#i ignored the mission objective just to stare at him

[jermer10]

For a fic request, Soldier slowly falls in love with the reader and constantly denies it because he feels like a strong American man shouldn't have butterflies in his stomach every time he sees a pretty person.

TF2 in the trenches | soldier x reader

gn reader | soldier is so awesome love that guy, sorry for the comically long wait time and enjoy mr artoatsblog and eris090 <3

drabbles under the cut :P

You had just joined the administration team as a fresh recruit, assigned to the role of Civilian - a object of protection. You weren't a fan of the title, nor the nature of your role. Having to be escorted across the map by whichever team had you that week, putting up with the fretting and the comments, as if you were a hassle more than an important part of your workplace. If the pay wasn't so good, you would have left on your first day. Most mercs not-so-secretly reveled in the idea of getting to play the hero, the RED Soldier, however, was more than happy to ignore you. An intimidating presence on the battlefield, barking orders and rarely engaging with anyone outside of his explosive rants. His helmet shadowed his face, making it even harder to connect with him on any personal level.

But still, something about him drew you in. Maybe it was his unwavering determination, or perhaps the way he threw himself into danger without hesitation. Whatever it was, you wanted to get to know the man behind the helmet. Your first few attempts to speak with Soldier didn’t go well. He wasn’t rude, but his responses were curt, clipped, and filled with military jargon you didn’t quite understand. “Sir! I just wanted to thank you for covering me on the battlefield earlier,” you said one day after a particularly rough mission. He stopped polishing his rocket launcher just long enough to give you a sideways glance. “IT WAS NOTHING, MAGGOT. JUST DOING MY PART TO FIGHT THIS WAR AGAINST THOSE COMMIE SISSIES!” He left all too quickly, rambling about something in the kitchen.

You nodded, feeling a little defeated. Every day, you tried a little harder to get through to him. You’d help him clean his gear, bring him his favorite rations, and even offer to spar with him during training. Yet, each interaction ended the same way - short, jargon filled responses and some quick reason to leave. The first time you managed to break down one of his walls was after a particularly shitty week. The team had lost, and everyone was exhausted. You found Soldier sitting alone outside, staring at the rain falling on the muddy battlefield. His usual brash energy was nowhere to be found. “You alright, Soldier?” you asked cautiously, approaching him. “You don’t usually sit still this long.”

He grunted but didn’t tell you to go away. Encouraged, you sat beside him. “I know today was tough,” you said gently. “But we’ll bounce back. We always do.” For the first time, he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. “Lost too many good men in my time,” he said quietly, surprising you. “Can’t afford to lose any more. Not again.” The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. This was the first time he’d spoken to you like a person, not a recruit or a subordinate. You carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, half-expecting him to pull away.

He didn’t.

“We’re not going anywhere,” you reassured him softly. “You’ve got our backs, and we’ve got yours.” You understood his feelings of inadequacy. Soldier finally turned to face you, his eyes, usually so stern, softening just a little. You had no idea what Soldier's life was like before taking this job, the things he had seen, the things he had done. The mercs couldn't die, but you both knew he pushed them a little too hard sometimes. Finding someone to take their place in the family the team had built, well Soldier wouldn't admit it, but it would hurt. “You’re a strange one, recruit,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “But... you’ve got guts. More than I gave you credit for.” You smiled.

The next few days were different. Soldier still barked orders and rambled about war as per usual, but there was a subtle shift in how he interacted with you. He didn’t brush you off as quickly when you approached him, and every so often, he’d even seek you out himself, whether to talk strategy or simply share a meal in silence. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to notice - and enough for him to realize he was letting his guard down. That realization, of course, did not sit well with Soldier.

He found himself more aware of you whenever you were around. At first, it was just an occasional glance, a brief acknowledgment. But soon enough, it was much more than that. He noticed things about you he hadn’t before: the way you smiled when you talked, the way you styled you hair differently for every mission, and how, despite the constant chaos around you, you managed to stay calm and collected.

And that was the problem.

Soldier wasn’t supposed to notice those things. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything other than the drive to win the war and keep you safe as part of his duty. But now, every time you crossed his mind, there was that familiar, frustrating feeling - his stomach tightening, chest warming in a way that made him want to scream at himself. He refused to let it happen.

The next time he had approached you, it was after a flawless mission. You were sitting off some ledge somewhere, bottle of whisky in hand and a pleasant look on your face. He felt hot and awkward - he knew the next day you had to go over to the BLU's, and he hated knowing that he would have to try and kill you in order to prevent the enemies from winning. He also knew he had feelings for you - some not so 'professional workplace relationship' feelings, and trying to explain them to you of all people was so easy yet so hard.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already leaning down to sit. You smiled up at him. "Yeah, could do with some company." You passed the bottle between one another, taking swigs and cracking jokes, discussing the recent victory you had shared. After a few moments of silence, you noticed that Soldier kept sneaking glances at you from under his helmet, his jaw tight. You tilted your head, curious. “Is something bothering you?” He slammed the almost empty bottle onto the wooden planks of the flooring next to you, clearly frustrated with something - though it seemed like the frustration was directed more at himself than at you. “This- this isn’t right!” he finally snapped.

You blinked, startled by the outburst. “What isn’t right?”

“You!” Soldier pointed at you with a gloved finger, his voice rising. “You keep... getting in my head. I can’t focus! Every time I turn around, there you are, smiling and asking questions, making me think about - about things I shouldn’t be thinking about!” Your eyes widened as realization hit. “Soldier, wh- are you saying-?”

“No!” he interrupted, his voice gruff. “I’m not saying anything! I’m a soldier! I don’t have time for... whatever this is.” There it was. The vulnerability he had been fighting against for so long. He hated feeling weak, and these feelings, whatever they were, were making him feel weak. But now that it was out in the open, there was no taking it back. You were startled, confused, and feeling the same churning feeling in your chest and warmth spreading over your face that he was. “It’s okay to care about people, Soldier,” you said softly, your voice calm. “It doesn’t make you weak. If anything, it makes you stronger.”

For a long moment, Soldier didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his helmet. Then, finally, he let out a long, defeated sigh. “I don’t like this,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in his words. “I don’t like... feeling like this.” You smiled, a small, understanding smile. “You don’t have to like it. But you don’t have to fight it either.” Soldier processed your words, chewing at his bottom lip. Then, with another resigned grunt, he nodded. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “But don’t think this means I’m going soft, maggot.”

You laughed softly. “I wouldn’t dare.”

And for the first time, Soldier didn’t try to deny what was happening between the two of you. He might not have fully understood it yet, but he was no longer running from it either.

[marksbear2]

DENJI X OLDER MALE READER

Headcanons- Platonic!

Hello!! Today I’m trying to work on expanding my writing by writing for characters that I never wrote for!! So I’m doing Denji from CSM! Feel free to request!!

⚠️Warnings!!- Basically fluff, death mentioned at the end, killing, comforting and etc. Could be read as Gn.⚠️

— You was his gay awakening. Instead of falling for Makima he fell for you. He was attracted to your maturity and seriousness. Not really in the romantic way but he quickly moved on from Makima.

— He always tries to impress you by trying to kill devil’s in front of you and acting all high and mighty and unfazed whenever he just got his ass kicked. 

— Spending all of his free time following you like some lost puppy. 

— His love language is acts of service so whenever your in need of something he will get it done. You need a pencil? He’s there with all sorts of pens and pencils. 

— He’s willing to do anything for you. He puts you first before anyone else.

— The first time he saw you fight a devil, he was starstruck in awe as you fought the devil. He was amazed by your movements and skills.

— Whenever your back from a mission he always asks you how it went, are you okay, did you get hurt, asking about how dangerous or big the devil was. Like some little kid.

— He thinks your totally badass if you defat a devil with ease. Becomes some childlike fanboy whenever you do it.

— Your one of the few who treats him like an actual kid, and not some object who they can use him for. You treat him like his age. 

— Only really listens to you. Whenever the other hunters try to boss him around he ignores them but if you say something he’ll do it.

— You kinda became his father figure.

— He waits inside your office waiting for you too be done with whatever paperwork or assignments.

— He secretly hates the fact that your close friends with Kishibe. He’s confused as to how you two are friends, but he just guesses since your two are around the same age and maturity level.

— He hates getting lectured by you, and always storms off whenever your doing it just to come back a hour later.

— Whenever he turns back from his chainsaw form he leans on you support and mumbles an apology for getting your clothes dirty from the blood.

— You taking him out to eat and such so he can experience things without the others. 

— You calling out Makima out for her manipulative and evil behavior. You always took Denji away from her and try to keep him away from her.

— You and Kishibe teamed up to train him and power together.

— He would sit by your desk and tell you all his biggest and all the way to his smallest fears. 

— You being one of the few people he actually trust and comfortable around you. Always smiling around you.

— He hates seeing you hurt, it kills him to see you injured, he would drop the whole mission to move you to safety.

— If you ever die, say from getting killed by a devil he wouldn’t rest until the devil pats for it. He would slowly be consumed by anger and revenge to the point he would be willing to die for your revenge.

— Denji wouldn’t move on from your death. He would sit in your office just staring at the your chair.

— Accidentally calls people by your name. He doesn’t really catch himself doing it but the others noticed.

— He always freezes up whenever someone would say something that reminded him of you. Hearing a line you would usually say causes him to stop whatever he’s doing and his heart pounding in his chest.

— Denji hates it whenever would someone would use the brand of cologne you used before dying. He would kinda get angry and say “That’s Y/n’s cologne your using you know!?”

— If you had a devil contract he would ask about how you got it, what type of devil it is and if you got any cool powers from it.

— Accidentally called you dad one time and his face went red from embarrassment as he tried to clear up the accident.

— He isn’t ashamed to show his childish side around you. He feels safe and comfortable around you so he doesn’t feel judged.

THE END

[gor3-hound]

addicted to hurting

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, hate sex, one bed trope(love it idc), p in v, mean leon, huddle for warmth n that, fingering, p in v, creampie, degradation ig, one use of good girl

a/n: request for @princesspalac :) sorry it took so long, um... my brain didn't want to work for this. guys don't question the title i hate naming fics... this one especially but it's from drugs by eden

word count: 1.6k words

It was an undisputed fact that you and Leon did not get on well. Everyone knew it - the both of you made it very clear with your constant bickering.

But you were also both very competent agents, and that often meant you got assigned to missions together. It was usually fine, you both had enough professionalism to suck it up and get on with it, but he really seemed to want to wear your patience thin this time around.

It had been snowing heavily, and the chopper wouldn't be able to get to the extraction point. You'd been told that you should try and find shelter for the night, and when the snowstorm cleared up tomorrow, you'd both get evacuated. You had secured all the mission objectives and found an abandoned cabin to hole up in for the night, but the cold air nipped at your skin and made it impossible for you to relax.

You complain a little about having to stay here, shivering slightly as you settle on a worn down chair, the wood looking like it's halfway to rotting. You're surprised it hasn't given up under your weight at this point.

Eventually, Leon snaps.

“Jesus Christ. Do you ever shut the hell up?” He grumbles, running a hand through his hair, his brows pulled together in frustration. You scoff at him, your arms wrapped around your waist to keep you warm.

“It's fucking cold, and your attitude has been pissing me off all day. Apologies if I'm not a ray of sunshine.” You bite back, trying to ignore the chill settling deep in your bones.

He just glares at you before moving away, checking the perimeter and securing any entrances to the cabin. You take the opportunity to explore the other rooms, your heart sinking when you realise one very important detail.

There's only one bed.

Great. Fucking amazing. As if this day couldn't get any worse. You hear footsteps approaching, and you can sense the moment Leon realises the same thing by his sharp intake of breath.

“No. Absolutely not.” He says quickly, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway of the bedroom.

You dislike this just as much as he does, but it's probably a blessing in disguise. The both of you were too proud to admit it, but you'd likely freeze to death if you didn't huddle for warmth. The sun had only just set, and it was already this cold. You didn't want to imagine what it'd be like later.

“We're going to need to share it.” You say simply, approaching the bed and lying down facing away from Leon, staring at the wall as you wait for him to do the same.

“Well?” You say after a moment, noticing he hadn't come any closer. He hadn't moved from his spot, just staring distasteful at the empty spot in the bed. “Are you going to join me? Or did you drag your ass through herds of infected just to freeze to death?”

That gets a scowl from him. He kicks off his boots before approaching, settling on the edge of the bed and doing his best to keep his distance from you.

“You're going to need to come closer, or we're both going to be out of commission.” You say through gritted teeth, already frustrated with his attitude.

He lets out a soft grunt, but he shifts closer. He's practically spooning you, now, but you can feel the cold radiating from him. Neither of you had the chance to warm up yet, and you can't help but shift slightly in the bed, trying to get your blood circulating so you can warm up.

“Can you stop your squirming?” He hisses, his hand clamping down on your hip to still your movements. He seems so much closer now, his warm breath brushing the skin on the back of your neck and giving you goosebumps.

“I was just trying to get warm.”

“Then come here.” With that, he tugs you into his body, wrapping his arms tight around you. His nose presses against the crook of your neck, and you feel your heart racing. You feel warmer, sure, but you can't ignore the feeling of his muscles tensing as he holds you.

You don't mean to keep moving, but there's something uncomfortable about Leon of all people holding you so close. You try to put some distance between the two of you while staying close enough to feel his body heat.

“For fuck-” He lets out a deep breath from his nose, and then he's gripping you tighter, pulling you back against him. “Didn't I tell you to stop moving?”

You open your mouth to speak, but it's quickly stopped by a palm pressing firmly against the lower half of your face. “No. I'm so sick of your shit. All you've done is bitch the entire mission about being cold, and now I'm trying to help, you're being a fucking brat about it.”

His fingers push past your lips. He frowns slightly as you keep your jaw clenched, so he reaches his other hand around to squeeze the sides of your cheeks, prying your teeth apart so he can shove his fingers into your mouth.

“Ah, that's better. Get them nice ‘n wet for me. You gonna let me fuck that attitude out of you, huh?” You whine around his fingers, but you're already soaking your panties, nodding before you even realise what you're agreeing to.

He reaches down to free you from your pants, tugging them as far down as he can be bothered before he's yanking his fingers from your mouth and shoving two of them inside of you without any warning. He likes the way your face twists up at the burn, a grin spreading across his face.

The way he fingers you is almost clinical. He's not doing this for your pleasure - he just lazily scissors his fingers open until he deems that you're stretched enough for his cock. He doesn't bother undressing, just pulls his dick out after he unzips his cargos, pulling your hips up so you're face down, ass up.

“Fuck… surprised you're this tight… thought everyone in the office would've stuck their dicks in you by now.” He grunts as he bottoms out, immediately setting a brutal pace, his hips smacking your ass with every thrust.

“Fuck you, Kennedy.” You hiss, glaring at him over your shoulder. That look is hardly intimidating when he's pounding you into the mattress, and his hips stutter slightly as he barks out a laugh.

“I think you're mistaken, princess. See, I'm fucking you.” With that, he grabs the back of your head, pressing your face into the pillow to shut you up.

“God, that's better. Just take it, that's it. Good fucking slut.” He groans, his balls smacking your clit as he fucks into you with more vigour, low moans spilling from his lips as he uses you to chase his own pleasure.

He growls as he feels your pussy flutter around his cock, pulling out suddenly before yanking your head up by your hair. Your eyes water as your scalp stings, making you whimper softly.

“Ah-ah.” He tuts softly, his cock kicking against his stomach. He hates to admit it, but your cunt is one of the best he's had, and he's already close to cumming. “Not so fast. You gonna say please? I'll let you cum if you ask nicely.”

“You're such an… an asshole.” You say through gritted teeth, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as you press your palms on the mattress, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on your scalp from him tugging at your hair.

“That's not very nice, is it? Wanna try that again?” He asks you, his tone mockingly sweet. Makes you want to smack that stupid grin of his face. You don't get the chance, ‘cause he pulls even harder on your hair, your neck craning back painfully.

“Fuck… fuck, okay. Please, let me cum.” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut. He presses your face back into the pillow, pushing down on it as he lines himself back up with your drippy hole, resuming his rough pace from before.

“Good girl. Look at you, capable of following orders. All it took was a little dick.” He coos, angling his hips so he's bumping against your sweet spot every time he pushes his hips forward, groaning at the way it makes you tighten around him.

