur’s bed keeps herself calm as she waits for Arthur to come out of the shower, probably his last shower in that shared flat.

When he enters his room, a cloud of steam following him like he’s a literal god, he immediately notices the look on y/n’s face. “Darling, are you OK?” He asks, softly sitting next to her on the bed and putting his warm damp hand on hers.

“I’m fine Arth, just read some comments on TikTok that rubbed me the wrong way.” She knows she can be honest with Arthur about anything. She looks at him sweetly and sits up, turning to face him.

“What comments? Nothing about you though, right?” Arthur’s face is laced with concern as he gives her knee a squeeze, his heart dropping in his chest at the thought of someone writing mean comments about her.

“Sort of, mostly people talking about you and Flo, some about me.” Y/n chuckles awkwardly, as she plays with her fingernails to avoid eye contact.

“People have shipped me a Flo for years, but she’s like a little sister to me. Literally, I’ve known her since she was a teenager.” His reassurance is heartwarming, but he can still sense the unease.

“The comments aren’t just shipping you two though, they think you are actually dating…” Y/n trails off slightly, feeling stupid for talking about it, “And they’re comparing us girls, which I just hate. I know it’s the internet and people can be dicks, but it’s not fair on either of us girls.”

“Oh, y/n. I’m sorry. Comments can really be shit sometimes, as you know. But people jump to conclusions all the time.” Arthur replies soothingly, pulling her into a hug.

“Their so-called evidence is that Flo’s worn a hoodie like yours before.” Y/n half laughs, taking a huge sigh.

Arthur pulls away to look y/n in the eyes. “I know the one you mean, she accidentally took it while I was in my room filming. I think she saw it on the sofa once and assumed it was one she has that's similar,” he explains, “I remember when I saw her wearing it, I pointed it out and she apologised profusely. I said she may as well keep it on as she’d got her make up around the neck, and to just throw it in the laundry basket when she next gets changed.” Arthur’s hand cups y/n's jaw, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her cheek.

“That makes total sense.” Y/n smiles.

“I’m sorry though, speculation is one of the worst parts of putting yourself out there. And you know if you deny it, they just accuse you even more.” Arthur holds her hand again softly.

“Yeah definitely.” Y/n sighs again, feeling embarrassed that she’d even let the comments bug her that much in the first place.

“But I do appreciate you telling me how you feel, you know you never need to hide things like that from me.” Arthur pulls her in for another hug, before standing and getting changed into sweats.

“Also, I told Flo to take the photo down at the time and she said no and accused me of being jealous because ‘she wore it better’.” He chuckles, y/n sniggers too. “I told you, she’s like a little sister. Her and Darcy literally remind me of my sisters.”

1 MONTHS + 24 DAYS UNTIL NOW:

The podcast episode has been released. Y/n sits on her bed watching the video on her phone. It’s the first time in ages that she hasn’t woken up next to Arthur, but he’s been busy filming videos following his move. Y/n needs her Arthur fix, so the video going live was perfect.

She chuckles when she spots the moment Arthur thinks about their morning fun that day and how silent he goes, but is proud at how stoic he managed to look at the same time. When the video ends, y/n scrolls down to the comments. She laughs as she clicks on the specific timestamps and reads what the viewers had to say about those moments, and her heart melts at the sweet comments about her and Arthur, including speculations about their behaviour.

Commenter1: They’re trying too hard to look like just friends lmao

Commenter2: They’re not flirting but their eyes show it all ↳ Commenter3: either that or they fucked and now the built up tension is gone lol

Commenter4: The way their icks show more proof they’re made for each other

But then she spots a few comments she definitely wasn’t expecting: people shipping her with Bach?

“What?” She mutters to herself, so confused.

Commenter5: Anyone noticed that Bach and y/n seem to really hit it off?

Commenter6: y/n n bach really bounce off each other…… Maybe because they’re just good friends but still 🤨 ↳ Commenter7: I won’t stand for any #y/ntv denial.

