#how can you lose the person you’ve been with for three years and not care

[wewontbesleeping]

I WOULDN’T MARRY ME EITHER

[gimmeurtmi]

no nut november — seungmin (loser #7)

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader

tags: no nut november mini series, established long term relationship, domestic bliss, ot8 inclusive, smut!!!🔞

warnings: swearing, matching nicknames, bants, breeding kink!!!, talk about babies/having babies, talk about getting pregnant theoretically, mention of birth control and condoms obvs, mention/use of toys, overstimulation, reference to cum as “dirty”, it gets sickingly sweet at some point in the middle, unprotected sex, kink discussion/negotiation

inspo: let’s just say this is self indulgent.

notes: in my defence i have none. also this is the last nnn from me and it’s been the most fun thing to write! i’m so happy so many of you have been enjoying it and i can’t wait to read the last one!!! mwah!

banner by @sluttywonwoo

{ wc: 5623 }

“So we can’t have sex for a month and then I can take you to that AirBnB your sister recommended,” Seungmin explained. He usually talked about weird things after spending an afternoon with the boys—but this might be a new record.

“I thought you were gonna take me there anyway for New Year’s?” You tilted your head to the side. Seungmin wasn’t one to forget plans you two made.

“I was, I mean—I am,” he corrected quickly, “this way I get to take you twice.”

“You could take me twice without having to play this stupid game,” you offered. He nodded, biting on his lip as he blinked at you—his bangs moving into his eyes.

“You don’t wanna do it? Because I’ll tell them they can go f—“

“—no, I wanna play,” you all but pouted, “if anything it would be funny. I don’t think any of them have dealt with as many tours as us. We’re practically pros at months without sex.”

Seungmin frowned his eyebrows at you, a look between disgust and concern painting his face. However, you weren’t wrong.

You’ve been together for more than two years, the longest in your group of friends and you’ve dealt with a lot of time apart from each other. At first it was hard, and then it got easier, and then it got hard again. But after going through more than three months without seeing your boyfriend in person (twice) you really didn’t even consider one month without sex so big of a challenge. When you explained all that to him, he laughed.

“Yeah, I said to them it can’t be that hard.”

“Well some of them are in their honeymoon phase still, they’re probably going at it like bunnies.”

“Speaking of,” Seungmin said, his face growing serious, “if we lose to Minho I will kill someone.”

“Okay,” you patted his shoulder, “we won’t lose, pups.”

“I don’t care if we do! But just not to him,” he emphasised.

“I’ll remind you of that if you’re ever close to breaking, then,” you nodded dutifully.

“Thanks, bubs,” he said softly, kissing you before he finally pressed play on your nightly Netflix marathon.

One by one Seungmin reported the boys losing. First it was Jisung (which surprised absolutely no one) and then it was Jeongin (which made you sigh in relief that he finally spoke up about his feelings) and then it was Hyunjin.

Just like that, almost two weeks have passed.

You weren’t counting. You only knew it was two weeks because Seungmin came over to help you with the groceries.

You lived alone—or rather, Seungmin lived with you when he was tired of the boys and then went back to them when you were tired of him—and so you didn’t need much in your house. You hadn’t had the chance to do any shopping this week since you mainly ate at work with how busy it was getting closer to the end of the year, and Seungmin finally decided to drag you out when he saw the two week old cartoon of milk still in your fridge.

“I’ll clean the fridge,” he offered since he knew you hated doing it, “and you make the list.”

He pulled the stool in front of the fridge and plopped down, already getting rid of the expired products

“Anything else, boss?” You rolled your eyes at him, but squeezed his shoulder in appreciation nonetheless.

He looked up at you, pursing his lips forward as he scrunched his eyes closed.

You leaned down to kiss him, exaggerating the noises as you rubbed his cheek.

“You’re very cute, pups,” you smiled at him.

“And you’re a slob, bubs,” he countered, showing you the very unappealing looking fruit you left in the drawer.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you brushed him off, sitting on the ground next to him as he worked.

You looked at his concentrated face carefully, taking a moment to appreciate the simplicity you got to enjoy with your boyfriend.

“Stop eye-fucking me,” he said simply.

“I was not doing that! I was just enjoying the domesticness,” you argued.

“That is not a word,” he countered without looking away from his task.

“It’s a feeling though,” you shrugged.

He looked over at you, his judgemental eyes staring you down for only a moment before they softened. “So you were having happy thoughts?”

“Is that allowed?”

“Of course it’s allowed,” he giggled, “I just thought you’d start getting horny soon.”

“And why’s that?” You challenged raising your eyebrows.

“Well, it’s usually two weeks after I leave that you start calling me all desperate,” he explains his logic. You chuckle.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, baby,” he starts, fingers raised towards his ear in the shape of a phone as his voice raises up to mimic yours, “I miss you so much, I’m so needy, please Minnie,”

“First of all,” you point at him, “I do not sound like that. And second, do I really need to remind you of the time you sexted me from the airplane to America?”

“That was a different situation,” he shrugged.

“How is me missing you after two weeks worse than you getting on the Mile High club by yourself after like four hours apart?”

“I wasn’t by myself, you were with me,” he explained as he closed the fridge.

“I was on the phone,” you counter.

“You were there in spirit. You’re always with me when I touch my dick.”

You blinked at him. “Uh, aww?”

He giggled, finally standing up and offering his hands to you. “Come on, let’s go.”

Walking through the grocery store was a familiar routine with Seungmin. He’d roll the trolley down the aisles as you’d gather the items around, keeping a slow leisurely pace so you wouldn’t have to rush around him. Occasionally he’d roll by something he wanted and grab at it, easily plopping it into the rest of the pile.

You were glad it was getting cold again, because that meant Seungmin wore one of his many oversized hoodies—grabbing the products between his sweater paws.

More than once you had to halt his stroll just to kiss his lips softly.

“You are getting horny,” he commented after the third time.

“I’m not,” you chuckled at him, “you just look very very cute like this.”

“With a hoodie that’s covered in the smell of your old mouldy food?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Can you never just take a compliment?”

“Can you never just take the loss? You got horny first, admit it,”

“I don’t remember that being part of the bet,” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“It was implied,” he shrugged, pushing the trolley down to the cereal aisle.

You decided to seal the bickering with a small slap on his shoulder, to which he naturally replied with sticking his tongue out to you.

When you stopped next to him to place the cereal in the trolley, he kissed your cheek.

“What else?”

“Shampoo,” you directed him towards the toiletry aisle.

There was a new brand on the shelf, and the bottle looked fancy, so you stood for a few minutes as you debated the now new option with your boyfriend.

He tried to explain to you that all of these were the same anyway, they just smell different, but that was of no interest to you. You had to pick the best shampoo.

Seungmin retired from the debate, using his time to try and catch a new Pokémon on his phone.

He rarely played it, and he wasn’t at all invested in the game like his friends were, but you were taking your time and he didn’t want to be too impatient.

When you finally decided to stick to the brand you always used, Seungmin got back to his slow stroll, absentmindedly grabbing a pack of condoms and throwing it in the pile.

“Why?” You chuckled at him.

“Because we’re out,” he deadpanned.

“And the bet?” You squint your eyes at him.

“Oh, shit,” Seungmin chuckles, “sorry, that was an instinct. We don’t need these.”

He picked up the small red pack, carefully placing it back on the shelf.

“I don’t understand why we need them anyway,” you start casually. It was something you thought about recently, when Seungmin stopped everything you were doing because he couldn’t find any condoms in the dorm. He later blamed Felix for that—but you were honestly just thankful for the early night on that particular occasion.

Still, you felt you’ve been together for a long enough time for that to not matter to him as much as it did.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not like we sleep with other people so I don’t understand why you insist on them so much,” you shrug.

“So, what, I should just get you pregnant then?” He scoffs at you.

You roll your eyes, approaching him with a sigh. You know he knows you take birth control—he’s the one who insisted on having an alarm on his phone too to make sure you don’t forget a day. He knows about your habit of turning off alarms instead of snoozing them.

You also know he knows you didn’t start taking the pills for your sex life but rather to make your periods more regular—but you still thought it might ease his strict view on condoms.

Still, he gave you the perfect opportunity to tease him and so you seize it, in the form of grabbing the front of his hoodie and pouting at him.

“Seungmin, please,” you mock the voice he used before by your fridge, “please put a baby inside me.”

His eyes gap.

“Dumbass,” you push at his shoulders. “You can’t. I’m on birth control and you’re the one who makes sure I never miss one.”

Seungmin remains completely still.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” you ruffle his hair before turning your back to him, making your way down the aisle to look for any beauty products on offer.

Once you leave his vicinity, Seungmin lets out a big breath.

He looks down at his crotch, thankful he wore black jeans today as he could feel himself growing harder and harder the more he repeated your words in his head.

You’ve never said anything like that to him before and the more he thought about it, the more he imagined you saying that while he was fucking you and not in front of a million bottles of shampoo. Then he realised he was leaking in his boxers.

When you ran back to him with a happy skip in your step, showing him the lipstick that was half price he simply smiled at you, nodding wordlessly.

As you cuddled up to him when the pair of you got into bed that night—Seungmin still couldn’t get your voice out of his head. He knew himself well and as much as he wanted to blame his body’s reaction on the fact that he simply didn’t cum for two weeks he knew that wasn’t true. It had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the thought of getting to cum inside you.

He never even considered it before—always going by the very important rule that sex should always involve protection, even if it was with the girl he knew he was going to eventually marry. And even when you told him about your birth control he didn’t consider not using condoms anymore an option. It would be dirty that way, and birth control wasn’t a guarantee, and if anything that just meant that you were using one more method of protection.

But now—his mind didn’t care how dirty it was. All he wanted was to feel you raw.

He wanted to make you beg for his cum, he wanted to make you say that again, tell him to put a baby inside you. Then he wanted to push you more, fuck you so many times your pussy was too full of his cum that he could barely keep his dick inside you.

He was fully hard now.

He groaned silently to himself, willing his brain to stop thinking about this and focus on literally anything else.

At least you were already sleeping—or else you’d be teasing him endlessly about being the one to actually get horny first.

Changbin. Chan. Felix.

“And Minho?” You asked, almost hopefully after Seungmin recalled the traumatic evening of Felix losing.

“No way,” Seungmin clicked his tongue, “that menace is strong.”

You knew from Minho’s girlfriend that they were definitely not having sex—but with barely a week left you wanted him to just break already so Seungmin would go back to normal.

Just like you didn’t expect Felix to last as long as he did, you didn’t expect Seungmin to not even help you cum.

Changbin’s now girlfriend was practically gloating when she retold the story to you at the last game night. All about how “giving” Changbin was before he officially lost.

You also heard from Han’s girlfriend.

It was the only time you hated how close you girls were—having to hear from each one of them how great they were all doing in that department. But it was okay. They’ll all see the Instagram posts from your romantic retreat and that would be your victory.

Still, whenever you asked Seungmin if he could at least touch you he stopped kissing you—saying he knew he wouldn’t control himself if he did that. At first you tried teasing him about it, but it stopped being fun when he simply said no and wouldn’t even tease you back.

There was only one occasion in which he indulged you, sometime before Chan lost, when he walked in on you taking care of the problem by yourself.

“I bought you that dildo for when I’m away, not when I’m in the next room practising,” he tried scolding you, but it wasn’t at all intimidating when his eyes didn’t leave your pussy once.

“Pups, I’m sorry but I’m desperate,” you whined, getting increasingly annoyed at the interruption.

“What about us being in it together? If I can’t cum you shouldn’t be allowed to either,” he tried.

You scoffed.

“You need me,” he added, realising his first argument did not take.

“The only thing I need you for is to make a baby. Other than that I can do everything by myself,” you smiled innocently.

You expected Seungmin to say a variety of things, knowing him so well you practically predicted his retorts before he said them. But you did not expect him to growl at you before he rushed onto the bed, grabbing your chin and kissing you until you couldn’t breath.

At one point he grabbed the dildo from you and fucked you with it until you came more times than you could count.

He made no smug remarks afterwards, just took care of you and then he went for a very long walk.

After that, Seungmin spent most nights at the dorm.

November 30th

You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend as he entered your apartment, bringing the cold air in with him.

“Pups, your face is freezing!” You yelped, before bringing your hands onto his cheeks to warm him up.

Seungmin showed his gratitude by trying to lick your hands.

You kicked his leg lightly before you ushered him inside, sitting him down on the couch.

“Order what you want,” you told him, handing over your phone as you brought your blanket out into the living room.

You didn’t even need to verbalise Seungmin was staying over tonight. You both knew as soon as the clock hit midnight (five hours to go) he would take you for as long and as hard as he could—just like he did whenever he’d come back home after a long time apart.

So until then you’d watch a movie, and maybe talk a bit, and maybe kiss until it was time.

“Done,” he said as the food order was confirmed.

“Oh! I’ll be right back!” You clapped enthusiastically, retreating to your room to grab the very important item still in your possession.

Seungmin squinted his eyes at you when he noticed you were hiding something behind your back—while failing to hide the grin on your face.

When you sat down beside him, grin unstoppable, you eagerly handed him the laminated coupon you saved for this very moment.

One Seungmin Serenade - to be redeemed monthly (T&Cs apply)

Said T&Cs were written on the back in Seungmin’s handwriting, such as “bubs cannot record them” and “don’t ask the same song twice” and “i’m not learning a new song for you” and “if you ask for one after redeeming this then you get no serenades at all don’t test me” and “one (1) additional coupon available on your birthday because i’m nice and unfortunately i love you”.

Seungmin groaned when he saw the ticket, grabbing it from your hands quickly.

“I was really hoping you forgot about it this month,”

“No, I was saving it for this very day,” you grinned.

“I hate that you laminated it,” he shook his head, “you’re a dork.”

“Perhaps,” you shrugged, “but you’re contractually obliged to sing for this dork.”

“You don’t look like PD nim to me,” he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Pups,” you said, as seriously as you could master, “this was your idea.”

“I thought it was stupid enough for you to not agree,” he defended.

“Then you underestimated just how far I’ll go to hear you sing.”

“Let me introduce you to an amazing app,” he said, pulling his phone out and tapping around it, “its called Spotify and if you search Stray K—“

“Kim Seungmin!”

His mouth gapped lightly.

“Not my legal name,” he muttered as he turned the coupon around in his hand.

“As the girlfriend I shouldn’t even have to use your dorky coupon idea and you should sing me to sleep every night—“

“—doesn’t work that way—“

“—you did that when we started dating,” you protested.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “to get in your pants. And after that worked I no longer need to do it every night.”

You slapped his chest, laughing as you said, “do you wanna go another full month, Kim Seungmin?”

“Why are you full naming me?”

“Honour my coupon!” You shoved at his shoulders, biting back your smile as Seungmin’s own smile took over his face.

“Okay, okay,” he grabbed your hands, stopping you from shaking him any longer, “pick your song.”

“Ghost,” you smirked.

“Ahh,” he pointed his finger at you, smirking right back, “you picked that in August so you can’t pick it again.”

“But I have this,” you raised your eyebrows for a moment, revealing one more coupon.

Free Pass - allows bubs to break a rule

“You can’t just make your own free pass!” He scoffed.

“Turn it over,” you all but wink.

Free Pass - allows pups to ask for anything

“Anything?” He blinked at you. “Like, sexual or..?”

“It can be sexual, if I’m comfortable with it,” you nod.

“No, yeah, of course.” Seungmin stared at the card, chuckling lightly when he sees the heart above the i.

“I can use it tonight?” You nod. “Okay. Then Ghost.”

Seungmin opens his phone, finding a karaoke video of the song. You place your head on his lap, like it always is when he sings to you, and close your eyes.

His voice surrounds you, his fingers in your hair, his stomach moving against your head as he takes in deep breathes before the higher notes.

When the song is over and the silence takes over the room again you lift your head up from his lap, wordlessly climbing into it as you wrap your arms around him.

His voice always makes you emotional, especially when he sings only for you, so he’s used to the Koala like hold you have on him once he’s done singing.

He simply rubs your back, indulging in the feeling of you so close as you calm down.

He isn’t used to what you say next.

“Pups?”

“Mhm?”

“When we have a baby will you sing them to sleep every night?”

He coughs. “Not every night. I’m not a wind up monkey.”

Good cover, he thinks to himself, but it’s taking every muscle in his body to calm his heart from how fast it’s beating.

“I’ll give you a baby and you can’t sing the poor thing to sleep?”

Focus.

“I think I need to give you a baby first,” he chuckled, swallowing as soon as the words leave his mouth. Wrong this to say, he knows, because now his dick is very interested in the conversation.

You notice instantly.

“Sorry, am I too close?” You offer, lifting one of your legs up to climb off his lap. Seungmin stops you quickly.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“There’s only a few hours left, pups,” you smile, kissing his jaw softly.

“We’ll eat and then watch whatever you want and then officially win this bet,” he smiles back, rubbing his thumbs against your hips, “sounds good, bubs?”

You nod.

“Then we can start working on that baby you won’t sing for,” you roll your eyes dramatically—just in case your boyfriend doesn’t get that you’re joking.

“W-what?” Seungmin swallows, his mouth completely dry now and he doesn’t think it’s from the singing.

“I was joking,” you say quickly. “I’m still on birth control.”

“Yes, I know you’re on birth control, Y/N,” he shakes his head.

“Not my legal name,” you mock him.

He squeezes your hips as he looks down between your bodies, trying his hardest not to roll you against him.

“Can we, uh, I wanna,” he huffs, “let me tell you what I wanna use my pass for now just in case you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Okay,” you let the subject change slide.

Until you realise it’s not a subject change at all.

“Since when do you have a breeding kink?” You ask him once he tells you what it is he wants.

“It’s not a breeding kink,” he shakes his head at you.

“Pups, you want me to beg you for a baby while having sex. That is literally the definition.”

“I don’t want a baby now, I just wanna fuck you raw,” he tried to downplay it, he isn’t even sure why. Seungmin knows you aren’t judging him, you never do, but he never wanted something so badly before—and you saying no might actually drive him crazy. He wants to be gentle about this.

“Fine then be more specific,” you try, “do you just want to try it with no condom or do you actually want me to say the words?”

“The words,” he confesses slowly.

“And what words exactly?” You try, wanting to make sure you get his wish right. “Is it just ‘put a baby in me’ or is it like ‘I want your cum’ or something different like ‘paint my cunt’—“

“—shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he groans loudly, lifting his hips off the couch eagerly as his head falls back. He squeezed the top of your thighs incredibly tight.

“Right. So all of the above,” you note with a nod.

Just as Seungmin is certain he’s going to drag your body against his cock the doorbell rings, making you lift off him easily as you grab the food from the delivery man.

You calmly grab the food out the bags, grabbing plates and cutlery as you distribute the food between the plates.

Seungmin gets up from the couch and walks straight towards you.

“You’ll get the food in a sec, pups,” you chuckle at him.

Seungmin grabs your hands, halting your movements as he takes a step closer to you.

“Can we eat later?”

“Like, after the movie?” You blink at him.

“No,” he says, eyes dark and focused on you. It sends a chill down your legs. “After I fuck a baby into you.”

“Minnie,” you sigh, unable to ignore the way you felt his words deep in your core, “it’s almost nine. Do you really wanna lose so close to the end?”

“I don’t care,” he starts, grabbing your chin and tilting it upwards, allowing him to plant open kisses on your skin.

“But Minho—“

“—don’t care,” he mumbles into your skin.

“You specifically told me to remind you how you don’t wanna lose to him,” you try, although you aren’t sure what you’re fighting for anymore.

Sure it was Seungmin’s idea, but the thought of him fucking you raw was really fucking hot—and seeing him getting extremely desperate over it was enough to make your panties stick to your body with the wetness now coating them. It didn’t help that you last had sex thirty one days ago.

Still, were you really going to let him give up with so little time left?

“And now I’m specifically telling you to take your clothes off and let me.. what was it… paint your cunt.”

Yeah. You were going to let him give up with so little time left.

You crash your lips into his, swallowing both your moans into the kiss as the pair of you manoeuvre around your flat until you find the bedroom.

It doesn’t matter that you crash into a wall once or twice, or that Seungmin practically jams the doorknob into your back, because soon enough you fall onto the bed with him on top of you, pulling your clothes off like you’re the first sign of water he’s seen after a month in the desert.

Your hands tangle in his hair as you keep kissing—teeth clashing against his braces.

“Ow, fuck,” you groaned, pushing at his shoulders.

Seungmin understood what you needed, lifting himself up by his forearms.

“Let’s slow down for like two seconds,” you sighed, breathing in deeply. He nods, kissing your cheek softly before he takes a moment to catch his breath as well.

You look over at the clock behind him. 21:24.

“Are you sure?” You ask one more time.

“Ask me again and you don’t get to cum tonight at all,” Seungmin said, far too simply.

You groaned.

“Fine, but if I hear you bitch about losing to him once—“

“—mention Minho again and the same applies,” he dips his head between your breasts, wasting no time as he wraps his lips around your nipple. You whine softly, bringing your hands around his neck as you trail your nails up into his hair.

He hums against your bud before he pulls away with a small pop, trailing kisses down your stomach.

“Minnie, skip the fucking foreplay and just fuck me,” you groan. He looks up at you with a smirk but says nothing, instead pulling down his boxers.

You reach out for his dick, wrapping your hand around it and you both moan at the feeling. He’s heavy in your hand, and so warm, and you instantly pull him closer to you, aligning the tip with your entrance.

“You’re fucking eager,” he comments, having the audacity to tease you when you both know he’s the one who lost his patience.

You can’t even think of a rebuttal as he sinks all the way inside you.

You both breath heavily as you adjust to the familiar stretch, Seungmin’s eyes scrunched shut. You know better than to say anything, already feeling him twitch against your walls.

After a few moments he starts moving, much slower than you’d like, eyes still shut.

“This won’t be impressive,” he warns you, already losing his rhythm as his jaw clenchs visibly.

“It’s okay, baby,” you say softly, rubbing his shoulder, “we’ll use the vibe later if you need. Just want you to cum inside me first.”

“Don’t—“ he groans loudly, “—don’t fucking say that or I will seriously cum right now.”

“I won’t judge you for that at all,” you say sweetly, kissing his jaw as he moves closer to you, “this is the first time you’ve felt my cunt raw, Minnie, it’s okay if you lose your mind over how good it feels.”

“Your cunt feels so good like this,” he moans loudly, “so fucking warm.”

You moan at his praise. “Imagine how warm it’ll feel with your cum coating my walls.”

And that’s all it takes for him to groan loudly, pushing in impossibly deeper as you feel his dick twitching inside you—the warm feeling settling deep inside your stomach as he cums.

It’s a lot, his orgasm crashing into him so quickly, and he all but crashes on top of you, his dick still buried inside you.

You kiss his forehead as he calms down, his breath fanning against your chest.

As soon as it starts to even out you open your mouth to speak, to reassure him that you didn’t mind how fast that was, but a yelp replaces whatever words you came up with when Seungmin shoots up and reaches for the drawer in your nightstand.

He easily pulls out your favourite vibe—the one he bought you for your first Valentine’s Day as a couple—and with no warning he presses the toy against your clit.

He’s still inside you and with the vibrations against you, your moans leave you without you even noticing. Soon, Seungmin starts thrusting into you again slowly.

“There you go, beautiful,” he says, eyes fixed on the toy, “gonna let me fuck my cum deeper into you?”

“Fuck, Minnie,” you whine, “baby, please.”

He chuckles cockily, his confidence always skyrockets when he hears you beg for him. He flicks his wrist, moving the vibe from side to side quickly as he slows down his thrusts.

His cock reaches deep inside you, nudging against your most sensitive spot, your wetness and his allowing him to slip in and out so incredibly easily. When he leans down to suck on your collarbone you whine out.

“I’m close, I’m close,” you start chanting, so he turns the setting up on the vibrator—grinning as you all but scream in response.

“Go on, my love, I got you,” he encourages, and with one final deep thrust your walls clench around him tightly.

Seungmin doesn’t pull out, nor does he move the vibrator away from your clit, and after your second orgasm in a row you let out a strangled moan from the overstimulation.

“Off, off, off,” you squirmed, causing your boyfriend to quickly move the toy away from you and turn it off.

Everything around you is sticky and sweaty and wet—the mess between your thighs started to leak a long time ago, pooling on the sheets.

Seungmin planted kisses on your temple, slowly, giving you the time you needed to calm down from the pleasure.

The aftershock of two orgasms made your walls practically flutter, clenching around Seungmin a few times. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as he sighed deeply.

“Bubs, you have no fucking idea how good this feels,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Yeah,” you sigh, running your fingers up and down his back soothingly. “It’s a little weird, but it’s also really hot that I can feel it inside me.”

“Yeah,” he kisses your neck. “Wanna keep going?”

You decided whatever Seungmin asked for you’d give him. You decided that the night you realised you loved him, but you decided that all over again when he kept asking if you could keep going—insisting on making you cum at least twice after each one of his, growing fascinated by the way his cum would spill out of your cunt as you came down from your high.