You cum around his cock, your moans muffled as he keeps fucking into you. He clenches his jaw as your walls spasm with your orgasm, drawing his own out of him seconds later. He buries himself as deep as he can get, his tip knocking your cervix and he cums, heat filling you up and coating your insides.

He pulls out once his dick stops twitching, tucking himself back in his pants and zipping them up. He can hear the rustling of sheets as you pull your pants up, but he's staring at the ceiling. He's sweating, hair sticking to his forehead. At least it helped warm him up.

He can feel your gaze on him, and he frowns, tilting his head to the side to look at you. He raises a brow, his gaze flicking over your face. You really are too hot to be as annoying as you are.

“What? I'm not gonna cuddle you. It's warm now. Go to bed.” He glances at you one last time before turning his back to you, lying on his side and closing his eyes.

He's out like a light in a minute flat.

[neoarchipelago]

Down the Rabbit Hole (Price!Werewolf x Bunny!FReader)

A/N: this is LONG LONG. BRUH. this was supposed to be 2 parts but i didn't want to split it idea is from : @fnny-bnny

Need werewolf price to drag a floppy-eared bunny reader back to their nest immediately. readers ears and prices teeth and maw dripping with his saliva to scent them both. need him to wrap his body around reader and growl at anyone who comes too close

Warnings: NSWF, 18+ CONTENT

John Price walked amongst the soldiers, heading to the barracks of the task force 141. His senses picked up on the various smells around him, the evening coming to an end. The building was empty at this late hour. Walking into the common room he smiled. 

"What are my pups doing?" He asked with a smile. 

Soap sat on ghost's lap, happily typing on his phone. 

"We're not pups anymore." Gaz recalled with a grin. 

Price smiled at him. Yes. When he had found his pack, they weren't pups already. But something inside him would always see them as his little pups. 

When they had met, various years ago, he was surprised to find that one by one, they were exactly like him. Wolf hybrids. People would call them werewolves. The world knew about hybrids, but it was something rare. Lots of people decided to ignore it and hybrids would keep to themselves. Of course, it was easy to distinguish each other in the middle of 'normal' people. In the military, it wasn't uncommon to find hybrids. Their strength, their abilities made them the perfect warriors. 

Soap nuzzled in Ghost's neck, the man growling softly. 

"Have you finished your report?" Gaz asked. 

"No. Not yet. Just passed by to check on you before heading back. Making sure you're all behaving." Price said with a teasing wink. 

"You're always staying late, old man. You should take some rest." Soap teased. 

"Be careful, this old man could tackle you." Price added. 

"Leave my mate alone. He's an idiot but he's my idiot." Ghost said, hand slipping through Soap mohawk, fisting there to make the Scot look at him. 

Price shook his head, heading towards the door. The report on the last mission seemed to be endless to him. How do you carefully explain the things that hybrids could do on the field? Kate was aware, of course, she was a hybrid too. She was used to taking care of the hybrids in the military. Often she found herself having to change Price's reports to avoid any fallbacks.

Price sighed once he was outside. The sun had set a while ago, the lights of the base being the only thing lighting up the grounds. He grabbed one of his cigars, ready to light up the tip when something… a scent, ticked his attention. It was sweet, soft. Tempting. He frowned. It was unusual. Especially on base. He decided to check, using his nose to track the object of his current attention. 

He walked towards a warehouse probably empty at this hour. The scent grew stronger, laced with something different. Fear. A low growl erupted from his throat as he hurried. Was it young soldiers messing with each other again? At this hour? He'd make sure to make them regret. 

Making a sharp turn around a corner, he froze confused. A young lady was sitting down in a little ball, next to some gear boxes. 

"Young lady-" 

You looked up, eyes wide in fear. You could smell it yourself, the strong smell of him. A predator. You tried your best to keep your ears from showing but the more he stared at you, the harder it was to keep control. 

He stepped forward, breaking the last piece of control you had, two fluffy ears erupting from your head. You raised your hands to grab them, like it would help. 

He looked shocked. Truly. But you were too scared to move. 

Price wasn't expecting this. You. Finding you like this. He wasn't expecting the two white fluffy things above your head. And surely, he wasn't fucking expecting the way the beast inside him reacted to how cute you were. Soft little thing. He wanted to just pounce on you and hold you in his arms. He cleared his throat. 

"Are you alright?" He asked in the softest voice he could. 

You seemed to take a deep breath before nodding slightly. 

"I.." 

Her voice. Shit. Another growl of the beast inside made his eyebrows twitch slightly. 

"I'm sorry… the other.. recruits… hybrids?" 

He nodded, beckoning her to continue. 

"They.. enjoy… hunting me. I'm not really a fighter… I was trying to hide.." you explained. 

Price sighed. He was aware of some of the things that could happen when bored recruits got together. 

"Hey… it's alright. Come here, I'll take you back." He tried, extending his hand. 

"I.. sir.. I don't want to go back there.. please. T..they scare me on purpose… and they pull on my ears…" you whined. 

Something in Price was let loose. He didn't realize his eyes flashed yellow until he saw you recoil. He cleared his throat again, gaining back composure. 

"I.. sorry. I'm not angry at you. It's.. the way these idiots act." He reassured. 

What could he do? He could call Laswell. Perhaps they could switch barracks for you. 

"I'm gonna call Laswell. Come here. Don't stay on the ground, it's cold and dirty. " He said with a soft smile. 

You seemed to think for a second before standing up slowly. You stepped into view, light showing your form more precisely. You still held your ears down, holding them tight. Price smiled. 

"You can let go. I won't touch them." He teased. 

You bit your lip, softly letting go, the cute ears flopping up. 

"Come on, let's go." He said, motioning towards the entrance. 

"W..wait…" 

You turned around under Price's gaze as you walked to where you sat to grab something. He wasn't paying attention. He was lost in the sight of what seemed to be a little tail underneath your cargo pants. When you spun back towards him he looked away, embarrassed. You didn't seem to notice as you walked back to him. 

"I'll take you somewhere safe until I can get a hold of Laswell. Is that alright?" 

You nodded, ears flopping around. God was it adorable. He motioned you to walk as his arm remained behind your back, not touching you, but keeping you near, just in case. 

He did the only thing he thought was best. Take you back to his nest. When he had stepped inside with you next to him, he had fallen back into the reality of things when his three pups stared at him. 

You had immediately frozen, taking a step closer to Price. He had felt the urge to wrap his arms around you again but restrained himself. 

"I thought you were going to finish a report. You come back with a bunny?" Ghost asked in a mocking tone. 

Soap chuckled, gaz trying to hide his smile. 

"Come on. I have to call Laswell, I need you guys to be nice." Price warned. 

"What happened?" Gaz asked. 

"Some rogue little pups." Price answered in a darker tone. 

The team quickly understood, soap smiled, patting the couch next to him. You looked up at Price, biting your lip again. His eyes flashed to your lips before softly nodding with a reassuring smile. You slowly walked to the couch, feeling slightly less stressed. 

You shared a last look with Price before he took his phone, walking away. 

That night, Laswell didn't pick up. Price was starting to get frustrated. He couldn't bring you back there until he caught those idiots. He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. Walking back inside, he looked around the room. Tails and ears were out. The boys had mimicked you, letting a hint of their forms out. He found himself looking at you, the sound of your laugh captivating him. 

"Captain." Gaz called, bringing the rest of the room's attention to him. 

"Laswell doesn't answer." He said.

You looked disappointed. 

"Does… it mean i have to go back?" You asked. 

Silence fell in the room. 

"You can stay here!" Soap said happily. 

"Sergeant…" Price started. 

"It's only for one night." Gaz added. 

"She'll be safer here with us. We can free a room for her." Ghost finished. 

Price shook his head as he chuckled. 

"I.. I don't want to bother…" you countered. 

"You don't bother bunny!" Soap added cheerfully. 

You shook your head, amused at such an obvious nickname. 

"You can stay. I'll free up my room for you." Price interrupted. The boys stared up at him, sending all kinds of knowing looks as you simply smiled up at him. 

He had made sure his room was comfortable and safe for you. He had given you a shirt of his for you to sleep in. The whole situation was off. He kept reminding himself that he should keep a distance but the beast kept pushing him to do more. Bring you some water. Making sure you weren't cold. Looking a bit too much at your thighs. 

"You alright then?" He asked one last time. 

You sat on his bed, his shirt too big for your frame, looking up at him, your ears falling back, your eyes filled with exhaustion. 

"Yes sir.. Thank you." You answered. 

He smiled again, nodding before exiting the room, the scent of you surrounding his brain and senses. 

After your first encounter with the team, Laswell had decided to move you closer to their barracks. Your previous location was temporary anyway. To your surprise the team was thrilled to know you were moved closer. By closer, Laswell had meant the same building. You felt safer as well, the boys greeting you every time they saw you. 

Price smiled at you in the hallways, making your heart skip a beat. Because yes. The bunny in you had found something in him. Something that made you feel safe, calm, free to be yourself. You felt dumb with your silly little crush. There was no way he would ever be interested in you. It didn't stop you, and your deepest instincts to be attracted to his frame, his hidden beast enticing yours to get closer. Your mind, your rational side just kept reminding you that this man could not be interested in you. 

For Price, he found himself in a sticky situation. You had slept in his bed that night and he had slept on the couch. Laswell had taken over the case the morning after, relieving him. His day had gone about as normal, he had finally finished his report and finished his duties. The real challenge. Was to go to sleep in his bed. He had walked into the shared rooms of his pack under the teasing and playful gaze of the team. He ignored it, until finally he understood the glances, the chuckles. His room. His sheets. His pillow. Everything smelt like you. He had groaned, laying in his bed, surrounded by you. All you. The beast inside kept clawing and raging. Things he hadn't heard it say in years screaming in his mind. 

Go get her. Our bunny. Pet her fur, her cute tail. She smells so good. 

Price had felt the frustration and anger rising. He hadn't slept. He had tried to view and review the situation and how it turned to shit so easily. He had seen you a total of a few hours. How could he be so enticed by you? What was it that he stared a tiny bit longer than he should in the hallways? The days passed and it's like your smell had simply decided to haunt him. 

"What's wrong Price? You're cranky. Not sleeping enough?" Laswell had commented during a meeting, the boys chuckling under their breath. 

A few days after, he sat in the common room, night had fallen. He was lost in thoughts again, eyebrows furrowed. 

"Price?" Gaz called. 

"Yes? Sorry… I was lost in thoughts." Price said, smiling to hide his frustration.

"Got your head stuck on a bunny?" Soap teased. 

Price looked away, rubbing the back of his head. 

"Yeah… maybe." He let out honestly. 

"You imprinted?" Gaz asked. 

"I'm too old for that." Price answered in a chuckle. 

"I don't think so. I'm sure you can still find a mate, she seems like a nice girl." Soap added. 

"You think she would want me? An old man like me?" Price said, a little disappointment in the back of his tone. 

"Never say never." Ghost said. 

Price shook his head, standing up and heading for the door. 

"Where are you going?" Soap asked. 

"Walk." 

"At this hour?" Ghost asked. 

"I don't think I need permission" 

Walking out, Price decided that the fresh air of the night would help. He was cranky. He hadn't slept properly in days. Claiming you… what an idea. To even think you'd accept to be courted and be his. 

Do it you coward.

Price straightened his neck, telling his beast to simply shut up. Stepping into the night, he closed his eyes, ready to light up his cigar. For the second time this month, your smell hit his nose. This time he didn't hesitate. Taking his cigar away from his lips he immediately tracked you down, finding you as quick as possible. Half running through the grounds, he felt closer and closer to you. Until his eyes noticed you. Trapped against a wall, a man keeping you there, in between his arms. 

Tear him apart. She's ours. 

His beast growled loudly in him. His jealousy spiked dangerously. 

"If she wants someone else it's none of our business…" he whispered to himself. 

He was ready to turn around when a little whimper stopped him. A cry. You were crying. His eyes flashed. This time the growl was from him, loudly echoing. The man's head snapped towards him but it was too late, Price had closed the space in a flash, grabbing the man by the neck before throwing him to the ground. 

"C.. captain!" The man cried. 

"Captain.." you mewled. 

The more he heard your voice, the whimpers the mewls, the wilder his beast clawed out. 

"Explain yourself, recruit." Price let out, voice darker and raspier than usual. 

He was starting to realize how dangerously close to turning he was. 

"S..sorry! I.. I didn't know she was yours sir! I didn't smell the claim!" The man apologized. 

Price froze. There was no claim. He tensed up, trying to calm down. He had no claim on her. Fuck. 

A touch. A soft hand on his forearm, making his head snap to you. Your glossy eyes looking up at him, biting your lip. Your ears flushed back. 

Mine.

"Get lost." Price threatened without looking at the man. The poor thing scrambled up before hurrying away. 

"P..price…" you whined. 

Mine.

He was panting, eyes never leaving you as you stepped closer to him. He wasn't gone. He simply had a hard time staying there. Your other hand rose to his chest, a growl meeting your movement. His hand met your waist, passing his arms around to pull you harshly flushed against him. You gasped, the feeling of his nails softly scratching you. 

"Price…" you called again softly. 

Mine.

His second hand flew up to tangle in your hair, close to your ears. Foreheads touching. 

"Price…" you called again in a whisper. 

He took a deep breath, your scent filling his senses. It was almost instant, the way his beast growled in him before finally calming down. 

Mine.

After a few seconds he realized the position he was in, holding you close to him. You sniffled, making him tense. Did he make you cry too? He separated enough to look at you. You looked up at him with your pretty eyes, a little smile on your lips. 

"Are…you alright?" He asked, testing the waters. 

"I am. Thank you." You answered. 

"Good…" he started. "I.. I'm sorry." He said, getting ready to let go. 

He was going to let you go. You should want him to. But the animal inside you refused. Your hands fisted in his shirt as you whined, nuzzling your face there. He froze, probably shocked, before reaching again to wrap you in his arms. You should stop. You should step away. You were making him uncomfortable… right? But you couldn't. You were intoxicated by it. By this. He growled softly. 

"We should separate.." he said. 

You felt a cold shower run through you. He was uncomfortable. You quickly stepped back, pulling away from his reach. 

"Sorry!" 

You looked up at him, his eyes still yellow, looking at you intensely. You didn't know what to do. The wind made you shiver. He caught the movement immediately. 

"Listen. I need to ask you. Right now. Do you allow me to court you?" 

You froze. What…? He… he was asking? To court you? You looked up at him, eyes wide, ears slightly perking up. 

"You.. you want to court me?" 

"Please.. spare me the embarrassment love… just tell me no.. so I.. can move away and calm the beast…" 

You blinked.

"B..but… I don't want to say no?" You said, confused. 

Price looked shocked. He stared at your small frame in front him. He could probably easily break you. You wanted him to court you. You were accepting. 

"You.. want me to?" He asked again, just to be clear. 

"Yes. I do." 

YES.

"Are you sure..?" He asked again. 

"Yes. I am." 

"Absolutely sure-" 

"Yes!" You said, letting a little chuckle out. 

"I'm dying to hold you again." He said honestly. 

You smiled, skipping to him again, wrapping your arms around his chest. He groaned, closing his eyes and holding you back. You nestled into his chest, feeling it vibrate under a growl. Your bunny jumped happily inside you. You were so happy. He wanted you. He wanted to court you! 

Something felt off though. 

"Price.. are you alright?" You asked, looking up at him. His eyes were still yellow. He hadn't gained back control? 

"I… yeah… I haven't been sleeping well… I guess it's making it hard to calm down." He said with a smile. 

"Not sleeping well? Why?" You questioned. 

He looked away for a second. 

"My bedsheets smell like you." 

"Oh.." you let out. "I'm sorry-" 

"No. No. I just wanted to go to your room and bring you to my bed… to sleep next to me." He said, looking slightly annoyed by his words. You smiled at him. Perhaps it wasn't the best choice, the best decision, but you wanted to. 

"Let's go then.." 

He looked shocked. Completely taken aback. 

"I.. I mean… just sleep!" You caught yourself. "I.. I don't mind sleeping next to you…" you answered with a blush. 

"I won't ask twice." He warned. 

You thought for a second. You didn't want to leave his arms. You wanted to go to his bed and sleep next to him. 

"Please.." 

Lifting you up in his arms, he headed straight for his dorm. You giggled in his arms, making him crack a smile. His beast was nauseatingly beaming at the situation. Of course, he wouldn't let him go too far, but he had to be honest, he was happy too. Walking up the stairs, he let you open the door while he kicked it close. Coming into view in the common room, you froze in his arms. 