Commenter8: y/nbach or italiany/n? Either way sounds good

Commenter9: can’t wait for the soft launch of y/n and Isaac ↳ Commenter10: writing this about someone’s boyfriend is insane btw ↳ Commenter11: second this. they're just talking more because Arthur went non verbal

There’s a lot more like that coming in as she scrolls, and she feels incredibly guilty as she reads each of these comments. She’d only recently been on a double date with Arthur, Isaac, and Liv. She begins feeling anxious about her friendship with the couple being ruined, especially with the cinema date she has planned with Arthur.

Arthur turns up to her place a couple of hours later, where y/n kept herself distracted with getting ready and doing housework. They’re heading to the cinema then back at his flat again, as it’s slightly closer. He’s chirpy as he runs from the door to his girlfriend and gives her a spinning hug.

“I hope you don’t mind love, but I invited Isaac and Liv to to join us for the film.” He beams. Y/n’s mind fills with dread.

“Oh, OK. That’s cool.” Y/n replies, trying to sound calm and collected.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” Arthur asks in a fake bossy tone. “Is it the comments on the pod?” Y/n’s hands snap to her mouth as she feels her cheeks turn rosy. She only nods as she struggles to keep eye contact, the thoughts of an awkward cinema double date flooding her brain.

Arthur chuckles as he takes a seat in her lounge area. “Don’t be so silly, people comment that rubbish all the time. They have no clue what they’re talking about, well, except the ones who were right about us.” He shoots her a wink as she sits beside him with a creeping smile.

“I feel bad for Liv, I’ve never seen anyone ship Isaac with someone before.” Y/n sighs.

“I haven’t either, but plenty of women thirst over him on her TikTok videos, so I’m sure she can handle this.” Arthur replies reassuringly. “C’mon, we’ve got a scary film to watch.”

The pair spot Isaac and Liv while they wait outside, all giving hugs to each other. Liv is sweet but quiet as always, given that she and y/n haven’t hung out enough times yet. Y/n worries that it’s because of the comments. They head inside and wait in line to buy their tickets and snacks. While Arthur and Isaac yap, y/n takes a deep breath and apologises to Liv. “I don’t know how much you read on Bach- Isaac’s stuff, but I’m sorry if the comments on our podcast episode made you uncomfortable.”

Liv gestures towards y/n as if to swat her anxious thoughts away. “Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ve spent years reading weird comments about him. They don’t phase me anymore.” She sniggers.

“Oh thank god!” Y/n replies, “I was so worried they’d upset you.” Liv just laughs and gives her another hug.

"I'd be more concerned, but you and Arthur give each other heart eyes 24/7." She smirks.

“Ah look Arthur, my two girlfriends hugging!” Isaac bellows, wrapping an arm around both of them, causing the girls to chortle.

“Yeeeah. You’re a divvy.” Arthur states with a grin, before gesturing to the counter. “And we’re being served.”

1 MONTH + 11 DAYS UNTIL NOW:

“Right so, I’m back with another anomaly game and I’m not alone this time,” Arthur sweetly tells the camera, “by popular demand, I’m with y/n to be my second pair of eyes.” Sitting in Bach's usual spot, y/n smiles and waves at the lens before opening her eyes wider and shifting them around jokingly. They’re still not publicly out as a couple yet, but their experiences of hosting videos should keep them subtle.

“This game is called 'Exit 8', where we’re trapped in a corridor of a train station until we successfully identify or ignore the anomalies.” Arthur explains as y/n nods her head, watching the man on screen walking towards the character.

“So how do we know if there’s an anomaly yet, is this a practice round?” Y/n asks Arthur. He narrows his eyes at the screen as he slowly walks the character down the corridor.

“Hmm, I don’t know… Maybe we should keep an eye on things for now in case the next loop is the official start.” Arthur carefully eyes up every detail in the area, pointing each thing out and deciding that he’ll keep an eye on the left hand side of the room and y/n will observe the right side for anomalies. As the character turns the corner, the love birds see the instructions written as a station sign and realise the game’s now officially starting.