After the fourth round, Seungmin finally tapped out.

He crashed on his back, hand tangled around your shoulders as he filled his lungs with as much air as he could get.

“Holy shit, Minnie,” you chuckle breathlessly.

“Holy shit indeed,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s the best sex we ever had.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you laugh.

You use the very little strength you have to reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

The silence takes over the room when even your breathing becomes quieter—so quiet, in fact, that Seungmin knows you’ve fallen asleep.

“Hey, hey!” He shook your intertwined hands. “Wake up!”

“No,” you mumbled back.

“We have to shower after all that, bubs, wake up.”

“No,” you whined, “sleep.”

“Bubs, there’s cum everywhere. We need to change the sheets and clean you out and drink,” he reminded you, squeezing your hand. He leaned over, carefully, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Eventually you listen to your boyfriend and get up, cleaning yourself and the bed and finally eating the food you ordered. Your hand never leaves his, locked together tightly, as that is the one thing Seungmin asked for as his aftercare and you always made sure to give him exactly that.

When you finally get back into your clean bed—sometime before four in the morning—Seungmin mumbled angrily to himself.

“I’ll tell him tomorrow and that smug asshole can get his stupid win,” he seethes.

“Okay, puppy,” you chuckle at him. The only thing you could think about was the pleasure still tingling around your body, how you’ve known each other for so long and somehow he still managed to surprise you tonight with his stamina, about how hot that all was. But Seungmin was still thinking about the competition.

He kissed your lips sweetly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thanks for trying that out with me.”

“It was incredible, baby,” you grinned at him, “thanks for getting so horny over the thought of it all.”

Seungmin groaned in response.

When Seungmin woke up around midday he reached for his phone, checking the time. And maybe a part of him was relieved to finally see December on that date.

There were a few notifications waiting for his attention, but he opened the group chat first.

He sighed heavily when he read over Chan’s text that came in at six in the morning, knowing he sent it before he went to sleep and definitely not because he woke up early.

Bang Chan: so who won?

[thedovesaredying]

Werewolf!141 x F!Reader | Sneak Peek

You've been assigned to Task Force 141 as their designated Werewolf Handler. It will be your job to ensure that the pack work together as coherently as possible through any means necessary. You think it will be an easy enough assignment, just help out the Task Force and then move on to the next one. Unfortunately for you, the rest of 141 aren't so willing to let go of their new human.

A/N: Just a little snippet from an AU I'm playing around with. It'll mostly be a smut-based fic.

Warnings: Mentioned Child Abuse (Simon's Past)

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next

Out of every member of Task Force 141, Ghost is the only person you’ve struggled to get along with. That isn’t to say he’s rude or deliberately trying to make you feel uncomfortable with them, he’s simply not as welcoming as all the others. He has his reasons for that, you know, probably some kind of attempt at keeping you safe, but it’s beginning to get on your nerves.  

You’re a human, the rest of your team are not. A whole pack of werewolves with you right in the middle of it. While normally you would be touched that someone cares so much for your welfare, you’ve spent years learning how to handle werewolves and you’re far from a rookie. It’s gone from being sweet to being nothing but irritating.  

You’re their designated handler, so it’s vital that all of you can work well as a team. You’ve met three of the wolves – Price, Gaz and Soap’s - and for the most part they’re good fun to work with.  

Soap, by far, has the clingiest wolf. He follows you around base, tail wagging and tongue lolling as he acts like your own personal shadow. He’s playful and loves nothing more than to run circles around you while you’re trying to work. According to his file, he comes from a large family of other wolves, so he’s well socialised and both halves of his personality, human and wolf, work together in perfect harmony.  

Gaz’s wolf is a little more reserved when it comes to spending time with those outside of the pack, but he’s just as friendly toward you as Soap, if a little less excitable. He has a beautiful, sleek black coat, unlike Soap’s shaggy brown mop of fur. You’re the only human who can run your fingers through his soft fluff without potentially losing a finger for disturbing his luscious locks.  

Your Captain has the typical grey colouring, with some white sprinkled across his muzzle. He’s the very picture of a regal, perfectly poised wolf. The two sergeants might be unruly when playing together and enjoy riling up one another, but both heed Price’s commands without fail.  

Ghost, however, is an unknown.  

During the full moon your pack run out across the field on base, play wrestling and doing their best to smother you with affection. It’s an evening of fun and a perfect way for the group to destress every month. But Ghost? He’s never there with you.  

While Gaz and Soap grew up with other werewolves teaching them how to behave and coexist with their inner wolves, and Price has had decades of working in the military to develop a vice-like grip on the control over his own, Ghost never had such an opportunity. He wasn’t born as a werewolf, rather turned into one.  

Werewolves born from others of their kind have good relationships with their wolf halves, having existed together even within the womb. Those who are turned suddenly find themselves with a whole separate creature suddenly inhabiting their minds and bodies, and the results of having their psyche torn to pieces so violently can be horrific. You’ve seen firsthand what kinds of aggressive, murderous beasts can be born from a newly changed werewolf rejecting their other half.  

Ghost is one such beast. Turned as a child by his own father in an attempt to make him bigger and stronger, only for it to backfire and create a terrifying monster instead. Instead of learning to embrace his wolf on a full moon and finding others of his kind to play and grow with, a young Simon’s wolf found himself locked up in a metal cage. He would be muzzled and beaten during his father’s attempts at “training” the wolf, then left either chained to a pole or in the tiny cage without food or water for the remainder of his change.  

And that’s merely what Ghost’s medical file is willing to disclose, the majority of the rest blacked out completely. You’re fortunate enough to have access to the highly classified documents, but even they give you very little to work with.  

Price has told you just how difficult it is for the other wolves to work with Simon’s wolf. He never learned how to socialise with other wolves, and it took months before they could all cohabitate without fights breaking out. But still now, years on, Ghost still refuses to spend the full moon with the rest of the pack.  

You were requested specifically to work with the pack to try and help Ghost open up a little and learn to accept his other half. No doubt it’ll be a difficult task given Ghost’s history, but this isn’t your first rodeo. By the end of this you’ll have Ghost’s wolf rolling over for belly rubs like the good boy you know he is.  

[janeyseymour]

Fix This Mess Before You Lose Me

hello! an anon asked for this!

summary: your harbored feelings for a certain redhead make themselves known. she flat out rejects you, but she realizes how egregiously she's screwed up once you start distancing yourself from her. she has to fix this mess.

WC: ~3.95k

You’ve been working at Willard R. Abbott Elementary for the last… three years. And genuinely, you love teaching here. 

The kids are… well, they’re kids. They have their moments of being little shits, as all kids are from time to time, but they have a rich appreciation for what you teachers provide, and they understand just how hard you all work to keep them afloat. You go above and beyond to make sure that they are well cared for both inside and outside of the school, and that does not get past them. You’ve had kids tell you that you are their hero, that you’re like a second parent to them, that they hope to be like you when you grow up. You know you made the right choice teaching in an underfunded district and area because you are genuinely making the biggest difference in some of these kiddos’ lives- and that is all you could’ve ever hoped for. 

But aside from the kids, you absolutely adore your colleagues. Ava, although she’s always up to some sort of shenanigans that you have to help get her out of, truly does what she thinks is best for these kids- even if it’s not necessarily something you would take out of the principal handbook. Mr. Johnson, one of history’s biggest enigmas as far as you and most of your coworkers are concerned, is a giant part of Abbott’s history and culture. Jacob Hill, the dorky middle grades teacher who has somehow made his way into the elementary group, is always the first to offer you something when you aren’t feeling well- as long as it’s natural and herbal. Gregory Eddie, although perhaps the most quiet of the group, has a kind soul and shows you that he cares for you rather than speaking it. Janine Teagues, the upbeat second grade teacher who practically bounces everywhere she goes, is always so excited to see you and makes you feel seen and heard. Barbara Howard, perhaps the classiest lady that you have ever met, is always there to pick you up when you need it. And Melissa Schemmenti? While she loves to give off that she is a hard ass, mob-like woman, she has a heart of gold underneath all of the leather and eyeliner. She made you prove yourself upon signing your contract with the district, but once she deemed you worthy, you were stuck to her like glue. She makes sure you are well fed (providing you with a homemade Schemmenti meal almost every day), she is always asking if you need any copies made (under the guise of getting Ashley out of her room), there’s always a fresh cup of coffee for you when you need it (she’ll always claim that she needed it too, just a coincidence), and you genuinely think that if it came to it she would take a bullet for you.

If you’re being really honest with yourself, you find yourself attracted to the second grade teacher that you share a wall with. Sure, she’s hot as hell- you can’t deny that- but what you’re really attracted to is her personality. You love when you both have your doors open and you can hear her praising her students. You love when you both come out and simply stand next to each other, both with steaming hot mugs of coffee in your hands, to greet your children in the morning. You swoon when she leans against your doorframe and knocks with her signature knock to get your attention during prep periods. It’s the way that she always seems to know when you need a break, because she can hear the tension in your voice when one of your kids is testing you, and she comes over to ‘ask for a cup of coffee’ and tells you that she’ll stand in between both doorframes if you wouldn’t mind running down and getting it for her. You love the way that she is fiercely protective over those who are in her circle, and you are included in that.

So yeah, it’s safe to say that the feelings that you harbor for the fiery redheaded second grade teacher are quite strong. And for the most part, she seems to reciprocate them. The relationship that the two of you have isn’t at all like her and Barbara, who are like two peas in a pod and are as Ava puts it, “heterosexual work wives for life”. It isn’t the like her relationship with Janine in the way that she is like the chaotic wine aunt with Barbara being Janine’s mother. She’s much like Jacob’s aunt too. And it isn’t like her relationship with Gregory, which you don’t see much of but you know is a strong one. It’s more… domestic, soft, loving.

And it’s gotten to a point that you see her outside of school now too- she enjoys going shopping with you- something that she apparently only used to do with Barbara. You and the redhead lesson plan together at local coffee shops because you’re on the same team, but those coffee shop dates never have Janine involved despite the fact that she’s also on your team. She loves making dinner with you while the two of you split a bottle of wine. 

And that’s exactly where you’re at now: on her front step, clad in a pair of joggers and a frumpy jean jacket with a bottle of champagne in your hand to celebrate the fact that you were both able to complete your report cards for the marking period in time. There are butterflies in your stomach as she opens the door, and you can’t help but smile as she wears an outfit that is similar to yours.

“Hey, hun,” she smiles at you as she nods her head. Her eyes go up and down at your figure. “C’mon in. I have the stroganoff started, so all you have to do is sit your pretty little self down while I make you a fantastic meal.”

You playfully roll your eyes at her comment but follow her inside. She sets the champagne flutes next to you as you expertly pop it and pour the glasses. You raise yours up, as does she.

“To a weekend of no grading and worrying about getting report cards in,” you sigh happily.

“To us,” is all she says, but it makes your heart absolutely melt.

She finishes up dinner while the two of you chat about your days and the absolutely ridiculous things that your kids said and did today.

(“Dylan said, ‘Oh, what the fuck?’ when he was trying to read his book and sounding out the word wasn’t helping,” you snort.

“You think that’s bad?” Melissa turns to you. “Kenneth decided he needed a haircut as we were packing up. It’s a miracle I got home in time to make dinner.”)

It’s plated before you know it, and the meal in front of you smells absolutely delicious. Once you’ve both cleared your plates, you find yourself on the couch again- the one that you got her to finally take the ridiculously uncomfortable plastic cover off of- as she feeds you cannolis.

It’s so warm and soft… and with the bit of liquid courage that you have from the champagne, you lean in and kiss her.

But when you expect her to kiss back, she doesn’t. You pull away, and she’s frozen, eyes wide with shock.

“Y/N?”

“I-” you blush. “I thought that- I- I have feelings for you, and I thought that with everything that we’ve been doing, you had feelings for me, and I- I’m sorry. I guess I misinterpreted.”

“Uh, yeah,” she states rather bluntly. “You did.”

You sigh and stand. “I’ll see myself out.”

“No, hun, you don’t have-”

“No, I know when my presence isn’t wanted or when I need to head out, and now is one of those moments,” you state as you grab your things and practically run for the door. You close it and are in your car before she can do anything. She’s about to reach for the door knob when she sees you peel out of her driveway.

You don’t know how you make it home. It’s pouring buckets outside, and the tears that started to fall once you pulled out of your coworker’s driveway only continue to flow. You curl up in bed after mixing yourself a rather strong drink, and you cry. You mourn the loss of a wonderful friendship and a rejection from possibly the most beautiful person on the planet.

You spend the weekend in bed, ignoring any and all communication from the outside world- including the text from Melissa apologizing for her reaction, and she hopes nothing changes between the two of you.

Come Monday, you entirely pull back, changing your morning routines as much as you hate to do that. You do not want to have to see the second grade teacher who practically laughed in your face when you told her you had feelings for her. You show up to work as early as possible, throw your lunch in the refrigerator and head out as soon as you can to just narrowly avoid the redhead. You forgo hanging out in the staff lounge to catch up on some work that you would usually do in the comfort of Melissa’s home while she makes you dinner. You keep your door closed and your lights off while you prepare for the students, and when it’s time for them to start trickling in is when you finally open your door. You usually stand outside your door to greet your kids, but doing that means you would see the woman that you are actively avoiding- so you stay inside. You don’t dare to head out of your classroom until you see her class pass you for special, and then when you make your way back to your classroom, you close and lock the door. During your lunch period, you absolutely book it in and out of the room, acting as though you’re on the phone to avoid any sort of confrontation from the other teachers. And you’re out of the building at the end of the day before anyone can find you or say anything.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Barbara asks her best friend.

“No,” the redhead shrugs. “She’s been pretty out of sight today.” She isn’t willing to admit just yet that she’s the reason you are avoiding everyone. She isn’t ready for the speech that Barbara will no doubt give her about how she should’ve been more sensitive towards you and your feelings- she’s well aware that she didn’t handle the situation properly. She also knows that sometimes you need a day when your feelings are too big for your body to handle. So she doesn’t seek you out. 

She half-expects you to show up at dinner that night, and she does end up making extra in case you do show. You don’t. For the first time on a Monday in a long time, she ends up eating dinner alone. And it’s… not a pleasant feeling. She finds that she misses being able to decompress with you like she usually does. She really misses it.

Melissa has a half a mind to text you, but you hadn’t answered her text over the weekend. She doubts you’ll answer this one.

Still, she sends, Missed having you over for dinner tonight.

You see that text and wonder why she’s taunting you. She rejected you, especially the way that she did, and she still expected you over for dinner? You knew she was crazy, but not that crazy. 

That week passes, and you do everything in your power to avoid her and her friends. It just hurts too much. 

Finally, the following week, Janine seeks you out while you’re putting your lunch away- or rather, she stumbles upon you. She has her hands filled, but that doesn’t stop her from smiling in your direction.

“Hey, Y/N!” the second grade teacher that didn’t reject you grins. “Where have you been lately?”

You shrug. “Just have a lot of stuff going on at the moment.”

“Well, when it starts to dwindle down, you should really start hanging out with us again! We miss you and all the spunk you bring to the group.”

You have to laugh at that. You don’t know what spunk she’s talking about. You hardly say anything when you’re with them because you can’t get a word in between her and Jacob. You mostly just take it all in, and occasionally you add a snarky comment, getting head nods of approvals or full out belly laughs from the two veteran teachers that you used to love spending time with. 

“Yeah,” you hum noncommittally. You know you won’t ever be a part of that group again. “Well, I gotta go get some work done.”

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday pass as the prior week had for you. But on Wednesday, as you’re leaving, Barbara corners you.

“Sweetheart, where on Earth have you been?”

“Busy,” you tell her quietly as you continue to gather your various bags. 

She raises a brow. “Doing?”

“Schoolwoork really started piling up on me,” you say softly. “And I’ve been applying to graduate schools… and other jobs.”

“Other jobs?” she asks you, clearly shocked. “I thought you loved it here.”

“I do,” you mumble. “But I don’t know how much longer I can work here.”

“And why would that be?”

You purse your lips, but you don’t respond. You just simply give her a shrug of your shoulders as you avoid eye contact.

“Y/N, can I tell you what I’ve been observing?” at your nod, she continues. “Something happened last weekend… between you and Melissa, I’m assuming?”

You nod slowly.

“So you’ve been avoiding all of us,” the kindergarten teacher states. “Because you believe that we are Melissa’s friends and not yours. You assume that leaving her alone and distancing yourself from her will be better than continuing on as you have.”

Again, you nod.

“But what I’ve observed from my work wife is that she’s angry. She’s upset that you’re avoiding her. She misses you.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have laughed in my face when I told her I had feelings for her,” you mutter, not thinking the veteran teacher heard you. You clear your throat before speaking more clearly. “I’m sorry- I’ve just been busy. I haven’t been avoiding her.”

“You have, and we both know it,” Barbara clicks her tongue. “She and I spoke about what happened at lunch today, and-”

“She told the group?”

“She only told me when I cornered her to ask her why you haven’t been around and why she’s been pitching a damn fit at Janine lately.”

“What do you mean she’s pitching a fit at Janine?” you furrow a brow.

Barbara smirks and crosses her arms over her chest. “It means that Janine mentioned talking to you the other day, and Melissa is jealous she caught you before she could.”

“She can get over it,” you sigh. “I have to go, Barb. Have a nice night.” You brush past her as she flounders for her words, and then she’s heading into Melissa’s room.

“Why did you reject her?” Barbara asks softly.

Melissa shrugs. “I- I’m me… I’m a none-your-business year old woman, and she’s so young. She’s gorgeous- and I know I tell everyone I’m a Philly eleven, but you and I both know that’s me hiding my insecurities about my looks and body. I just… if I thought if I gave into my feelings for her and then she left, I would be a wreck- it’s just not worth the risk.”

“Tell me something,” the kindergarten teacher asks. “Do you really think she would leave you? That girl practically worships the ground that you walk on and follows you around with puppy dog eyes.”

“I don’t know,” the redhead sighs quietly. “I just… don’t have much to offer. She has the rest of her life ahead of her to settle down, get married, have kids if she wants. I can only offer her two of those things.”

“I know for a fact Y/N isn’t deadset on getting married or having kids, and I know she would want to settle down with you,” Barbara tuts. “I think she’s worth the risk for you, Melissa. And if you don’t come to a conclusion quick, you may lose her anyway and be a wreck anyway.”

“I don’t know,” the second grade teacher mumbles. “All I’ll tell you is if you don’t act quick, she’s going to transfer, and you’ll lose her forever.” And then Barb turns on her heel and exits the classroom. “Think about it!” she calls over her shoulder.

Of course, those words throw Melissa for a loop. The redhead doesn’t want to lose you forever. She grabs her bags and books it to her car. She knows what she has to do. She stops at the wine store and picks up your favorite bottle before heading to the grocery store and picking up a beautiful bouquet of flowers. She’s pulling up to your townhouse before she knows it. With shaking hands, she grabs the flowers and wine and knocks on your front door. 

You open it, not quite sure who to expect- it might be Barbara, it could even just be the mailman. But no. It’s Melissa.

You sniffle quietly, refusing to make eye contact with her. “You come to laugh in my face some more?”

“No,” she says softly as she holds out the flowers and wine for you. “I came to apologize and grovel, and beg you to stop avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” you sigh as you lean against the door, folding your arms over you chest- you won’t take the bouquet and bottle. “I’m just… slowly fading myself out of the school.”

“Please don’t do that,” she whispers, and you swear you hear the low voice crack just slightly. “Please. You’re the best we have at Abbott.”

“I can go be the best at another local school,” you breathe. “I love the kids, but I know I’ll love the kids anywhere I go, and I won’t feel terrible with my coworkers like I do right now.”

“Y/N,” Melissa pleads. “Please.”

“What?” you bite back, and you can’t help but feel a little bad at the way she flinches at your sharp voice. “Why would I stay and feel the awful rejection everyday? Please explain to me why I would stay and grovel when I could go somewhere else where I won’t feel like an absolute idiot for falling for-”

She cuts you off, throwing the bottle of wine and the bouquet of flowers on your couch by the front door, before grabbing you and kissing you deeply.

You push her away. “Don’t. You already rejected me, and I made my peace with it. Don’t do this because you want me to stay at Abbott.”

“Y/N, hun,” Melissa starts, but you cut her off.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t get to call me hun anymore,” you state. 

She nods dejectedly. “Y/N, I’m not doing this because I just want you to stay at Abbott… I mean, I do want you to stay at Abbott, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because… I was an idiot to reject you the other night, and I was rude the way I did it. The truth is…” she scratches the back of her head as she tries to think of how she’s going to confess her feelings to you. “The truth is: I have feelings for you too. I always have. But I buried them so far down because I thought that you would never reciprocate those feelings-”

“So when I kissed you and told you that I had feelings for you, that wasn’t clear enough?” you raise a brow.

“-I thought that you would never reciprocate those feelings,” she repeats. “I also thought that if we ever did decide to date, because of my track record with relationships, it would end in flames. And I would never want anything with you to end up in flames.”

“I’d say this past week did,” you retort. 

“Will you stop with the snarky comments and just let me try to explain myself?!” the redhead snaps a little.

You roll your eyes but gesture for her to continue.

“I would be destroyed if whatever we have between us was ruined,” she says softly. “And… if I’m being honest, I was hesitant because of my own self-doubt. I- I haven’t had great relationships in the past- ended up in divorce and a failed proposal. I know I say that I’m a Philly Eleven, but I’m masking the insecurities I have over my looks when I know that you are the true Philly Eleven at Abbott. I- I don’t have much to offer. I don’t go out and party, I don’t want to get married, I’m past the age of having kids of my own… but you? You’re a gorgeous woman with a good head on your shoulders and your whole life ahead of you. All I can offer is some damn good food and wine, and maybe a trivia night here or there if I’m not exhausted and overstimulated from my kids.”

“So you came here to tell me why you could never date me?” you ask.

“I came here to swallow my pride and tell you that even with all of my hesitations and doubts, I’m willing to take the risk and jump… for you,” she bites her lip and looks to you nervously. “If you’re still willing to have me.”

“I-” you unfold your arms and open them. She’s embracing you immediately, and you cling to her as though she’s all that’s holding you to this earth. When you pull back though, you’re frowning.

“So… I guess this is where I accept that after I rejected you, you reject-”

You roll your eyes and press your lips to hers gently. When you pull away, you tell her what you’ve been up to for the past week and a half. “I did apply to other schools in the area… I have an interview tomorrow after work.”

“Cancel it. Stay at Abbott where you belong. Stay with me,” she says quickly. “Please.”

You nod. “Well, come in,” you tell her. “If I’m going to be cancelling this interview, I’m gonna need a nice Schemmenti meal and some wine to get up the courage to email them a ‘regretful’ apology that I’ve decided that I’m right where I belong.”

Come the next day, Melissa drives the two of you into work. You resume what you missed so much the last week- your usual morning routine. You make the coffee while she puts your lunches away, and then she fixes the coffee as you turn on the television to watch the morning news. When everyone else trickles in, they’re delighted to be graced with your presence again. 

“All caught up on your work?” Janine grins as she takes a seat on one of the couches.

You smile back at her from your place next to Melissa. “Yeah, something like that.”

Only Barbara knows the real reason that you’re back to hanging out with your school crew- and she can’t wait to hear about all of the juicy gossip after school today when her and Melissa go shopping in the clearance section of the mall. She smiles to herself as she sips her coffee and gives her work wife a head nod in approval of her decisions.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Find Your Way Back Home: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: smut, virgin!reader, oral fem!receiving, age-gap romance, angst

Summary: Dean purposely kept you out of the hunting game so you could focus on school and getting your degree. You still help out wherever you can, and that includes being there for Dean in his personal life as much as you can in his hunting life.

Author’s Note: This is the second part of six parts of the commission for @winchester-sinchester. Dean is twenty-six, the reader is eighteen, and Sam is twenty-four.

x

You stare out your dorm window in thought. You haven’t heard from Sam or Dean in a week. Are they alive? Did some monster finally catch up to them and kill them? Are they purposely ignoring you? You’ve been a steady force in their lives since you took down your first vampire eight years ago even if you weren't hunting with them together.

Whenever they would be in town, they’d hit you up and ask you to come along with them. John was with them for a few years until Dean and Sam got old enough to take care of themselves. Then it became only you three, which you preferred. You never liked how John treated his sons when he was with them.

Every time they packed up to leave for the next town, you begged them to take you with them. Dean didn’t want to deprive you of getting an education since you weren't born into the life like they were, so he convinced you to stay in your group home and in school. You studied hard to pass your classes while studying the monster world. The local library had more books on monsters than you thought, so you spent a lot of your time there. On days you weren't studying, you were in that same park practicing shooting and honing your fighting skills against trees.

Sam became impressed with your progress but it wasn’t his approval you were seeking. It was Dean’s. At fourteen when all your friends were experiencing romantic thoughts for the boys in your grade for the first time, you were experiencing them for Dean. He was twenty-two and so much older than you but you couldn’t help but have a major crush on him. Was it wrong to want his touch at such a young age?