"We just can't let you out. You keep bringing back the bunny." Soap joked. 

Price rolled his eyes ignoring them, heading for his room. 

"Hey hey hey!" The boys called worriedly. 

"It's fine!" You called back. 

Price felt proud of the boys's reactions, but also incredibly happy of the trust you put in him. 

He closed the door behind him before softly dropping you on the bed. 

"Are you sure you're comfortable? I won't overstep…" he questioned, worried.

"Yes… I trust you. Can… Can I get your shirt back?" You asked with a blush. 

He chuckled before nodding. He grabbed a t-shirt, handing it to you as you held it. 

"I'll let you change. Alright?" He said. 

You nodded. He stopped out of the room, falling face to face with the team. 

"So… going for a walk huh?" Gaz teased. 

Price shook his head. 

"I.. kinda lost it… some guy was trapping her…" he tried, feeling the anger rise again. 

"Price. You're craving her." Ghost stated. 

Soap smiled. 

"I… maybe. I don't want to scare her." He said. It could easily start being scary. 

After so long. He had gained experience. Strength. He was powerful. Very little hybrids would dare to go against him. He worried he might hurt you. He'd never forgive himself. But for now. You had accepted. You let him court you and he decided he won't let this chance go away.

"If you need help, we're here." Gaz proposed. 

He knew they would. They weren't as strong or tough. But all three could keep him in check if one day he'd lose it.

Price nodded before he heard your voice whisper his name. That's all he needed. A whisper of his name. He bid goodnight to the boys, stepping back inside of his room. 

You sat on his bed, just like last time, in his shirt. He felt himself wanting to get in bed with you. Right away. 

"I'm going to change too, alright?" He said. 

You nodded blushing. 

"I'll turn away.." you said, shocking him again. 

You did as you said, turning your back to him. He was going to change. Yes. Put some sweatpants to sleep in, nevermind the shirt. But right now it's the view of your little tail that was captivating him. You probably found it strange that he didn't move because you called him. 

"Yeah.. sorry." He caught himself. 

He hurried to get dressed, before finally letting himself fall to his knees on the bed, right behind you. You turned to him, eyes looking at his chest before blushing. 

"Are you alright? We don't have to love, I can sleep on the couch." 

You opened your arms inviting him in. He held you, making you lay down. You snuggled closer to him as he put the blanket over the both of you. 

"Good night price.." 

"John.." he corrected softly. 

You smiled into his chest. 

"Good night John.." 

"Good night.." 

"Y/N." 

This time he chuckled. 

"Good night Y/N."

—------------------------

It has been four months. You happily walked in the hallways thinking about the last four months. You and John had gotten closer and closer. He had taken you on dates, dinners and movie nights. You still slept in the same bed, unless he had to go on field or you had to travel to other bases. 

Nothing else had happened. Price wanted to take things slow. You accepted of course. But you could see and feel his need. The way he'd look at you hungry when you changed. The way you woke up with him trying to keep your ass away from his erection. 

He was possessive. Very. The recruit who had trapped you, found himself on another base in no less than 24 hours. He'd look at any guy or hybrid who walked a bit too close to you with heavy warnings. He hadn't claimed you. Not yet. He wanted to wait for you to be sure. You were completely head over heels with him. He had let his tail and ears out once during a full moon, though the man seemed to have amazing control over his transformation. It wasn't the same for the boys who still had a few things to learn. Ghost especially, but soap knew how to deal with him, spending the whole night near the big wolf. 

You have noticed one thing about Price. He loved your tail. You'd lay on your stomach reading a report while he sat on the chair next to the bed, report in hand as well. You looked over at him to see him lost gazing at your tail. You smirked to yourself, making it wiggle. His eyes had widden, smile forming on his lips but his eyes never leaving the fluffy tail. You wiggled it again, his eyes flashing yellow, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. Would he pounce on you? If you wiggled it again? Just once more… 

"Price!" Soap called in the other room. 

Price immediately fell back into reality, blinking away his wolf eyes as he looked at you. He quickly understood your little game as he found you looking at him, a little naughty look on your face. He had smirked back, standing up to kiss you. 

"You little minx…" he had whispered against your lips. 

You giggled as he stood, walking to the door.

Since you had noted this, you enjoyed teasing him. And the more you teased the less the poor man could control himself. 

Little kisses often turned to heated make out sessions, high growls and little bites making you moan. 

"Shit…" he cursed, pulling you closer if it was even possible. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck, you smiled against his lips. His large hands on your back and in your hair. You could feel how hard he was through his pants, feeling him twitch every time you moaned. 

"Darling… love…" he called softly. 

You hummed against his lips. Feeling him lift you up against the wall, another low growl, much more distinct making his chest vibrate. Your legs had wrapped around his waist, letting one of his hands roam around your thighs. 

"J..John…" you whined. 

The hallway filled dangerously of moans and grunts, in the middle of the afternoon, anyone could walk in on you. But shit… something was coming over you. He suddenly stopped, letting his forehead touch yours. 

"Tell me to stop… we… not here… fuck…" he huffed. 

He was dangerously close to letting himself turn. He bucked his hips again making you bite your lip to stiffen a moan. 

"A.. alright… stop…" you let out. 

He took a deep breath, slowly coming down from his high, slowly letting you down. You looked up at him, worried. He kept his eyes closed, focusing. 

"Are you alright John?" 

The beast was getting hard to keep in check. It was more than taunting now. It turned in its corner, pulling on the chains Price took so long to build. 

Mark her. Claim her. 

No. Not yet. Not in this state, not in the middle of a fucking hallway. He slowly opened up his eyes to your worried expression. That seemed to instantly calm him and the beast down. If there was one thing that his beast didn't want, was for you to be scared. 

"I'm fine… I'm sorry love…I -" 

"Hey… I'm fine… I'm worried about you, that's all" you said, putting your hands on his face. 

He sighed. 

"It's just… been a while. Darling, you need to tell me to stop if you feel even slightly uncomfortable…" he warned. 

"I know. You know I will." You reassured with a smile.

  

This should have been the first sign. The warning. Price had even told the team of his little control problem to make sure they kept him in check. Because they also noticed. The way his eyes would turn without him noticing when you passed by in the hall. The way he'd growl when you were in his arms. 

By the time the current problem showed up, it was too late. The current problem was a lone wolf. A new sergeant on base, a wolf hybrid who didn't seem to care about the team. A wolf that seemed to have taken his interest in you. First it was Soap who noticed. The way he had offered you his hand to get down from the humvee, and the way it made him grin. The way he seemed to keep his eyes on you as you walked away. 

Then Gaz took notice too. The way he tried to stay with you after training to 'make sure your training was completed' because, of course, he'd always find something wrong. And Soap and Gaz had started to meddle. Because they could see you get uncomfortable. They'd pull you closer to them, they'd take you away from his training to theirs. 

Things started getting out of hand so quickly. Especially when he, Ryan, realized the boys were trying to keep you away from him. He had confronted Soap, in an empty training ground only lit up by the moon, as you stood behind Gaz. The low growls behind their words, the eyes turning and the obvious scent was making you shake. When Ryan stepped closer menacingly, you only had time to blink before Ghost rushed behind Soap howling and growling, fully turned. It was the first time you had seen it. The fur, the claws, the teeth… how big and tall they were. Soap tried to pull back Ghost and Gaz stepped closer to the scene. You had immediately texted Laswell. 

It took two minutes for her to arrive on scene. She immediately separated the boys. Unfortunately… She had called Price as well. His stance, his presence screamed leadership. The team backed away, Ghost keeping Soap in his arms as he stood behind him, now back in his human form. Soap looked sheepishly happy about his boyfriend's protectiveness. You remained back next to Gaz. You watched as everyone was scolded. Laswell forced everyone to go their separate ways as Price immediately reached for your hand to bring you closer to him, to walk you back to the barracks with the team.

When the door of his bedroom had closed, his eyes immediately turned. He had pulled you to him, into a feverish kiss. Lips and teeth were bruising and biting. 

"J..John…" you mewled. 

"Why… why didn't you tell me?" He growled. 

The kisses dropped to your cheeks, your jaw, your neck where you both froze. 

"I didn't want to worry you… you know I'm yours… the boys were keeping me safe…" you tried. 

He was panting, fury coursing through him. You could see and feel it. You took his hand pulling him to the bed with you. He stopped, eyes widening. 

"No." 

It was firm. Giving no room for discussion. You were, however, determined to bring him to bed with you so you could calm him down. You stepped back closer to him, nuzzling in his neck, hands gripping his shirt. He grunted, feeling himself slowly melt. You tried again to pull him to bed, letting yourself fall back on the mattress. He let himself hover over you as you wrapped his face in your hands, kissing him. 

"Y/N… baby…" he warned. 

You giggled. You turned around, crawling your way up in the bed. He growled loudly, grabbing your ankles to pull you back to him, making you giggle again. 

"Mine." He growled. 

You felt yourself shiver. Something in you felt that he was different. Almost like Ghost in the training grounds. The way he said it, it was more than just your John. 

"Yes… all yours.." you cooed. 

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him as you tangled together on top of the bed. And it was exactly like this that you fell asleep. In each other's arms.

 

The next few days were tense. Soap had to stay in the dorms with Ghost for two days as the lieutenant had become dangerously over protective. Laswell had removed you from any mission with Ryan to make sure that Price would be kept in check. You made sure to skip your way to his office during your breaks to sit on his lap and cuddle him, feeling him relax under your touch. You'd eat lunch with him in his office, and when Laswell would agree you'd work on your reports in there as well. Price would be thrilled, having you near him made it easier for him to focus on his own work. His beast was peaceful when it could see you at all times. 

Unfortunately. Some things couldn't be avoided. The last report on your desk required you to meet with the Sergeant to finish it up. You wanted to wrap it up as quickly as possible. Gaz and the boys were aware and we're supposed to come by to get you back to the barracks. You sat in front of the sergeant as you both reviewed the file and reports of the team. 

"Tell me. Why hasn't he claimed you yet?" 

You froze. You cleared your throat, resuming your work. 

"I don't really want to talk about it." You answered firmly. He chuckled, a rumble mixing in. You felt your hair stand on end at the sound. 

"Do you want some coffee?" He asked. 

You shook your head, thanking him. He stood, walking around the room to get a mug of coffee. You lost yourself in the report, reading the comments again. 

A little breath next to your ear made your heart drop. 

"You smell really good, little one." 

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You were frozen in place. You saw his hands start to drop to the table on each side of you and you panicked. You jumped up, trying to escape, only to be pushed down on the table, wrists behind your back. In the panic and fear, your ears and tail had popped out. 

"Shit… that's adorable. Look at that little tail." 

You squirmed trying to free yourself. 

"We're gonna have so much fun… I'm going to make you mine." 

"No!" You yelped. 

He chuckled darkly. 

"I'm gonna mark you darling." 

Now you were just fighting your way out. No. No. All you had in mind was John. Him. Only him. He was the only one you wanted to mark you. Your blood ran cold when you felt his weight on you, his breath on your neck. Time stood still, you felt like the seconds stretched. You yelled. You did. You yelled for John. You didn't know why, or how. But the second after, Ryan was thrown across the room. You immediately rushed away from the table, falling to the ground behind some desk. A growl echoed through the room, making you shake. Whatever or whoever it was, the whole base heard it. You didn't dare to look, there was an obvious fight. You worried that it was Gaz before, suddenly you heard his voice. 

"PRICE!" 

Price..? John?! 

The sound of broken furniture and growling was deafening. You peeked to your right, the sight of Gaz turning and Soap and Ghost running into view, Laswell right behind. Soap stopped Ghost from turning, avoiding more chaos. 

"PRICE, STOP!" Soap yelled. 

You were hyperventilating now, the panic of everyone with the sound of fighting was making your ears ring. 

"YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!" Laswell roared, turning into the lioness. 

What..? Kill? No… 

You jumped up, the scene before you shocking. You didn't let it keep your attention however, turning to look at Price. The brown fur was stunning. That was your first thought. It's exactly what caught your attention. Not the claws, the teeth, the growls, his strength or the blood.

"Y/N GET AWAY!" Soap roared. 

It's exactly what caught his attention. Price turned to you, eyes focusing on your frame. The beast was out, and now you were his prey. Your ears fell back, your tail wiggling. You were supposed to be scared. But you knew he wouldn't hurt you. Him? Never. He stepped towards you. Gaz made a move to step between you two but you stopped him. 

"No! It's fine!" You called. 

He moved forwards again as you also decided to step to him. He closed the space in a flash, picking you. You had wrapped your arms around his big neck, hiding your face in his fur. You felt him move. Fast. But you didn't open your eyes. You heard the team scream for him, but you didn't care. You were with him, in his arms. The cold wind against you only informed you that you were both outside now. But it didn't matter. 

It didn't take long to reach your destination. The smell made you instantly relax when you realized you were back at the barracks. Inside of the living room he had dropped you down as you had stumbled to remain on your feet. You looked at the big wolf in front of you, his ears capturing sounds, before feeling him reach for you again. He dragged you to his room, pulling you to bed with him, wrapping himself around your body. You felt the wetness of his saliva on your soft ears, feeling yourself coated, surrounded by his smell. You knew what he was doing. Making sure you smelt like him. And only him. 

The sound of voices and footsteps made you look up only to feel his grip on your tighten. The door opened to a very worried Gaz and Soap. John growled loudly. The boys took a step back. Ghost appeared right behind. 

"Guys I'm fine…" you tried. 

"Price… let her go-" Soap tried. 

Price growled even louder making Ghost step closer to soap. Shit. If Ghost turned to protect soap, and price was focused on your protection the situation might explode again. 

"Please… I'm fine. Go." You tried again. 

The boys remained silent, looking at each other. You could hear the low rumble of John, growling softly. Gaz ended up nodding. 

"We'll evacuate the building. Please be careful." Soap added. 

You nodded with a smile. They turned to walk away. John didn't relax until he heard them close the front door and walk away. You nuzzled him, a soft whine echoing from him. 

You felt his large hand roaming your thighs, his nails softly scratching. His wet tongue licked at your neck making you shiver, your heartbeat picking up. He wanted to mark you.  You felt it. He wanted to claim you. The thought made you warm. Your whole body reacted to it. The bunny inside you was practically begging for it. Could you take it… handle it? 

You nuzzled again against his next before turning to his dropping a little kiss on his nose, the top of his maw, making him whine again. He shifted, now on top of you, your legs barely straddling his big frame. He scratched at your uniform, pulling and tearing holes in it. He was holding back. He wanted to tear them to shreds but he was holding back. You grabbed him by the neck, fisting your hands into the fur there, making him look at you. His beautiful eyes were locked on you. 

"Shhh… it's ok John… I'm right here." 

A longue lick on your shoulder made you gasp. You were hot. Feeling your pulse in between your thighs, the wetness becoming dangerously visible. He smelled it. He growled at it. Now claws tearing at the sheets on either side of you. 

"J-John… please…" oh no. You were getting lost in it too. 

Poor mattress. The sheer force of his grip would tear it apart. It made you slightly anxious. He was going to tear you apart. But the way you needed to clench your thighs together, hoping to get the slightest friction was too noticeable. You wanted to be claimed. Marked. But he held back. He slowly straightened himself, pulling away from you. He was trying to pull away from you. It was insane. Maddening. But now you craved it. 

You whined, rolling over to your stomach, pulling down your pants slightly, just to free your tail. Your fluffy little tail. You felt the little droplets of saliva on it, his tongue licking at the fur before softly nibbling, making you relax, a soft moan escaping. 

He understood. You were offering yourself to him. Willingly. But he needed to be sure. One of his big arms slivered under your tummy, picking your ass up to his crotch where you could feel his desire. 

"Say it. I won't unless you say it." His voice was laced with a wolfy growl and deeper tone, making your pussy clench around nothing. 

"Please…" you whined. 

"No. Say it." He warned. 

"Please… please take me.. mark me. Claim me!" You whimpered, wiggling your hips against him. 

Your poor uniform was torn, completely shredded and discarded somewhere in the room. His fur wasn't as soft as yours but enjoyed the feeling of it on your skin anyhow. His big hands molded your ass, squeezing and massaging it, his claws leaving little imprints. You'd be covered in scratches and marks by morning. Separating a bit, you felt his breath on your folds, making you gasp, eyes widening before the feeling of his large tongue licking at your wetness made you moan. 