The pair have a rocky start, missing 3 separate anomalies and restarting from zero each time. But on their fourth loop, y/n is first to successfully identify an anomaly. “Arthur! There’s a door missing, there’s usually three.” Arthur whips the character’s POV round to a blank spot on the wall.

“Oh! You’re right! How did I miss that?” Arthur exclaims, shifting his eyes up to the camera in surprise.

“Because it’s on my side, silly.” Y/n teases. Arthur turns the character round and heads back, as the rules state, and they start the second loop.

“I know, but still, such a big thing missing and I didn’t notice.” Arthur mumbles, pretending to sulk over not being the first to spot an anomaly. “Those eyes of yours are truly magnificent.” He adds without thinking, turning his head and gazing sweetly at his girlfriend.

“Whose, mine or this guy’s?” Y/n quickly asks, defusing any chance of viewers flipping out by referencing the NPC on screen. She avoids his eyes but watches him snap his head back to the game.

“Obviously this guy’s — OHH! He’s staring right at me!” Arthur screams before turning the character and running back.

“That’s so creepy!” Y/n chuckles, fighting the urge to cosy up to Arthur, unsure of any big scares that may come.

They get pretty far into the game, having been recording for just over 35 minutes, reaching level 7. “One more level to go and we’re done.” Arthur states to the camera, conveying the seriousness of the in-game situation. The pair make a point to double check both of their ‘sides’.

“Arthur, stop a sec.” Y/n instructs, her eyes locked on the screen. “Look at that middle door and take a few steps right.” Arthur does as she says. The second door is slightly open with a still smiling woman looking directly at the player. “Oh my god that’s terrifying!” Y/n bellows as she shivers, instinctively moving her body closer to Arthur, before playing it off by faking another shiver and sitting back in her original position. Arthur is equally freaked out, his mouth hanging open as he turns the character around.

“So, so creepy.” He adds. As the character turns the corner slowly, he flips the POV back and yelps, purposefully startling y/n. She shrieks.

“Arthur! What the hell?!” She giggles nervously. “I nearly pissed on your lovely stool!”

Arthur laughs hard. “I’m sorry baby.” He replies softly, leaning back to kiss her just under her ear. They both freeze, starting at each other, then Arthur looks to his camera. He shakes his head and chuckles. “Looks like I’m editing this one myself!” Crisis averted.

They complete the game as normal and finish the video. Y/n helping Arthur unplug his recording equipment. “This might be a weird question Arth,” y/n begins, Arthur looking to her with an inquisitive hum, “but maybe it’s not so bad if your editors see us be affectionate. Maybe this can be used as a hard launch?”

Arthur pauses to think. “I don’t know, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the world to know our beautiful little secret just yet.”

“OK, that’s fair enough.” Y/n slowly nods. Maybe he’s right. The pair haven’t dropped the L-bombs yet, so maybe any kind of launch is too soon. “It is kind of fun having this little secret.” She adds. While it’s true, she’d also love to be able to go out on dates, hold hands in public, and not have to tiptoe around her words and body language. However, she chooses not to push Arthur out of respect for his feelings.

17 DAYS UNTIL NOW:

Y/n finds herself yet again with the boys and Becky, filming another pub challenge for ChrisMD's channel. On one team is y/n, George, and Arthur Hill; with Arthur, Becky, and Chris on the other. They’d been playing pub bingo, all football themed, and had stopped at their third pub.

It’s rowdy, but luckily for the group it wasn’t because they’d been spotted, but because it's 6pm on a Friday. A group of drunk 20 or 30-something lads spot the cameras and join the group’s table, naturally. Chris kindly explains the video when one of the men recognise him specifically and asks for a photo. The crew continue filming, with the men's consent. One of the other men crouches down at the end of the table, where y/n and Becky are sitting opposite each other. The guy’s mate then joins behind him, squatting slightly. Both men are very intrigued by the girls.