He never did anything with you, of course, and you never pushed the idea. You just settled on fantasizing about him and rejecting any boy that came your way in high school. While all your friends were getting their firsts--kisses, losing their virginities, going on dates--you were at home wishing you were doing that with Dean. 

By the time you were sixteen, you touched yourself to the thought of Dean for the first time. By the time you were eighteen, you were planning on taking those fantasies to the next level. You’re an adult now and fully capable of going after what and who you want.

The birds outside your window chirp happily pulling you from your thoughts. You really need to get your homework done if you want to pass this class. Not only did Dean encourage you to stay in school, he encouraged you to go to college. Fighting and breaking into places was cool for a while until you got a taste of technology. Hacking and making code became a passion of yours so your major is in Computer Science. You’re only a Freshman but you’re passionate enough to complete your degree.

Your phone rings and seeing his name pop up on your phone distracts you from your responsibilities. A blush starts to creep up your neck, your heart flutters, and butterflies erupt in your stomach. He’s twenty-six and you’re eighteen. There is no doubt in your mind that he is going to break your heart, but you’ve always been a live-in-the-moment kind of girl.

“Hi, Dean,” you smile when you pick it up.

“What are you doing?”

His voice sounds rough like he’s trying to suppress his emotions. He’s always been very good at that.

“Homework.”

“Open your window.” There is no screen on your window since your roommate almost fell through it trying to jump on your bed when she got drunk. You haven’t had the heart to tell your RA about it. You open your window and look down at the ground to see Dean standing there looking up at you. Damn, he looks pissed. “Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?”

Thank God your roommate isn’t home right now. You run down to the first floor to let Dean in. Only residents of the building are accessed to key cards that get inside the building. It helps with random people trying to come in whenever they want. It’s mostly for the creeps trying to follow home a bunch of college girls.

Dean doesn’t say anything to you on the journey back to your dorm. He’s never been here before, and you’re suddenly conscious of the random items everywhere. If you had known he was coming, you’d have cleaned a little bit. Dean walks into your bedroom and chuckles at the splashes of color everywhere. Pillows of different colors, the pink on your walls, a few posters on the wall, and nothing like he’d expect.

“Cute room,” he finally says.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not doing too well, sweetheart.” You wait for him to continue. “Sam’s going off to college. Stanford.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

Dean snaps his head to you and glares angrily. You’re not sure if he’s angry at himself, Sam, or you.

“He’s fucking leave the family like I don’t fucking matter.”

He sits on the edge of your bed so you take a seat next to him.

“I’m sure that’s not true at all.” You’ve been with them long enough to know that Sam has always butted heads with John. Dean obeys him without a second though but Sam is the rebellious one. “Maybe he wants more than the life your dad forced him into.”

“It’s always been just me and him. It’s always been about putting Sammy first. Now he wants to leave as if everything I’ve done for him doesn’t matter.”

“You do matter,” you whisper. “He knows what you’ve done for him. Him going away to college doesn’t change that.”

Dean looks at you and you get lost in his green irises.

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m not on anyone’s side. I can see both points.”

Dean sighs. “Who do I have without him?”

“You have me.” Dean shakes his head but you keep him from going anywhere. “I’m serious. All of my classes are online. I could go with you if you want. I don’t have to live here.”

Dean looks back at you and subconsciously glances down at your lips. You part your lips and lick your lower lip and he follows the movements with his eyes. He remembers a conversation he had with you a year ago when you were venting to him about relationships.

“Still haven’t had your first kiss?” You shake your head. “Do you want to?”

His voice is laced with desire. This is it. This is the moment you’ve been after since you’ve had romantic feelings for Dean. Why are you so fucking scared? You nod twice before you can talk yourself out of it, and he looks back into your eyes. Dean leans into you slowly to give you time to back up if you don’t want this and when you don’t, he presses his lips against yours.

You’re afraid that your heart is going to jump out of your chest from how hard it’s beating. Despite the many, many videos you’ve watched on anything sexual, nothing compares to living in the moment. You barely have a chance to kiss back when Dean pulls away.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move from you. “What for?”

“I’m not very good at this.”

“I’ll teach you,” he smiles.

With more confidence, Dean leans in again. He presses his lips more firmly to yours and grabs the underside of your jaw. He moves your head to the side to control the kiss, a kiss which you’re melting in. You’ve never felt anything like this so you trust Dean to lead you exactly how he wants you.

He swipes his tongue over your bottom lip which makes you part your own, and he slowly slides his tongue into your mouth. Damn, he is really good at this. He sends butterflies swarming in your stomach and a spark of pleasure straight down to your pussy. Dean shifts on the bed and gently lays you down so he can crawl over you. He presses light kisses down your neck as his hands start to roam your body.

You’re wearing a loose shirt which makes it easier for him to slide his hand underneath your shirt. Your breath hitches at the thought of his hand on your breasts, pulling at your nipples until they are perky and hard.

“Is this okay?” he whispers as his hand ghosts your ribs. 

You’re not wearing a bra so he is just shy of touching your breasts. You’re nervous but you welcome the new feelings.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

He kisses your neck a bit more and slides his hand over your breast. He takes your nipple between his thumb and index finger and rolls it until it becomes hard. You gasp and throw your head back from the slight pleasure. You’ve played with your boobs before but having someone else do it, someone you have a major crush on is something completely different.

Dean lifts your shirt up and removes it so that the only thing you’re wearing is pajama shorts. You decided against underwear because you had no plans on leaving your dorm room. If you knew Dean was coming over, you’d have put on something sexier. Dean kisses down your chest and stops to pull a hardened nipple in his mouth. Damn, so that’s what that feels like. To have a wet muscle lap at something that’s already sensitive.

He doesn’t stop there. He releases your right nipple with a pop and places open kisses on your stomach. He doesn’t want to do anything you might be uncomfortable with so he stops right above the waistband of your shorts.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“No? You want me to eat this pretty pussy?”

“Fuck.” He has such a filthy mouth. “Yes, please, Dean.”

Dean smirks and hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls your shorts down and off your body. He grabs your thighs and spreads your legs so that your pussy is bare to him. Dean leans in and kisses your inner thigh to tease you. The anticipation is making you wetter than it should. You’ve fucked yourself before with your fingers and toys but never have you had someone so close to your most intimate parts.

Dean closes his mouth over your sensitive clit and sucks. Your hips buck against his mouth as you let out a sinful moan. His tongue hooks around your clit, and your hands grab fistfuls of his hair. He licks down to your slit and slides his tongue through your folds, and you arch your back off the bed.

“Fuck, Dean! Right there!” you gasp and tug on his hair to pull him closer to you.

He slides half his tongue into your aching core only to lick back to your clit. He massages your thighs before his right hand runs over your slit. He pushes a single finger into you and grunts when he feels how tight you are. His cock is straining against his jeans but he ignores that for now.

When he feels you get a bit wetter, he slides in another finger and curls them so the pads of his fingers touch that sensitive spot inside. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge with each thrust of his fingers and each lick of his tongue.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you gasp.

“Then come.”

With his permission, you tip over the edge and explode all over his mouth. He removes his fingers and laps up every drop you’re willing to give him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you taste amazing.” 

He kisses up your body until he reaches your lips. Both of you don’t care that your taste is on his lips. He kisses you feverishly, eager to sink himself inside you.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask.

Dean moves off you and digs one out of his pants pocket. He never leaves the house without one. He’s single and loves to mingle so why not always carry one with him?

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. Please fuck me.”

Dean sheds every layer until he is as bare as you, and you can’t help but look at the sheer size of him. Is he going to fit? He rolls the condom over his cock and pumps it twice to get himself ready.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

Dean lays over you and grabs your left knee. He hikes it up so he has enough room to slide inside you. He rubs the tip of his cock over your throbbing cit and you gasp at the pleasure it sends through your body. He pushes in a few inches and that’s enough to get your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He goes slow and allows you to adjust to him before sliding in a few more inches. The burn of stretching hurts but you tell yourself it’s only for a few minutes. It only takes one. Once Dean seats himself fully inside you, he gives you time to adjust to him. He’s never felt anyone so tight, so perfect for him. You wrap around him like a warm blanket on a cold day. How is he ever going to be able to leave?

“Okay, you can move,” you nod.

Dean starts slow to get you used to him but when he hears your eager moans, he goes faster. He grips your hips and sets a nice tempo that makes your heart lurch into your throat. This is what you’ve been waiting for your entire life. Dean has been the main subject of your fantasies for years now and it’s finally happening.

“Damn, sweetheart, you feel so perfect around me.”

“You feel so good!” you moan. You’re embarrassed to say that you’re closer to your second orgasm than the first one, but Dean’s okay with it because he’s chasing that same high at the same time. “Shit, I’m gonna come!”

“Yeah? Come for me. Come around my cock.”

Dean reaches down and rubs your clit in hard circles to help you over the edge. White-hot pleasure shoots from your core to the rest of your body as you come around him. He shoots his load into the condom and groans in pleasure. He rides out the high before pulling out, and he flops right next to you on the bed.

To prevent the condom from sticking to his ski, he peels it off and throws it into the small trashcan next to your bed. You roll over to face him and he gives you a lazy smile.

“Damn, you really know your stuff.”

“I’ve had practice,” he chuckles.

You scan the features on his face before snuggling closer to him.

“Will you stay with me? My roommate won’t be home all week.”

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“Why not? Sam got out. He went to college. This could be your chance to get out of the life. It’s time to start your own.”

Dean has to be honest. He has thought about dropping everything and starting a new life somewhere. He’s seen the desirability of an apple pie life. He looks at you and sees that opportunity in your eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Promise?” you whisper.

“I promise.”

You two go to bed together peacefully. However, when you wake up, he’s not next to you. In fact, he’s not anywhere in your dorm. He left and didn’t leave a note behind explaining why he wanted to break his promise. You curl into a ball in bed, unsure how to feel.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[buckrecs]

hello !! i would like to request a friends to lovers trope bucky fics recommendations if you could ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

Friends to Lovers

masterlist | req masterlist

friends to lovers is one of my absolute favorite tropes🥺

* = contains smut

ONESHOT

The Key Jangle by @delaber

Sick and tired of your many recent bad dates, you’re dreading yet another Valentine’s Day alone. When Bucky offers to show you what a night out is supposed to look like according to him, you get to experience what it’s like to date your best friend.

A Date by @delaber

you have a date and Bucky’s not exactly happy about it.

you by @lovelybarnes

best friends to lovers

Drunk in Love by @bethdutten

you get a little drunk at one of tony’s celebratory after-mission parties. and bucky is there looking so fine and-- fuck it. you can’t keep your hands off him.

*Three Hundred by @adrinktostopyourthirst

Bucky always makes sure his best friend is okay, because that is what you need. He's caring, but very passive and nonchalant, because you need it. Not him. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need you. Does he?

Obvious by @babyboibucky

You and Bucky are more than friends but less than lovers.

until his last breath by @witchywithwhiskey

when your best friend finds you destroying all the stuffed animals your cheater boyfriend gave you, he comforts you and buys you a new one.

Aching by @bbyboybucket

After Reader gives Bucky a massage, he realizes how much he likes her touch. // Or a friends to lovers story.

cookies, kisses, and stuff by @stevebabey

Something had... shifted. Yet somehow, nothing had changed. You can’t put your finger on it, but sometime between then and now, there’s a difference. Well, that much was obvious — a lot of things had changed since Bucky and you became friends.

*long awaited by @muchadoaboutbucky

Bucky asks you to come over, just to hang out.

one bed, two buddies by @bucky-bucket-barnes

You’re out on a mission with Bucky and Sam. Everything operates as usual until the room you’re sharing with Bucky only has one bed for the two of you. You try not to make a big deal of it, but that’s a little difficult when you both have some unresolved feelings for the other.

*Need To Know by @kikixreverie

When your best friend starts acting strange and you're left confused about his feelings, Natasha manages to convince you to try to make him jealous, what could go wrong?

To Let You Win by @delaber

a sparring match between you and your best friend turns into something you’ve both been keeping under the surface when he refuses to let you lose the game

delicate by @mediocre-daydreams

to soften his reputation, natasha suggests that bucky find a plus one to tony's party. chaos ensues.

Can I Kiss You? by @lanadelreyscokewhor3

you have a crush on bucky, and he has one on you. who cares if youre best friends. best friends kiss ALL the time.. right?

11:59 pm, December 31 by @lunarbuck

You've been in love with your best friend Bucky Barnes since fourth grade, but to him, you're just his best friend. It's New Year's Eve, maybe tonight will be different.

a million summers by @intrepidacious

Something shifts between you and Bucky when he comes back home from college.

voldka on the rocks by @kinanabinks

when you find out that someone you slept with secretly took photos and videos of you during sex, you feel betrayed - but bucky won't stand by and let that happen to his best friend.

Be My Muse by @themorningsunshine

Muse - A person or spirit that gives an artist the desire to create things

*it’s just a kiss by @witchywithwhiskey

your best friend bucky barnes decides he wants to see what it'd be like if you two kissed.

long awaited by @muchadoaboutbucky

*drunk off you by @cunaeparker

asgardian liquor comes in clutch, sam’s a cockblock, and tony’s parties have a tendency to get spicy

Buttercup by @buckyalpine

A Little Less Restless by @majestyeverlasting

As Bucky finds himself within the still familiarity of Brooklyn, he comes to realize that he deserves nice things. And, most of all, that he deserves you.

dear… whoever by @kashimos-hajime

a mandated series of long and short diary entries from the new head of R&D for Stark Industries.

the trials and tribulations of getting Bucky Barnes a second date by @buckyarchives

Bucky hasn’t kissed someone since the 40s and he needs a little… practice.

SERIES

*The Worst Idea Ever by @firefly-in-darkness

Wedding Season is brutal as it is but throw in two friends that decide to be each other’s plus ones and a mixed bag of feelings, what's the worst that could happen?

It’s All Fun and Games by @yikeswtfmate

A glimpse into Bucky and Y/N’s relationship, where they’re not together, but every single one of their friends would beg to differ. 

*Ease My Mind by @buckyskorpion

Bucky Barnes is your best friend and, of course, you’re in love with him. But apparently Bucky is just fine with your platonic relationship - you’re going to have to do something about that.

Here Comes The…Ex? by @ghostofskywalker

Three years after you broke up, you received the one piece of mail that no girl ever wanted to receive from her ex: a wedding invitation. You weren’t even going to go, but all that changed when his best friend came barging back into your life and insisted that you accompany him to the event. 

Best Boyfriend You’ve Never Had by @language-rxgers

When you find out your sister is getting married and expects you to bring a date to her wedding in two months, you panic, having not gone on so much as a coffee date with a guy in far too long. After all, being an Avenger doesn’t leave too much time for a life outside of work. So, when your best friend, none other than the James Buchanan Barnes himself, offers to pretend to be your boyfriend and plus one, how can you refuse? It seems like something that would come out of a movie. However, real life is never like the movies, and stories like this never go as planned.  

*vacant mirrors by @whirlybirbs

shit’s been rough. shit was rough even before the blip. dr. hart shares an office with dr. raynor, and you share with waiting room with bucky barnes.

Make the Wave by @lostgirlmuseum

You invite both your best friend and your boyfriend to a three-day weekend getaway at a beach resort. This trip was meant to be relaxing, but tensions and jealousies rise as both Miles and Bucky fight for your attention. 

.

d

[momodita]

snapshots. [—millions knives]

TAGS / WARNINGS: trigun stampede verse, no crash       au, gender neutral reader, possessive behavior,       plant mating cycles (implied aphrodisiac       effect), jealousy, implied predator/prey WC: 1,000 NOTE: buff knives save me. save me buff knives.

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS DNI.

“What do you think of Vash.”

Knives doesn’t ask questions—he makes demands. You’ve barely set the tray with his supper down before he speaks. This side of the ship is out of range of the hull’s lights. He’s facing away from the window, but even his reflection seems to stare. The air is noticeably sweet—almost unbearably so. Like honey.

“Good evening to you, too.” The tease comes first, reflexively. His nose wrinkles, expression testy. He’s confined himself to the ship’s residential sector all day: no wonder he’s extra irritable, you didn’t hear anyone else en route to his room.

“Answer me,” he commands.

You appraise him, pausing. His clothes are loose—as casual as he’ll allow himself. He looks no less ruffled than normal, but his body is poised: the eerily motionless outline of him stark against the midnight stretch of glass.

“We’re friends? I'm sure he would say the same.” You pull words with careful truth. Since childhood, Knives has stuck to Vash like glue. Rarely are they seen apart, except the occasions they fight and when duty pulls them to different sectors.

Vash is companionable and easy to approach; the same cannot be said for his brother. Yet over the years you’ve come to consider Knives somewhat of a close friend as well.

You tell him this—cheerful despite his mood—but he merely stares, expression pinched; unsatisfied. The honeyed air is so thick, you can almost feel the crawl of it in your lungs.

“You’re hiding something,” he insists, agitated. “That’s not all, is it?” He’s losing patience. You’ve no idea what inspired these questions, what he hopes to gain from asking them. Is he perhaps envious of his brother’s wide network of friends? In no lifetime would he care for tips on getting along with people. That’s how he's always been—a far cry from his personable, people-loving brother, but no less intelligent.

Head tilting, your confusion is obvious. “…What’s with the interrogation?” If you’d known he was in the mood to scrutinize, you wouldn’t’ve volunteered to bring his dinner.

“Answer me.” He steps forward, closing the short distance between you. Instinct tells you to flee, but it’s just Knives. He’s just Knives. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. How he dotes on you.”

Vash dotes on everyone. He supplies you snacks during long shifts, he cracks jokes that make you laugh, he listens to your worries, he keeps you company in the wee hours—but he does that with everyone. He’s let you nap in his room a couple times, but it’s closer than yours and you’ve been found dozing off in the kitchens. A bed is better than the floor.

“Knives, are you alright?” He’s got all the movement and concentration of a hunting animal. The kind you’ve seen from archived media. You take an instinctive step back.

He descends upon you like a wall. The years have been kind to his height and build: he closes the distance between you in just three strides. Fear blooms, unbidden and merciless—you think he’s going to hit you. But there’s a bruising pressure around your arm, his grapple like iron as his heaving chest presses against you—into you—forcing a hasty retreat until your heel knocks the door.

The movement pushes air from your lungs, and you realize late—much too late, far too late considering who you’re dealing with—that he is the reason for this sweet aroma. It fills your nose as he aligns your bodies together, all but squishing you into the cold steel.

“Stay,” he hisses. A wide, hot palm pressing into your hip. “Tell me what you think of my brother.” The hairs on your nape stand straight as he speaks against your temple. “All of it.”

(The other crew members had seemed apprehensive. One suggested to wait for Vash so he could do it. But it’d gotten too late. There was no guarantee he’d come back. They’d been apprehensive, but maybe… maybe not for the reason you initially thought.)

“You’re not for him,” he’s saying, sounding almost delirious. “You’ll never be for him.”

“I’m not for anyone!” Alarmed by his strength—his unwillingness to release you, struggling is an easy choice. “Knives, let’s think rationally—”

“I am thinking rationally.” He looses a rough, clipped breath. Nerves splinter a fierce trail down your spine when his face presses into the length of your throat.

“You’re not.” It’s useless to admonish him in this state: he listens to nothing. Not logic, not facts, not even Rem. “Knives, let me—let me get Vash. I’ll get Vash and we can—”

The teeth are a surprise. They scrape up your throat—a ragged breath flickers down your esophagus, fingers jumping up to fist into the material of his shirt. The heat of his body is unrelenting. The saccharine smell is so violently potent. It makes your knees oddly weak.

“You’re mine.”

…What?

You nearly go limp against him—the shock saps you of any fight. He’s acted this way a handful of times before. The memories are finally resurfacing: being easily aggravated, making impossible childish demands. It happens infrequently, but on a schedule. And this syrupy fragrance… you’ve experienced it before in a diluted form: years ago, when Vash had been red-faced and forced to tell you about certain cycles—

“Knives, this smell isn’t—don’t tell me you’re—”

“You came to me willingly,” Knives breathes, rough and low. His markings begin pulsing with light. His mouth is hot and wet as it moves over your rabbiting pulse. Hungry. “You knew.”

Oh. Oh no.

“I came to deliver your food,” you protest, muffled into his chest as his arms tighten, squeezing you against him. He looses something like a growl into the dip of your shoulder, rubbing his face there. “Knives,” you plead.

Distant thundering footsteps approach. His eager fangs are sharp—they threaten to break skin. And you, for all your struggle, cannot muster the coherence to protest.

[justabigassnerd]

New Home

Pairing - Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x daughter!reader

Word count - 4,486

Warnings - death of a parent, strained father-daughter relationship, angst, running away, a pinch of fluff

Summary - after losing your mother, custody is granted to your father Pete Mitchell. however, it's been years since you last saw him

A/N - whoa whoa whoa I be swinging in with a new fic y'all! I actually loved writing this anon request and it does have the potential to be a series (the key word here is potential because I am not committing to anything just yet, I need to see how this turns out first). anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

You hardly knew your father. You knew his name was Pete Mitchell, that he was a naval aviator, and that your mum insisted you inherited a large chunk of your personality from Maverick but that was the extent of your knowledge. You’ve seen pictures of him, and your mum told you about times he visited when you were a baby, but you held no concrete memories of your own of the man. Because of your lack of connection to him, you didn’t really consider Maverick your father. He stopped visiting when you were a baby, so you didn’t really care to acknowledge his relation to you. Your mum, while understanding your feelings and not wanting to force anything upon you, did try to encourage you to get into contact with Maverick if you could to try and form some sort of bond with him.

Then your mother got sick. You spent a lot of time outside of school caring for her and working your part-time job to keep you and your mum afloat when she had to stop working because her health was declining so rapidly. It was tough for you to try and keep things going and your mum tried to push for you to get into contact with your father, so you’d have someone to go to if she didn’t win the battle against her illness, but you always rebutted, insisting that she’d be fine.

You watched as your mother had to be admitted to the hospital for round-the-clock care. You always visited her after school or work and spent as much time with her as you could, constantly asking the nurses and doctors for updates and hoping by some miracle she’d recover.

But she never did.

Your mum passed away after three months of battling with an illness you could never understand, leaving you alone in the world. You soon ended up in contact with social services as your mother had contacted them prior to her death without you knowing and told them that she wished for you to move in with your dad as opposed to going into foster care. You were still hesitant about the whole thing. You barely knew him; you’d be uprooting your entire life to move to Miramar.

While you had to go home, pack bags and prep things for your mother’s funeral, Maverick received a knock on his door early one Saturday morning.

“Hello, are you Captain Pete Mitchell?” The woman on the other side of the door says, a kind smile on her face as she speaks. Maverick was taken aback by this woman being on the other side of the door, he would’ve put money on it being Bradley on the other side of the door over some random woman.

“I am. Can I help you?” Maverick asks, confused as to how she knows who he is and what she’s doing at his house.

“You have a daughter, y/n l/n, correct?” The woman then asks, eyes flicking down to the file in her hand while Maverick’s expression shifts from one of confusion to one of worry.

“Is she okay?” Is the first thing that comes out of Maverick’s mouth as he thinks of all the things that could possibly have happened to you.

“Her mother, Catherine, passed away a couple of days ago and before she passed, she made it known to us that she wanted y/n to be in your care since she has no other relatives.” The woman explains and Maverick feels his heart sink to his stomach at the woman’s words. His relationship with your mother may have been short, but he never stopped caring for her. Hearing she had passed hit him hard.

“She wanted me to take y/n in?” Maverick asks quietly, searching for confirmation as the woman nods slightly.

“She did. We’re going to help you and y/n with the process and check in occasionally after she’s moved in to make sure everything is okay with the two of you.” The woman says as she hands a card over with her name and number on it. Maverick inspects the card, learning that her name is Holly Fieldman before looking back up at her.

“When is she coming? I know she lives a couple of states away.” Maverick asks as he pushes the card into his jean pocket, watching as Holly silently asks to be let in and he obliges, stepping aside and letting her enter his house, leading her to the living room and sitting down opposite her.

“y/n wants to hold her mother’s funeral before she comes to Miramar.” Holly starts, flicking through the file and double-checking all the information she received from her colleague.

“That makes sense.” Maverick says slowly, wishing he could be there to help you with the funeral, but he was aware he could potentially overstep if he tried to get involved.

“My colleague said the funeral should be taking place within the next couple of days so I will contact you when we have a date set for y/n to come here.” Holly says as she glances up at Maverick who nods slightly in acknowledgement to her words.

“That’s okay, that gives me time to sort things out here.” Maverick agrees as Holly gets to her feet, Maverick quickly mirroring her actions and leading her to the front door and bidding her goodbye. Once he closes the door, Maverick turns around and rests his back against the door, staring into his house before muttering.

“Good thing I have the spare room clear.”