You couldn't stop closing your eyes at his torture. Tongue lapping at your count, from your clit to your entrance, sending wave after wave of heat to your stomach. You couldn't stop grabbing the sheets, moans and whines escaping your lips and echoing in the room. You wanted to be embarrassed, hiding your face in a pillow. Even if the building was evacuated, the pack could probably hear you from outside. As if John heard your thoughts, he growled from behind you, vibration through your pussy making your eyes roll back. 

"Let them hear you. Who you belong to." 

You barely had time to register when the pillow was taken from your arms to be thrown across the room, the rest of them following, leaving nothing to hide your moans in. He immediately went back to your needy cunt, greedily lapping again. It was too much already but he wanted more. You knew it. He was preparing you for him. His tongue pushed slightly past your entrance, making you squeeze your eyes shut. 

"F-fuck! John~" 

The more you moaned, the less control he had. His tongue played and toyed with you, making you almost cum before stopping entirely. 

"Please…" you mewled. 

He chuckled against your folds, tongue never stopping. 

"Please what?" He asked, giving you barely a second of rest. 

Words? It was hard to form them. Hard to say anything. 

"Please… cum… I wanna… please…" you tried. 

He liked and lapped again, this time building your high without teasing you. You felt your legs shake, your body just over the edge, just there, almost tipping. 

"Oh.. FUCK" 

It crumbled, the tower of your orgasm completely washing over you. A long, loud moan, his name completely lost in a mix of whine, moans and whimpers. 

He kept licking, eating up your wetness, growling against your skin. When he finally stopped, he towered over you, licking up your back, up to your neck. 

"Good girl. You taste so fucking good…" 

You tried to catch your breath, your head lightly buzzing. It wasn't normal. But it was probably due to the heat of the moment, the vulnerability of feeling like you're about to be claimed. 

"Relax darling." He said, hips meeting yours. 

You could feel it against you, coating himself in your juices, he was big. 

"It's… too big… it won't fit…" you let out, anxiety gaining back control over your pleasure. 

"It'll fit. I promise. I'll be gentle." He whispered against your ear. "Just tell me when you're ready. Let me make you feel good." 

His hand traveled down your stomach to your clit, rubbing soft circles there, making you melt under his touch again. You wanted to. You really wanted to. Fuck you needed it. 

"Please… take me…" you whispered.

He growled softly, never stopping his soft caresses on your clit. His tip at your entrance made you tense. 

"Hey… focus on my voice. My fur against your skin…" he growled in your ear. You did as you were told, closing your eyes, focusing on his touch. 

His hips bucked softly, tips dipping in your hole slowly. You gasped, feeling the stretch and burning sensation mixing with the pleasure of your clit being rubbed. He pushed slowly, your walls trying to make space for his cock as best as they could. He was big, but even through the slight pain, the shiver of pleasure down your spine seemed to largely overpower it. 

Moaning, whining, your legs instinctively opening wider and your hips angling themselves to take him fully. When he bottomed out, you thought you could see stars already. It was the mating of course. The overly, addicting need of mating. 

He remained still, fighting against himself and the way his hips bucked slightly into you. He was panting, hard, saliva dripping on your shoulder blades, your neck… he was containing himself, little whines escaping him, like it pained him. You wanted to scream out of love for this man. Even lost in the mating frenzy, he still battled against himself to be gentle, soft. 

It took a long minute for you to adjust before you wiggled your hips, his own instantly pushing into yours, tip hitting your cervix almost bruisingly. 

"Can.. can I..?" 

"Yes! Please yes…" you hurried. 

He slowly pulled out, the friction and burn making you shiver again. His hips slammed into your, faltering in his restrain. The moans erupting from you was enough for him to feel slightly more comfortable in his movements. His pace was soft at first. He knew he was big. It was easy to hurt you, and he didn't want that. He was going to let you adjust as much as he could. When he finally felt you were pulsating around him, almost sucking him in, he growled loudly. 

You tried to grab onto something, anything. He was practically ramming into you, his hips slamming roughly, one of his hands grabbing at your breast, squeezing your nipples in between his fingers, trying to avoid hurting you with his claws. You felt your second orgasm build up way too fast. You tried to whine to warn him, but he knew it already. 

"Go on. Let it go. Cum for me bunny." 

You did, tears burning at the corner of your eyes. It was terrifying to feel another orgasm right around the corner. He adjusted himself, one large hand holding your hips, the other braving himself on the wall above the bed frame, claws and grip marking the stone. You'd be sore in the morning, without a doubt. Your abused cunt kept tightening around him, his thickness only helping him hit the right spot. 

"Fuck… can't.. gonna.. fuck~" you couldn't say anything coherent anymore. 

He whined slightly when he felt you clench around him again, third orgasm hitting you. You were sobbing, oversensitive and overstimulated. He dropped his arm in front of your face. 

"Bite." He ordered. 

You obeyed, his pace completely maddening now, making the bed shake. He growled, his fur standing on end from the feeling or your soft bite. 

Pretty little thing. She can barely bite us. 

He snarled at his beast. He was right. Fucking adorable. 

"You're mine. All mine." 

You sobbed again, his other arms wrapping under your waist again to easily hold you up and slam you unto him, pounding your drenched pussy to no end. You could feel another blindingly hard orgasm arriving, this time his hips faltering. 

"You want my claim… tell me. Tell em. Scream it." 

"Want your claim… please… immyours.." you cried, tears flooding your cheeks. 

"Good girl. Cum with me." 

You barely registered your orgasm. His powerful bite at the crook of your neck, blood dripping down onto the bed overtaking your senses. It was slightly painful, but the feverish heat in your body, and the way it only tripled the sensation of your orgasm made it worth it. The feeling of being filled up, his cum overloading and dripping down onto the mattress as he kept grinding his hips unto your. It was too much, your ears buzzed and your vision blurred. 

"Breathe. Breathe…" he instructed, his own voice restrained. 

He licked softly at the bite mark on your shoulder, cleaning up the blood and helping it heal. Your legs were shaking. He wrapped his arms around you, picking you up. You moaned, his cock still buried deep in you all the while. He laid you both down on the side, grabbing some kind of blanket to drape over the both of you.

"Relax… we're going to remain like this a little while…" he chuckled, John's voice back to normal. 

You hummed inching closer to him, making him choke on air. 

"Baby, don't rile me up again please… you need to rest." He warned. 

You smiled, closing your eyes as he wrapped himself around your body. 

"Rest. I'm right here… You did so good, baby. So good." He praised in the fog of your consciousness. 

It wasn't long until you fell asleep, his body tightly around you, his tongue licking and nibbling at your ears. 

He had woken twice again during the night. His cock twitching inside you, taking you and marking you twice more. On your thigh and on your hip. You were exhausted when your eyes fluttered open that morning. He had taken his normal form, sleeping soundly next to you. You smiled to yourself, watching his chest rise softly. 

Soft voices, whispers could be heard from the living room. They kept getting closer to the door before stepping back again. You smirked to yourself. They wanted to check if you were ok. You stood up slowly, trying not to wake John up. Your feet touched the floor, your whole body was sore and aching. You tried to stand but your knees gave out, making you sit back down on the floor. A chuckle was heard behind you as you turned your head. John sat up on the bed, looking down at you with loving eyes. 

You blushed embarrassingly. He had fucked the ability to walk out of you. 

"You shouldn't stand. A claim is quite hard. It takes a whole lot of energy sweetheart." He explained with a smirk. 

You pouted. He shook his head, rising up to walk around the bed to you. He picked you up, sitting you back up on the bed. You took your opportunity to kiss him deeply. He smirked against your lips before whispers were heard again. He sighed. 

"They're worried…" you said, smiling softly. 

He nodded, dropping a kiss on top of your head before stepping away to put some joggings on. You tried to stand again. He rushed to your side as you wobbled. 

"I'm ok, I'm ok." You chuckled. 

"Let me help you dress. We show them you're ok and you get back to bed love." He instructed. 

You smiled, putting your hands on his chest, looking up at him as you flushed your body against his. From how he towered you he could see your tail that you happily wiggled for him. His eyes turned yellow once more and you giggled. 

"Help me get dressed then." You teased. 

He groaned, smirk on his lips, but helped you anyhow. 

When you opened the door, the boys were standing on the other side eyes wide as they watched the both of you.  You smiled up at them, easing their worries. 

"Oh god you're ok!" Soap sighed. 

You giggled. "I'm fine" 

He stepped closer to hug you before Ghost grabbed unto him, eyeing Price. 

"It's fine." Price said. 

"Of course it is." Gaz said. "Pay attention, We can smell his claim on her from miles away. We clearly heard it last night." He teased. 

You blushed heavily, hiding your face in your hands. The boys chuckled softly, Price wrapping his arms around you. 

"Mine…" he grumbled against your neck. 

"Yeah yeah… we got it old man" soap said, rolling his eyes. 

"Congratulations. Nice for the both of you." Ghost said, nodding towards the both of you. 

"Now make a lot of pups!" Soap teased. 

You blushed again, hiding your face in John's chest, earning another fit of laughter from them. 

"We have all the time in the world for that. Now scurry off. Let me enjoy my mate while we're still in the moment." Price warned. 

They shook their heads throwing other taunts and teases before walking away. 

"Come on baby. Let's get back to bed…" 

You smiled. 

"Let's go…" 

[pricegouge]

hi hello just wanted to tell you that the wellies story with gaz and price is such a delight, everything about it is *chef's kiss*

I think Price would keep the hat, though, and wear it to the bar where Reader is having her date/make up date. Because then she HAS to storm up to Price and demand it back??? HOURS of handcrafting, Gaz unhelpfully being like "the color suits him :)" Price not-so-subtly delighted at ALL of this (also he does kind of like the hat. Maybe he can convince you to make him one in a different color?)

Gaz asks you to point out your date (someone who immediately clocks as ick. Like a stock broker finance bro type?) and Gaz immediately vetoes that. That guy isn't your date anymore. He and Price are! Now, about this camera they owe you....

Price in a knit fuchsia cap got me fuckin' good. Sorry this took so long! Even more sorry I'm posting unedited, but if I look at this any longer I'll blow up so here we go

(follow up to this)

The worst part is, once you see him in it, shining like a neon sign from clear across the bar, you understand completely why they'd had to unceremoniously rip it off your head that day. Even here, surrounded as he is by the general visual noise of the city and patrons who are by no means dressed to blend in, the man sticks out like a sore thumb. (Made no better for the fact that he still stands head and shoulders above all those around him, of course, but that's beside the point.) You can only imagine how garishly you'd stood out among the stretch of that green meadow, how much you'd jeopardized not only their mission but their very lives by simply being there.

Of course, that knowledge does nothing to soothe the anger that rises within you when you see the men responsible for ruining your last (better) dating prospect waltz in on your current one as if their only new objective is to ruin your night again while wearing the handmade hat you're now realizing they'd stolen from you. (You'd thought you'd misplaced it on the bus last week. One moment it was there, the next gone. Now you wonder how you could have missed either of them sitting aboard public transportation, or how long they'd been following you to now conveniently show up in at least two of the same places you were.)

You stare daggers at the two of them. John ignores you, pink cap bobbing through the crowd as he makes his way to the bar. Kyle posts up at a booth and smirks at you openly, unabashedly. He's impossibly more attractive outside of the grease paint and twig mass. You ignore the delightful flip your belly does when he clocks the way you take in the breadth of him, how he tests the seams of his button down, and his smirk turns to the kind of smile that should require a legal registry.

"What are you looking at?"

You startle a bit when a big head floats into your field of vision, Jeremiah's frown completely obscuring the much better view you'd just been staring down. He swivels to look behind himself, head rotating like an automatic, unmanned security camera. Observing, but not seeing anything. 

As far as prospects had gone, Jeremiah had been one of the least favorite matches you'd made on your little dating app; but after the failure from a few weeks past you'd been getting desperate, and his nice hair combined with his clever sales pitch tongue had eventually wooed you after enough messaging. Unfortunately, thirty seconds after meeting him in person you'd realized your initial instinct had indeed been right when he'd tried negging your outfit in the same breath he'd used to greet you at the door. He hadn't even chosen a good place to meet. With the way he dressed and spoke, you'd almost been looking forward to the novelty of some swanky bar uptown, but the pub he'd given you the name of was barely better than a hole in the wall. A dying fern stood in the corner, its only source of sustenance the light up dart board on its right, and the empty mugs surrounding it, the tacky puddle in its water pan suggesting it was a popular place to pour one's dregs out into. The sticky table felt like a fly trap, suggesting either years of buildup which had grown resistant to bleach, or a general incompetence on management's part as to how proper cleaning worked. You've no idea why you'd even stayed. Perhaps just a desire to stay out of the house. Part of you knows it's actually a desire to get laid so strong you're willing to overlook his shortcomings so long as you can clamp a hand over his mouth later and ride him until you're satisfied, but you don't want to look too closely at that part of you.

"Apologies. There's a man over there I recognize."

"Oh? Should I be worried?" His expression is genial enough when he asks, but his eyes keep something slightly colder at bay. Annoyance, perhaps. Not jealousy, you don't think. Not yet, at least. Probably hasn't actually clocked Kyle yet.

You should soothe him, you know. Coo reassurances, stutter through excuses and make up lies about just knowing them from your uni days or something. But then you remember Kyle's clever tongue, his blatant flirting. You remember John's heavy hands on you and the way they'd joked about keeping you all night. You're annoyed with them, more so when you remember how they'd left you high and dry after handing you off to the wolves back at base to tear into and question. But they're here now, have been for days, potentially, you're reminded when John ducks his head back into the booth, the subtle streaks of tinsel in the yarn you'd used glowing under the pendant light. He's got three drinks with him, sends you a casual wink when he spots you staring.

"Yes."

Jeremiah sputters. "Sorry?"

"Yes. You should be worried," you clarify casually. "Excuse me."

The boys aren't subtle about watching you as you approach, though Gaz leans into his captain's space to whisper something in his ear which makes his mustache twitch distractedly. It takes you a minute to pick your way over to them. You don't have much of a game plan beyond demanding your hat back, and hopefully garnering some insight as to why they're following you, but that doesn't explain the thrill you feel when their eyes trail you, or the way your mouth runs dry when you realize you're going to have to talk to them this time, no convenient excuse of situational silence keeping you from putting your foot in your mouth. You tell yourself you're at least not likely to drift off under one of them this time, and then suppress a heavy swallow when you realize you don't actually want that to be true. It's why your voice isn't quite as strong as you'd hoped when you approach their table, skipping formalities and demanding to know what they're doing here.

It's like they can smell your apprehension, John content to just keep smirking at you while Kyle responds with the kind of cocky voice you would hate on anyone else, but just serves to remind you how much the tone is earned when he uses it. "Can't a captain treat his favorite sergeant to a drink after work anymore?"

It's the phrasing that catches your attention, momentarily distracting you from reaching out and ripping your hat off John's head. It's too familiar to Jeremiah's own proposition for the evening, too jarring when used in relation to military work. "You've been following me," you state bluntly, wondering if it's possible they've even bugged your phones.

"Only a lot," Kyle agrees cheekily.

"Why?"

"Had to make sure you weren't going 'round telling everyone what you'd seen, petal," John grumbles, voice just as deep and dark as you remember. It's hard to hear him over the din of the pub. You tell yourself that's why you lean into him a bit when he speaks, though you turn it into a snatching motion easily enough.

"That why you stole my hat?" 

John deflects you casually, turning your hand away somehow both deftly and gently. His grip changes once he has you under control, turning instead to guide you into the booth next to him. His arm finds the seat back behind you, but you stubbornly remain leaning forward, refusing to ease into him this time.

"Cap didn't steal it," Gaz corrects, eyes lingering on the captain's hand where he still grips your wrist. "I did."

It's hard to accept the fact that Kyle could ever escape your notice, but you suppose he's earned his position in life for a reason. "Right." You round on John, "So did you lose a bet?"

The captain chuckles. His thumb smoothes along the heel of your hand and then is gone, tipping the amber whiskey of his drink absently. "Won one, actually. Gaz here wanted to be the one to wear it."

"Would've looked better with my complexion," the other man reasons, batting his pretty eyes at you exaggeratedly. Far behind him, you spot your date sputtering indignantly to a waitress, the poor girl's face clearly disinterested. So much for your shoe-in. You refuse to acknowledge why that doesn't bother you as much as it would have even just five minutes ago.