The guy at the front looks at Becky, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “My mate Dave here fancies you.” He states, gesturing his head back to his friend. Dave shooting her a nod. When Arthur’s done taking the photo of Chris and his fan, his attention shoots over to the girls, more importantly y/n. Just in time too, as the crouching guy then turns to her and eyes her up and down.

“Whereas I like the look of you. I’m Terry.” He reaches out his hand her way, which she hesitantly shakes politely.

“Charming!” She laughs, her tone half sarcastic and half friendly, hoping he’ll leave her alone. Arthur’s not even subtle with the daggers he’s staring at this Terry guy.

“You single?” He asks before taking a sip of his beer. He then leans in more towards y/n and her eyes widen slightly, leaning herself back. All the boys are keeping their eyes on these two men carefully now, while Becky is chatting to Dave in a more mutually friendly conversation. Arthur’s jaw clenches as he sees the discomfort on his girlfriend’s face, but feels powerless as he’s sat at the opposite end of the table with no quick way to step in. She’s in quite a predicament, being completely unaware that the cameras are all off now, she politely answers: “I’m not interested, sorry.”

Terry laughs before bellowing: “Learn to listen love, I asked if you were single, not if you’re interested.” Chris immediately puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, as if to tell him not to react. Terry's loud choice of words catches Becky and Dave's attention too.

“Woah.” George coos, holding his hand up and in front of y/n, knowing Arthur is too far away to defuse the situation.

“I heard you, Terry, but whether I’m single or not doesn’t change the fact that I’m not interested.” Y/n awkwardly chuckles as she leans more towards George to feel safer, standing her ground whilst also trying not to anger the overstepping man.

Terry scoffs. “Now now, you don’t have to be a lippy slag about it.” He jabs, gesturing towards her angrily with his pint and spilling a bit of beer on her. Arthur immediately stands up, not evening thinking. Hill, who's sitting opposite him, also stands up, leaning over to get Arthur’s attention. Arthur ignores him as he stares harshly into the drunk’s eyes, Terry looking back at him in confusion.

“Leave it, Arthur, leave it.” Hill instructs to Arthur, but it falls on death ears. The crew taking more action too, one of them fetching the pub's security. Chris also stands, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder again while Becky naturally starts swearing at Terry.

“Now what’s his fucking problem?” Terry asks, aggressively pointing his finger towards Arthur with his free hand while his mate Dave tries pulling him away.

“You, obviously.” Arthur replies firmly. Terry scoffs again, swaying slightly as his friend apologises on his behalf, but he's not budging. George instinctively puts his arm around y/n and pulls her even closer to him while she dabs at the spillage on her lap.

Becky slides off her bench, with a male filming crew member at her side, they step round Dave and Terry and she rushes to y/n. “George, take us to the toilets.” She whispers quick. He and Arthur share a nod as the three head to the ladies’ room, George of course planning on waiting outside. Just as y/n leaves the table, Terry reaches out towards her ass, but misses luckily.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Y/n hears Arthur shout from behind her, but her legs don’t stop rushing towards the toilets.

“Ignore it, we’ll sort it.” George states as he stands to the side of the door. He watches on as the bar staff ask the drunken man and his group to leave, while respectfully asking the YouTubers to keep their language and voices down for the rest of the night. Becky checks on y/n, who is just tipsy enough to not get too upset by the situation.

“He loves you, you know.” Becky smiles, lightening the mood. Y/n grins too, feeling giddy at how Arthur reacted now that the shock has died down.

“I’ve never seen him like that before.” Is all y/n can say, a mix of feelings rushing through her faster than the cocktail she had ordered.

“Me neither, but it’s nice to know he can protect you without being too daft about it, isn’t it?” Becky adds, y/n’s smile growing as she nods in agreement. As y/n wipes more of the beer off her with toilet roll, she gets a text from George informing her that the annoying guys have gone and the table has calmed down. They exit together and Arthur immediately darts their way.

“Y/n, are you OK?” His eyes are laced with concern as his hands slide up to her shoulders. Y/n shoots him a dopey smile.

“You’re my hero.”