A few days later, after the funeral, you were all packed up and waiting at the airport for your flight to San Diego. Your leg bounced nervously as you stared at the sign above the gate door displaying the location you were flying to. Everyone around you seemed perfectly relaxed and ready for the flight ahead while you were thinking of everything that could go wrong. By the time you boarded the plane and found your seat, you could’ve laughed at yourself for how nervous you were. You were the daughter of a top naval aviator and here you were panicking about flying in a commercial plane which you were sure was much safer than doing whatever it was your father did for work. You were sure you looked crazy with the way you were gripping the armrests when the plane took off into the air, eyes scrunching shut as your stomach lurched at the foreign feeling.

Thankfully, the flight went smoothly, and no one made any comments about your very obvious nervousness. When you were allowed to disembark the plane, you followed the sea of people to luggage claim as you gripped the straps of your rucksack to try and direct your nerves somewhere. Once you grabbed your suitcase off the conveyor belt, you followed the large signs that led to the arrivals terminal where you soon located a smartly dressed woman holding a sign with your name on, so you approached her sheepishly.

“Hello, y/n. I’m Holly, we spoke on the phone the other day.” The woman says, introducing herself straight away and holding out a hand for you to shake which you do, nodding at her words and quietly thanking her when she offers to take your suitcase for you.

“Are you taking me straight to his house?” You ask as you stop outside Holly’s car, waiting as she loads your suitcase into the boot of her car before she turns back to face you.

“We’re going to have you meet your dad in a café first, a nice neutral setting for the both of you and I’ll be there to help ease you guys into everything.” Holly says, her bright smile never wavering when she speaks as she rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat, with you getting in the passenger seat.

You tried to distract yourself by taking in the views of what was going to be your new home, but you couldn’t stop the pounding of your heart. You hated that you were so nervous. He had never been there for you growing up. He wasn’t a dad to you. So why were you so nervous?

When Holly parked outside a small café that was nestled along Miramar’s beachfront, your nerves were now in full drive and when she moved to open her door, you remained seated.

“Is it too late to ask if I can get a flight back?” You ask, glancing over at Holly who settles back in the car seat to address you.

“It is, sweetie. Look, I understand that you’re nervous. But everything is going to be just fine. I promise you.” Holly says softly, her smile softening as she addresses you and for a moment, you believe her words. You get out of the car, close the door behind you and follow Holly into the café.

As soon as you enter the small building, your eyes are immediately surveying the people that are in the café, searching for whichever one is Pete Mitchell. Then you saw a man stand up, eyes studying you as he looked at you and Holly and you soon noticed Holly moving to approach him. He matched the man in the sparse photos you had of your father so that along with Holly greeting him with the same bright smile she had used on you made you figure that he had to be Pete Mitchell and as you slunk along to meet him, you took a deep breath and made sure to not show your emotions. You already had a feeling he more than likely didn’t want to take you in, he just had to because your mum insisted on it. You just wanted to be prepared for the worst.

“y/n… wow you’ve really grown up.” Is the first thing Maverick can bring himself to say as you stand opposite him.

“Yeah… that’s what happens over time.” You say dismissively, shrugging your shoulders half-heartedly and your gaze flicks away to the table Maverick is sitting at so you could avoid looking at him.

“Why don’t we take a seat?” Holly suggests, not letting the mood deter her as she grabs the back of one of the chairs and pulls it towards her to make room for her to sit down at the table with you and Maverick following her actions. You sit opposite Maverick awkwardly, neither of you knowing how to start a conversation with the other.

“So, y/n, how was the flight?” Holly starts, attempting to initiate a conversation.

“It was okay.” You say half-heartedly, barely glancing at either person sitting at the table with you.

“Was it a busy flight?” Maverick then asks, trying to get a bit more information out of you.

“This was my first time on a plane I don’t know what constitutes ‘busy’, but most of the seats were filled I guess.” Your words came out a little harsher than you intended but you weren’t all that fussed about the way your words came out.

“Well you made it here safely and that’s all that matters.” Maverick then says, a small smile on his face to try and make you feel more comfortable around him. Instead, all he got back was a small shrug and you avoiding his gaze. He knew it must be a hard adjustment for you, especially when you haven’t had contact with Maverick in years but all he wanted was for you to feel comfortable and supported and he was going to do his absolute best to do that for you.

The rest of the interaction that was overseen by Holly went about as well as you expected it to. The atmosphere was awkward and there was a slight tension from you. By the time Maverick was allowed to take you home, Holly pulled both of you aside separately and told you that you could call her whenever and that she’d do a home visit in the next few days to see how things were progressing and left the two of you alone outside the café after handing you your luggage.

“Let’s get you settled in at home.” Maverick says after a minute or two of awkward silence between the two of you, gesturing with his head for you to follow him which you do so slowly, not in any rush to get to this new house. You load up your luggage, ignoring Maverick’s attempts to help you before getting in the backseat of the car, sitting behind the driver’s seat so Maverick couldn’t see you as easily.

“You can sit up front with me for the journey home, you know?” Maverick offers, turning around to glance at you sitting in the back of the car.

“I prefer sitting in the back.” You answer simply, already moving to put your headphones on you can just ignore everything on the journey to where you’d be living from now on. You hated that Maverick was calling it ‘home’. It may be home to him. But it could never be a home to you. Maverick watched sadly as you put your headphones in and adjusted the way you were sat so you were fully angled towards the window before he turned to face the front and began the drive to his house.

When he finally pulled into the driveway of the house, you weren’t shocked by what greeted you. It was an average-sized house in a small neighbourhood. Before Maverick even had time to turn around and talk to you, you were instantly climbing out of the car and heading to the boot of the car to pull your suitcase out, leaving Maverick alone in the car as he let out a small sigh before getting out of the car himself and crossing to the front door of his house to unlock the door and enter the house with you following behind.

As you enter the house, you follow Maverick when he leads you upstairs, opening a door and taking a step back for you to enter which you do. You glance around the room, it is practically bare, with white walls, and nothing more than a bed, wardrobe, and bedside tables.

“I’m sorry it’s so plain. I never really used this room. But you can decorate it however you want. I have a few days booked off work, so maybe we could get some things and decorate your room.” Maverick says, not daring to move an inch beyond the doorway as he watches you place your rucksack on the bed and take in the room. As Maverick had expected, you offered him no more than a mere shrug and noncommittal hum at his suggestion. Maverick was really trying to form some sort of bond with you. To try to make up for the years lost. But you clearly wanted nothing to do with him, and as much as it broke his heart, he couldn’t do any more than extend the olive branch and hope you one day take it. He didn’t want to overstep beyond that, so he nodded at your hum and headed downstairs.

You spent the rest of the day unpacking your belongings, hanging clothes up and storing things away before you finally placed the picture of you and your mum on your bedside table, so you always had her with you. As you tucked your suitcase under your bed, you heard Maverick calling you for dinner and as much as you didn’t want to go downstairs, the smell of food that was travelling up the stairs and into your room was making your stomach growl like nobodies business so you got up and went down the stairs, following the sounds of plates clanking to lead you to the kitchen but as you walked through the living room, your eyes drifted along the photos on the wall and you stopped opposite one particular photo. It was a photo of Maverick with a moustached man, both of them smiling for the camera with an arm wrapped around the other’s shoulders. You regarded the photo quietly, wondering who this man was. Did Maverick have another kid? As if he sensed you looking at the photos, Maverick emerged from the kitchen and approached you carefully.

“Having a look at the pictures?” He muses softly, a slight laugh tagged onto the end of his sentence to let you know he wasn’t upset or angry at you.

“Is he your son?” You ask, your gaze not moving from the picture of the two men.

“No. Not biologically at least. Bradley’s my best friend’s kid. But I helped raise him so he’s kind of like a son to me.” Maverick explains and you can’t help but feel a pang in your heart at his words. This Bradley guy got to have Maverick in his life as a father figure and you didn’t get your dad at all. It wasn’t fair.

“Come on, let’s eat.” Maverick urges softly, noticing the sadness in your eyes and hoping he didn’t just ruin everything between the two of you. You begrudgingly follow Maverick to the small table and eat your food in silence, barely giving Maverick more than a short sentence answer to any of his questions. The second you finished your meal you asked to be excused and retreated back to your room, leaving Maverick alone downstairs. He didn’t bother you for the rest of the night, only sticking his head in your room before he went to bed. Despite everything, he couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face when he saw you curled under your duvet, fast asleep.

“Goodnight, y/n/n.”

Over the days Maverick had off, you tended to avoid as much interaction with him as possible. You’d have meals with him and hold the briefest of conversations but that was your limit. And you never called him dad. You didn’t want to get attached to someone who didn’t want you when you were a baby and was now stuck with you. When Holly came for one of her home visits, you tried to ask if you could be placed elsewhere but she was insistent that you see it through with Maverick. She urged you to give him a chance, and that she could tell he was genuinely trying to form a connection. She could understand that you were upset with the loss of your mother and having to move in with someone who was hardly present in your life, but your mum had picked him for a reason, and you needed to trust her judgement.

After Holly left, you spent the rest of the day in your room mulling over her words. You knew your mum had never steered you wrong before. But sending you to live with someone you hardly knew just felt wrong to you. When night fell, your thoughts were getting too much you decided you needed to head out to get some fresh air and to think some more. You didn’t have a destination in mind, you still hardly knew the area, you just knew you needed to be out of the house. You were able to sneak downstairs and out of the house with zero difficulty, Maverick was napping on the sofa so keeping quiet and getting out of the door was no difficult task for you. Once you made it to the end of the road, you pulled out your phone and searched for directions to the beach.

About five minutes after you left, Maverick’s eyes blinked open and he stretched his arms above his head as he stood from the sofa, wincing as his back let out a slight crack. He knew he needed to stop falling asleep on the sofa, but he couldn’t help it. Deciding it was time to finally retire to bed, he headed upstairs, heading straight to your door. Since you arrived, he always stuck his head in your room to whisper goodnight to you, despite the fact you were always asleep when he did it. This time, however, when Maverick opened the door, he couldn’t see any figure in the bed. The little slither of light that snuck through the crack didn’t illuminate any evidence that you were in bed and Maverick couldn’t help but instantly be in panic mode. He couldn’t find any evidence that you were still in the house, so he was soon grabbing his keys and leaving the house to search for you.

You sat on a little bench overlooking the beach, not too far from where the café you first met Maverick was, listening to the gentle sounds of the waves against the shore, your eyes drifting up to the starry sky and bright moon that hung within it.

“Mum, you wanted me to come here for a reason, right? You think Pete would take care of me and that I’d finally have a father figure, don’t you?” You mutter quietly up to the sky, wondering if your mum would give you some sort of sign that she was listening. Instead, you heard the revving of a motorbike engine and Maverick’s worried voice calling out to you.

“y/n, oh thank god I found you.” Maverick says, relief beyond evident in his tone as he sits down next to you on the bench, leaving a gap between the two of you.

“How did you know I was here?” You ask quietly, briefly glancing over at Maverick before your gaze flicked back to the stars.

“I didn’t. I just drove around looking for you. But I did know you haven’t explored the area much, so my best guess was near the café. I wouldn’t have stopped looking for you all night if I hadn’t found you here.” Maverick explains, watching you under the dim street lamp as your eyebrows furrow slightly and you turn to look at him properly.

“Really?” You ask, your voice timid as you look at Maverick.

“Really. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. I promised your mother I’d look after you.” Maverick explains, watching as your eyes widen at his words.

“You promised… did you talk with my mum before she died?” You then ask, tears threatening to build in your eyes. In response to your question, Maverick pulls his wallet out of his pocket and produces a small picture, handing it over to you and you instantly study the picture. It was of you; it couldn’t have been taken more than six months ago. It was of you out in the park, sitting on a bench and completely oblivious to your mum taking a picture of you.

“She liked to send me regular updates on how you were doing, as well as pictures. She told me you get pretty good grades in your classes, which makes me proud. The last time I spoke to her must’ve been just before or around the time she got sick because I never heard from her after that. But she made me promise to look after you if something happened years ago. I didn't think anything would ever happen. But I never stopped caring for you.” Maverick explains as you quietly hand back the photo, the tears in your eyes beginning to show under the street lights.

“If you cared so much, why did you stop visiting?” Unlike Maverick would’ve expected, your voice held no harshness to its tone, just defeat. You were just a kid who’s been deprived of a father figure your whole life.

“My job is dangerous. And I know what it feels like to lose your parents when you’re young. I just couldn’t put you through that, so I thought it was best I stayed away to protect you. It hurt so much to say goodbye knowing I probably wasn’t going to see you again.” Maverick says truthfully, fighting back tears of his own as he looks at the picture, knowing he was the reason you grew up without a father figure in your life. He couldn’t help but beat himself up over it every day. He had stepped in for Bradley when Goose died but the second, he had a kid of his own, he backed off and abandoned you.

“Did your mum ever try to move on?” Maverick then asks quietly, a sad tone you’re not used to hearing from him in his voice, as you watch him.

“No she didn’t. Truthfully, I don’t think she stopped loving you. She always spoke so highly of you.” You admit, shrugging lightly as you remember all the times your mum had told you about Maverick and never spoke a bad word about him. At your words, a tear or two escaped Maverick’s eyes and he let out a shuddering breath.

“I don’t deserve that. She deserved to be happy.” Maverick says, more tears escaping him as you wipe at your own eyes.

“She was happy. The time she had with you was clearly all she wanted and needed.” You say, not wanting Maverick to feel guilty or upset for something out of his control, a complete turnaround from the way you had been acting prior.

“I’m going to make it up to you. I promise. If you need me at all, I will be there. You’re not alone anymore.” Maverick promises, and you nod at his words, finally believing his words before you move closer to him and carefully wrap your arms around him for a hug. At first, he was tense, but soon he reciprocated the hug, holding you tight as you tried your best not to cry on his jacket.

“Can we go home now?” You ask as a small breeze blows by, making you shiver slightly, even in Maverick’s warm embrace.

“Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go home.” He says softly, helping you to your feet and leading you to his motorbike where he instructs you on how to hold on safely before taking you back home, making sure he goes a bit slower than he usually does when on his bike. When you make it home, you’re stifling yawns as you trudge upstairs to get ready for bed and by the time you finally crawl into bed, your eyes are already closing but you force them open when you hear Maverick quietly asking if he could enter your room. For the first time since you arrived, Maverick crosses to your bedside and smiles down at you.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He says quietly, leaning down and pressing a small kiss on the top of your head, smiling as a smile covers your own face while you snuggle further into your bed. Just as Maverick reaches the door, he hears you speak up.

“Goodnight, dad.”

Maverick swore that the large smile that appeared on his face didn’t shrink until the next day. Until you called him ‘dad’ again the next morning.

[ereardon]

You Again [Hangman x Reader]

Summary: It’s been five years since you last saw your childhood best friend and first love Jake Seresin. But fate, or coincidence, has you back in Jake’s life and he’s desperate not to lose you again. 

WC: 4K+

Warning: Pining, alcohol, cursing

Miniseries masterlist; part 2 here; part 3 here

The last person you expected to see that night was Jake Seresin. 

Just off the back of a 24-hour shift, you plopped down on a bar stool and ordered a burger and a beer, not caring that it was eleven o’clock or that the crowd was filled with ruckus Navy men proudly puffing their chests in their almost-too-tight uniforms. You rolled your eyes as not one, not two, but three separate men hit on you using opening lines around how much they like a woman who eats. 

The final one, a tall redhead who smelled of jet fuel and desperation, loomed so close to you that he was nearly touching the food before it entered your mouth. 

“Wow, gotta say, I love a girl who really eats.” 

You rolled your eyes. “And what, do all of the twits that you date survive off of photosynthesis alone?” 

A barking laugh came from behind your left shoulder and you saw the ginger visibly stiffen. 

“Lieutenant Seresin,” the ginger said, standing straighter before rushing off, and the name alone nearly left you gasping for breath. 

Jake. 

A tanned arm came down on the bar to your left and before you could even see him you heard his voice. “Witty. About time a girl like you came around.” 

You turned to see him in all of his glory. Green flight suit unzipped just enough to show off his tanned, glistening chest, dog tags swinging from his impossibly taunt neck. His mouth turned up in a brilliant smile that immediately faltered when he realized who you were. 

“Y/N,” he breathed. 

You set the burger down and wiped your fingers with a napkin. “Hangman.” He winced at your use of his call sign. “Been a long time.” 

“Five years,” he said, without missing a beat. He looked you up and down, not in a leering way but like he genuinely was trying to memorize every change in your body that had happened since the night he left. You wondered if you looked different when he wasn’t looking at you in the rearview mirror. “You look good.” 

You crossed your legs, suddenly feeling silly for still wearing scrubs at a Navy bar but you had been too tired and too hungry to change after the shift change started. “I’d say you too, but any ego boost might just make you combust and I heard the Navy doesn’t like it when they waste money on performative assholes.” It came out sharper than you anticipated, but he chuckled. 

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he said softly. In that moment it was Jake, not Hangman speaking. Jake, the boy who had been riding shotgun the day you got your driver's license and subsequently crashed into a neighbor’s mailbox. Jake, who had taught your little sister how to fish. Jake, who had held your hand the day they buried your mother. Jake, who had walked out of your life five years before with no regard for how you felt. Jake, who’s name you cursed at night when you couldn’t sleep. It had always been Jake. Until it wasn’t.

“I’d say the same, but I have a date with this burger, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving us alone that’d be great.” 

He inched closer until his lips were brushing the hair behind your ear. “Y/N, don’t be like this. Can we talk?” 

You frowned and your hands shook as you lifted the burger again and took a wide bite. He pulled back to look at you and you took your sweet time chewing and taking a swig of beer to wash it down. Finally, “Nothing to talk about, Hangman. I’m sure your friends over there are wondering where you’ve gone off to, and I have a shower at home calling my name.” 

His face, those beautiful Adonis-like features, drooped. “Bunny.” The pet name stung rolling off of his lips.

You held up a hand. “Don’t even. You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.” 

He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He paused. And then, “It’s good to see you, Y/N.” 

Jake gave you his best puppy eyes, and it took everything you had to turn away. “See you later, Jake.” 

He hesitated, and just as you thought he was going to leave you felt his lips press softly to your cheek. “Proud of you, baby,” he whispered, pinching the fabric of your scrub top on the upper arm where you had it layered over a tight white long-sleeve shirt. He smelled the same and even though the bar was crowded and reeked of stale fries and spilled beer you could still identify every note of him within seconds. You hated it, but his proximity, his smell, flooded every nerve ending in your body. And a part of you wanted nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to his before he could pull away. Taste him to see if he still tasted the same as when you were sixteen and drinking his dad’s beer on the roof. If he tasted the same as the adrenaline rush from the first time you two went skinny dipping in the creek. If he still tasted like the dirty vodka martinis you would drink in college while visiting him on break, pretending to be adults but still very much two sheltered kids with no real world experience. 

And then he was gone, back to his group near the corner of the room. You saw a few of the other aviators look at you for a second too long as Hangman made his reappearance. One, a dark-haired woman, sized you up for so long you got goosebumps before finally turning away. 

“I see you’ve met Hangman.” The woman behind the bar set a fresh beer down in front of you. 

You sighed. “Yes, I have.” 

She gave him a long look before turning back to you. “He’s not as bad as you think.” 

You shook your head. “He’s not. And that’s the problem.” 

The bartender flicked her eyes over you and then back to Jake. “I’m Penny, by the way” she said, taking your credit card from where you had laid it on the wood bar. “Let me close you out.”

You smiled and told her your name, and she disappeared with your card and a knowing smile. You sighed, pushing away the plate of food and guzzling down the second beer. 

Just your luck. You had vaguely kept track of where Jake was stationed all these years. Your grandmother had mentioned he was at Top Gun out on North Island, but it hadn’t clicked until you heard his sweet Texas accent creeping into every single one of your pores earlier that night. Of course out of all the hospitals you landed a residency at UCSD, not ten miles from Jake. 

The air was warm but not swampy as you expected. The headlights on your car sprung to life, and you were just about to open the door when you heard him. 

“BUNNY!” 

Closing your eyes briefly, you turned to see what mess Jake had made. He stumbled out of the bar, giddy with liquor, followed by a cohort of aviators in matching jumpsuits. 

“Hangman,” you said sharply. “Go home. You’re drunk and smell like shit.” 

A few of the aviators in the back hollered and you watched Jake’s dopey smile tilt. “Hey, that’s not very nice, baby.” “I’m not your baby and I’m not your Bunny,” you replied as the group edged closer. “Not anymore.” 

The raven haired female from earlier had her hand on Jake, holding him upright. “I’m sorry about him, I don’t know what happened. We looked away for a minute.” 

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. That’s his problem, not yours.” 

Jake lurched forward and the brunette pulled him back, with the help of a handsome, bespeckled aviator. “Come on, Y/N, just one drink.” 

You laughed. “I think you’ve had enough drinks to get the whole Navy drunk, all by yourself.” 

“I’m Phoenix,” the brunette said and you nodded. 

“Y/N.”

“I gathered.” She looked down at Jake who was still being supported by Phoenix and the guy with glasses. “That’s Bob,” she nodded toward glasses. “Fanboy, Payback, Coyote, Rooster.” 

“Hey guys,” you said. “Do you need help with him, or what?” 

“He got up and started running out the door when he saw you leave,” Rooster said. “We were worried he’d knock himself out trying to get to you, so thought it would be best if he got escorted out.” 

You sighed and ran your hand through the front pieces of your hair. “Listen, Jake,” you whispered and he perked up hearing his name falling out of your mouth. “It’s been a long night, OK? For both of us. Just go home. Please” 

“Not before we talk,” he slurred, leaning forward and slipping past Phoenix and Bob. You stepped forward and caught him, stumbling a bit at his weight. He towered over you by at least eight inches, and he smelled like the bottom of a barrel. 

“You need to shower and sleep,” you said and you felt his hands, those familiar hands, melt into your back. Your fingers pressed tightly against his rock hard abdomen. “Doctor’s orders.” 

He chuckled lightly and you pressed him away from you until he was standing unsupported, Bob and Rooster hovering behind him in case he fell. “Doctor. You fucking did it.” 

You nodded with a small blush on your cheeks. “So did you.” He looked down at his olive jumpsuit as if seeing it for the first time. 

“I fucking did,” he bellowed and the group gave a laugh. 

“Night, guys,” you said, unlocking the door again. “Goodnight, Hangman.” 

“Don’t go,” he begged. You sighed again. You knew Jake. He wouldn’t give up. You could see it in Rooster’s eyes too. They all knew Jake got what he wanted, one way or another. 

“Does anyone know where he lives?” you asked. 

Bob nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I can send it to you if you’d like.” 

You took the phone that he offered and typed in your number, and a moment later a text popped up with a dropped pin. 

“Alright, let’s get you home Hangman,” you said as Bob and Rooster guided Jake to the passenger side of your car and tucked him into the seat. The group hovered around while Jake immediately lolled his head against the window. “Thanks, guys. Appreciate it.”

“Not to pry,” Phoenix said, but that was indeed what she was doing and she knew it. “But how do you know Bagman?”

You grimaced. “It’s a long story.”

“We got time,” Rooster said, crossing his arms over his chest. For the first time you noticed he was the only one out of uniform, in a pair of low strung jeans and a God awful Hawaiian shirt open a little too far for your taste. 

You laughed. “Let’s just say we’ve known each other since we were kids. He’s just Jake to me. This,” you swept your arm toward the car where he was passed out, “is a new asshole that I am not so familiar with.” 

“Have to say, we’ve never seen him act like this before,” Phoenix said, giving Jake a look that for a second almost had tenderness running through it. And in a moment it was gone. “You two must have some serious history.” 

Your hand was on the door handle to the car. “That’s one way to say it. Goodnight.” 

There was a chorus of goodbyes as you ducked into the driver’s seat and started the car, a new BMW 5 series convertible you bought yourself as a reward for finishing your intern year. Once the match came through for the residency at UC you immediately started to daydream about flying down the PCH in a little white convertible. It was only a few days old, but now it would be forever tainted with the knowledge that Jake Seresin was the first person to sit in the passenger seat. 

“Mmm,” he muttered and you shushed him before tapping on the GPS coordinates Bob had sent you. It was only a ten minute drive, but you took the roads slow, fearing Jake would get sick in his drunken stupor and even further christen your brand new car. 

You pulled up to the house, a small white rambler with perfectly mowed grass, and cut the engine. It was a sweet little house, and you wondered briefly if he lived alone. Or if you’d find a girlfriend, angry, red in the face, on the other side of the door. 

“Come on big boy,” you said quietly, pulling open the door and nudging Jake awake. You had to tug on his arm to get him to stand, and when you dug your hand into his pocket for his keys he reached up and grabbed your chin with his hand. 

“Looking for something?” he asked seductively. 

“Shut up,” you grunted, pushing his palm away and fussing with the keyring. The first two didn’t fit, but the third slid easily into the chamber and you turned the lock with bated breath, waiting for an alarm or a girlfriend to scream at you. 