"Yeah, well, if I only got to wear the things I wear better, I'd be walking around naked," John gripes goodnaturedly. "Isn't that right, flower?"

Kyle saves you from sputtering out an answer by sighing wistfully. "If only."

John smirks indulgently at him and you blink away, feeling like an outsider when you see the older man's hand disappear under the table, movement suggesting he's rubbing Kyle's leg. You try not to remember how it felt to have those heavy hands on you. "Can I get my hat back, please?"

"Well, at least you remembered your manners this time," John grumbles. You'd try snatching it off his head again just for the commentary, if you weren't becoming increasingly certain it would land you sprawled across his lap.

"Where you rushing off to anyway?" Kyle adds. He slides the third drink in front of John your way. "Drink with us."

You eye the fruity, fluorescent monstrosity before you skeptically. They don't seem the type to meet barely legal ladies out for a drink in a tiny place like this, but you can't imagine they'd had anyone else in mind when John had ordered whatever this was. "You expecting someone younger?"

John's low laugh makes his mustache twitch. "Heard once that a good rule of thumb if you don't know someone's drink order, is to try and match their outfit." He ducks his chin, looking you over from under his brow. In theory, it should seem more judgemental than appraising, but you still feel like he's assessing your outfit by removing it first.

Self consciously, you run your hand over the flowery blue dress you have on, distracting yourself from thinking too hard about what it meant that he'd bought you a drink. You suppose the color is a bit electric, but the way it fits more than makes up for its flashiness. Or at least, you'd thought it did. Now, seeing it paired with some stomach turning blue curaçao concoction, you feel much less certain about that. "You heard wrong. Besides, I can't stay. I'm on a date," you sniff. You probably shouldn't drink anything handed to you by men you knew were stalking you anyway.

Kyle shrugs agreeably, swapping your drink for his simple rum and coke as he asks who you're out with. You eye it warily, but spot the smudge of Kyle's own lips on the edge so you figure it's safe enough to drink, though you make a point of wiping it off, sneering at Kyle when he laughs at you. 

"Stock broker Jeremiah," you recite, trying to keep the jeer from your tone. You motion back behind yourself. "Over there." 

"Stock broker?" John repeats, voice so thick the words fall from his lips like smoke. You think you spot a smirk hidden in his chops. 

"That your type, luv?"

"Not particularly," you admit. "But he'll have to do, seeing as the last one didn't take too kindly to being stood up."

Kyle tuts, tone too amused to be sympathetic. "Didn't believe you'd been laid up?"

"Should've had him call us, flower. We could've vouched for you," John suggests. Somehow, you know introducing these two to any prospective partners would be a terrible idea.

Still, it sounds amusing.

You shrug, wishing you had a beer bottle to peer the label off of. "Jeremiah makes good money," you offer, the only thing you can really remember from Jeremiah's profile. John hums, lower than the din of the room. Kyle's face is too blank, the same strict discipline he used with his cheek glued to his rifle. Briefly, you're back under John, the din of the surrounding crowd swallowed up by your twin heartbeats. Your eyes flick between the two, take in the tight control of their expressions. It would probably fool most, but you've spent your fair share of time studying the minutiae of faces, the way muscles twitch under stimuli no matter how properly trained the model. Even dead tissue will contract when properly motivated. "He's just bought me a new camera, in fact."

Gaz scoffs. John's eyes narrow. The two exchange sidelong glances and you sip your drink. You'd believed John when he'd said he'd replace your camera, but after being split up at base he'd never located you again and no one had been very forthcoming with information as to how you could contact your new friends to collect. A week after the incident, a cheap, basic camera and a base model macro lens had appeared on your step, the packaging cold and impersonal, shipped direct from the warehouse. No new boots ever came. The camera hadn't been anywhere near as nice as the one you'd lost, but it wasn't like there was a calling card you could air your grievances to so you'd cut your losses and just thanked whoever was listening that you'd even made it out of that valley alive. Now, however, watching the men who'd promised to take care of everything have their pride bruised by some asshole in a button up too expensive to deign resting his silken elbows on the dirty table of the bar he'd decided you were fit for, the weeks of frustration almost seemed worth it. And so what if it wasn't true anyway?

"Excuse me." 

Your date's sudden appearance nearly makes you jump out of your skin, the prospect of introducing him to these men suddenly far less appealing when John rumbles, "Don't think I will."

Jeremiah sneers at him before turning to you. "I'm heading out. Don't think this -," he motions between the two of you, lets his finger swirl around the table to include the boys when the motion peters out, "- is for me. Have a good one, yeah?"

"Oh, um, okay. Sor-."

John stops you. "Don't apologize to him, petal. It's him there owes you one."

"And why would I need to apologize?" 

"Existing?" Kyle suggests.

"Wasting her time?" John tacks on. 

"Insulting my dress," you decide.

Kyle's tsk noise draws your attention. When you look, he's got those exaggeratedly huge eyes darting between you and your date. "When it fits you like that?" he clarifies, making you blush.

"Right wanker," John agrees. His voice is still playful, but the look he's leveling Jeremiah with is anything but. 

"It's - it's -. It's blue!" your date sputters, waving at you as if your offense should be obvious.

John leans close, mustache tickling your ear. "Sounds like a man who can't appreciate a good pair of obnoxiously yellow wellies."

"You threw my wellies in the creek," you counter, too amused to muster much anger.

"Bought you new ones," Kyle offers and you narrow your eyes at him because, following you or not, there's no way they could know -.

"What size?"

Kyle just grins. "On the first date?"

"On our first date," Jeremiah reminds you.

You ignore them both, rounding on John. "And you ripped off my hat!" To illustrate your point, you attempt to snatch it back again, but the captain ducks it just as easily as he did the first time.

"I'll give it back when you make me a new one."

"Wait, I stole it fair and square," Kyle counters. John doesn't dodge him as easily, the silver streaks of his dark, mussed hair catching the light just like your yarn did. He doesn't even bother trying to snatch it back, watching with fond eyes as Kyle replaces his hat with your own. He'd been right, he does wear it better.

"If I make you one too, will you give it back?"

"Fat chance," the sergeant scoffs, and with an expert toss, he saucers his own hat onto your head, grinning like a fool when you let John tug it more firmly on. 

A scoff behind you draws their attention. John glares over your shoulder again, but Kyle just waves, cheeky enough to elicit another humorless laugh. Byt the time you turn around, your date's already on his way. You're not particularly upset by it, figuring even if… whatever this is… doesn't pan out to anything, at least you'll have spent the evening in better company than originally planned.

The boys are both staring at you when you look back. You don't bother acting disappointed, though you know there's a version of this evening that sees you spitting mad, being soothed and gentled like a finicky horse with big hands and hushed tones. As appealing as it sounds, you'd rather spend your time actually talking, making up for your first meeting with them when you couldn't do much beyond gripe about your position, or whine about being bored. So instead you shrug, and the boy's smirks turn leery, and you suppress a shiver when Kyle leans across the table toward you, voice low when he asks what kind of camera 'the suit' bought you.

You panic in your response a bit, all higher end models you've had your eyes on for weeks fleeing your brain. Instead you tell them about the cheap thing you'd received in the mail and John scoffs.

"Got you something much better," he promises, pulling his phone from one of his many pockets and flicking through it. When he turns it toward you, an email confirmation tells him his package has been delivered, the details of the order showing the next model up from the very one he'd thrown in the brook. The description of the lens is cut off at the bottom, but you've no doubt you'll be happy enough when you see the pricing details. "You'll forgive the delay, of course. Man's gotta do some research, after all."

You'd even forgive the wellies continuing to go unreplaced, though in your excitement you forget to express that. "Of course. Of course! Thank you so much, John!" You're still gushing gratitudes when you slip out of the booth, turning to excuse yourself so quickly you even forget to snatch your hat back.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To go get -?" You stall, taking in their confused - even slightly miffed - expressions. "Look, if that package sits on my stoop too long, my neighbors will -."

Kyle laughs, crooks his finger at you. It's embarrassing how quickly you oblige, slipping right back into your seat just because his eyes are too warm and inviting to disappoint. 

John's voice is much closer than you remember it being before you'd stood, the low rumble in his chest a physical thing you feel against your shoulder when he leans close. "No need to worry, petal. It's back at mine. Safe as houses."

"Didn't have your address," Kyle winks. 

It's weird, the way you can laugh at jokes about being followed. You decide not to think about it too much. "Sounds more like an elaborate plot to get me back at yours."

"Well, we're unused to not getting our mark," John confesses, "had to have another shot at it."

Kyle's cheeky when he responds, his boyish grin enough to have you settling against John before you even know what you're about. "For the record, I never did take a shot the first time."

[jolapeno]

arepas

javier peña x f!reader

summary: when you’re single, it’s complicated. messy. he can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him.

an: dedicated to the wonderful, the amazing @halfmoth-halfman - i told you that i'd write you something, and here it is. I hope it makes you smile as much as you make me smile. word count: 9.3k (sorry, not sorry) warnings: developing feelings, slow burn -> colleagues to friends to lovers. usual jo angst, but with lots of banter. fingering, p in v, angst, sweet ending, spoilers for narcos season two.

friend noun /frɛnd/ a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. "she's a friend of mine."

It starts in Bogotá. 

His eyes rake over you—the new pretty secretary who won't meet his eyes as though you’d heard all about him. 

It's why he waits. Biding his time before gracing your desk. A file in hand, leaning down—forcing your eyes to meet his. Javi's smirk almost eclipses his face, only doing so when you lift your chin and he finds your lips have slid so far up one side as you stare at his hand.

Agent Pe— I know who you are, Peña. Your reputation precedes you. Good things, I hope?  Depends on who you ask. 

You call him Peña all the time. Even as days slip into weeks, even if he insists you call him Javier or Javi. The tension building, thickening—just like a dish left on a hob. 

He’s used to the whispers, but he’s not used to the ignorance. The way you don’t look at him like the others, instead always trying to find out what he needs from you, rather than what he wants. 

It allows him the chance to study, to watch. Noticing the way you work, the way you converse easily with others and how you walk around the office like you barely notice him. 

It wasn’t through a lack of trying why he hadn’t worsened his reputation. It wasn’t fear of fucking you, of muddying his place of work further—his focus, mission, objective wasn’t to keep the piece inside crumbling Colombian walls. It was more that the fact his usual tactics weren’t working even when his intention was there, clear as the sky on a sunny morning. 

You seemed stressed. Aren’t we all, Peña? I know how to get around that… I’ve heard. 

It’s not that your tongue is quick or icy—it’s that you do it all without looking at him. You bite back without lifting your eyes or turning to him when he stands beside you. An indifference he had usually woven under in the time you’ve been here, but finding troublesome with you. 

So, he tries smiling when smoke swirls around the ceiling fan, and you drop a file off; he drops his voice when he bumps into you by the water machine, holding your sight—commanding it. Which is why he notices the irritation simmering in yours. Growing, and grating more so by his mere breath, never mind his words. 

You don’t like me much.  I don’t know you.  You could. Know me.  What would be the point, Peña? You don’t listen, you interrupt everyone, you fuck everything with a pulse— Tell me how you really feel, hermosa.  I’m trying, but once again, you’re only half listening. 

Determined—that’s how he was often described. 

It was, for this reason, that he has poured so many of his years into catching Escobar. Why he’d looked for whores to get information, not banking on caring and emotions. It’s why he hadn’t looked for anything outside of a quick fuck, a friend, or a sense of belonging—he didn’t have another ounce left in him. It was all spent on the reason he was here: narcos. 

There had been others, naturally. Not all bent to his charm, even if the majority did. He should add you to the list, to the small pile that had amassed through the building and beyond. 

Javi doesn’t. 

And it doesn’t get better, easier. You decline his invites for drinks, even if you do begin to aid him. You refuse grabbing food for lunch with him, even if you have started taking paperwork off him to type up. You’ve even begun making comments, funny ones about his typing abilities, even shooting him a smile as you travel back to your desk. Yet, you don’t even let him drive you home when your car isn’t working. 

Purposefully, you’re a bag of mixed messages. Not because you decline him but because he cannot find a rational reason as to why. You’ve begun moving his paperwork up, but you flirt back. Flimsy, thin excuses find your tongue quicker when he invites you to drinks, not even just with him.  

You’re confusing. A brand of difficult he hadn’t had the opportunity to circle before, something which bothers the shit out of him. 

Which is why he’s coating his throat in whiskey—getting through his pack of Marlboro’s quicker than he usually would be in a bar like this. 

Because, while he doesn’t get you, he hates work functions more. Despising with each growing minute that he’s at one. 

He prefers to choose his company—paid or unpaid. And the sole reason he’d even gone in the first place was to get you to stop calling him Peña—and to keep the CIA away from you. 

He ends up being successful at one of those things. It’s not that he wasn’t sure how to befriend women, just that he usually chooses not to. He ruins any possibility of it by turning on the charm, having their blouse in his fingers and his hand stuffed in their lace. Even for all his charm, it is hard to get them back on his side when he doesn’t call them, or mistakenly calls out the wrong name or avoids them. 

It’s why he knows his name is dirt amongst several secretaries. He’s aware of how gossip spreads like wildfire amongst the secretaries, receptionists, file room assistants, watching it happen as their eyes glisten when he walks past, their whispers dropping an octave when he is within ears reach. 

You don’t partake in it. Digging your pretty eyes into him rather than fluttering your eyelashes. You can put those puppy-dog eyes away, Peña. I’m immune to putas. You can wait like everyone else. Chin lifting at the last second, smothering him in stifled stress and a please-don't-push-me-look. It’s how he learnt you were going for drinks with the CIA, how he discovered the bar and time. 

Why he went in the first place. 

It crossed his mind this could be the night. He could keep you company, find a way in when your wall was down because of the liquor on your tongue. The moment fizzled when he chose to be a gentleman—helping you into his car, guiding you into your place. Even holding your hair back as you vomited the contents of your stomach out. Maybe he should have warned you about doing shots with Jacoby in the first place, but then, he wouldn’t be alone with you. 

See the way you put your weapons down and looked at him pitifully when you couldn’t get the key in your door.

I’ve got you, Bonita.  Bet you say—hiccup—that to all the whores.  You’re not a whore.  No. No, I’m not.

He’d expected you to push him, fight him once inside your place, but you were silent. Occasionally frowning with glossed-over eyes as he continued to help you. You even allow him to help you to bed—without so much as removing his clothes. He’d been almost out of your bedroom door when he heard it:

Still gonna call you Peña, Peña. I know, bonita. There’s a glass of water on your table. 

It played on his mind. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be chivalrous, just that it was rare. Stuffed down into his tight jeans and under layers of Colombian grief. While he cares about the people in his life, even the ones at arms reach—the ones he pays and the ones he takes home from a hard day—he doesn’t show it. Keeping it tightly wrapped and away, not willing to let simple and futile emotions blur the lines of why he was here. 

So it surprises him when you leave him a thank you. 

A small note on his desk attached to a bottle containing amber and a large packet of Marlboros.

Still think you’re an asshole, Peña. 

It was the worst thank you note he’s ever had, yet it made him smile. Unthreads annoyances of his day, sewing in a piece of niceness in a tapestry of shit. 

What he did know is that the window of sleeping with you was growing smaller, only fully shutting on him when he uncapped the bottle and poured you a glass when you knocked on his door for his signature. The small office he resided in—all dark, simmering with disappointment and failure after another dead end. Not that you commented on it—even if your eyes narrowed and your lips spread thin. 

You were polite like that. Didn’t call into question or hold a mirror up to him. Just let him be. Tapping your glass against his, his eyes watching as you take a sip—not hissing, not flinching as the taste slides down your throat. Not even when it collects somewhere in your stomach. If anything, you smile. 

Running his hand along his chin, letting his eyes roam as you take in the walls—the files. Your glass teetering on your bottom lip, painted in a shade he wanted staining on various parts of his body—

“Surprised you’re having a drink with me, Peña,” you say, all airy and light—glancing over your shoulder, shining him in mischievous twinkles. “Especially when you could be… paying for better company.” 

He snorts at that, lets a laugh escape—puncture the air. “You know, you bring it up so often, bonita. I’m beginning to think you’re jealous.”  

“Not in the slightest—I don’t do one-night stands.” 

“Two night stands?” He muses. 