—————

Arthur let’s y/n into his new flat, she lazily kicks her shoes off and drops her jacket and bag to the floor. They’d finished filming just fine. Chris had informed the group that he’ll do a voice over explaining a rough version of what happened in the pub, and their fun was thankfully not ruined in the end.

Y/n heads to the lounge area and flops on the sofa, as Arthur fetches the pair a glass of water each. He joins her and holds her hand gently in his. “I don’t wanna put a downer on the overall fun day we had, but that incident in the pub scared me today.” He says softly.

Y/n sits up and faces him more. “Sadly that’s what it’s like being a woman, some men are just like that.” She replies, rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand soothingly.

“I know that and trust me, I hate it, but…” Arthur trails off a little as his tipsy mind puts together the words, “I felt awful, really bad. Like it’s my fault.”

Stilling her movements, y/n watches Arthur’s face as she waits for him to continue, feeling confused.

“Like, you couldn’t say you had a boyfriend because of, and I couldn’t swoop in and say ‘hey, that’s my girlfriend’.” He elaborates, guilt written all over his face.

“Arthur, the way you stood up to that weirdo tonight was perfect in this scenario. And the others did a great job at keeping me safe too, because you’re all good people.” Y/n coos.

“I guess I feel partly responsible for what happened today, because it's me who's hesitant to announce our relationship.” He adds.

“Arthur, no-"

“And it’s stupid because I’ve been putting it off until I found the perfect way to tell you how I feel about you.” He holds both of her hands tightly in his as he word-vomits, “That just when I thought I had met all the best people in my life, you showed up dressed in a bloody postman outfit and I was a damn dog. I honestly think it was love at first sight. I was... hooked from the moment you spoke to me. I gravitated towards you the way plants lean towards the sunlight.” His voice cracks as he forgets to control his pitch and volume.

Y/n’s eyes begin tearing up as she beams ear to ear. Arthur continues: “And I’m so proud to call you my girlfriend. It pains me sometimes to not be able to show affection to you whenever I want. I crave your touch as much as my lungs need oxygen. I just-“

“Arthur!”

He stops and takes a breath, realising how much he babbled. “Hm?”

“I love you too.”

He yanks her into an almost back-breaking hug. “You really do?” He asks quietly as he pulls away.

“Of course I do Arth!” She giggles as her eyes twinkle. He bows his head with glee and gives her another tight hug, while she calmly lists all the things she loves about him, before they accidentally fall asleep on the sofa.

16 DAYS UNTIL NOW:

The sound of her phone vibrating on the kitchen counter startles her. Immediately feeling pressure on her body, she peers down to see Arthur laying against her, snoring lightly. "Baby," she whispers gently, giving his back a small tap. He snorts awake and looks up at his girlfriend, the morning sunlight near blinding him.

"Morning angel," He mumbles with a croaky voice, "oh, we slept out here. Oops." He sits up slowly and rubs his eyes as y/n stretches. Arthur kisses her cheek before going to refill a glass of water and turning on the kettle. Y/n follows him to grab her phone from the counter, it's a text from Becky asking if she's OK after what happened yesterday. Y/n pauses for a moment when the pub situation flashes in her head. That scary Terry, the way Arthur stood up for her, the rest of the filming being a success, Arthur's confession. Wait. Arthur's confession.

"You want a cuppa?" He asks sweetly. She looks up at him. Her hero, the man who loves her. She nods as a smile creeps up on her lips. She starts texting Becky back, saying Arthur dropped the L-bomb on her last night, but stops herself in case she's misremembering.

"Arth?" She starts, her voice breaking from the rowdy night before. He turns to her, his chocolate eyes sparkling.

"Do you remember what happened yesterday?" She asks innocently enough and Arthur chuckles.

"The bad thing or the really really good thing?" Arthur questions in return. Aha.

"Wait, I wasn't dreaming?" Y/n replied with a huge grin.

Arthur laughs as he continues making their drinks. "It was a dream come true for me, but no, it wasn't a dream." He hands her a cup.