Instead you were met with silence. It was obvious he lived alone. No second set of shoes at the door, no framed photos of him with women besides his mother and sisters. A fresh aroma flooded your senses, and you dragged Jake in by his collar. He stumbled in and you slammed the door, peering around to get your bearings. It was small, but quaint and neat, everything you expected from Jake. Even as kids he always made his bed, corners tucked, and his bathroom had been neater than yours. And later, in college, when you had lived off of instant coffee and ramen, organic chemistry books lined your shelves alongside tubes of dried mascara and half-drunk bottles of vodka in a mess that made his mind boggle. Jake had stepped into your junior year dorm with eyes wide at the disarray. Your visit to see him in Annapolis cleared up why: his sheets were pristine, his shoes lined up perfectly against the wall, his uniforms hung crisp in a closet that, unlike yours, did not have anything crumbled at the bottom in heaps so large they obstructured the hanging items. 

You wandered down the hall, Jake at your heels, and found yourself in a kitchen with a round table in the middle. Jake immediately sat down, scraping a wooden chair back so he could collapse into it. You found two glasses and poured water into them, sliding one toward him. “Drink.” 

He groaned and reached out for the cup. Just beyond the kitchen you saw a small hallway with a door ajar. When you pushed past it you saw Jake’s room, neat as always. 

Back in the kitchen, Jake was more alert than in the car. He had one leg crossed over his opposite knee, and was trying fruitlessly to undo the tightly tied laces. You knelt down and pushed his hands away, deftly undoing the boot and pulling it off his large foot. The other shoe came off and you pulled him to standing. 

“Alright, bud, time for bed.” 

Jake reached out, both hands coming to the sides of your face. “Fuck, I missed you.” 

“Not tonight, Jake,” you whispered. “Come on.” 

To his credit, he followed you dutily to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. You sighed and stood in front of him, carefully unzipping his flight suit down his chest, sliding it off of his shoulders to reveal his undershirt that you peeled off. Once the suit was down to his waist you bent over and tugged it from around him until it was down his legs. 

Jake sat in only a pair of dark boxers and socks on the bed, looking up at you. He looked better than before. Muscles rippling under glowy, tanned skin. Like an Abercrombie & Fitch model that you would have thirsted after in middle school. But he was still Jake and no matter how badly you wanted to smooth your hands over his skin, kiss a trail from his neck to where his boxers skimmed his hip bones, you didn’t. You knew the trouble that would lead to.

“I would say shower, but you don’t seem up for it.” 

He shook his head. “Not tonight,” he echoed your words back to you. His hands reached up to grip your waist as you stood in front of him, and a chill ran down your spine. How could you feel him this plainly even with two layers of fabric between you? 

“You’re here.” There was a thread of disbelief in his voice. Almost a stutter. 

“It’s time for bed,” you said, peeling his hands off of you and forcing down the covers from their tight tuck near the pillows. “Come on, get in.” 

Jake crawled under the covers and rolled onto his left side. You went to walk away, and he reached out to grab your wrist. “Thank you.” 

It was uncharacteristic of Jake. He wasn’t a thank you or a please kind of guy. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it. But sometimes you saw the glimmer of the little boy he had been. It made your heart pang for someone you lost. Someone you had long ago convinced yourself no longer existed. 

Instead, you brushed your hand over his hair and cheek and watched him melt into the bed. The clock on his nightstand said it was nearly two in the morning. You had been awake for almost thirty-six hours at that point, and the idea of driving back to your condo sounded like a nightmare. In Jake’s walk-in closet, you pulled out a large Naval Academy t-shirt and slipped it on. It hung to your knees, covering everything it needed to, and you stopped searching for a pair of bottoms. Tip toeing past him to the bathroom in the hall, you brushed your hair back into a sloppy bun and wiped away the mascara that had accumulated under your tired eyes. 

By the time you exited the bathroom, you could hear Jake’s soft snores. In the kitchen, you emptied both cups of water and left them in the spotless sink. The living room was small but cozy, with a three-seater couch and a throw blanket slung over the back. A real fireplace against the far wall held a mantle littered with photos, and despite the tug of sleep against your eyes you wandered over to them. Several of Jake as a child at his grandparents’ ranch outside Austin. One of the full Seresin family smiling in matching Christmas sweaters. A photo of Jake and his mother Pearl smiling wide at his commencement ceremony from the Naval Academy. Your fingers aimlessly picked at the hem of the shirt you were wearing. Just as you were about to turn away, finally lie down, you spotted it. Slotted behind a few other frames so it was just barely visible, there was the photo of the two of you taken at the beach, spring break of your senior year of college. Jake’s parents had invited you two down to Kiawah Island to stay at their beach house, but at the last minute they had to stay back in Austin for work so it had just been the two of you all alone in the big house by yourselves. It was the first time you felt like a real couple, playing house for days on end. Waking up to the smell of fried eggs and bacon and Jake pulling you out of slumber by pressing his thumbs into the arches of your foot. Driving over the bridge to the nearby Harris Teeter for groceries and playfully swatting at him to drop two kinds of sugar cereal in favor of just one as a treat. How the sun had beat down on you until you felt like your skin would melt, and you’d go inside and mix together margaritas for the two of you to drink on the deck, your feet swinging in the pool. Those six days had felt like an eternity. Jake drove you out to the north end of the island that last night for drinks and dinner at The Beach Club. As the sun dipped below the watery lip of the horizon, you told him you had been accepted into medical school in Boston. You watched as his face crumpled, even as he tried to hide it. It meant another four years apart. He took your hands in his and smiled and ordered a celebratory dessert. Told you how proud he was. 

Two months later, it all fell apart. 

In the photo, Jake has his arms wrapped around you from behind and your head is tipped back to smile at him. The sun is glowing on your cheeks, the water behind you sparkling, the sand white and soft and if you closed your eyes you could almost feel it between your toes. 

He has no idea, but you have the same photo framed. It’s the first item you unpack in every new apartment. It’s the last time you can remember being truly happy without a scalpel in your hand or without the beat of a heart thundering through a stethoscope into your ear. 

The light streaming in on your face was worse than any beeper wakeup. You tried to roll over to stop the beam from landing right across your eyes, but the couch was too damn small and you ended up rolling off the side onto the hardwood floor. 

“Fuck!”

You were still on the ground when you heard footsteps and when you looked up there was Jake wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tight shirt standing above you with the demonic rays of sun illuminating him from behind like an angel. “Come on, you klutz,” he said, holding out a hand. You flung it toward him and he pulled you up effortlessly. 

It wasn’t fair that he looked perfect after drinking the entire bar under the table the night before. His hair was perfectly tousled and he smelled clean, like he had showered. Judging by the smell from the kitchen, he had made coffee too. You followed him wordlessly into the kitchen and slumped into the chair he had vacated only a few hours before as he slid a blue mug of coffee toward you, already topped with milk, exactly how you liked it. “Drink,” he said, smirking at the irony. You took a sip of the steaming coffee and sighed. 

Jake sat down across from you at the small wooden table. 

“Have to admit I’m surprised to see you stayed,” he said. “And also I’m sorry for being the world’s biggest ass last night.”

You smiled into the coffee cup. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was too damn tired to drive home. I can sleep anywhere after intern year. A couch is a hell of a lot better than some of the chairs I’ve fallen asleep in. Or worse, patient gurneys.” 

He laughed and it rang out into the quiet house. 

“Besides, I thought there was a high chance you’d choke on your own vomit and I don't want my medical license revoked for manslaughter.” 

Jake put his hand over his heart. “I’m touched you think so highly of me.” 

You shot him a glare and went back to sipping the coffee, crossing one leg over the other. It wasn’t until Jake’s eye line focused on your bare thigh that you realized how little clothes you were really wearing. 

“I should get going,” you said, standing up and dumping out the rest of the coffee in the sink and rinsing the cup. 

Jake rose from the table. “Let me drive you home.”

“I drove you here last night?” you said and that dawned on him slowly. He smacked a palm to his forehead. 

“Shit,” he whispered. 

“What?”

“My truck,” he sighed. “It’s still at the Hard Deck.” 

You shook your head. “I asked Bob last night to bring it by.” Walking over to the window, you peered out across the driveway and saw Jake’s cherished black Wrangler sitting in the driveway. A short text on your phone from Bob confirmed the key was under the front mat. 

“You always knew exactly what to do. I missed that about you.” He paused. “I miss everything about you.” You turned around quickly before he could cross the room and do something you’d both regret. 

“Jake.” It came out in a plea. “Let’s not do this, OK? Not again. Last night was a coincidence.”

“Or fate.”

“It was a coincidence,” you repeated, starting down the hall to his room where you had left your scrubs. Jake watched in silence from the door frame as you pulled on your pants underneath the baggy t-shirt, scooping up the discarded scrub top and long sleeve shirt into your arms and breezing past him. “Let’s just pretend you never saw me.” 

“That’s impossible,” he said, following you as you picked up your purse from where you had laid it near the coffee table. “Y/N.” His fingers reached out and brushed your arm and you were shocked that the electricity was still there. 

“Jake.” He knew from your tone. His hand dropped and he watched as you took a step toward the front door. You opened the door and bent down, retrieving the Jeep key from under the mat and tossing it to him. He caught it in one hand. “I’ll drop your shirt off later.” 

“Keep it.” Jake pressed both hands to either side of the open door frame, the bright light of the early sun blinding him a little. Beyond, he could see you rushing down the steps. 

You paused before you got in your car. It felt like no time had passed since that day you watched him drive away. The same truck that had faded off into the Texas sun all those years ago sat fifteen feet away, and it felt like you were losing him all over again. The lump in your throat was back. 

“Bunny.” His voice cracked on the nickname. He looked miserable, standing there on the doorstep. But this time you were leaving him behind. Maybe this time he would know what it was like to watch the person he loved leave without a care in the world. Except you did care. You just didn’t want to. 

“Goodbye, Jake.” 

************************************************************************

Read part 2 here and part 3 here

[muzansfangs]

Babydoll.

Starring: Douma x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, kind of gang au, criminal Douma, corruption kink, use of alcohol, dirty talk, language, choking, breeding kink, small age gap, forbidden relationship, enemies to lovers dynamics, kind of toxic relationship, dacryphilia, dom!Douma, sub!reader, vaginal sex, slight manipulative behavior, unprotected sex;

Plot: you should have not fallen for him, the devil himself, the handsome hitman of Muzan Kibutsuji. His charming personality, however, had you wrapped around his finger effortlessly. Sometimes, when you blabbed out some reserved informations of your gang to him, you felt how he was taking advantage of what you two had. All it took for him to calm you down, though, were his sugarcoated words and the promise you were his only one.

Track: Babydoll — Ari Abdul: “When I meet your eyes, the devil, he wins”.

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Same old story. A bottle of saké on the coffee table, his red button down clutched into your hands, his multicolored hues boring into yours as you sat on his lap. You wanted to stop this, but you could not.

His lips curled up into his trademark smirk, his long-dark eyelashes contrasting with his pale complexion and the variety of shimmering colors mixed in his irises, as he ran his thumb over your lower lip.

If you did not know him, you would have said he was a gift from the gods. However, Douma was a gift from the haunts of Hell.

You knew you should have not even allowed him to approach you that night at the bar. You were not clueless, his identity and his reputation were well-known. But he was enticing. You were alone, dealing with a break-up, feeling like the ground was shaking under your feet. He was a little bit older than you, three years, but they had granted him enough experience to deceive you. You were fragile in that moment and he knew it.

That time had long gone, however. Months had passed by and you had fully recovered. Staying by his side now, letting yourself being ruined by him over and over again, was your choice.

“You’ve been so helpful for me, darling. I wonder how I can reward you for your sacrifice” Douma chimed, forcing his thumb into your mouth and pressing the pad of his finger onto your tongue.

His actions were laced with lewd intentions, his words creeping under your skin.

He had mentioned a ‘sacrifice’. Of course, he had. He knew that what you were doing for him was the equivalent of killing the good and loyal part of yourself that would have given up on anything just to make the people you cared about happy. What were you doing for them now? You were stabbing them on their backs, spitting on their faces, putting their lives in danger, for the sake of a toxic and secret relationship with him.

As his thumb entered your warm mouth, you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut only not to let tears spill out of your eyes. He knew what his words did to you.

His dirty talk made your panties sticky, but the way he never failed to remind you of what you were doing for him, for a criminal, for the man who easily manipulated you and played with your heart like a guitarist played with the strings of a guitar, well, it broke your heart.

Your lower lip quivered and a soft chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Ah, I’m sorry, baby. — he whispered, slowly removing his thumb from your mouth and grasping your jaw roughly — Look at me” he added, his voice velvet but still firm.

A command. One of the many he gave you, when he was about to watch you crumble in his arms. You slowly lifted your lids, letting your teary eyes meet his ones. In his shining ones, you could see two small versions of you. But you could read two identical words too: betrayal.

A sob escaped your lips, your shoulders shaking and a grin crossed Douma’s face. There it was, your fragile part. Your tears falling from your lashes, your mascara drawing patters on your cheeks that resembled brenches of a leafless tree, made him lose his cool. You could feel his cock underneath you twitch, you could see the way he enjoyed your whimpers.

Depraved, he was depraved.

“You’re so beautiful like this. — he purred, wrapping his hand around your throat and slipping the other one between your thighs, tugging your thong to the side — Bearing a baby into your tummy. Your womb swollen, my baby growing into you” he said, his voice dripping desire and lust.

“Douma…” you whispered, as his deft fingers plunged into you effortlessly.

“Tsk, you’re dripping… Can you hear it? The lewd sounds of your cunt yearning for more, waiting for me to fill you up. Can you hear them, love?” he hoarsely said, involving you into a fervent kiss.

A moan, another one, this time louder, erupted from your throat as his slender fingers searched for that spongy spot that made you squeal out in ecstasy for him. It did not take long for him to find it. He knew you like the back of his hand, your body was like a piece of paper for him to write on.

“Ah, chant for me, baby. Sing for me, sing because you’re my only one” he whispered, his grip on your neck tightening significantly as you gasped for air.

Your eyes widened, your inner walls clamping onto his fingers as he pinned you down onto the couch, underneath him.

Your toes curled, as you lolled your head back in pleasure. The gultiness, the shame you felt for the way you let him manhandle you, for your morals bending only to stick by his side when the sun set, they were all gone. He stripped you out of your sanity, his sinful hands breaking the sheer of pride you loved to show off in public.

You felt his fingers leaving your core, the hand around your neck following suit, as he unbuckled his belt and hastily unzipped his pants. He needed you. He wanted to ruin your innocence again. It was never enough.

“I promise, I’ll fuck you so good you’ll leave this place slithering around like a viper. My pretty, little viper” he crooned, spreading your legs wide before hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of his tight boxers and pulling them down his thighs.

The sight of your essence leaking out of you for his previous actions made him let out a moan of anticipation, while your cheeks heated out for the predatory look plastered over his angelic face.

You were glad he had streatched you out properly. His shaft was not exactly easy to adjust to. As long as he loved seeing tears stream down your face, he wanted you to enjoy the way he messed up your insides. It had to feel good for you too.

“Tell me that you love me” he said then, hovering over you and resting your legs on the top of his broad shoulders. His fingers dug onto the plush of your thighs, earning a soft whimper from you as his tip started to tease your entrance.

“I love you. You know how much I love you…” you breathed out, arching your back in hope to get some friction from the spot where your intimacies met.

Douma chuckled, his teeth grazing the tender flesh of your neck as he shoved himself into you slowly, making sure you could feel every inch of him exploring your warm channel. He surely was vocal, he had always been. A long, strained moan left his lips as he bottomed out and your cry of pleasure echoed into the luxurious living room of his house.

Your breaths mixed, his thrusts hard and steady as you ran your fingers through his long, silky and silvery hair.

Douma was too handsome to be a devil. Then again, as he made you reach your climax, whispering sinful words into your ear, making sure his thrusts hit your g-spot, you were reminded of that fallen angel. He was an angel, in the end, you were right.

Douma was God’s favorite, he was Lucifer. Therefore, as he released into you, moaning into your mouth as his tongue dominated yours, you were ready to let him drag you to hell with him.

“Yeah, I definitely love you” you murmured, panting as you stared at the ceiling above you, his body still pressed against yours.

Sinning never felt that good.

TAGS: @doumadono @doumaslotus @mrskokushibo @misaki-the-lotusflower @flakeygod @cyberdazetragedy

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

You can call me, Sir.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific chapter warnings : Failed CPS case, implied abuse with belt, clothes shopping (I tried my best to be as body neutral as possible), sugar daddy Arron, sales lady is rude towards reader, Things are getting spicy, first rules, use of pet names, reader is described as having hair long enough to sweep over one shoulder, trying on clothes, Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: The amount of love that has been shown for this story so far has absolutely filled my heart! I’m sorry this chapter took a minute to come out, I got married last week sooooo 😍 that slowed the process down a little. Haha 💜

*~*~*~*~*~*

9 years ago

The worst part was the way her nose stung, like a million tiny needles stabbing her all at once. But she had to breath through it, because only selfish, weak, incompetent people cried. So she forced her thoughts solely on the older woman who sat across from her, her grey hair loose around her shoulders, and the bright pink blazer she wore with matching skirt. ‘I think name is Deloris?’

Not what you would have thought when you heard the term ‘CPS worker’. She smiles at the young teen as if she was Y/n’s best friend and there isn’t a care in the world as her fountain pen taps against her yellow notepad. “You’re mother must have been a lovely woman.”

A muscle in Y/n’s jaw twitches, but she manages to return Deloris’ smile briefly. “She was.”

“So is that really the reason you have been skipping school?” Her green eyes were full of mock sympathy, and Y/n can only assume how many of these ‘troubled teen cases’ she has had to work.

“Yes ma’am.” It was the 8th anniversary of Y/n’s mother’s death. Today. She can hear her father in the other room, moving about the kitchen, pretending to not be listening through the thin walls. Y/n squeezes the pillow in her lap tighter to her churning stomach, already anticipating how the rest of the night will go.

“I’m sorry, dear. I know losing a loved one can be hard, but that doesn’t mean we can go about making things hard for the ones we still have.” Deloris tilts her head, her lips in a slightly pout as she regards Y/n, who only bites her cheek to keep quiet. She drops her chin to her chest, fanning shame with a small nod, placating the woman. “Good. I’m going to go talk with your father now, I hope you understand the severity of the situation you’ve almost caused. I expect to hear you are in school tomorrow.”

Deloris doesn’t take long in the kitchen with Y/n’s father, her pitchy laughter grating on Y/n’s ears. Her father escorts the worker to the door, his hair is combed, beard neat and he’s dressed still in his work clothes. A fitted grey collard shirt and jeans. His usual Forman outfit. At one point in Y/n’s life she can remember thinking her dad had been very handsome, but that had all been before the drinking.

“Have a good evening Miss. Deloris.” Her fathers southern accent is always laid on heavy whenever he is trying to impress someone, or to get his way. And for most of his life it worked well. Y/n wonders sometimes if that is how he had charmed her mother.

As the pine door shut, Y/n closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath before the storm. When she opens her eyes again, she’s staring at the brown tweed couch across from her, out of the corner of her eye she can see her father’s still form in the archway of the living room.

The sound of leather hissing through his denim belt loops makes her stomach drop, her breath quicken in her already tight chest. “Gone an got me in trouble huh?” He folds the worn leather over in his hands, snapping it together watching as she jumps in her seat. Her gaze remains focused on the spot Miss. Deloris had occupied, the old springs and cushioning holding her shape. “You ain’t learned trouble girl.”

Present Day

It’s almost unbearable how cold it is outside, the dark clouds over head threatened to snow on the busy sidewalk as you shove your hands as far into your jacket as they will go. Aaron is pressed against your side, his arm wrapped around your back, directing you through the crowd and to the front of a large store.

Chic’s End

Your nose scrunches slightly at the different mannequins in the brightly lit windows who’s clothing is on the higher end of fashion. Pieces you’d never find in your own wardrobe. Aaron guides you towards the door but you stop abruptly shaking your head. “Hotch, aren’t there places a little less… fancy?” Your tone gives away your discomfort as you scan the nearly empty store.

Aaron sighs, stepping around you so he can look you in the eye. “Rule number one: call me Aaron when it’s just the two of us, Hotch is too formal. Now I’m sure there are, but you deserve to be a little spoiled…” He pauses, his phone vibrating in his pocket making him frown. “Now go inside, let me check this and I’ll be right in.” As he fishes for his phone he pulls open the door for you, letting you walk in with a small head rush.

‘Our first rule?’

You take the moment you have some to look around the store front, a few customers are mingling about the rows of clothing, associates putting away inventory or helping their guests. A brunette is standing at the register, her hair sprayed and pinned into a tight bun atop her head. She glances at you, her nose turned up at your simple outfit, without a word of welcome she goes back to her work.

The door is opening a moment later, a small bell going off as Aaron steps in, the icy breeze trying to follow. “Sorry, David was checking in.” His voice reaches the woman at the counter, grabbing her attention. She watches as he shrugs out of his winter jacket, her gaze fixing on the flash of jewelry on his wrist with a smile.

“Is he okay?” You ask, handing Aaron your own jacket as he hangs them on a coatrack.

“Oh yes, he’s-.”

“Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you with?” You turn, the same woman from before now standing in front of you. She’s wearing a form fitting black dress, the apparent dress code for the establishment, a silver name tag pinned to her collar reading ‘Denise.’ Gone is her dismissive attitudes from before, her blue eyes staring intently at Aaron with a sly smile.

You feel something in your chest squirm, making you take a step in front of Aaron as you pull your best smile into place. “Oh thank you, but we are just-.”

A warm hands is suddenly on your shoulder, pulling you into Aaron’s side. “We’re looking for some work attire; blouses, pants, skirts and such. Along with more casual wear.” He squeezes your shoulder as you slide him a disgruntled look.

Denise regards you with a tight lipped smile, nodding her head slightly. “Of course. Right this way.” She turns on her heel, an extra sway in her her step that makes you roll your eyes as you pull out of Aaron’s grip following her. He follows behind a few paces, regarding you with masked amusement.

She takes you to the back of the store, pointing out the sections of racks you’ll need and where on the walls you can find work appropriate pants and skirts. Denise turns to Aaron once again, stepping to close for comfort as she stares openly at his suit. “You know, we have the latest in Brioni’s suit jackets that I think would complement you rather well, Mr…” She brushes her hand against his arm and your eyes widen.

“No thank you. I’ll let you know if we need any further assistance.” Aaron comes to stand beside you, his expression hard to read as he places a hand on your lower back. Denise’s eyes narrow slightly, her smile faltering before she pulls her emotions back.

“Please do.” She saunters of, throwing one last look over her shoulder.

You laugh unbelievably, “Jesus… she was a bit forward.” You turn toward the rack beside you, picking up the first shirt your eyes land on. It’s a simple white blouse with navy blue pinstripes, the neckline is a little low for your taste but otherwise it’s very pretty. You pick up the tag and instantly drop it, your mouth falling open.

“What?” Aaron asks, sliding the clothes along the pole, looking through the selection.

“This! These clothes are way to over priced.” You turn the tag towards him, and he squints at the small numbers. ‘75.56’. He frowns slightly and you think he’s about to agree with you, call this whole ridiculous thing off until he shrugs.

“That’s not so bad.” He grins at the incredulous look you level him, showing perfect teeth. “Darling you’ll come to realize the value that comes with certain things. Soon enough you’ll see the value in yourself as well.” He chucks you under the chin softly and you think that’s it.

You’re going to explode.

Everything it too much.

“Hotch, I can’t just let you waste that kind of money on me. You don’t know what you will need it for later, bills, or -.”

Aaron steps into your space again, bending down until he’s eye level with you and you clam up. His eyes are dark, burning with an intensity that has your shoulders slumping slightly. When he speaks his voice is quiet but direct, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “What did I say our first rule was?”

You stammer, your grip tightening on the fabric still in your hands. “You said… to call you Aaron.”

“Correct. So that’s one. Now, when I say I am doing something for you, buying you something, getting you something; do not doubt me. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t. Do I make myself clear?”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry and tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. “Good girl. Now if you really find calling me Aaron to difficult, you can always call me sir.” You suddenly look like a fire had been lit underneath you, your face flushing a new shade of red he’d yet to see before. You turn away from him, trying to hide your emotions and aggressively shuffle through the clothes before you.

Aaron straightens with a satisfied smile.

*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour in and there is a mount pile of clothing in the cart in front of you. Everything you’ve selected draped over one side and everything Aaron selected on the other. You had found a discount rack, the red tags a twisted mess by now, but the 15% off sign did little to quell the guilt eating you.

“Okay… this is more clothes than I think Garcia even owns. I think we should-.” You’re talking absently, glancing up only to find Aaron is walking in the opposite direction of the checkout. “Oh for the love of all things holy.” You quickly follow, pulling the cart behind you as the hangers rattle together. He stops in front of a display of eloquent evening gowns and you follow his stare to the forefront of the display. A deep emerald green satin dress takes your breath away, with a sweetheart neckline and a slit that goes half way up the mannequins thigh. You peak around the back in awe, it plunges well down to the lower back, a sheer material with beautiful rhinestones occupying the negative space.