And you smirk. Gloriously. Wide and large, the closest he’s gotten you to smile. “If it’s good enough to go back again, why stop at twice?” 

He struggles for a retort, the acidic nature of it being swallowed by whiskey as he raises his glass to his lips. 

Then it shifts the conversation. Returns to normal, safer topics, finding he snorts a few more times as the drinks flow. Even finding you pull a rich laugh from him—one that erases some of the tension, unknots his shoulders from his ears. 

It isn’t until he hears the sweetness of your laugh that he finds that a quarter of the bottle has gone. The paper you’d come in to have signed, still at the top of a forgotten pile. 

You weren't looking, having already turned your back to him, eyes fixed on the wall—the little pins and photos. Allowing him to run his eyes along your back, to your clothe-covered hips and the curves that had been front and centre of his thoughts when he fucked his fist. Your name has been simmering on his tongue for weeks, since you’d been introduced.  

Something stopping him from acting on his thoughts, from standing up and coming up behind you. That very thing being the foundation of what he’d been after from the start. 

“Am I still an asshole, bonita?” He asks when he finally signs the sheet. 

You take the paper, offering a softer smile with a head tilt. “We should drink in your office again. You’re less of one in here, Javi.” 

“It’s cheaper.” “Cheaper?” You groan, and he slides his hand over his face to hide his smile.  “Fine, Peña—“ “Javi. Come on, bonita. We made progress.”  Glaring, you straighten your spine. “Javi, I wanna eat greasy food in a baggy t-shirt and watch shit TV that I can only partially keep up with. Do you want to do that with me?”  How could he say no? “Do I have to eat greasy food?” “Yes. It’s the law.”  Snorting, he picks up the file, tapping the end of your desk. “I’ll be there around nine.” 

You’re everywhere. 

He begins finding you at his favourite food stand, conversing with the owner, grin so large it hits your eyes. Another time, you’re at the shop on the corner near his place, brown bag in hand, a knowing nod sent his way when you pass. 

It throws him off, continuing to do so until it changes, and he comes to expect you. Doesn’t brace or freeze, but welcomes you. Leaning into it that you’re there, everywhere he doesn’t expect you to be. Slowly, bleeding across his life, planting yourself in the soil he hadn’t known surrounded him. 

Your name falls from his lips with simplicity, you call him Javi as though it’s all you’ve ever called him. 

Things shifting, changing just like the temperature in Bogotá. He chooses to sit beside you when he spots you at the bar, and not close to the table who were giggling and whispering at his arrival. He opts to ask you for help, over the secretary who has been giving him heart-shaped eyes since she heard something or another. 

Javi is smart, and isn't an idiot. He knows it has shifted. Changed. 

For the better, he isn’t entirely sure. 

He finds comfort in you in a way he doesn’t usually pay for. The desire to fuck you because you were attractive lessening, and rather because, on some level, he suspected he actually liked you. Especially when you invited him for drinks at yours, instead of a bar. 

It was easier not to question it. To not change. To not ask and ruin it. He went round to yours, or you to his. A gap forming, welcomed and strong. Javi fucked who he wanted to fuck, and sought companionship (fully clothed, a glass of liquor variation in hand) from you. The contents of it shifted depending entirely on the situation. Sometimes, it was accompanied by home-cooked food, and sometimes he brought warm trays in a bag that you groaned in appreciation upon arrival. 

Javi told himself you reminded him of Laredo. Of high-school friends and easy laughter. You reminded him of girls who never became more than friends, the ones he’d grown apart from when they settled and married, and he ran as far away as possible. 

That and he just liked your company. You made it easy. You were his… Friend. 

You were something different than what he had with Carillo. Something other than the partnership he was now bedding in with Murphy. 

You had embedded yourself as much in work as you were out of it. As time ticked on, his brain slowly filled with useless information about likes and dislikes in a drawer in his mind, he marked just for you. They weren’t things he usually didn’t care to know about anyone. Not since he’d been in Colombia. Not since he’d been in Laredo, where he’d never been short of a friend to two. 

Being your friend became a thing he suddenly wanted to cling to. Not wanting to lose it—lose you, not wanting to fuck it up. 

So, he didn’t. 

Even if you looked at him with pretty eyes, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip. Even if sometimes the silenced humming with something different, something less friendly. 

He cared. 

Really cared. He found himself annoyed if you seemed a little off, and found himself wanting to make you smile. The two of you spread past the line into an area out of his usual wheelhouse. Friendship. A relationship that had him around your place so many nights a week, tucking into spirits and beer you’d begun keeping just for him. It was normal. Nice. 

Or it was, until you curled into one side of the sofa, him on the other. Your foot isn’t close to his thigh, no leg draped over his—your behaviour not like normal. 

He’d put it down to another shit date. One he’d been tortured with hearing about—the only downside to the arrangement, the friendship. 

But, as you wrap your fingers around your calf, he realises it isn’t the date, the bad food or the day. 

“Being your friend is kinda hard.”

Frowning, he sits up a little more. “Why?”

You shrug. He doesn’t like it when you do. You have answers, usually quick ones. A shrug meaning you don’t or you’re afraid of speaking them—letting them ball and fester in your throat. 

“‘Cause you do thoughtful shit, and it makes me think things.”

He bites his smirk, and savours it. Knowing and understanding more than he can acknowledge as he folds his arms. “Not a smart move, thinking about me, hermosa.” 

“Don’t I know it.” 

"Bonita...."

"Why'd you call me that?"

You don't ask it rudely, more questionably. Brows knitting together in confusion as you watch him.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not in the slightest."

He smirks, letting out a sharp laugh. "Go get another drink, bonita."

“So, the two of you haven’t… you know?” Leaning in the chair, he stares at him. “No. We haven’t.” “I don’t believe you?” Smirking, he shifts his hips. “Go ask her. She’ll say the same.” He snorts. “You’re telling me you go round her place, have fun, laugh, and leave—I don’t believe it.”  “Believe it, Murphy.” 

It’s hard not to call back to the words spoken that night. 

Let them loop around and around, wrap themselves around other phrases—micro-expressions and bothersome avoidance. 

Your eyes were dark, chin resting on your knee, looking at him as though you wanted to burn everything to the ground. He’d swallowed, and hesitated—two things he never did. 

But with you, he wasn’t exactly himself. 

You had found a way to unlock a part of him he kept away from everyone else. He was still an asshole, still selfish and cocky. But he also bit back more around you and found ways to annoy you playfully, rather than to piss you off. 

“Here.”

“You bought me a book?” 

He smirks, gripping his arms as he watches you turn it over, “You like reading.”

Smirking, you scan the blurb, your brain trying to translate it quickly. “What gave you that impression?” 

Shrugging, he trails a finger across his bottom lip. The signature smirk started growing, spreading, eclipsing whatever was there previously. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, hermosa. I see you reading on your lunch.” He looks you up and down. “Thought you could do with some fresh material.” 

“So you bought me a romance book.”

Dropping his arms, he rolls his lips. “Everyone needs a little romance in their life, don’t they?” 

“Well, you’re the expert. I hear you’ve been getting some “romance” nightly,” you smirk, placing the book down.

He had. 

Almost determined to do so. Needing to bury himself to the hilt in others to distract him from you. Secretly thinking of you, trying to imagine the way your skin would feel under his calloused palms. 

“Jealous, bonita?”

Smiling, you tilt your head. “Why? I’ve got a romance book.”

He tries to tell himself he’s not affected by you. 

That it’s protectiveness why he sits at the bar in the restaurant you’re in. Why he chooses a seat where he can see the reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, able to see you without watching you. 

He tells himself it’s to ensure you’re okay. Nothing else. The convincing goes well until your finger taps him on the shoulder, practically dragging him outside by his elbow. 

The cooler temperature bites his skin, but your eyes full of fire keep him warm. Digging into him, inflicting flames that lick at muscle and bone.

“Why are you here, Peña?”

He masks a shudder. “Don’t… don’t call me, Peña—“

“—you fucked all the whores?” 

“I was drinking.” 

Raising your brow, you fold your arms. “You’re ruining my date.” 

He lets his eyes drop. Knowing he is. He knew he would when he scrunched the piece of paper in his hand as he overheard you talking about some black dress and little heels for it. 

The same ones you’re standing in front of him in, looking nothing short of radiant—the slightest shiver misting over you.

“You deserve better.”

Folding your arms, you sigh. “What, like you?” 

He runs a hand over his chin, leaning against the wall. “No, bonita. Better than me.”

You bite the inside of your lip, the shiver more obvious. So much so, he removes his jacket, considering draping it over you, but instead hands it to you. 

“Look, I know I ruined your date, but he’s an asshole.”

Swallowing, you let out a heavy breath. “I’m mad at you, but… he really is awful.”

He smothers his relief. Ensures his tone is normal as he murmurs, “Yeah?” 

Nodding, you bite your lip. “Can you… could y—“

“Go get your bag, hermosa.”

It’s quiet, the car ride. 

Your knee nervously bounces, the fabric of your dress rising up your thigh as you do. 

He’s being tested. He’s sure of it. Adamantly so when he pulls up outside yours, and you invite him in. It’s confirmed when you tell him to help himself while you change, stepping into your room. 

A version of him wanting to follow. To place his hand on the back of your neck, the other tilting your chin up, kissing the name of your date tonight. Pulling your body close, making it forget it ever shivered from anything less than pleasure. 

He thinks about it as he fills his glass, and keeps yours empty. Javi thinks it as his jeans become tight and his pulse quickens, wondering if you sprayed your perfume anywhere other than your neck and wrist—whether you’d taste as sweetly as you say his name. Whether you’d dig your nails in when he stuffed you full of him—

“Not pouring me one?” 

Blinking, you’re in his T-shirt and some leggings. 

The former is something you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on your blouse. A band tee, one from a concert when he was younger and happier, and less confused what the fuck all of this meant. 

He hadn’t realised how much he had been holding himself back until you sank onto your sofa, looking serious—brows and forehead creasing. 

It made him want to nurse it out of you, find a solution to stop you from worrying or overthinking. 

“You’ve never tried to sleep with me.” 

He scoffs, loud and undignified. The sentence catches and cuts through the air. All the letters of it punctuated by a thin silence, lightly chopped—not allowing interjection or regret. 

You're waiting. 

Nervously. Plucking your bottom lip between your white teeth like you’re picking guitar strings. 

He considers telling you the truth. That fucking you had been the sole and only intention for a long time. Seeing if you could bend in two, what noises you would make—see if he could get you to chant his name. 

That had been his goal… until it wasn’t. 

Javi drains his glass, knowing you’re astute. That you work with agents of all kinds—you hold your fucking own around all sorts of them. So you know (of course you know) when someone is lying—so he offers something else entirely. 

A slither of truth, an offering of it—if that. 

“Didn’t wanna fuck this up, bonita.”

You take a sip of your own, not smiling, not smirking. Silence thumps between the two of you as you likely process the information, both in word form and in heavy silence. Then you land your eyes on him, something blossoming in them, spreading and taking over as they seemingly darken like the sky before a storm. 

“That because you don’t think you could make me come, Peña?” 

He spreads his palm against his jeans, resting the glass against his other as he drags his eyes to the floor. Biting the inside of his cheek. Wondering to himself why he’d stopped trying so quickly, knowing he was usually much more persistent. His perseverance was why he was still here, hunting Escobar. Yet, he’d folded like a piece of fucking paper when it came to you. 

“Fine,” you commented, placing your glass down. “If we… don’t want to fuck this up. I think we need a codeword. An unsexy one. One that sorta tells the other to stop doing whatever they’re fucking doing….”

“Because…?” 

You give him a look, a sharp one with soft edges. “Because we’re friends, right?”

He nods. 

“So, as friends, I need a word to shout at you when you’re… Peñaring.” Frowning, he watches you smirk. “Javi, you’re handsome. And I spend… I spend more time with you than anyone else. The whole time I was on that date, I was thinking of you—and then there you fucking were. Being my friend.” 

No. He thinks. 

Knowing inside of him he wasn’t there to be your friend, but something he can’t quite acknowledge. A thing which vibrates inside of him, that gallops when you’re around and worsens when you’re not. 

A thing he cannot give into. Not with what he does. 

Not with what happened to Helena… 

The remembrance, the horrid wake-up call that continues to paralyse him. The larger need to keep you safe. 

“You like whores and quick-fucks. I like fucking one person who will only fuck me while they’re fucking me. And, I need the word—a word—because we spend a lot of time together, and you look like you do.” 

His lip twitches, his moustache moving as he drags his eyes back to you. Unsure how you haven’t thrown it out there that you looking the way you do is also a problem.

As though you’re ignoring how fucking sinful you always look—especially in his fucking clothes. 

He doesn’t because, if anything, he doesn’t hate the idea. Not immediately. Somewhat struggling to hide the way you make his cock twitch when you flirt, when you lean on his desk, the top two buttons undone on your blouse. That he sometimes fucks and wishes it was you and not the woman he’s chosen. 

The two of you toeing the line of being friends to the point it sometimes makes his head hurt and his cock throb. 

“What you got in mind?” 

“Apuñalarme?”

He shouldn’t be surprised you’d thought of a word. Always methodical, always thinking ahead. 

“Thinkin’ that one could be taken the wrong way.”

Frowning, you reach forward for some of the leftovers. “How?” 

He stares, and then he swallows. “Well, I could stab you with my co—“

“OKAY. Fine. Who knew it would be so hard to pick a word to keep our friendship intact? What about… arepa?” 

Taking a sip of his drink, his brow slowly arched.

“Well, it’s food—“

“Food can be sexy, bonita.”

“Yes, but if I said arepas, I don’t think: fuck me, Peña—I think fuck I could really eat some stuffed arepas with my friend Peña. Plus, we can then use it around people, ‘cause they’ll just think I’m after food.”

He plays with the glass, staring at your coffee table as he takes it in. Considering it. Finding it plausible—a good enough excuse. A thing to say other than ‘I don’t wanna hear about you going on a date, bonita’—probably around the same as you don’t wanna hear about his conquests. 

You’re nervous, teeth picking at your skin. 

Something blooming in his chest, smothering warmth across his heart and skin. You want to be his friend—you want him in your life. 

“Alright, bonita, let’s give it a go.”

You pout, sighing. “You driving me home?” “Arepas.”  “Funny, Peña. So funny.” “You made the rule, bonita.”  Rolling your lips, he watches as you fold your arms under your dress. The fabric flows, blowing around your legs. “I can make this hard for you.”  “That so?” He should have guessed it from the smirk alone.  “I’m not wearing any underwear,” you say, pulling on his door handle and stepping in before slamming it.  Leaving him processing, eyes staring at where you’d just been standing.

It became complicated in Medellín. 

The routine, the lines—the friendship. 

Everyone is forced all under one roof. The closer proximity means he has to listen to how the others talk to you, how you smile, and how you laugh with every single person. He can’t avoid your laugh—especially the ones you force from bad jokes. Javi has to listen to how others talk about you and how they describe the way they look at you. 

He also has to deal with how your perfume simmers in the air here, how it lingers and clings, even if he does his best to drown it out with smoke. 

In truth, he knows he is just annoyed that you’re even there, to begin with. And, not in Bogotá—where you would have been safer. 

And, as annoying as he finds it, Javi supposes you must suffer through your fair share. His eyes catch yours when someone has called for him, his voice low, a smirk halfway up his face until he sees you ducking your head. 

At the end of the first few days, he realises he misses his evenings with you back in Bogotá. Now, he has to share you in the open office space or hope you’re both free to go to one of the shitty bare rooms you’d both been given. 

Yours at least was more private, Messina having fought for you to have your own as soon as you were relocated to her. 

“Jealous, Peña?” “Yes, hermosa. You don’t have to share with Murphy.”

It worsens when he learns you’re single again. 

You populate his thoughts all over again, having previously stifled them when he knew you were taken. Now that the few month-long situation-ship with someone from the president's building had ended, he found you half a bottle of wine down in your room with several sad Spanish songs. 

When you’re single, it’s complicated. Messy. 

He can’t think straight. Not as straight as he needs to be to keep his wits about him. Before, he could convince himself that flirting is just how the two of you talk. He could comment slyly how he could give you a reason to be silent or him unable to tear his eyes off you when you bend down to get him something from the bottom shelf. 

Even if you’re taken, he thinks arepas repeatedly as you look up at him with wide eyes and gloss-covered lips. But, it’s harmless when you’re unavailable—a foundation of who the two of you were. Now it was confusing again. 