"You looooove me." She teases. Arthur's eyes go wide.

"Wait, what?" Arthur exclaims.

Y/n bursts into laughter. "Nice try, you bully."

Arthur sets his cup down. "That was a bit mean, wasn't it?" He chuckles as leans down and kisses her above her eyebrow. "Of course I love you, how could I not?"

4 DAYS UNTIL NOW:

Feeling brave, the pair sit across from each other at Arthur's favourite fancy restaurant. He's been dying to take y/n there since the day they first met.

Arthur already knows his go-to while y/n eyes up the menu. "So, I was thinking of uploading our Exit 8 video next." He informs her, a soft smile across his face.

"Oh? You've finished editing?" Y/n asks, peeping up from the menu.

"Yes. All of it." He replies. His girlfriend nods with a sweet smile, then resumes looking for something to eat. "Y/n, all of it." Arthur clarifies, reaching across and placing his hand on hers. Y/n's wide eyes dart back up to him.

"All of it, like, all of it?" She questions, a grin spreading across her face as Arthur nods. "We're really doing this?" She adds.

"We really are." Arthur replies proudly.

30 MINUTES UNTIL NOW:

Side by side on y/n's sofa, they click on Arthur's Exit 8 video on her TV. It just went live, and they excitedly watch it together. Almost immediately, the spot exchanged glances neither were even aware of. "It's a good job this is happening because there's no way myself or any of my editors could've edited around those." Arthur points out gleefully.

"You would've had to scrap the whole video it seems." Y/n chuckles in response. Arthur peers down at y/n's genuine smile and wraps his arm around her, pulling her into him as they continue watching. They get to the moment where Arthur compliments y/n's eyes and they both giggle at how un-subtle it was. Then they get to the kiss on the cheek. Arthur left it unedited, no silly edits, just a raw sweet gesture.

"Tiktok's gonna explode." Y/n states with a grin. The video ends and Arthur scrolls down to the comment section and they take turns reading the comments out loud with pride.

Commenter1: A KISS????? "BABY"?????????? HELLO ↳ Commenter2: fr I'm about to crash out I KNEW IT

Commenter3: 6:23 the magnificent eyes comment omggggg ↳ Commenter3: wait. the kiss.....

Commenter4: y/ntv gang im too excited and impatient to do the whole video rn when's the kiss ↳ Commenter5: it's at 21:47 you won't miss it trust me 🥲 ↳ Commenter6: 21:28 its just a kiss on the cheek but its still so fcking cute!!!

NOW:

arthurtv To the moon and back

Tagged: y/ninstagram

y/ninstagram: my favourite pancake ruiner 😍

Tagged: arthurtv

♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥•♥

A/n: God this took me AGES and I'm sorry 🫶🏻 ♥ TAGS: @ooostarwarsfandom501st @themdera @rougetv @essieswurld @darleneslane @beauty-nd-the-geek @3sriracha - Gabby xo

#arthur tv #arthur tv fluff #arthur tv x reader #arthur frederick #arthur frederick x reader #Arthur tv angst #Arthur tv smut #Arthur Frederick angst #Arthur Frederick smut #George clarke #italianbach #chrismd #Arthur hill

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felixbit · 9 months ago

Text

i hate to wait so long

pairing: seungmin x gn!reader w. 1.9k genre: fluff summary: your long-distance boyfriend's birthday is coming up but you don't have the funds to visit him this year. surprisingly, seungmin turns up to your door anyways. warnings: reader is a uni student studying abroad a/n: inspired by the lyrics of this song :)

Choosing to study abroad was a good idea in concept. You got to travel and live in another country's culture for a semester as you worked on your degree.

That was, until you got a boyfriend. He lived back at home and you reconnected over old friends when you were first packing to leave. He'd come over to your place and hang out, playing video games and teasing you when you couldn't lift a moving box without help. Not that he could, either.

His name was Seungmin. He asked you out one week before you left for the semester, and it was the best week you'd had in a long time. You spent almost every day together, hanging out and trying new things until you got tired and crashed at each other's places.