Aaron watches as you pick up the bottom of the dress, rubbing the buttery material between your fingers. “I would love to see you in it.”

You shake your head, though your focus remains on the dress. “There’s no reason to, when would I ever wear this? Besides we’ve been here for nearly an hour, if we don’t leave soon I’m sure Denise is going to jump your bones.”

Aaron chuckles at that with a shrug. “You might not be wrong, she’s been lurking around the corner ever since I took my jacket off and she caught sight of my watch.” You glance down at his wrist as he shows you a golden Rolex. You hum in understanding, putting the two together. A handsome, stylish man, with a nice suit and a watch that coasts a couple of grand. She sees dollar signs. “Go ask her for a fitting room.”

Glancing around you notice she’s no more than ten feet away, pretending to be busy with an already neatly arranged display of sweaters. You walk over, hands clasped behind your back. “Excuse me?”

She doesn’t bother to look up, her head tilted as if in contemplation as she stares at the stack in front of her. “Yes?”

Your jaw clenches slightly, but you smile regardless. “I’d like to try that green dress on, where are your dressing rooms?” That finally catches her attention, she looks around you to the dress your talking about and then to the cart beside Aaron, the red tags turned her way. With a bemused smile she finally looks you in the eye.

“Sorry, that dress isn’t on sale, dear. Maybe come back some other time.” Her high voice carries farther than she thinks, reaching Aaron who’s eyebrows raised in surprise before furrowing as anger bubbles in his chest.

Before you can say anything he is by your side, startling you both. “She didn’t ask you if it was on sale. She asked if you had a fitting room.” Denise pales, his voice is harsh and edged making her shift on her feet as she begins to stammer

“Well I… it was just-.”

“Just what? It’s a simple question, this is a clothing store so you must have fitting rooms. She would like one opened.” Denise can no longer keep eye contact, her gaze flickering from his face and away again. “Now.” The command in his voice makes her move, her mouth agape and she’s pointing indirectly over her shoulder. She turns, quickly walking away and you’re left to stunned to react. Aaron’s hand finds your back again, pushing you forward, his other hand on the end of the cart.

The dressing area is three beiges booths with deep red curtains for doors. A large mirror takes up one wall that is lit up like Time Square during Christmas, and there are mirrors in the booths as well. “You said the green dress?” You nod, giving her your size and she’s running off again, her head down and face red. Aaron takes a seat in one of the mahogany chairs, folding his arms across his chest. He’s watching Denise leave with that same look he gives every unsub as they are being hauled off to their final destination.

“Um… thank you, for… for that.” You speak up, breaking the silence waiting on Denise to return.

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his black shoe tapping the polished floor. “You don’t typically show when you’re upset or irritated, I had to step in. I also couldn’t stand by and let you be berated like that.”

This time it’s you who crosses their arms, glowering at him. “I wasn’t showing I was upset, so what she was being rude? It didn’t affect me.”

His lips pull into a sarcastic smile, head shaking. “Sweetheart, I’ve been working with you for three years, nearly four. When you get upset over something, even if it is trivial, you dig your nails into your palms. Most likely because you would rather focus on that then what’s stewing in your mind and your chest.” You blink at him, awareness washing over you as you shake out your hands, crescent indents marking your flesh.

Before you can snip at him Denise is back, placing the dress in one of the rooms and leaving without a word. Aaron raises an eyebrow and you huff, turning and walking into the booth before snatching the curtain closed. You take a moment to breath, your annoyance merging on anger as you begin to undress.

You have to force yourself to remember this is all apart of the contract, this is all small steps to whatever greater end goal he has. You can’t fully trust he’s doing this out of the kindness of his heart, no one is like that. Working a career where you catch murderers and kidnappers and rapists has shown you such. The thought lingers at the back of your mind that maybe he’s pushing you to break and go to therapy where they will force your leave. It wouldn’t happen, you’ve come to far to let anyone treat you that way.

You step out of your pants, bending down to pick them up when you notice movement in the mirror. You look up, making eye contact with Aaron from where he sits and you go still. The only thing that moves is your heart as it suddenly jumps into double time.

Aaron’s eyes slowly rake over your body, the hunger in his eyes evident even from where you stand and you can feel your body respond. Heat rushes through your veins, leaving you lightheaded. He shifts in his seat, your eyes dropping to where he tugs at his pants legs, a noticeable bulge in his lap that makes your guts clench. From anxiety? Want? Curiosity? You aren’t sure. You quickly look away, his smile turning wolfish as you straighten and spin around, giving him a full peak at the matching black bra and panties your wearing before yanking the curtain fully closed.

All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, your fingers suddenly tingling and your lungs working for air. Shakily, checking the curtain again and again you strip out of your bra, and pull the dress over your head. The satin is soft and cool, the green leaving your skin glowing in the light. It hugs your body in ways you wouldn’t of imagined and you… like it. It screams seduction, fun, and someone you’re not but someone you once might have wanted to be…

The only issue is you can’t zip it yourself. You struggle for a few minutes, contouring your body this way or that, but you can’t get the zipper more than half way up your back.

Reluctantly you pull the curtain aside just enough to peak your head out, your eyes instantly finding Aaron’s. He raises an eyebrow, his hands clasped together in his lap and you are more than aware of why. “I need her help.” Your voice is floaty and you clear your throat. “I can’t zip it up.”

“I’ll help you.” He stands, crossing the small distance in three long strides, quicker than you can reject his help.

“Wait- no, I’m-.” But he is pulling the curtain away from the other side and you curse the interior designer with a flourish of silent profanities. In the small space he seems larger than life, all broad chest and long limbs. He steps closer and you back up, an all to familiar dance you two have rehearsed before.

He holds his hand out, a gesture of reassurance but he is still looking at you like a starved man. “Spin around, pretty girl.” Your legs feel suddenly numb, like you’d never used them before in your life as you continue to stare. “It’s okay.” He whispers, taking another half step forward.

“It’s fine, it fits well enough without it zipped I’m sure it’ll fit great when it is.” You fight to keep your body lose and face expressionless, trying to mask the feelings bubbling in your guts. Aaron doesn’t say anything, only continues to stare you down, gaze never wavering. “Really.”

“Turn around.” You don’t want to listen, but the timber of his voice makes your body ache in a way that catches you more by surprise than anything else has these past 24 hours. Cautiously you lay your hand in his, letting his pull you in before spinning you around so you’re facing the mirror. He sweeps your hair over your shoulder, his fingers grazing across the naked skin pulling gooseflesh to the surface.

You stand as still as possible, hardly breathing as he gently slides the zipper up. His palms spread across your ribs, warm through the thin fabric. “What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful dress.” You whisper quietly, trying not to back down from his stare.

“You make it beautiful.”

“You’re only saying that.” He pulls you closer, your back hitting his chest, your body molding to his. A gasp disappears on your lips, his hips pressing into you lower back his erection prominent making you shiver.

“I can promise you I’m not.” His hand slips to your stomach, splaying across your abdomen, and a small noise hitches in your throat. He tilts his head down, pressing a tinder kiss to the crown of your head and all you can focus on is where he’s touching you and where he isn’t, but where you want him to. Your panties are suddenly slick feeling as you shift against him, his erection digging further into your ass.

“Aaron…” You try to warn, and he watches the way your eyes flutter, the shields you’ve so desperately and carefully constructed cracking under the weight of his stare. Some logical part of your brain, buried beneath the mush of your thoughts, is screaming and begging to run away. But how long had it been since you’d felt that fire in the pit of your stomach, curling your toes and making your thighs pinch together?

You’re about to open your mouth, say something, anything at all, when he is suddenly pulling away. “Come out here so I can get a better look at you.” Aaron steps behind the curtain leaving you to your spiraling thoughts and an ache you’d never imagine. Your face is flushed, eyes wide and pupils blown out over the color of your irises. It’s hard to keep the air in your lungs from rushing out in soft pants.

All you can think is that if this is how you react to a few simple words and actions, you’re screwed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next half hour is spent paying for your clothing, a bill Aaron wouldn’t allow you to see, then moving the bags from the car to your hotel room. You stare at them now, laid out on your bed with furrowed eyebrows and your thumbnail caught between your teeth. How would you get these in your bag and on the plane with as little notice as possible?

“Maybe we can go get you another duffle bag tomorrow.” Aaron answers as if he could read your thoughts, and if you didn’t know better you would say he did.

“It’s okay.. Thank you for the clothing.” You manage, giving him a tight smile as you glance to where he is standing at the foot of the bed.

The entire car ride was filled with tension, his presence alone setting you on edge, all while he remained calm driving down the busy streets and helping you to your room.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He smiles at you, possibly more so from your compliance, his eyes like coffee. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

You bite your nail harder, looking back to the bags. “I’d like to just order my food to my room, I need to get this organized and finish my reports.” You expect him to argue but he only nods, coming around the bed and kissing the top of your head before he walks towards the door.

“I’ll check on you in a little while.” With that he leaves, and as the automatic lock slides into place you crumple. You sit heavily on the bed, running a hand through your hair like it might comb your thoughts back into place.

What are you doing?

What is he doing?

You groan in frustration, the feeling of not having control over what happens next beating on your bones and muscles. You haven’t relaxed since this began and you have a feeling you won’t for a long time to come.

*~*~*~*~*~*

If you would like to be tagged in the next parts please comment below and I will gladly add you! Thank you all for your support!

@kneelforloki @hmett20 @axionn @ncis0mrs0gibbs

[muldermuse]

this is kind of a ramble so bear with me:

thinking about sending two sinners!gator into an absolute tailspin when he shows up to your house to see everything in boxes and your clothes packed up in a few suitcases by the door

he’s like ????? WHAT IS GOING ON WHERE ARE YOU GOING???? and just casually saying “skipping town” and going to kiss him and he’s like ??????

i can only imagine the catharsis of telling him that “there’s nothing in fargo for me, most of the town hates me and the ones who don’t just wanna fuck me, you’re probably gonna marry glenda which will only make everyone hate me even more if they find out i’m the other woman. So I want to live somewhere else. I’m not happy here.” and he obv freaks out

and maybe you’re just going to stay at a friends house while your place gets painted, but maybe leaving was on your mind (it’s easier to sell a house with fresh paint👀), and maybe you wanted to see how serious he was about coming with you…but none of that is any of his business…

i’m usually not an angst girlie but i’m on my period and it’s probably a safer bet to be melodramatic and pick a fight with a fictional man than one i actually know 😭😭

ok this ask made me feral, i felt so ANGSTY writing it

thank u so much for sending it through angel <3

18+ only!! Angst below the cut!! Gator is mean and reader is maybe meaner. They're both terrible people. He calls her a whore, she calls him a lot of mean names. Mentions of smut but no actual smut.

Maybe, this is super far in the future for the two sinners fic or maybe it is not canon. who knows!!! not me!!!

You’re not sure how he found out. You’ve quietly handed your notice in at work and said goodbye to the few in this shitty town you care about. Jenson, Jax and Steve have been ghosted (but you know that they’d all come back with a simple ‘you up?’ text). You weren’t going to tell Gator you were leaving- he didn’t deserve a goodbye. You’d planned to go for 3 months as your place was going to get renovated in that time (you’d been saving up for years to make it more of a home). So, you thought that the months away would be an opportunity to become a new person. A better person. Someone who didn’t fuck pathetic Sheriffs. If anyone looked in; they’d think you were going forever. You’d decided that as soon as you left, you’d block Gator and when (or if) you returned, you’d avoid him like the plague.

The U-HAUL parked in your drive probably gave it away. Or when Glenda saw you filling up your truck and made a snide comment about what you were doing. Or maybe it was when you fucked him 2 days ago he made a passing comment about how empty your home looked. Since then, the entire hall area is covered in boxes filled with your possessions. You try not to let it depress you that your whole life has been packed up in a matter of days. You need a fresh start, you’re moving in with a friend a few towns over and you can be whoever you want to be for a few months. No one there has to know that you’ve been fucking a loser in a relationship for the best part of 2 years. You know it’s him as soon as he knocks on the door, no one knocks as loud as him and other people wait to be invited in. Gator lets himself in as you’re checking your backpack one final time.

“The fuck is all this shit?” He kicks a box that’s in his way and you’re thankful you don’t hear a shatter. “Saw the U-Haul and uh- Glenda saw you fillin’ up. Plannin’ a trip or somethin’?”. He tries to sound unbothered but you know him better than that.

You don’t look at him when you tell him, “Yeah, I’m leaving”. You tell yourself that it’s because you’re checking your backpack but really it’s because you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins and you’re trying to compose yourself before you lose your shit.

“The fuck did you jus’ fuckin’ say?”

“Sorry, I’ll say it slower because you’re a fuckin’ idiot. I am leaving”. You draw out the last three words and stare at him. You can hear your heart thumping in your ears as you try to read the expression on his face. It’s a mix of anger, confusion, and sadness. A soft kiss his pressed to his cheek as you walk into the dining room to check your toiletries box. That’s the only pleasantry you’ll exchange with him today- or maybe ever again.

His boots stomp behind you as he follows you in. “Well, where are you goin’?”

“I’ll tell you when I’m there, Gator. Now you can fuck off back to Glenda and play fuckin’ happy families for the rest of your life”.

“Well- why are you leavin’? You’ve never mentioned this before”. His voice breaks as he speaks, either a sign he’s getting choked up or he’s getting really angry.

You can feel the anger rattling in your chest and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears becomes overwhelming. “Why am I going? Gator, everyone in this town fuckin’ hates me or thinks that I’m a total whore because of your fuckin’ bitch of a girlfriend. Who- by the way, you’re goin’ to marry because you’re too fuckin’ chickenshit to upset your crazy daddy…” You slam your hands on the table and take a quick breath, “Gator- I fuckin’ hate it here, I’m miserable and I can’t do it any longer- it’s killin’ me”.

He’s stood opposite you and fuck, does he look mad. He doesn’t move for a minute but then shoves your boxes off the table and kicks them when they hit the floor. After a few seconds, he kicks them again with more force and slams his hands on the table.

“Yeah, real fuckin’ mature Gator, breaking my shit beca-“

“What about this? What about us?” His voice is more muted than you’ve ever heard it. His breath is shuddering gasps. You’re unsure why it enrages you.

You laugh cruelly, “What us? What the fuck are you talking about? Gator, you have a fuckin’ girlfriend who you’re going to marry.”

“Yeah but when has that stopped you- huh? You can’t put this all on me. You’re jus’ as bad as me.”

He moves to stand in front of you. The energy in the room is charged, usually, when it feels like this between the pair of you, it would end in some angry sex where you’re both trying to dominate the other person but you both know that isn’t going to happen today. 

“You’re movin’ away to be a fuckin’ whore somewhere else... or because you’re jealous of Glenda. She gets all of me and you jus’ get the fuckin’ scraps”. His smile is wicked and his eyes look darker than you’ve ever seen them.

You take a step closer to him, “I couldn’t think of anything fucking worse than havin’ all of you. You’re a pathetic fuckin’ daddy’s boy who’s never won anythin’ in his life”. You get close enough to whisper in his ear, “you’re a fuckin’ loser, Gator.”

You hate how much you want to fuck him in this moment and by the red bloom that’s creeping up his neck; you know he feels the same.

He leaves your home silently. He kicks another box on his way out and you finally hear a shatter. His tyres spin as his car races off your front lawn. 

You should block his number and know that that is the end of this awful affair. 

But you both know that it isn’t.

[zepskies]

Being Human - Part 3

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: Remember that in this point in the season, we're in the year 2020 (DA season 2 was released in 2001). And we're about to dive into some rocky waters...

Chapter Summary: The weight of Alec’s secret is starting to create fractures. Because now, you have a secret of your own.

Song Inspo: “Attention” by Avant (ft. Snoop Dog)

Word Count: 4,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smut, elements of mate claiming, fluff, angst, perilous situations, and a cliffhanger...

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 3: Complications

These are the nights you live for.

The gang’s all here at Crash. You’re accompanied by Max, Logan, Original Cindy, and a fruity cocktail Alec got for you. Though you roll your eyes at the way your boyfriend is trying to hook people into playing a game of pool with him, clearly so he can hustle them. The man has freakish skills.

He’s already won two or three paychecks’ worth off Sketchy, who bows out by necessity.

“Come on. Anyone, anyone! Step right up and test your skills!” Alec calls throughout the back of the bar.

“Babe, would you give it up?” you say, even though you’re smiling. “No one wants to get swindled.”

He turns to you, zeroing in with a flirtatious grin.

“Want to try your hand, sweetheart?” he asks.

You snort. “I think not.”

“Aw, come on. We don’t even have to play for cash. How about sexual favors?” he offers. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes that idea, with a growing smile. His gaze locks on yours. 

“I wouldn’t even mind losing,” he says, giving you a cocky wink. 

You smile, fighting a blush. Max and Cindy roll their eyes. Logan ducks his head in amusement.  

“That white boy nonsense actually works on you?” Cindy asks.

You take a decided sip of your cocktail in lieu of answering.

In the end, Logan steps up to the plate, to much cajoling. When he actually wins, Alec is forced to accept a bruised ago as he forks over $50.

You beckon him over and he joins your half-booth table. You lean against him after he slides in behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, and you know he doesn’t care all that much about the game.

You all cut up as usual for a while, laughing and telling stories from the day of package slinging. Logan patiently listens to all of you Jam Pony alumni commiserating over how each of you would choose to prank Normal (if there were no repercussions). Sketchy ends up with the best idea: putting super glue in the glue stick the man uses on his hair.

When the laughter dies down, Alec offers to buy the next round of beer. He often does, you’ve noticed; he’s a generous person, whether he thinks of himself that way or not. Logan gets up to join him at the bar, wanting to chip in for the pitcher with his “new winnings.”

You shake your head at that. Alec’s pride probably won’t allow competition from Logan for a second time tonight.

“We’re about to be short-staffed again,” says Cindy, earning your attention. “Jenny got knocked up.”

Max’s brows raise, while you give a happy clap and a sound of excitement.

“Oh, good for her! She and Carlos have been trying for months.”

“Hmph. That is one thing I’m not envious of,” Cindy says.

“No kids on your wishlist?” you ask.

“Not a chance, boo,” she replies.

You turn to Max next. “Are you in Miss Anti-Family’s camp too?”

“Hey, ain’t nobody said I’m anti-family,” Cindy cut in. “I believe it comes in all shapes and sizes, and they don’t gotta be your blood.”

You take a moment to think about what she’s saying, and you conceded with a nod and a smile.

“Fair enough, OC. You’ve got it right,” you gestured at her with the hand that held your drink. She clinks her half-empty beer with your glass. Both of you then turn to Max with expectant gazes, still waiting on her answer.

“I’m not into all that domestic stuff, really,” she says. Though her gaze drifts toward Logan, who’s still arguing with Alec at the bar. “My life’s complicated enough.”

Cindy snorts into her glass. You don’t quite get it; maybe because you don’t really know Max all that well, for how often you guys hang out. It’s like she keeps you at an arm’s length. It hurts you sometimes, when you see how close she is with Cindy, but you suppose it’s her right to keep her circle small.

The world’s become a lot tougher after the Pulse. The more people know about you, the more they can use it against you. That’s why finding people you can trust, and even love, is all the more precious.

You glance over at the bar again, where Logan and Alec have seemed to come to a consensus. (Logan’s bowed out of paying for beer.) Alec has a victorious little smile on his face. He looks over, as if sensing your gaze, and he shoots you a wink. Your smile grows.

Meanwhile, Max and Cindy watch you with twin looks of wry amusement.

“So you want the family package, huh?” Cindy asks.

You twirl your straw around your glass.

“I haven’t thought all that hard about it, but…I wouldn’t mind, with the right person.”

Max chortles, pointing a finger towards the bar. “You think that’s Alec?”

Cindy’s brows furrow slightly as she shoots her friend a warning look. You bite your lip and look down at your drink. 

“Now’s not the right time but, maybe someday,” you reply.

Later that night, you treat yourself to a bath in Alec’s apartment. The heater here is amazing. His place is so spacious, with a huge TV in the living room worthy of his obsession with cartoons and soap operas. 

He has another one in the bedroom, where he’s made himself comfortable watching some old sitcom. 

When you eventually get out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around you, Alec is predictably glued to the TV. You don’t even think he’s noticed you when you walk by him to grab the change of clothes from your overnight bag, but he pulls you into his lap before you can get dressed. 

“Why the hell do you need clothes?” he says, stealing a kiss. “Those cumbersome things.”

You giggle, and he smiles against your lips. He rolls you underneath him on the bed and you help divest him of his clothes, down to his boxer briefs. He’s in a good mood tonight, you can tell.

He takes one corner of your towel and peels it off you slowly, until your body is bare for his gaze. His eyes take in every inch of you before they make it back to your lightly blushing face.

He smiles, and he takes down the messy bun from your head to have your hair fanning wildly across his pillows. Your hands move across his chest and further down, but he puts a stop to your exploration. He grasps your wrists and pins them down to the bed with a strength you can’t escape.

You raise your brows. “Alec?”

“Trust me,” he says, dipping down to kiss your neck. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

You suck in a breath. Far be it from you to argue with that.

“Is this one of those sexual favors?” you tease.

He laughs against your skin. “You’re about to find out.”

Then his mouth drifts away from your neck, burning a hot, wet trail across your dewy skin. He finds his way between your breasts, before he lavishes attention to each one. While his tongue swirls around one pert bud, he rolls the other under his thumb and pinches just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you.

Your back arches off the bed a bit; your fingers rake through his sandy hair, clenching whenever he finds a sensitive spot. Both your grip and your voice spur him on, letting him know he’s in the right direction.

You don’t know this, of course, but before a few months ago, he wasn’t so well-versed in this arena. He’s learned his way down a woman’s body with much practice. And he’s come to find that every one of them is different, each with their own set of tells, as he likes to call them.

For example, he knows that even you don’t mind it fast and rough, you prefer it slow, like this. You like a full work up, with his lips dragging down below your navel and his thumbs guiding your knees open, so he can slot himself between your legs.

Already you’re breathing deeper as he makes his way down, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the inside of your left thigh. His tongue licks a languid stripe up the seam of your pussy.

“Alec,” you whine, like you want him to speed up the pace. Maybe you do, but all he gives you is a smirk from between your legs.

“Patience is a virtue,” he teases.

You huff and will yourself to be virtuous, closing your eyes with deep breaths. “Please…”

He chuckles. “I gotcha, baby. Don’t worry.”

His hand slides up your lower belly, both to comfort you and to hold you down. You cover his hand with yours, but your nails soon dig into his skin as his fingers deftly slip past your folds and find your entrance.    

“Already drenched for me, I see,” he remarks approvingly. He gathers some wetness and finds your clit, circling with the pads of his fingers. He searches for the right angle, using the sound of your voice to guide him.

When you suck in a gasp and shudder, he knows he’s found the right spot. He replaces his hand with his tongue, while he slips two fingers deep inside you. As he works you over, unrelenting when your hips threaten to raise off the bed, he holds you down with a firm hand. Your hands fist in his hair as your eyes close and your mouth drops open with your moans.

Finally, you buck against his chin and let out a wordless cry. He feels your wetness coat his tongue and knows he’s making you come. Your inner walls are still quivering around his fingers when he slips them out of you. He actually licks them clean, making you shiver again at the sight.

Alec crawls back up the length of your body while you catch your breath. He smiles down on you and brushes your cheek with the back of his hand.

“Not about to pass out on me, are you?” he asks. A teasing gleam is in his eyes. “I think I can resuscitate you.”

You laugh breathily in response and pull him down to you, crashing his lips to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, which isn’t unpleasant. Your nails drag down the back of his neck. Alec groans into your mouth and sinks his fingers into your hair.

Now he’s more on your wavelength as you reach for the waistband of his boxer brief and quickly roll them down. He helps you by kicking them the rest of the way off, allowing you to wrap your thighs around his hips tightly.

“Hey, wait a second,” he says, laughing with his forehead pressed to yours. He grabs your hips and angles you a bit higher, then he reaches between your bodies and holds the painfully hard, weeping head of his cock at your entrance.

He meets your eyes, and you smile and squeeze the back of his neck in encouragement.

As slowly as he can manage, he pushes inside you. He stretches open your inner walls inch by inch. Both of you take in deep breaths and utter mingled moans as he continues to push inside, until the head of his cock reaches the very depths of you.

You toss your head back against the pillow with a heavy breath.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod, licking your lips. “Just move, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He likes when you call his name, but he thinks he likes even more when you call him baby. He knows that you mean it, unlike women he’s had to pay for.

But he doesn’t want to think about any of those exploits when he’s with you—there’s no comparison. He slides out almost the full length of his cock, before he pushes back in. He builds a slow, sensuous, steady rhythm that serves both of you well.

He actually works up a sweat, and you help him by meeting his thrusts, encouraging him whenever you give him your voice, your instructions and praises, your hands attempting to squeeze the circulation out of his arms.

He's so focused on rocking your world (and his own) that he doesn’t realize what you’re about to do.