Especially when you begin wearing tight jeans. And you wait until Murphy leaves to pull his chair across and place a bottle on his desk. 

“I need to get drunk.”

Blowing into a spare mug, Javi slams it down next to the bottle. “We can’t leave the base.”

“No, we cannot.”

“Any reason as to why you wanna get drunk?”

You uncap the bottle, glaring at him as you clamp your lips together. The sound of alcohol sloshing into the mug before you begin pouring him one. 

“Hermosa…” 

You take a mouthful from the mug, flicking your eyes to him as he leans back, whispering your name.

“I’m frustrated.”

“Messina busting your—“

“Not like that, Javi.”

It takes him a second. 

A second too long for him, and then he almost chokes on his drink. “Arepas.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in Murphy’s chair. “You asked.” 

His thoughts run ahead of him. The idea of pressing you against the desk, hooking a finger in a belt loop as he tugs your tight jeans to your thighs. The way you’d moan his name—not Javier, Javi. Your hands splayed across his desk, taking everything he—

“—so I need to get drunk because otherwise, I’m going to jump someone, because this job is stressful, and I miss my place, my… privacy, and I also miss food truck nights.” 

Swallowing, he places his mug down. 

“I need to have sex—“

“—Arepas—“

“But by someone who won’t lord it over me.” 

You stare at your mug, swirling it—biting the bottom of your lip as you do. 

And he’s all set to tell you that you drive him crazy, that he’d make you feel good—you just have to ask. His hand slides across the desk, all set to tug your hand closer as he mumbles it. 

Then fucking Murphy arrives. 

Him slamming a mug down next to the bottle, muttering about crashing the party as he massages his temple and slides back into his chair. 

It consumes him. The thoughts which he has let run free in the brief moment with you. How he’d fill you and make you hiss his name and make you come undone until you had no thoughts left. 

If he thinks he’s alone, you show your cards when he’s helping you move your bed. 

Your eyes are on him as he leans against the metal frame, staring off as he processes how he will have to move it. He doesn’t notice that the edge of his tan shirt has risen until he feels your eyes on him. 

“Arepas!” 

He flinches, ripped from his thoughts as he blinks, turning to look at you, watching you shift on the spot, a slow realisation coming to him as to why you shouted it. A smirk so large spreading, not even trying to hide it. 

“I haven’t… I haven’t even fuckin’ done anything.”

You fold your arms, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks, the pulse in your ears. “Yes, well… I’ll move the bed myself.”

“Bonita?”

“—I gotta go—“

“This is your room.” 

But you’re already heading to the door, flustered. He calls your name, but you’re gone—leaving him with only your scent and the last trailing sound of your voice. 

For a second, staring at the empty doorway, not hating it for one minute, all of it evidenced by the growing smirk on his face. 

The one not easily rid, even by the end of the day.  

“Your room is…. nice?” He sniggers, grabbing his jacket as you stand awkwardly. “Y’alright, bonita?”  Swallowing, you narrow your eyes when they land on him. Not cutting, but assessing. “Why have I heard from two separate people that they’ve been warned from me?”  Shrugging his shoulders, he slides his arms into his jacket, frowning—painting it on thickly, maybe even by too much.  “Javi.” “What?”  You look at him, challenging him. Looking every bit like the secretary he met in Bogotá and less like the friend he’s come to know you as.  “Did you warn people from asking me out?”  Adjusting his jacket, he sighs. “Yeah. I did.” 

Javi knows many things about you. 

Some he has learnt against his will, others he’s learnt from watching you. One thing he knows, more than anything else, is that you’re never late. Not even if the world was on fire. 

It’s why it coils inside him when he’s standing at the stairwell waiting for you. It chills him, prickles something inside. And then, it knots as his watch ticks on ripples out as more seconds become minutes. 

He must shift, stress rolling off of him as he finds Steve’s brow raised, flicking his eyes up at him before shaking his head. 

“Go on. I’ll let Messina know you’re both on your way.”

He doesn’t thank him, even if he makes a note to do so later. His feet taking the steps two at a time. Palm brushes over people as he moves them so he can get to your door quicker. 

It’s his sole thing, a crystallising focus that glimmers like a goal, a light around your door as he makes a beeline for it. For you. Not slowing or stopping until he’s outside of it, his knuckles hammering into it.

He tries not to smirk at the expletives he hears, the mix of English and Spanish coming from the other side. The beautiful blend he’s heard so often when you’ve dropped food, wine or burnt yourself. 

“One minute—“

“It’s me, bonita.”

He expects to hear a noise. Javi doesn’t expect a pause. A lengthy one.

“Oh.”

Oh? He thinks. 

“Um, Javi, just gimme….”

It bubbles. 

It fucking roars. It produces steam and fire—all of it feeling a lot like jealousy. Because: do you have someone in there with you? His jaw tightens at the idea, almost snapping into pieces, hammering against his feet. He hears a loud crash to the floor, shattering. His mind conjures images of two pairs of feet (at best), two awkward souls trying to move around one another littered by a sea of expletives and hisses.

“Bonita… open the f—door.” 

He doesn’t mean to use a tone. Unable to cage it, the fury which doubles and triples inside of him. Only just about managed to stifle the word fucking from being in the sentence.

Javi regrets it when you rip open your door, standing with more skin on show than he’s ever seen. Your privacy is covered by the thinnest pieces of black lace possible—lace that would be easy to snap, to rip from you as he drags his eyes up and down.

Unable to think; unable to process—

“I overslept.”

“…Bonita…”

“I am running late.”

“I can see that.” 

You jab him, light, making your body twist as you do. Something he can’t tear his eyes from, least of all when you turn, his feet following. It’s autopilot as he shuts your door behind him, not hearing another person—the anger and jealousy simmering at knowing you’re alone. 

You’re just… in your underwear. 

Around him. 

“Arepas.”

“What?” you call out, bending down, grabbing clothes as he averts his eyes. 

His brain forces his feet to come to a stop, his hand adjusting himself as he tries to swallow. Because whatever he’d imagined you’d look like, has just been beaten—you’re… fucking gorgeous. 

“Nothing,” he manages, staring around your place. Finding a bottle of half-drunk wine on the desk—sat beside one glass. “You had a fun night without me?” 

You laugh, turning to face you, finding you with trousers on. “I… I’m struggling to sleep… here.” 

He can relate. 

“How was Gabby?” 

He pulls a face, wiping a hand over his face. “Yeah—she’s fine.” 

You fasten your blouse, moving towards him, closer and closer, until you’re in front of him, and his mind is fucking blank. 

“You’re standing over my shoes, Javi.” 

It shouldn’t stick to him—your words. But they do. How they’re sickly sweet, how they clag and cling to the edges of his mind as he tries to concentrate. He’s typing, and then he’ll replay it, fingers pausing on the heavy keys of the typewriter. 

Fuck. 

Not able to tear his fucking eyes off of you. Not that you have noticed. You barely look his way with the mountain of shit Messina’s given you to do in one day. Hammering down on you, reminding them all they can’t make mistakes—more so since the toilet debacle. The heaviness of how close they’d been weighed on them. All of them.  

So close. 

He watches you stand up, calling after someone as you do a little run in your heels until there’s none of you left to watch. Staring at where you’d been, somehow still flickering between seeing you the way he saw you this morning and the well-put-together version just in here. 

“What’s up with you?

“Nothing.”

Steve snorts, leaning against the wall. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.”

“‘cause you look like—“

“She answered the door in her fuckin’ underwear.”

Steve widens his eyes, pulling out his cigarettes. “And that’s something you’ve not seen before?”

He glares. Chewing a retort as he furiously stubs out his cigarette. 

“Alright, so, now what?”

“I have no fucking idea.” 

“Your word come in use?” 

He shoots another glare, watching his partner hold his hands up. 

“Not fucking helping, Murphy.” 

“The fuck you mean she was sent to take some papers?” Him storming out of the building, hearing Murphy close behind. Not thinking. Thumb brushes over his fingers as something surges through him. Thumping. Building. Pushing past people, moving out of the way from the ones he comes into contact with, stepping out into the warm air as he sees hell. Men bleeding, carried by other men. His heart in his throat, furiously pounding, unsure where to start, where to go— Then he sees you.  Time slows, people coming to a halt as he watches you and his feet begin to move. His hands guide him past people, walking and walking until he pulls you close—not caring for the blood on his shirt from your head, or the way you whimper when you crash into him.  He meets your eyes, staring into them, finding his throat dry as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Arepas.” “Arepas…” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. 

When it rains, it pours. 

It’s what he thinks as he sinks another glass, elbowing digging into the desk, all set to shout at Messina to leave him alone, suspecting she had returned. 

But then, he’d seen you. 

Face lit up by the yellowing light, a softness to your features and a shyness to your frame. 

Javi isn’t sure what he’s expecting. Whether the guilt would shift at the sight of you, whether the sadness would stop laying on thickly. 

For a second, nothing happens. 

He doesn’t move. You don’t move. 

And then he’s standing, and you’re crossing the room, pulling him close, hands around him as you keep him close. It’s friendly, he thinks—suspects. A simple hug. Something the two of you have done only a handful of times, but twice so recently. 

In the fog of regret and alcohol, he can barely convince himself, his grip on it lost when you’re in his lap. His face in your neck, bathed in you—the distinct scent which clings to some of his clothes, the warmth he feels when he knows he shouldn’t. 

It’s easy, simple—and also everything. 

Shards of himself held in place by your grip on him, his own hand placing the glass down so he can clutch you that much tighter. 

It isn’t him. A thing he’s acutely aware of, yet he buries his face into your neck. Breath dancing along your neck, feeling you still, wondering if you’re thinking the word as he is when you pull back, eyes meeting his. 

“Oh, Javi…”

He chews his tongue, lessening his hold on you. Allowing you to move—giving you free rein to leave. 

“Messina send you?” 

You stand, tilting the bottle beside the glass, staring at the label. Your silence fills the gaps, finding the cracks of regret and guilt, layering itself thickly in it. 

Answer me, he thinks. Almost wanting to command it. 

“Boni—“

“No,” you say, curt, sharp. 

Your eyes dig in, taking a step back, running the back of your hand over your forehead. 

“Didn’t… I haven’t even seen her.” 

He could speak, but it would be useless. No words can conjure that would make any of it okay—heaviness adding in bulk to his shoulders as he stands. Making his legs feel like jelly and his spine wanting to bend. 

And then, he’s walking towards you, your back meeting a wall as he presses you against the wall, keeping you close. Just like you were minutes ago. 

He traces the tip of his nose against your cheek, catching the scent of your perfume. Your eyes are on him, watching his movements as he places his hand on your hip. 

“Arepas…”

He snorts, pressing his forehead softly against yours. “You want me to stop, bonita?” 

Your lips twitch, eyes flicking. 

A thousand thoughts dashing and darting in the shades he has memorised. Then you’re moving closer, mouth delicately pressing against his—testing, teasing. Saying no wordlessly.

It’s easy to return it, to give in—to kiss you like he has thought about since your name fell from your lips. A  thousand missed moments and building will-they-won’t-they slamming into the both of you. 

It’s why it shifts, his mouth not being gentle, his grip more desperate. His tongue sliding past your teeth, your hips flush against his as you curl your fingers into his hair. 

He’s on fire. Scorched. Changed. 

Flashes of you standing in the doorway in your underwear blending with the feel of you right now, how your lips move against his like the two are you well-versed in kissing one another. 

“Dreamt about you, bonita.” 

You murmur at his words, whimpering at his teeth, latching on the space under your lobe and neck. 

“Thought of the sounds I’d make you make….”

“Fuck, Javi...” 

Your nails dig into his neck, pulling and twisting him so you can marry your lips back to his. You kiss him like you want to conquer him, and own him. Something you’ve done since the moment you met—something he responds with how he licks into your mouth. Just pausing at your moan, tasting it—capturing it.

Your lips part as you clutch his cheek, breath ghosting as he lets dark brown wash over you. “I’m here. I’m here, Javi.” 

He knows what you mean, what you’re implying: I’m here, you need someone, I’m yours. 

The sound of him swallowing sounds louder, sharper—even against his ears as he flicks his sight over you. You’re better than it, better than him. You’re too good, too perfect—something he doesn’t want to break, snap or ruin. 

Sometimes, you’re the only thing that feels untouched, unblemished. You were the one who saw him after he’d gotten back from the brothel. When Carillo…

He blinks, finding your fingers still on his cheek, eyes still on him—but he’s unsure if he’s misheard you. Misunderstood. 

You don’t do quick fucks.

But you’re clever. You’re always fucking clever. Kissing him, hooking a finger in a belt loop, pulling him flush. As you show him that you mean it. 

“Need you, Javi. Just you.” 

He growls, moving you to push you down on the awkward, creaking bed. He watches dumbfounded as your fingers begin to aid the removal of your clothes. Exposing skin, inch by inch, to him—looking every bit inviting as you have done since the first day he fucking met you. 

Throwing your trousers to some distant corner, he parts your knees with his waist, pushing the damp green lace to the side, as he coats his finger in your want. 

“Javi…” 

“You suit green, bonita.” 

He eases a finger in, watching your mouth part as he does. 

“But, I can’t stop picturing that black set.”

“Like it, did you?” 

It’s breathy, desperate. Your lips ghost over his as he stiffens, pausing his ministrations, needing to look you in the eyes.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since, bonita.” 

Leaning over, he captures your moan, sliding in another finger as his name vibrates against his lips. Your eyes are so full of adoration, lust and want—it almost shatters him—but it’s the desperation that coils around him. The neediness which is falling from your lips makes him want more. 

He’s thorough, listening to your whines, finding each place inside you that makes you twitch and moan. He’s learning you, studying every inch, so he can please you from the get-go—if he ever gets the chance again. 

It’s his knuckle that undoes you the first time, rolling quick circles around the bundle of nerves which has fingers in his hair and your breath against his cheek. 

Javi, fuck—you, Javi, you. 

His breathing is shallow when you come down, feeling your hands—shaky but determined—tugging him to join you in being naked, his hand grabbing the one thing he needs outside of you. 

“Wanna taste you, but need to fuck you, bonita. Can I? Can I fuck your pretty pussy?” 

You groan, kissing his jaw and his neck. A chorus of yes and pleases bless his skin as his teeth rip the wrapper, fingers expertly sliding it over his length to not waste time. 

And then, your fingers leave bruises as you tug on his chin, pulling his eyes to you. A thought rolls, building; Tell me I’ve not ruined this. That I’ve not fucked up another thing. 

“Yours, Javi. I’m yours.”

His hand clutches your cheek, fingers pressing against your ear and hairline as you nod. His mouth smothers yours, stealing a moan, air and whatever thoughts were trying to populate. He does so as he lines himself up with you, when you wrap him in warm bliss. 

Your fingers on his shoulders, digging in, please move, Javi. And then, his hips move with yours, something swelling inside of him, a thing which makes it hard to stop kissing you, to ever want to stop being between your thighs—

He doesn’t usually fuck like this. 

It starts that way, but never ends that way—and yet here he is. Never with them on their backs, eye to eye, lip to lip. But then, you’ve never been them. You’re nothing like them. 

And he won’t move, can’t. He slides his tongue past your teeth and grips your hip that bit tighter as he feels your walls grip him desperately. 

“Feel so good, Javi—y’fuck me so good.” 

He knows. 

Knows because you’re fucking heavenly—perfection sent just for him. Something he whispers into your lips, lets you taste it as he feels you getting closer and closer. 

Then he just hears you. And the sound is prettier than his mind could ever conjure.

Just feels you. And it's better than he ever thought it could feel.

Then, there's nothing else, until he feels pleasure—until it’s white light and your name spluttering from his lips. Your hands in his hair, hips slowing with his as his lips sloppily find yours.

“We should talk.” You frown, looking over your desk as he leans both palms down. “Bonita… we had sex.”  “A few times, if I recall.”  “You… you seem rather calm about this?”  You smirk, lifting your mug to your lips. “Should I not be?”  He’s silent, uncharacteristically so. Never short of words, not with you. “Javi, I almost fucking died… then Carrillo… I-I needed… I just needed you.”  “Bonita…” “I don’t need pity. Do not worry. I’m not expecting anything, I know you, I’m not complicating this, and I’m not asking to change you. I like you as you are, and I know for you, last night for you was just a one-night thing—”  He whispers your name, wrapped in confusion and surprise— Your hand pats his chest, “—and I’m off to the funeral. Please try not to drown yourself in whiskey while I’m gone.”  “You know I’m not going...” Smiling, you let your fingers linger on his shirt button, twisting it. “You don’t do funerals—it was one of the first things you told me.”  Letting your hand drop before you walk away, leaving him with his thoughts. 