When that first week came to a close, you begrudgingly packed up your things. Seungmin drove you to the airport, holding your hand as far into the airport as he could come with you.

It was through a teary-eyed confession from him that revealed he'd never felt closer to someone before than he did with you. He was too scared of saying goodbye and asked to be your boyfriend, even if he was terrified of moving too fast.

When you agreed, he was using his sleeve to rub his eyes and denied ever crying. He told you to have a safe trip and he kissed you for the first time, promising a million more the next time he saw you.

You thought about that moment every day. Sitting at a desk doing work had never felt more dull, especially when you had a perfect boyfriend waiting for you at home. Life abroad wasn't bad, you were loving it, you just missed him more.

Every night, you stayed up to call him and tell him all about your day-to-day. He'd hop on his computer and play video games with you until the sun peeked over the horizon or you resigned to sleep.

When you weren't calling each other, you texted the whole rest of your waking hours. Seungmin would send a plethora of random photos from his day and complain about his band mates while you responded with your own pictures and advice.

It was starting to occur to you how close it was getting to September, which meant Seungmin's birthday was just around the corner. You had already decided on gifts, ready to buy them so they'll be delivered right on time.

But, it dawned on you pretty fast that you didn't have the money to visit. Studying in another country was really expensive and there was only so much time in a day you could work outside of school. Either way, there was no miracle budget to make it possible.

You told him this almost immediately, and he was extremely good about it. He reassured you that it wasn't necessary and he'd make up for all the lost time soon enough when you were done.

The remaining weeks between then had been full of assignments and deadlines coming up, so it snuck up on you. You'd been on a call with Seungmin the night before playing Overwatch when you looked down at the date on your computer.

"What time is it? Lemme- oh, shit." You stopped mid sentence, staring at the date on your computer screen in awe.

Seungmin looked confused, his webcam up on your second screen. "What's wrong? Do I need to back out of the queue?"

"No, no," You shook your head, laughing nervously, "I just saw the date. Your birthday's tomorrow."

"Don't tell me you forgot," Seungmin looked a little dumbfounded.

"I didn't forget, I just.. I've had a lot going on these past few weeks that September kinda went a little too fast."

"It's okay," Seungmin reassured, "I'll forgive you when I get to open the pile of gifts you've been sending me tomorrow morning."

"I wish I could be there to see it," You lamented.

"It's alright. You'll be able to give me them all in person next year, right?"

"Right! Plus, I'll be able to give you Christmas gifts at least."

At that moment, you connected to a game and the topic of conversation switched. The thought of missing his birthday lingered in the back of your mind, but you pushed it away in order to enjoy the night with your boyfriend.

As the night was coming to a close, you made sure to wish him a happy birthday right as the clock rolled over to midnight. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary to stay up another three hours, but Seungmin decided to go to bed early and you followed in his footsteps.

Sleeping was nice. It was one of the times you could see Seungmin. He was almost always there waiting for you with a smile on his face. You could do anything together, just in a fantasy land. Maybe he wasn't really there, but it was enough to keep you going.

That night, you laid with him in bed. Your head was on his chest over a soft sweater as he sung to you. It was the first time in a while you'd dreamed of his room, bringing back all of the fond memories from before you'd left. His posters, guitar sat against his record collection, all his bookshelves. His diary was even on the nightstand beside his bed, true to life.

You almost hated waking up. The world was cruel for taking away the perfect dream it had crafted, but you knew soon enough you'd be in his room again.

Seungmin's birthday fell on a Sunday this year, so you didn't worry too much about waking up early. When you did inevitably get up, you made sure to text him a few more 'happy birthday' messages just in case he forgot about it himself. He was already up, thanking you for the birthday wishes and sending you a photo of his outfit.

It wasn't really his style to be awake and ready this early in the day, but it was his birthday. He has to make the most of his special day, you thought. So, you sent back some compliments and hearts and moved on with your own morning routine.