He’s deep inside you when you brush your hand along his jaw and utter the truth.

“I love you,” you whisper. 

Alec pauses. 

Both of you are breathing hard, but the fact that he doesn’t say anything makes you freeze. Neither of you have said that before. You hold in your breath. 

Alec’s pupils are blown wide as he dips down, nosing along your throat before he begins to move inside you again. You moan in response as your legs squeeze his hips. He sinks his teeth just above where your neck meets your shoulder, making you gasp and arch against him, gripping his hair tight. 

The way you’re squeezing him so tightly, from the inside out, means he reaches his shuddering end before you do, but he still makes sure you get there for a second time. His fingers reach between you to press and circle around your clit before his last few hard thrusts. It has you coiled tight, before you gasp and moan your release. 

He licks a long stripe along your neck. You hiss in pain when he laps over tender flesh. 

“Sorry,” he pants. 

“You got me good, Count Dracula,” you quip. 

Alec breathes warmly against your ear. He pulls back and examines the bite mark on your neck. He barely remembers doing it.

It’s like…some kind of claim.

Like an animal, he thinks wryly. For the first time, he wonders just what the hell they put into his cocktail at Manticore. 

He clears his throat. 

“Uh, I’m sorry,” he says, contritely. “Didn’t mean to…”

You slide your hands up his arms and catch his gaze. You smile in amusement, even though you’re blushing.

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

The two of you don’t talk about what you said.

Or what he didn’t say.  

You don’t know what’s happening, but you think it stems from that night.

Alec begins to pull away from you. 

Dinner plans get “rain checked.” Trips to the farmer’s market, to the park, to Pike Place get cancelled. 

For the next few weeks, the only time you see him is at work or at Crash, or occasionally in the line for boxed and canned goods in Sector 2. 

Max can’t give you a straight answer on what’s going on with him (and really, you should be able to figure out your own boyfriend without her help). So you finally have to put your foot down.

You try to pull him aside at work, in front of the Jam Pony building. He’s on his way in, while you’d been on your way out. 

“Alec, can I talk to you?” you ask. He gives you a strained, apologetic look. 

“I’ve gotta pick up my next deliveries.”

“Alec, please,” you implore. You squeeze his arm enough to hold his attention. “I feel like…like you’re avoiding me. Is there something going on?”

His expression dims further. “I’ve just been really busy.”

“We’re always busy. That’s not it.” You frown, and your body tenses. “Is there…someone else?”

Alec briefly closes his eyes, emitting a short sigh. “No. Nothing like that.”

You let out a subtle breath of relief, because you do believe him this time. But that just makes your next question even more difficult. Your arms cross, to disguise the way you’re bracing for a figurative blow. 

“Then…have I done something wrong?” you ask. 

That hurts Alec even more. Though his training, so deeply ingrained, allows him not to show it. 

“No. No, it’s not you,” he says, wiping a hand over his mouth. “It’s… Listen, I just think we needa slow down a bit, you know?”

“Slow down?” you ask. A trill of panic laces down your spine. “Is it about…what I said?”

Alec doesn’t want to answer, but you both know then that you’ve hit the nail on the head. 

“I just need some space,” he says. “I think it’ll be better for both of us.”

“Really?” you ask. Your voice flattens, and hot tears well up in your eyes.

It threatens to undo him. Somehow, he’s able to hold firm in what he believes he has to do, in order to protect you. Even from himself.

Alec reaches for your cheek. He hesitates just slightly, but he drops a kiss on your forehead.

You don’t want to let him. You can’t help it though; you savor his touch. You feel his warm lips on your skin, and then he’s gone by the time you open your eyes.  

A few days later, you still feel like hell. You manage to reach your locker and you lean against it. Your stomach churns with nausea—the constant sign of your stress as you try to get through your morning.  

On the TV, some government agent is exposing a genetics company called Manticore. That it created “transgenic” subjects as genetically engineered soldiers, often using animal DNA. They escaped almost a year ago now.

They’re not human. They’re living among you. They’re dangerous, and you have a right to be scared.

You’re only half-listening, because the truth is, this sounds like a bunch of fearmongering bullshit, and you’re too tired to be all that alarmed. Humans are dangerous enough, as far as you’re concerned.

The government is probably trying to cover up something even more heinous by concocting this ridiculous story.

You rest your cheek against the cool metal of your locker and just stand there for a while in time in space. You don’t care much about the world around you, until Max comes into your line of vision. She touches your arm.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine.” A vast overstatement, though you know that you aren’t convincing anyone.

You look up just in time to see Alec standing at his own locker. He’d been glancing at you and Max, but being caught by your gaze makes him turn away, closing his locker as he leaves.

Max’s lips press together. She returns her attention to you in thinly veiled concern.

“What happened exactly?” she asks.

“Max, I don’t know,” you confess. “Things were fine. They were good.” 

You let out a deep, exhausted breath.

Oh yeah, you haven’t been sleeping much lately either. 

“Deep in my gut, I have this feeling. Like he’s going through something,” you say. “Or he’s hiding something from me. He just won’t talk to me. Every time it feels like we’re headed somewhere good, solid, he pulls away. I can’t fucking do it anymore, Max. I just can’t take it.”

You slam your locker closed and try to get on with your day before your tears fall. Max sighs and watches you go.

She doesn’t know that you head to the bathroom and heave your breakfast into the toilet bowl, spilling what little you could keep down this morning.

You haven’t been sighted at Crash in weeks, but Alec comes here every night, Max notices. He drinks alone tonight, once again looking more woe is me than ever.

It boils her blood.

She takes a seat next to him and punches his arm with a heavy dose of her transgenic strength. Alec flinches with a cry of protest, but she just glares at him.

“Why are you doing this to her? To yourself?” she demands. 

Alec wants to glare at her, but he doesn’t have it in him. He just quirks his head and sips his drink. He doesn’t even know what kind of liquor this is, but the bartender promised it’s the strongest thing he has back there.

“Leave it alone, Maxie,” Alec says, as he takes a sip. Though strongest be damned, he’s slammed down four of these and he’s still not drunk. Ain’t that a bitch.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“I don’t?” Max raises her brows. “You’re fucking with her head and her heart. And for what? So you can have a little pity party?”

Alec does glare at her this time. “You know what, why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

“Not until you tell me,” she demands. “Why’re you pushing away someone who clearly cares about you? Not that I get why. If this selfish, pigheaded, asshole behavior is supposed to be charming, then maybe she’s better off without you.”

He slams down his glass hard enough for liquor to slosh out over his hand. 

“Don’t you get it?! That’s exactly it,” he hisses, low enough that only the two of them can hear. “When are you going to understand that we’re a threat to them? We’re being hunted every damn day. You think Ames White and his cult cronies’ll think twice about a little collateral damage?”

“Alec—”

“You think you and Logan are any different?” he adds. “Let me remind you, you were a danger to him even before a genetically engineered virus came into the picture.”

She’s angry, but he knows she can’t argue with logic. They both know that Alec is speaking from a place of experience. 

“So you’re just gonna break her heart?” she asks. “Again?”

Alec shakes his head and casts his gaze down into brown liquor. Max leans toward him with a steely glower. 

“You’re a coward,” she says, before she slips away. 

Alec wipes his wet hand on his jeans.

…Maybe she’s right, he thinks. You’ll probably end up regretting the day you ever met him, but at least you’ll be alive to hate him.

“Oh God,” you utter, a hand covering your mouth. 

You haven’t been to the doctor in several years, but you managed to scrape enough money together to afford this little test. It gave you a more definitive answer on why you’ve spent the last few weeks fighting sickness and fatigue in equal measure. 

How could this have happened? You were on birth control. What could possibly have…

You don’t know what possesses you to go hunting for the little round packet in the medicine cabinet. You examine its contents and confirm that you haven’t missed even one pill of your pharmacy-issued birth control.

On the bottom of the packet, however, you spy something small in the fine print: EXP – 02/2017.

Expired…THREE YEARS AGO?!  

Apparently, you can’t put it past pharmacies to sell outdated meds now.

You sit alone on your couch in silence for nearly an hour. You run down every scenario, every path you could possibly take and try to consider its most likely outcome.

Medical care is a joke nowadays, unless you're still part of the wealthy 1%. That also includes...termination.

Even you did try to find a way to do it, somehow scrounging up the money to end this, the thought alone makes your heart ache.

Alec is young, and so are you. You two had barely been together for six months before he basically broke up with you, and you're not even sure how he'll react when you tell him. (At this point, you don't have high hopes.)

And yet, it hurts. What you'd told Original Cindy was the truth; you want a family. You're tired of being alone, even though the two options laid out before you scare you in equal measure.

A thousand thoughts are still running through your mind, contradicting each other with brutal logic, versus what your heart tells you. But one decision is certain...

You need to talk to Alec first.

You wait until the morning at Jam Pony HQ, when you’ve settled your nerves enough to see Alec. 

He never shows up for work, even an hour into shift. Damn it.

Okay, you suppose you’ll have to do this another way. You grab your phone, and you call him. 

Thankfully, he picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, a bit awkwardly. The two of you haven’t spoken in nearly a month. 

“What’s up?” He doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds guarded, almost hesitant.

“We need to talk, Alec.”

He blows out a sigh. “Look, I haven’t changed my mind.”

You swallow past the pain.

“I know," you dully reply. "It’s not about that, but this isn’t a conversation I want to have digitally.”

“...Okay,” he relents, with another sigh. He sounds a bit distracted. “Uh, I’m taking care of something right now, but I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you stop by my place after work?”

You nod. “Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

Of course, it’s hard to focus on your work after that. You wonder how many months you have until you can’t work anymore. Until you’ll have to fend for yourself…and for your child. 

With or without Alec, you plan to do whatever it takes.

So you do your best, as you always do, to get through your day. You fight exhaustion and nausea and anxiety with every delivery, but at the end of the day, you have a clipboard full of signatures and a clean docket.

You leave right at 7:00 p.m. to head over to Alec’s apartment. You use your spare key to unlock the door and find the apartment shrouded in darkness. You flip on the closest light switch before you turn to shut and lock the door behind you. 

The door pushes open abruptly. 

It knocks straight into you and throws you off your feet. You crash with a pained cry into a wooden table, knocking off a half-empty glass of whiskey that cuts into your arm when it breaks. 

A pair of strong hands take hold of you and haul you up, spinning you around. You stare up with wide eyes into the face of a man you think you’ve actually seen before. He’s tall, white, dark hair, piercing eyes.

On the news, you realize. You saw him on the news.

“Where is 494?” he demands to know.

You blink in confusion and fear. “What?”

The man rolls his eyes.

“Alec McDowell,” he says.

Your breath stills in your lungs.

“Why’re you looking for him?” you ask. “You…you work for the government.”

“That’s right.” His smile is thin. “It’s a federal matter. And I suggest you tell me what I want to know.”

His grip on your arm tightens enough to make you whimper.

“I don’t know where he is,” you blurt out. Mostly because it’s the truth.

He raises a brow. “He lives here, doesn’t he?” 

You refuse to answer, but the man lowers his gun and seats you forcefully on the couch. 

“Then we’ll wait.”

Minutes turn to an hour. Alec’s late—a fact you’re half relieved about, and half cursing him for. You turn to the man who holds you at gunpoint without even looking at you. Though you instinctively know that any attempts to run will be short-lived. 

His men wait by the door with guns at the ready. 

“Who are you?” you ask. 

The man turns his head and gives you a cold smile. “Agent White, at your service.”

“Okay, Agent White. Why are you after Alec?”

“Oh, I’ve been looking for him for a long time,” he says. 

You frown, with pursed lips. “Why? What do you think he’s done?”

“It’s not what he’s done. It’s what he is,” White says. “Him, and everyone like him.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” you snap.

White rolls his eyes. He lets out a sharp sigh before he stands. He grabs you up along with him. Fear churns inside you, tightening in your throat. 

“I have a better idea,” White says. “Instead of using you as leverage to make him come quietly, I think I’ll just let him walk in, nice and easy. He’ll find you gutted. On the floor. And then I’ll do the same to him.”

Frightened tears well up in your eyes when his grip moves and tightens on your jaw, like he’s thinking about breaking your neck. 

“Wait, please!” you plead. “I’m pregnant!”

White actually pauses, tilting his head. He smiles.

“Interesting.”

AN: Ames White has entered the chat...

EDIT (2-05-24): I made some edits here on the reader's thoughts of what she should do after her discovery. In hindsight, I realized I'd left out some aspects of the world. Specifically how access to medical care would influence her decision vs. what this particular character wants for herself.

Next Time:

“Hello, 494.” A man’s voice—one that Alec would know anywhere. It prickles his skin with unease and makes his blood boil all at once.

“Ames White.” Alec’s teeth grind. “What game are you playing now?”

“This isn’t a game. It’s business,” White claims. “I have something you want. How much are you willing to pay to make sure she stays alive?”

Alec forces himself to calm down, even though his pulse is racing.

“What do you want?”

“You. And 452. With no bullshit on your end,” the agent replies. “Or this girl is going to pay that price for you.”

Keep Reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Star Wars Fic Roulette

@dragonrider9905 hey love, so I finished the second request. So this is 29 and 48. I hope you like it.

It turned out more fun than expected.

Love oo,

Get Away

Warning: Betrayal, infidelity, hurt, looking for a fresh start, fluff, angst, gossip, fed up with being gossiped about, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

You sat in the cafeteria of Kamino nursing your caf. You really didn’t want to see anyone today, much less do any kind of work. How were you supposed to work, when the man you were supposed to marry just told you, he was in love with someone else. You understood, after all you had been on Kamino for the past seven months working on getting your medical licence. What shocked you however, was when he told you the person he was leaving you for, was none other than your best friend. 

Oh and he also felt it was relevant for you to know they had actually been sleeping together for the past year. So, not only did you lose a best friend, a fiance, but you were being cheated on, while you were with them. While the three of you would hang out. Go to the holovid cinemas, shopping, having lunch or dinner; all the while they were putting on fake smiles, they were betraying you behind your back. 

Word spread around Kamino faster than a gundark looking for its next meal, before you knew it you were being referred to as that medic. The medic with the broken heart, the medic with the cheating fiance, the medic who suffered betrayal from your closest and best friend. How they found out about who your fiance cheated with was beyond you. What you needed however was to get away, to do some real work, be transferred to the front lines. 

So you sat in your supervisor’s office, pleading to be transferred to a Commando unit or a unit that needed a medic. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. You’re emotional, and you could foul up in the field.” Your supervisor who never even cared for a second reiterated for the third time. 

“Excuse me, but you’ve never cared about me, so why now?”

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I have to be fair.”

“So having me sit day after day as my personal life is being gossiped about and talked about is fine and dandy to you! Why aren’t you concerned that my emotional state right now isn’t affecting my performance! If anything, getting away from the gossip will ease my mind and heart.” You put all your effort into this speech, you just needed a break. 

She let out a sigh as she eyed you carefully, “Alright. I do know of a unit that could - - somewhat, need a medic. However…” she raised her finger to make a point, “if you foul up, if I get one negative report from the Sergeant in charge, and you’ll be right back here. Understood?”

“Yes. Thank you.” You held your hands together thanking her and the force for actually giving you a break. 

“Alright, I’ll contact the sergeant and send you your orders. They’ll be leaving soon for their mission. I suggest you get your bag ready, and be prepared. They won’t be coming back to Kamino for at least several rotations.”

“How many?”

“Last time it was nearly six months.”

You nodded understanding this wasn’t going to be an easy assignment, you headed to your quarters, packing what you deemed were essentials. It was about three hours later when a knock came at your door. 

You didn’t hesitate to open the door, surprised however to see a clone that had rather long hair and a red bandana tied around his forehead. 

“Can I help you?”

“Sergeant Hunter, Clone Force 99. I understand you’re our new medic.”

You blinked a few times, at his smooth voice. Most clones had a soft and determined tone to their voice, a commanding tone. However, his tone was warm and welcoming.

“Uh… sorry,” you apologized from spacing out, “Yes. I am. Well at least, I think I am. I haven’t received my orders yet.”

“Nope, because they’re here.” He passed you the datapad, “I understand you requested this assignment.”

You looked at the orders, assigning you to Clone Force 99 aka Bad Batch for the foreseeable future until your services were no longer required, you died, or they found someone better. You shook your head at the order and tossed the datapad on to your bed.

“Well guess, I’m with you guys. Nice to meet your sergeant.” You stuck out your hand to shake his. He nodded, shaking your hand. 

“May I ask why you requested it?” He pulled his hand away, he was glad he wore his gloves, he didn’t want you feeling how much his palm was sweating. He never experienced such fluttering feelings in his heart or stomach, just from meeting someone. Maybe he was coming down with something. 

“You mean you haven’t heard gossip that’s all over Kamino?”

Hunter smirked, so you didn’t know why his brothers were special or why they were in a class of their own, “We … my brothers and I aren’t exactly popular with the Regs.”

“Regs?”

“The regular clone troopers.”

You furrowed your brow confused, as you pointed to him, “You’re not a regular clone trooper?”

A smile appeared on his lips as he shook his head, “No. Not at all. We can go into details about that later, what are you doing though?” His eyes focused on the three bags you had packed on your bag.

“Oh, well my supervisor said to pack since when we leave tomorrow, we might not be coming back for a while…” you looked over to your bed and realized how much overpacking you did. “Ah, I overdid it, didn’t I?”

“More than somewhat. The Marauder isn’t a big ship. There is a cargo hold, but that usually carries our weapons, explosives, food rations. We each only have three body suits which we rotate, wash and mend ourselves. You may be able to bring two of those cases, but not more than that. And I would say two is stretching it.”

You turned back to look at the cases, “Well one of them is actually food, spices, and snacks. The second one is medical stuff, gauzes, medicine, surgical stuff, scanners, etc., and the last one is just personal stuff.”

“Hmm” Hunter tilted his head to read what was written on your personal pack, “You’re the stars to my galaxy, without you there is no light. Is that a message from your family?”

Your eyes focused on the scrawl that was on your bag, and you laughed, “No. That … that was my youngest cousin who wanted to leave me a memento of herself. It’s a line from her favourite song.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that, he liked it. ‘You’re the stars to my galaxy, without you there is no light,’ it somehow held a special and deeper message for him, yet he wasn’t sure why. 

“I like it.” He cleared his throat, focusing back on your bright and beautiful eyes. Somehow, that sentence made more sense as he looked into them, “Since it’s food and medical supplies. We’ll find room for it. Just don’t let Wrecker know about the food, it might dwindle faster than you anticipated.” He chuckled. 

“Who’s Wrecker?” You asked a little confused. 

“Oh you’ll meet them later today. Once you’re done here, join us in the cafeteria for a late dinner. We’ll be there at 1930 hours.”

You glanced at your watch and nodded, “1930 hours, I look forward to it, Sergeant.”

“Hunter”

“Hmmm?”

“No one calls me, Sergeant. Not unless they’re in trouble. Just call me Hunter.”

“Oh, okay. In that case, just call me by my name too.”

“Alright, mesh’la. I’ll do that. See you tonight.”

He waved and headed to his barracks, his cheeks blushing from the slip of calling you mesh’la, hopefully you didn’t realize it meant beautiful. 

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[taxinealkaloids]

so...John’s planning on pulling the plug on the world, right? Like that’s what he’s doing here?

I’ve just been turning these bits of ntn over and over in my head and tbh I can’t stop thinking about the description of 10,000 years of civilization as a first draft. John’s first resurrection didn’t quite end up how he wanted -- closest friends all dead, turned traitor, or both, fighting a war on multiple fronts, his only allies the corpse of his accidental bastard daughter and a twenty-something princess with cannibalistic tendencies whom he canonized as part of a failed attempt to revitalize his polycule-- but hey, it doesn’t matter, because he can just start over. All of NTN he’s in this depression spiral; he’s falling apart, he’s having orgy parties with his senior staff, he’s got at least part of his subconscious camped out in the comatose mind of a half-dead nineteen year old he tried to have murdered, treating it like a confessional booth; because right there, in the background of his mind through all of this, is the off switch. He can have his breakdown, and then just...let Alecto out. Erase it all, start fresh, and this time he’s got one attempt under his belt, he’s got notes for what to do differently, and so let it all fall to shit! Nobody else is gonna remember any of this anyway. Two worlds, now, that only John will remember. Maybe three, later; maybe four, what’s to stop him from redoing it over and over til it’s just right? 

The issue with that, of course, is there’s really no way to treat the world like this and still care about it in the way other people do. You’d lose your ability to be affected by life’s events after a couple reboots and then what’s there to get emotionally invested in? When you’ve turned a person off and back on two, three, four times and you know you’ll probably do it again the next time something happens you don’t quite vibe with, how can you possibly look at them as a real person? Are they a real person, if they only know what you want them to know and do what you want them to do? And once you reach that point, once people aren’t people but project components for you to edit, what are you even bothering with all this for?? John started down this path because he so loved the world; what happens when he reduces the world to something he can no longer afford to love? Might as well pull that plug for good, yeah? 

Anyway. I’m fascinated by the way John’s shitty mental state is dooming the world and it’s everyone else’s bad luck. The rest of the cast is out there fighting for their lives and he’s like *sigh* let’s try that again. take two, everyone! 

[undercoverpena]

it happened (iii)

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader 

summary: for weeks, one single thought has been creeping up on him—sneaking its way out into the daylight, prickling his skin and threading through his mind: he doesn’t know how to live without you. word count: 5.7k warnings: injured reader, but happy ending, promise. spice + smut. lovers to relationship.

part three of it happens | soap masterlist

8. 

He wishes the day ended differently. 

For weeks, one single thought has been creeping up on him—sneaking its way out into the daylight, prickling his skin and threading through his mind:

He doesn’t know how to live without you.

For a while, he envisions it’s been tucked away, festering in the back of his brain. Growing over time, slowly.

Likely somewhere between kissing you and stuffing your throat with his cock. Becoming more apparent in the small window when things turned from a quick fuck to something more gentle, something he wanted to prolong. 

There's a high chance it was when you stopped calling him Soap and called him Johnny. Not just when the two of you were alone, but out with others—shoulder close to his. 

But, truthfully, he’s been finding the thought more incessant when he’s lying next to you, sweat still clinging to his skin. The words sliding around his head, bouncing from one side to the other. Not wanting to move, to jolt it away, because your fingers are drawing a pattern on his stomach—something he’s come to like. Something he craves—just your touch. How it’s direct, purposeful, and wrapped in a personal touch. 

“I like you being around, even if I don’t show it." “I know you only keep m’around ‘cause ov’ my cock.” “I’d still keep you around even if your cock got chopped off by Ghost, Johnny. You’re a nice pillow.” “Cheers, hen.”

Now his cards are on the table—his feelings. All unwrapped in front of you, having thrown them at you like an angry present. The bow coming straight off, the paper disintegrating before the two of you. 

If he was thinking straight, he’d have delivered them better. Presented them in a kinder format. Instead, his heart had been in his throat, hammering and thumping as he wiped the tears from your cheek. The ones you’d refuse to say were spilled because of him. 

He didn’t blame you. He wasn’t sure if he’d have been willing either—but the adrenaline forced his hand. Made him run headfirst and care about it after. 

Just like he did on assignments, operations—missions. The same ones you glare at him for, not outwardly telling him what’s wrong, but it's clear from your face you're not impressed. 

You worry. And it’s why he worries. Because you rarely show any emotions when it comes to him, you are so hard to crack, so hard to see through. But, over time, you’ve allowed him in—and what he once recognised were unimpressed glances, he suddenly sees are secret distress. 

The two of you put the job first, the task. But as it approaches a year of that cabin and what transpired, the worry of losing you appears like a jack in the box. It shoots up, bouncing in front of him when you’re talking to him—when you’re letting him in. 

You could lose her. You’ll lose her. You’ll lose. 

It’s why sometimes he holds you a little closer, lets you groan against him as he keeps you pinned to him—sheets tangling around both of your legs. He savours it. Let the moment steep until the corners of your mouth rise less sarcastically, your breaths slowing, before you brush knuckles against his cheek. 

You want him to hold you, he can tell. You just won’t ask. Afraid, maybe. 

And so sometimes, he doesn’t give in to his wishes and instead respects yours. 

But, he should have taken his time today.

He would have done it, had he known how the day would end. He’d have taken his time. He wouldn’t have made it quick, rushed the time alone. He’d have spent longer touching you, making you keen against his hand and he wouldn’t have bottomed out in one quick thrust. 

His mouth would have spent time leaving marks on your skin, instead of setting a brutal pace that had the name Johnny kissing the air in bursts. Mostly, he’d have spent less time bruising his fingers into your hip bone—sinking his teeth into your shoulder—and more time staring into your eyes. 

“So fuckin’ pretty.” 

“You s–say that so often, it’s going to st–fuck–stop meaning something.” 

His hand had brushed over your collarbone, sliding up against your neck as your lips parted. “No, it won’t.”

He watched you smirk. Just lightly—just enough. Lips twitching around your impending pleasure that’s ready to wash over you. He liked you like this. Liked consuming you—claiming you. He also liked watching you squirm, writhing under him, the room dyed in the squelching noises coming from him fucking your cunt. 

The memories of the morning kept him entertained as they were dispatched. You sat far away, head turned, talking to Price. His eyes occasionally glanced your way, wondering if he should say something, anything. A ‘good luck’, a ‘look after yourself’. 

Now, he wishes he did. 

The whole thing went to shit the moment their boots hit the ground. Your radio messages fragmented, cracking—Ghost’s voice stern, trying to ascertain what it was you were saying. In and out. In and out. Those were the words Price had said. 

And you’d gone in, like planned. Alone while the others caused a distraction—you’re good. Quick. Talented. But, you’re also on the opposite side to where he was stationed—and you had failed to come out. 

In and out. In and out.

“LT—“

“Find her.” 

He nods, trying not to focus on the tone. The edge to Ghost’s voice and how it tinged with concern. He’d become softer, less Fort Knox and more regular prison walls since Graves—especially with you. Your dry sarcasm and focused energy likely made it easy for him. 

You made it easy for all of them to let you in. 

It’s all he thinks as he entered the building, sweeping the corridor, turning and turning, corner after corner. 

Then he sees you. 

Sees you break for reasons completely opposite to how he’d made you break this morning. 

He didn’t move to check the other body in the room. He knew they were dead, disposed of. No threat. He knew because of the way you were huddled into a corner, knowing you’d have done the job before you tended to yourself. 

You do that a lot. For as heroic as you say he is, you’re not that different. 

His hand clenches as the air is tinged with the horrid sounds of your breaths—all ragged, desperate—punching each one out into space. 

For a second, he just stares. Watching. Boots gelled to the floor unable to shift himself as he watched scarlet coat your fingers. His own worries building, anxiously swirling, rendering him fucking useless. He can’t lose you. Not now he has you. 

“J-Johnny.” 

He blinks, and then he moves. Your fractured voice yanked him from his frozen state, his heart attempting to break. 

He tries not to let it. 

It does all the same.

You broke right at the seams. 

Falling into the corner, panic setting in—bathing you, dousing you. Your breath is jagged, uneven—your thoughts jumbled, and your training all out the window.

You picture him, initially: Johnny. 

How crestfallen he’d look, how full of sorrow—likely even able to hear his heart descend to his feet. For that reason, you hope he’d leave you behind. Go on—not ruin the images of you he has by seeing you like this. 

Because if you look how you feel, you’re not a pretty sight, and this morning you'd been…

This morning was nice. Maybe too nice. Your hips rolled with his; your hand almost reached for his, wished to grasp it close, press it against your skin. 

Now, you wish you had. 

Wished you’d stolen a moment, had something to call back to as you tried to not bleed out across the dirt and dusty floor. 

All because of a knife.

One you’d not anticipated, one you hadn’t expected. 

Fool. You’re a fucking idiot. You can hear Ghost spit that you are; hear Price ask if you’d lost your mind. You guess you did—allowing yourself a moment to think of this morning. Of how full you’d felt; how empty you felt before. Now, you feel even less. 

Your hands shake, tremble. They clutch the slits of your skin together as your eyes flick up—hoping, praying, seeking. And then, there he is. The light from the world outside the room all haloed around his figure, making him look like an angel. You guess he is. 

He saved you, without knowing you needed to be saved. He was a rock, something to cling to when the sea battered you against the sand. He was… hope, in the dark and something entirely too good for you and—

It had been the very thing which infuriated you, to begin with. He was good—too good. They all did good things, but he did them without thought. They came naturally, being a hero—doing right for the cause. That and the fact he couldn’t meet your eye, couldn’t spit a response at you.

Now, all he did was talk, and you lapped up each word. 

“J-Johnny…”

His eyes fell, face dropping—shattering amongst the bullet casings and blood. 

Thick, horrid, throat-choking sobs dilute the rest of your words. Suffocating them as he slides to you on his knees, hands unsure where to go. The panic evident as you clutched it—held the weeping wound as best as you could. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

“Let me see, lemme see… steamin’ Jesu—Yer gonna be alright—We just need a medic—look at me.” 

You flicked them up, meeting blue—all-Johnny-fucking-blue—his hand, rough and all coated in your blood as he grasps your cheek. 

Flashes of memories. Ones where he’s lying next to you or hovering above you, ones where he’s caging you against the wall and when he’s pressed you down against the washer. All of them rush you, overwhelm you…

And you want more of them. 

Your lips curl, opening—all cracked and sore—as you try to get yourself to say that. To say you want more of him, more of them—

“I need t’move y’, ‘kay? I gotta move y’, hen. Then can fix y’. Keep y’with me.” 

His other hand slides under your legs, preparing, staring into your soul as he tries to soothe it. He does. He always does. 

Has done since that first night, splinters in your thighs as you grasp onto him. The quieter moments, where the two of you simply lay breathing, no other sounds, allowing it to ferment and develop. 

You don’t tell him that enough. That he matters to you. 

There’s a lot that you don’t tell him, truthfully.

Secretly keeping it buried inside, afraid to lose—afraid to have something and then not. You’d done it once, loved and lost. It hurt. It broke you. The shards of yourself barely back in place before you ended up here, with a new family—new people to care about. To fall for. 

But, for him, you fell all the same.

You’d do it again, too. Over and over. You’d jump, leap and fly. 

“Y’not leaving me, lass. Y’hear me.”

You smile lazily—and it hurts to try. Head sliding into the space near his neck, your hand desperately clutching at your own stomach. 

“Arm round m’neck, hen.” You pause, afraid to taint the back of his head and helmet with blood till he stares—waiting, both patient and impatiently till you do, your eyes watching as blue and black swirl in his eyes. “Good girl, such a good girl. This’ll hurt, I’m sorry…” 

Don’t let me go. Don’t let go. Don’t go.

It should hurt. It prickles, and nicks. But it doesn’t make you burn as it should. Instead, you’re so fucking cold. 

“—I’m so sorry, so sorry—”

So damn cold it hurts. 

Bone-chillingly, so. 

“—Hold on, lass. Y’hear me.”

You nuzzle, smelling him—salt, sulphur and sweat. Hoping to capture as much of it as you can, just in case… your eyes unable to stay open, hand unable to remain on his neck, on your stomach—

Especially as you jolt, bounce—

Black.

You’re under his skin. 

Like exploded ink swirling with his blood. He sees that now. How you’ve spread and seeped into him—stained all of the parts of him. How you’ve bled beautifully across his heart, forever ruined. You don’t heal him, but you make it easier to smile, to breathe. 

And it’s enough. More than he really thought he’d have in this line of work.

Which is why he needs you to wake up. Needs your eyes to coat his skin. Desperate to hear your voice, your laugh. 

Soap brushes his hand against your cheek. It’s natural, normal almost—thankful your skin feels warm, and soft, even with the nicks and growing bruises. 

“Yer scared me, hen.” 

He says it to no one. 

You’re not awake, not in a coma either. You’re somewhere in between, not lost, but not found. There’s no way you can hear him, but he speaks to you all the same. 

It’s why he lets his fingers do a slow stroke of your cheek, unable to hide how calming he’s finding it as his shoulders sink into their usual place and his jaw loosens its iron grip on itself.  

“Dunna think I can live without yer. As… terrifyin’ as that is to admit.”

He drops his hand from your cheek to clutch your hand. Contemplating whether to climb in beside you, now there’s no medic hovering—no one else here, busying themselves. 

“Glad y’not awake, y’d be fumin’ with me for getting all emotional.” 

He moves, and stands. Cautiously easing himself down beside you, trying not to move you, trying to crush you. His hand slides up to your jaw and cheek, clutching your skin as he listens to the soft patter of your heart—happy he hears it, proving you’re alive. 

At one stage—one horrid stage—he hadn’t been sure you would be. So pale, so lifeless, the wound on your stomach continuing to leak scarlet over the evac floor as he dug his elbows down into his knees. 

They perform miracles, the medics. 

He knows that. Puts all his faith in them. Knows there were plenty of times he’d been in their hands…

But he couldn’t lose you. 

His grip on your jaw almost tightens, except he doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want to leave any more marks on you the world hadn’t tried to paint. 

His own lashes were heavy, a calmness spreading from being close to you—just like he’d been yesterday morning. Yesterday when things were different, your body beside him, under him, against him—

“Hi…” you croak, eyes still closed.

Pausing, he doesn’t dare move, afraid he’s hallucinating it all—you, your voice. 

“…D-Don’t stop. Feels nice.” 

And he sighs in relief. His heart leaps, both up and down, bouncing in joy as he fights, pulling you close. His lips twitch, teeth pinching the inside of his cheek. 

“Hey, lass.” 

“You miss?” 

He nods, even if your eyes are closed. “I missed, hen. Fuckin’ Jesus I missed.” 

9. 

He’s begun making a habit of kissing your scar. 

Even if your body is adorned with little stories, here and there. Some silver, some pink and some he knows and some he's never asked about. It's the larger one which demands his attention.

Before your newly acquired one, he loved kissing your shoulder. It made your chest heavy, almost bloat. He'd been all concerned with it, as if somehow he was to blame—but, now that's quickly forgotten. It’s no longer deemed as kiss-worthy as the one which runs along your stomach. 

Not that you care. 

You like running your fingers through his hair when he’s kissing along your hip bone. Your cunt fluttering around nothing, desperately craving his fingers, tongue or cock. 

But, you wait—patiently. Having truly been able to master what that even means when you had been banned from overexerting yourself. Taking the simple things for granted like his chest being between your thighs and you being able to run your nails along his scalp.

You'd been allowed to kiss him, to have him close. Johnny had allowed that. Given into that, even if at first he'd been reluctant. Not wanting to hurt you, not knowing, because you were too afraid to tell him, that by not it would hurt far worse than a knife.

Plus, there's nothing quite like Johnny kissing you like you’re the only air he ever needs. It makes your toes curl, your thighs desperate to wrap and cage him close, not wanting him to be away from you.

But, it's easier to just hold him close than tell him he’s all you need, too. 

Now, though, you can bask in the moment when he descends down your collarbone, kissing the skin under your breasts before sliding down to your naval, kissing the healed scar and its tingly nerves. Usually, you watch his eyes flick up at you, bathing you in blue that makes it feel like you’re swimming. Your breath hitching, knowing that look—how it’s accompanied by a slow, taunting descent as the tip of his tongue makes a path down to your cunt. 

“Don’t tease,” you whisper, pleadingly. 

But he will. 

He gets some sick satisfaction from making you wait, from torturing you. You don’t blame him. You enjoy doing it back. Slow torturous kisses up his shaft followed by slow swirls of your tongue over his dripping head. 

“Like takin’ my time wit’ yer, lass.”

He savours you now. Likely has done for some time.

You're unsure when it changed. When it went from chest pressed down on a washing machine, fucking into you like he’s running out of time to this. Now, it’s locked doors and holding you close, pressing your spine against the inside laundry door, slowly filling you as he holds you up, close, with nowhere to go. 

As if you want to be anywhere but with him. 

You blame the injury. He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile, but he doesn’t fuck you like your robust. Not since you bled over him, since he paled in front of your eyes and you stole all his cockiness. 

Now, it’s like he needs to remind himself you’re alive—and he does so by making you mewl, moan and whimper. Both of your previous coping mechanisms for stress and hate have now developed into something else entirely. You know you’ve sunk to your knees for him, taking all of him down your throat—tears springing to your lashes—just to remind him he had someone. To root him, fill him with a reason to come back to you, to find you, to let you in. 

If it wasn’t for Price, you wouldn't have known it was reciprocated, that same yearning, same need to keep hold of him. 

Price told you that you broke him—snapped Johnny in two. 

“Like a kicked puppy, that one. Half-surprised he didn’t piss a ring around y’bed. Wouldn’t even get himself looked at. Practically wore the floor out, turnin’ on the spot.”  “No he wasn’t.” He assures you he was. “Heal up, alright? Need you back with us.” 

That had been over a month ago. 

Now he’s lying between your legs, very much whole. Treating you—rewarding you for not giving up during sparring. Even if you’d wanted to. Even if all your muscles burned in anger at him, especially when his body was close—a grey t-shirt clinging to his muscles from sweat, looking every bit carved and god-like even in clothing. 

You hated it. How fit he was. 

How weak you were. 

He saw it, must have done—you did a piss poor job at hiding it. And so he blackmailed you—tempted you with the only thing he knew he could give you, and him alone. 

“Think of it like this, Hen. Y’get me on my back. I’ll make y’ bein’ on yours worth it later.” “I’ve got fingers, MacTavish.” “Aye, you do. But, your tongue can’t get tha’ hard to reach spot now can’it?”  His hand on your waist, on the good side—staring into your eyes. And fuck, you wanted to kiss him. Wanted to run your tongue passed his teeth.  “And, I kno’ y’love my mouth, lass.” 

He keeps his word. 

Beginning his promise in the shower, water and body wash sliding down your skin as he pins you to the tiles. No touching, just there—all within reach. Letting your eyes follow the suds as they slide down his deep-V.

Then you were on your back, wet towel on his floor, cool air brushing over your still damp skin. 

“Seems counterproductive, showering me, to get me filthy again.” 

“Maybe,” he grins, kissing your neck, the tip of his tongue drawing circles. “But, I’ll never complain about gettin’ and keepin’ yer naked, hen. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He pulls you from the memory, the one which happened mere minutes ago, as he slides the flat of his tongue against your core. It makes you almost jolt—hiss, moan. His hand pins your good side to the bed. 

“Keep still, lass. Don’t want y’to exert yourself.”

“You cocky pri—“

He buries your words by prodding your cunt with his fingers, tongue swirling your bundle of nerves as you grasp the sheets for leverage.  

You swear he smirks. Can feel it against you as he circles his tongue over you, lapping, teasing, and tasting. Likely fuelled by your desperate whines, the ones he pulls from you over and over again.

He hums, and vibrates his mouth against you as he curls his fingers inside of you—hands clenching around his hair, doing your best to keep your back on the bed. 

He has you at his mercy. Dangling you over the edge, almost allowing you to tip over, coat his tongue and palm in your pleasure.

But, Johnny is an expert. He knows you, what has you whimpering and moaning—and how to keep you hanging. He’s studied what pressure to apply, how to twist his tongue against your clit, until you’re a quivering mess, barely clinging to reality as he pushes you close to ascending.

Your hips buck, but his grip on your hip is stronger.

“Yer taste heavenly.”

You’ll never grow used to his compliments.

The ones which fall from his mouth with ease. The ones which make you blush from your cheeks to your toes—something he must notice, even if he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Want y’ forever.” 

Your heart rises, doubles and flutters. “I’m all yours, Johnny.” 

You only know he’s heard you from how he pauses, before he continues his assault—and this time he doesn’t dangle you. He lets you fall, right over the fucking edge.

It hits you so fast it takes your breath away, unsure how you had enough to spit his name out—never mind it falling from your lips over and over again.

Johnny pecks the air, merging with whines to make a sound that was sinful, so rich—you’re sure the room would ring off it for hours. Your eyes flicker, glancing down, seeing him lift up, grin adorning his face.

“Yer tired, hen?”

You snort, trying to hide how your legs are trembling. “No.”

“Good girl.”

His eyes a thunderstorm out over a sea—and a fucking sight to behold.

10.

You used to fuck him because you didn’t like him. 

Now, you fuck him because you love him and you’re not sure what to do with it. 

The feelings knotting, amassing into a chunk in your chest. Your lips say as much when they crash against his, pulling him closer by his belt loops. 

“Need to feel you, Johnny.”

You don’t beg. But you do ask, now. Less action, and more words. Your fingers peeled his t-shirt first, allowing your hands to run over his skin, feel each muscle, the thrum of his pulse. The rest fall from both of you, littering the floor as you cling to him, as you palm his want in your hand and he coats his fingers in your desperation. 

There’s a heaviness to each movement. It wraps its fingers around each touch, each noise. It pollutes it, what this could be—something nice, normal. 

Instead, it reminds you of what you could lose. That you could board and watch the base vanish into the distance, not sure if you’d see it again. See him again. 

You’d tried to not let feelings bloom. You’d tried to keep it as pleasure, as stress relief—but you’d liked waking up beside him—loved that he was the person beside you when you’d opened your eyes after surgery. 

While the clinical stench hit you first, then the pain, it was he who quickly followed. Even now, even as you’ve tried to rewrite that moment, you know in your heart you’d wished he had been the first thing you’d felt. Only him. No pain, no smell, not even a noise: just Johnny. 

He must know. He has a second sense for things—for bubbling thoughts and moments being twisted. Or, he has a sense for you, at least. You think it because he’s on his knees on the cold floor, hooking your thighs onto his forearms as he devours you—and fuck does he do it well.

He takes you to the edge, lets you dangle, almost lets it swallow you before he pulls his lips back, blowing cool air along your soaked cunt. 

“Gotta make y’come back f’more.” 

Johnny says it like he doesn’t know. 

Like the idea that you’re in love with him isn’t possible, unfathomable, rather than something which is very much reality. 

Because you are in love with him. It’s a fact. Something concrete. Just the same as you are full of him, once he pushes you back on the bed and buries his cock to the hilt in you. 

It’s filthy—obscene—all the noises you let loose. The ones willing to escape, purposefully peeled from the words that cling to your tongue: I love you. I love you so much. 

His cock hits that spot which makes your legs feel weightless, and you kiss him again, hungrily, needily. His hand fists your hair, each thrust perfectly hitting that spot that made a tear fall from your lash at how good it was—how good he was.

“Fuck, Johnny—fuck.”

It’s the only words you let escape—all you can do. So fearful of those three words touching the air, escaping. 

I love you. 

Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip as he presses his forehead to yours. His hips meeting yours, another wave of pleasure building and building, all set to crash down and cover you. 

You took it all the same. You’d take everything he’d give you. Your hands grasping him closer, clutching onto him as your throat burns—you’re so full of him, in every sense of the word. You can’t imagine it never being him, not just here, between your thighs but everywhere else he is. 

In your bed. 

In your head.

In your heart. 

His hand knots in yours, fingers on either side of yours as he clamps himself, palm to palm—secretly clamping you. 

And it’s too much. 

It’s so real, so beautiful. You want to deserve it, deserve him—

“Fuck.”

He angles himself, dragging his cock through your walls harder, faster. 

“I kno’, lass. Yer fuckin’ somethin’ else y’are, hen. Heavenly. Fuckin’ goddess-like.” 

Then he plunges you in blue, and stares past your eyes and into your soul. Likely seeing the words, the ones he should have, should be given willingly and not held back by nervous hands. 

“Let go, hen. Let go f’me.” 

And you do. You'd do everything for him.

So, it snaps, the knot in your stomach. The one you'd been clinging to. Your body becomes both tight and loose all at once as you let go, and come around his cock. His name rips from your throat as pleasure, all white-light and flaming-touch, tears through you and consumes you. 

It’s like lightning and fireworks, and everything else when your resolve cracks—his hips still pistoning, chasing his own as your aftershocks continue, as you flutter back down to him.

But, it’s his hand in yours, the one still clamps you here with him that you focus on when you hear him moan your name. 

Your hand remains with his even as he slides himself out of you, his frame falling limply next to you—right onto his side of the bed. The place you always leave free, whether it’s your own bed or his. The place your head is already turned, waiting expectantly for him. So used to all of this now, this routine. 

“When do y’have to go?” 

Your mouth twitches, a longing in your eyes and the heaviness from earlier, settling onto your bones. “I’ll miss you.”

“Aye?”

Smirking, you roll your eyes. Trying to keep hold of the moment for as long as you can. To keep a mental picture of him like this, happy, not fearing and nervous. 

“You’ve prepared me well.”

“Aye. Well. Y’let me.”

You kiss him. 

Not like you’d usually do, but one which says more than you think you can articulate. The movement of your lips is able to write the words your heart is desperate to sing. You keep hold of his hand, quite liking his palm against yours. You enjoy how your thumb can stroke the healed and silver scar on his hand, all from something boring like DIY and not combat. 

You don’t want to stop, hating it when you do. 

Each item of your clothing returns back into place, fixing your hair, and haphazardly wiping anything from your face—pleasure-filled tears or sweat. 

When you leave him, you’re thankful he doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t ask you to wait; doesn’t ask for another second. He knows, like you do, that operations wait for no one and those in the dark don’t wait for the sun to set. 

You do hear him call your name, more professional than he had moments ago. 

You turn, walking backwards staring at his head and how it peers around the doorway. “Y’come back in one piece.”

“For you?” you smirk, “I’ll consider it.”

11. 

Now, it's different. 

It began on a dusty floor, and it grew amongst the sand and sheets. 

Your head turns, staring up at him as he adjusts the strap on his vest. His brows pinched, strands of hair threatening to fall across his forehead—his hair so much longer across the entire space of his head. The same hair you ragged and ran your fingers through.

It’s nice to be beside him again. To be allowed to run with them as a squad—your smaller, less combative operations appeasing Price that you’re ready. 

You’re an important part of the team, y’hear me? We ain’t rushin’ it. 

Now, you were glad.

No ghostly pains, just ones from Simon’s stare at your commentary. No pangs or jolts, only when you hear Johnny recommend something dangerous, always involving himself. Even if you know he’ll come back. Even if he’s promised you he will. Your heart lurches each time you think of something nicking his skin, something embedding into his bones—something taking his eyes, smile and soul from you. 

“Yer good?” 

Smiling, you nod, “Aye.”

“Bugger aff wid ye’.”

You smirk, rolling your lips, sliding one hand between your top and vest, staring off at the others checking their gear as you hear him sigh. 

“Try n’ follow orders, lass,” he says in a low voice, “Don’t fancy gettin’ stuck in a dusty safehour wit’ yer. Can’t keep y’warm. Got a girlfriend, y’know.”

Sweeping your tongue across your bottom lip, you fight a grin. “That so? She must be a saint.”

“Aye, she’s somethin’ special, I’ll tell you.” 

“Has to be, to put up with you.”

He keeps his laugh low, but it lights you all the same. Kisses every inch of you, warming you from head to toe. Your skin is desperate to press against him, your muscles and bones calling for him. 

His fingers stretch, flex—ghosting between the gap which feels like miles. You can feel his head turning to look at you, likely watching you as you stare out at the sand—the two of you all kitted up, weighed down and raring to go.

And then he does it, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. It’s the most brazen he’s been—most the two of you have ever been. Even since the two of you became something real, something more than just a rumour and a lie. 

And it’s electrifying and grounding, making your lips twitch, eyes smiling the rest. 

You know he can tell, even from the side. He knows you too well by now, the same way you know him. The two of you have become so well versed in one another—knowing exactly what each muscle change in each face means.

“Didn’t have you down as unprofessional, MacTavish,” you whisper. Just loud enough for him to hear.

Your fingers hooking around his, holding his hand. Tightly. Meaningfully. 

“For you, I’m a lotta things, lass.”

“That so?” 

He smirks, tilting his head, as you raise your chin to look at him. “Good job I’m happy to be a lot of things for you too, then. Isn’t it?”

“Tha’ y’saying yer love me, lass?” 

You smile, staring ahead as you sigh. “No. You’ll know it when I say it. But, I do know you love me, MacTavish.”

“Aye. I do.” 

His fingers release yours, a breeze ghosting over the space they were. Your head is unable to turn, unable to stop your eyes from staring into his. 

“I’m not saying it now, got to give you something to come back to me for.” 

You watch it slowly, how it eclipses his entire face. It sparks his eyes, blasting you in a blue that should change the entire environment and not just you. Then, it lifts his cheeks, the corners of his lips, and then he grins—grins so wide he’s sure he could make you forget how to breathe. 

“Fair,” he says, raising his wrist, fingers moving along his wrist as you frown.

It takes a second—far too long for how intuitive you are. Your eyes catch sight of it, half-impressed he hasn’t lost it as he slides it from under his watch—that hairband. The one he stole. 

“But, yer should kno’. I’ll always come back t’you, hen, ‘cause I gotta give y’this back.” 

You nod, and your other hand—the one desperate to hold his—clutches the other strap of your vest, pressing your thighs together. The earlier moment now isn’t feeling enough, even if the bruises on your hip brushing against your trousers say otherwise. 

Turning your head, you look across at the others, them looking almost set, as you sigh. 

“I love,” you say in a whisper.

Not sure if the breeze stole it, whipped them and carried them away into some corner of the world. They were only two words, after all.

But, he presses his hand on the lower part of your spine—firm, and fingers spread. The two of you walking, hating that with each step you were close to feeling his hand fall from you until the next moment alone.

“I love, too.”

He says it with a dipped head, a soft look in his eye as he slides his hand along your back, around your hip before it’s gone—just left with blue, Johnny blue, the best fucking shade of all. 

it's completeeee. i know she was only three chapters, but i don't think I've been able to juggle my life to be this consistent with anything in a long time. so, i'm buzzing.

soap sunday will continue with a new mini-series. diff reader, etc. but thank you for making my sundays have purpose, and all being so kind about me, this and my work. i loves you.