As you normally would, you kept Seungmin updated through texts on your morning. He wasn't super chatty, but it was to be expected with whatever he had planned. You expected to see a wall of text on what he was up to by the end of the day, but for now it was quiet.

By noon, you had gotten a little concerned, but brushed it off. His family likely had things to do with him, right? Plus, he had to get in some good meals.

It was almost one in the afternoon when you finally heard back from him. Seeing his name on your phone screen gave you an instant feeling of relief.

seungmin: come outside

You heard a knock at your door. The text had you confused, but you followed along. He couldn't be here, right?

Opening the door, there he stood. He was grinning ear-to-ear, shifting around on his feet. "Surprise."

It was on instinct that you threw your arms around him and hugged him with all the weight in your body. His wrapped around you and squeezed you back until you were wincing from the pressure.

"What are you doing here?!" You looked at him dumbfounded, your head spinning.

He looked back at you sheepishly, "I dunno, just thought it'd be cool if I showed up for a birthday surprise?"

"Yeah, but it's your birthday, Seungmin. That's the kind of thing I should be doing on your special day!"

"Well, I knew you didn't have enough to come visit this year, and I made it work! I really didn't want to wait so long to see you again."

You laced your fingers with his and pulled him inside, and that's when the explanation started.

Seungmin had first come up with the idea to come visit on his birthday almost a month prior when he first learned you couldn't come see him. He'd booked a flight out and made sure there wasn't any huge exams around the day.

That morning, he'd gotten up at six just to get ready and look good in time to catch his flight. He'd sent you photos he'd taken earlier when he was sitting in the airport, hoping it didn't look too suspicious.

The absence in texts was his flight over. It wasn't super long, but it was enough that he worried you'd catch onto his plan. From there, he'd gathered his stuff as quickly as he could and grabbed a ride over to your place.

After his story, you made sure to get him some food and snacks, which you happily enjoyed together as he turned on a show. He got a small tour of your student accommodation after the first episode before revealing that he had some plans set up.

Seungmin had made lunch reservations at a place not too far off campus and wanted to take you on a walk there. Of course, you said yes.

The entire way there, Seungmin refused to let go of your hand. He'd swing it along with your steps, chattering on about what was happening and the music he was making. But, no matter what, his fingers were locked with yours.

That was the fun part: Seungmin wasn't usually a big talker. He'd have lots of input to give when you would talk to him, but he wasn't super into initiating his own discussions. Today was different.

So as you walked down the cracked pavement of the sidewalks, your attention was grabbed by your chatty boyfriend. You got to engage with a lot of what he was saying, but it was nice to just walk and listen to him ramble.

Everything seemed more lively. The birds had their own chorus, the grass looked greener, and there were less loud cars blaring their music. By the time you were coming up on the lunch spot, you found your heart contented with the day already, even if you'd only been with Seungmin less than two hours.

"Minnie?" You squeezed his hand softly as you waited at a sidewalk.

Seungmin turned towards you with a smile on his face. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for coming and seeing me," You felt your face flush a little at the thought, "I really don't know how I could've waited any longer without you."

Your boyfriend's big grin couldn't be contained as he let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think I could've waited, either. You've been in my dreams too much lately, and it's been driving me crazy not having you here."

"You see me in your dreams, too?" You asked, recalling the one from the previous night, "It's kind of infuriating, isn't it? It feels so perfect and then it's taken away so quick."

"Yeah, I just couldn't wait another day without having you here with me," Seungmin stopped as you crossed to the other side of the street before pulling you into a hug, "I had to hold you like this for real."

"You're such a dork."

Seungmin snickered as he pulled away from the hug and gave you a quick, yet tender kiss. His lips were soft and tasted sweet, making you miss them the second they were gone. "For you. The rest of the world doesn't matter to me."

"Today really has you in a sentimental mood, huh?" You pulled him in for another kiss, making sure it lasted longer. "Happy birthday."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go get lunch before you make out with me on the street."

#kim seungmin #seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz fic #seungmin skz

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