It unravels. 

Looking every bit like the day he’d been running around the ranch, knocking into the table beside his momma’s armchair, watching in horror as spools of cotton spread out. They ran uncontrollably away, undoing in a fit of rainbow shades and mess. It had taken him an age to fix, fingers raw from cotton against his fingers. 

That’s what it was like now—except he wasn’t sure he could fix it.  

If anything, he knows he can't.

He realises it when he tells you. A wave of disappointment ascended and crashed in your eyes until you looked at him with an expression painted in worry. It makes him want to kiss it from you, but your hand brushes his cheek—keeping him where he was, close but not too close. 

Don’t… What? Worry about you? Yeah, I don’t… I don’t deserve it.  Tough, Javi. I’ve worried about you since the moment you bought me food truck food and told me I had sauce on my chin.  Why's that? You just seemed like someone who I needed to worry about.

He wanted to kiss you differently then. Softly—gently. Almost greedily. Show you the words he wishes he could say easily. Let you feel how much he adores you, how much he cares, that he even wants to…  

Javi doesn’t. 

His brain too quick to remind him that you deserve solid truths, not hopeful lies. Tells himself that he’s anything with him will end in ruin, evidenced by the way things keep crumbling, the grip on helping having become closer to hurting. 

He tries to build walls to keep you out, ones you chip out with more force than he bargained for. Your nails pulling at bricks, eyes burning through gaps: Do not keep me out, Peña. 

So he stops. The energy wasted, even if he wants nothing but to protect you. Doing poorly at it—so much so he doesn’t realise you’re even swept up in it. Not in the moments where he comes find you for a moment of reprieve in the swirling hurricane he created.

You look like shit. Tell me how you really feel, bonita. Javi... I'm fine. You're not. No, I'm not.

He could kick himself when he realises it.

Only seeing it when he returns to the base, stopping short of your desk and finds it bare. No mug. No papers. No little notes you write yourself so you never forget a thing.

Bare. Empty.

There's no scent of your perfume and the air is absent of your laugh.

You had always found him, whether in his room, in a cupboard, at his desk. But, he hadn't thought to look for you today. Just put it aside, suspecting he'd find you later.

"Shit."

Sweat pools at the base of his back as he heads to Messina's. Hating himself, wondering if you'd been questioned. He'd never even tried to make sure you were okay with the knowledge of what he had done, what he continued to do in an effort to fix it. 

I’m here, Javi. I'm yours, Javi. 

He knows you are a part of the fallout when he sees Stechner behind Messina's desk.

It confirming it. Almost wanting to cut him off from saying your name—not wanting to hear it from his lips. Stechner says it anyway, as though knowing. Purposefully adding more poison to it and accompanying it with a cold smirk. One which almost makes him grip the man by the arm and land his fist in his teeth. 

You should have stayed in your lane…

Everything tightened inside of him. While everything around him crumbled, slowly crashing down: the walls, the ceiling—the pretence.

It makes his blood run cold, his heart crack right in the centre.  

Ambassador wants to see you. Get your passport. 

Tightening his jaw, he hammers his feet up the stairs, taking them two by two. Needing his room, needing a moment.

His hand rubbing over his face, mind populated with memories—ones both good and bad. Your voice swirling around them. Your smile, your laugh, all appearing before they burst, showering him in a mess of confetti he’ll never be able to clean. One he doesn’t want to, if they all he has left of you. 

He tries to think of his passport. Where it could be. The location of it in the mess of his room—trying not to wonder, worry or think about where you are. What his mess has done to you. 

Opening the door, he comes to a halt when he finds both standing in the centre of the room. 

Time comes to a stop. His heart pausing mid-slam into his ribs, the pain rippling out, as he takes you in. Watching your fingers and hand slowly rise, holding not one, but two passports, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Hi.” 

He lets the door shut behind him, suddenly able to breathe. The weight, the one crushing him for ages, finally stepping up from him, allowing air to fill his lungs, allowing his chest to rise and fall as you softly smile. 

“Bonita… what… how?” 

“I handed my notice in… Messina, she knew about—she advised me, said it would buy me more time. It did—has. Stechner—” 

It takes three strides—three—and even those felt long before his lips crashed into yours, silencing you, not wanting your pretty lips to ever mouth his name. Feeling your hand, the one clutching the passports, against his shoulder and the other on his hip. Pulling him in, wanting him—even still. 

He feels like he’s dreaming, until you bite his lip. Smirking against his lips as the two of you part. The feel of it bringing him back to earth, trying not to overthink it and let the moment ruin.

Javi just holds you—like he should have done earlier this morning when he'd seen you, and from the very beginning.

Pulling you close as he humanly can, for as long as he’s able to. Doing so selfishly until both of you are just staring at one another, the gap so thin between you, you’re not all in focus.

“Ask me.”

His knuckles slide along your cheek, knowing what you’re implying. Something coiling at what you’re suggesting—something he’d thought about days ago. Regretted not asking minutes ago… 

“Javi.” Your fingers wrapping around his chin. “Ask me or let me go….” 

Clearing his throat and licking his lips—sighing. 

Wanting to. Nothing compelled him more. But the wounded part, the one which is sore and raw, tells him not to. To put distance, space, time—and fucking everything else—between you both. 

To protect you. To love you from afar. 

“Be with me.”

Smiling, you whisper, “Please?” 

“Please,” he adds, a light smirk threatening to spill. 

You let your fingers slide over it, the little crease at the end of the hair on his upper lip. “I’m yours, Javi. All yours.” 

“You have to know what that means, bo—”

“I already know,” you cut him off, fingers dancing along his cheek. "I don't care."

an: thank you for reading, feel i should apologise for the length ha!

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role. 

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless. 

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.  

“Things like me?” 

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving. 

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought. 

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them. 

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem. 

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse. 

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut. 

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.  

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. 

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list. 

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries. 

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind. 

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen. 

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop. 

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. 

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf. 

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position. 

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful. 

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.” 

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.” 

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words. 

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins. 

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas. 

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress. 

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.  

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud. 

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist. 

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes. 

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head. 

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—” 

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—” 

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls. 

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for. 

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood. 

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip. 

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing. 

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock. 

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen. 

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs,  moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure. 

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt. 

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder. 

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day. 

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs. 

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up. 

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you. 

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

[tinygarbage]

December

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: simon has been in a foul mood all of december and you think he hates you

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, implied trauma, american reader lol, mentions of alcohol (reader is slightly buzzed), implications of familial trauma, no use of y/n, no physical description, not edited fully bc i am last minute on this (again), military inaccuracies bc im just a silly girl on a silly app :p, lmk if I missed anything :)

au: lol there’s not really a plot to this but i plan on building on this little friendship so if u like it lmk :) just something silly i wrote bc the holidays are a little tough for me :)

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

The two sargents and the captain of the one-four-one find themselves tasked with a new objective when December rolls around. Keep you from being alone with Ghost. Even stretching far enough to keep you away from situations that might cause an outburst from the broad Brit.

It all started one morning in the kitchen. You and Soap having your morning coffee. You being American and him being Scottish, you two were the outcasts. The only coffee drinkers.

      "We outta finish these quickly." Soap speaks, looking over a report meant to be turned into Price by noon.

     "Why's that?" You ask, completely oblivious to why you have to gulp down your steaming mug of coffee so early in the morning.

      "LT," Soap says as if it's an obvious thing.

      "What about him? He deals with it every other morning." You say with a shrug, sitting up in your chair as your boots are tied perfectly tight. Leaving it impossible for the laces to come undone during training.

       Soap looks at you as you take your first sip, wincing at how hot it was. You glance back at him, feeling his wide eyed stare. "What?" You ask, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

     "You're new. That's right." Soap says, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

      "Not that new. I've been here for 10 months already." You say defensively. You had just escaped their teasing nicknames and comments about how green you were. To the team, that was. Which, to be clear, never messed with their trust for your skill. They knew you were an important asset to the team. But what's friendship without a little teasing?

      "Yeah, but you're new to LT and December." Soap chuckles, gulping more of his coffee.

       "It's just another month," you say with a shrug.

      "Just finish your coffee, hen." Soap says, shaking his head as he finishes his own up. Rinsing it and the pot out in the sink.

The rest of the month is similar. The team still shielding you from Ghost. You see him obviously. While on the training grounds, during morning roll call, passing through the common room. But you hardly talk to him. Instead, overhearing stories about his mood towards new recruits being much worse than normal. Which was astonishing to hear because his mood towards them was typically foul.

You knew why the team was creating a barrier as soon as you heard about his mood. It's because to Ghost, you're just a new recruit. No matter how many times you cover him on a mission, or prove yourself and your strength time and time again. You're green. A baby deer stumbling to walk. And it drives him nuts. He constantly ignores your looks of admiration. Brushing aside your words of praise as you hold out your fist for a fist bump. A tradition strong among the rest of the guys and you.

Instead, he gives you disapproving stares. Degrading lectures in front of the new recruits when your golden retriever attitude gets too bubbly. Scoffs when you suggest strategies or try and help during mission briefings. Shoving shoulders when you stand in his way. And your least favorite, the mumbling. Little remarks and insults spoken under his breath. Hardly hidden from behind the mask. His harsh words still fall on your exceptional hearing, causing your nostrils to flare as you see red.

You'd spent nearly 10 months trying to prove yourself to him. And you nearly got him. His walls slowly coming down, brick by brick. He'd start making small jokes about the new recruits to you when partnered together. Pat your back firmly after a good shot. Acknowledge your presence when you both were in the kitchen or the common area.

Until bloody December rolls around. Again, you're thankful to the team for shielding you from his horrendous mood. But you're frustrated that you can't keep trying to weasel your way into getting him to like you. That all of your efforts have been thrown away and you'd have to restart as soon as you have full access to his side again.

It isn't until the end of December that you're alone with him for the first time in a month. It's late, just past midnight. He's sitting in the common room, a steaming cup of tea in front of him. You walk in late from a night out at the pub after gaining Price's approval to go out. You were just catching up with a couple friends who were studying abroad. Your heart feeling twice it's size after seeing a little piece of home.

It's dark. The only thing lighting up the room is the glow of his phone screen and the light from the door outside the common room. Which you held open as you stared at him like a deer in headlights. Not knowing what to say. Or do.

Slowly, you close the door. Making your way across the common room slowly. Your converse tapping the tile of the floor with each step. Vision slightly blurred from the pints you indulged in. You're almost past him, completely avoiding eye contact as you quietly walk past the couch he's spread out on.

"It's a bit late," He speaks up. His deep, gruff voice sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps forming on your skins despite your warm hoodie and worn jeans.

"Captain gave me a pass. For the Holidays." You speak carefully, eyes finally meeting his form in the dark.

The pale moonlight from the window across from him gives her a better view. His phone screen lighting up his face. He's wearing a black surgical mask, covering the lower half of his face. A black hoodie covers his upper half, the hood up to create a perfect shadow over what the mask wasn't covering. The only thing really visible to the eye was his eyes. His dark chocolate irises that scan over your casual appearance. Taking in the sight of you outside of uniform or athletic clothes. Instead seeing you in the dark jeans that hung from your hips. Hoodie and jacket baggy on your upper half.

      You look past him, seeing the time on the clock above the door way. The green electronic letters reading 00:13. It's now officially Christmas. Your eyes shift back to him, catching his intense stare. The air seems to run cold as he glared, his demeanor clearly bothered by your existence. You can't stop the small shiver that runs down your spine as you stare back. Blinking slowly as you try and keep your brain working.

     "Merry Christmas, Riley." You finally say, eyes dropping down to your scuffed converse.

     His head turns and he checks the clock. He turns back, "Merry Christmas." He says. His voice sounds...different. Tired? No...defeated...maybe.

      You smile politely, your sneaker twisting against the tile of the common room. You should walk away. Leave him to his own thoughts. Get into bed and sleep off the couple pints you threw down with friends. But you don't. Instead you stand awkwardly near the exit of the common rooms. Your brain busy with contradicting thoughts. Say something. Go to bed. Ask him about his mood. Shut up and go to bed. Sit next to him. Scream at him for always being an asshole. But you do nothing. Standing as still as a statue. Not daring to move, your muscles completely stone.

      "Don't break yourself, kid." He retorts, a small chuckle at his own humor.

      "Huh?" You ask absentmindedly, before it clicks in your head that you were standing still like an idiot. Thinking so loudly that Russia was probably disturbed. You awkwardly blurt out a response, "Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

     He raises a brow. Clearly unimpressed with your inability to act normal around him. "You want to say something?"

     "It's late," you say sheepishly, "Why are you still up?"

      His eyes drop down to his tea. You watch as he shifts slightly, revealing more of himself in the moonlight. He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, fitting tight against his thighs as he manspreads on the leather couch. Taking up space with his huge, muscular body.

      "Cant sleep." He says shortly. In his typical, gruff manner.

      "Something keeping you up?" You ask without thinking.

     You brace yourself for a snotty comment, or a silent glare as he pushes past you. Instead, you hear a huff of laughter. Or what was supposed to be laughter. You can never tell with the Lieutenant. "Isn't it always something?"

     "In our line of work, typically," You shrug, fingers tingling in the pockets of your jacket. "Do you," you pause, clearing your throat to sound more sure of yourself, "Do you need to talk about it?"

      His eyes meet yours. He says nothing for a few seconds. Letting your words hang in the air. "I just don't fancy the holidays."

     You nod, somehow smart enough in your tipsy state to realize exactly what he meant. It was more than the military. It was his life. "I get it." You say softly, "Do you mind if I sit with you? I need to gather myself before I try and stay quiet."

    "Go ahead.”

    Easier than you thought. You cross the common room carefully, sitting at the other end of the love seat. Immediately drawing your knees into your chest. Your arms wrap around your legs as you press them into your chest. Gaze falling to the window to see the brick building across the way. You're not exactly sure what to say, drawing in controlled breaths as you sit in silence. Fighting the urge to ask a million and one questions as your buzzed brain runs wild.

    "You've been avoiding me." He says suddenly. Ripping through the silence.

      You turn your head, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look at him. From this angle, you see the rest of his face. His dark scar poking through the surgical mask. His other scar curved above his thick eyebrow. His usual eye black is nowhere to be seen. Just dark circles formed under his eyes from exhaustion.  His dark eyes darting around. He seems..uneasy. Which is unlike him.

     "I haven't been," you say quickly. Both of you let the lie sit for a second before you eventually come clean. His intense eyes sending you straight into confession mode. "Ok, maybe I have been."

     "Why?"

     "Aren't you happy I'm not up your ass anymore?" You can't help but ask.

     "At first."

    "What changed?"

    "Maybe I don't mind having you around," he shrugs.

       You stare at him for a minute. Waiting for him to say he's just playing, and actually wants you to get out of his face. But the words never come. Instead, you look at the man next to you. His usual determined expression is no where to be seen. Replaced with a sheepish gaze as his eyes dart around everywhere but on you. He wasn't joking around. He liked your company.

      "The guys said to keep my distance," you reply. Figuring there was no reason to lie about it.

      "Because December." He finishes.

      "Pretty much," you say with a shaky exhale. Not exactly fond of the route this good take.

       "You didn't have too. I wouldn't have snapped at you," he says, voice soft. "I just don't do well around the holidays."

       "You don't have to explain yourself." You reply with an empathetic tone. "I'm sorry for avoiding you."

        He turns to you, finally making eye contact with you. Shifting slightly under your gaze. "Thank you."

       You smile, "You don't need to thank me. We all have our own shit. Just know I've got your back if you ever need me."

     His eyes soften in the moonlight, "And I've got yours."

    You smile, turning your head back forward. Knowing that if you continue to look at him you'll lose the small sense of control over your buzzed emotions. As you sit in a comfortable silence, you quickly realize you can't stay in the room any longer. His lingering cologne and his kind words creating a pool of fluttering butterflies in a cage. Locked right between your ribs.

    Carefully, you drop your legs. Your converse plant on the ground and you push yourself up, the room shaking as you regain full balance. With your hands stuffed back into your pockets, you walk towards the hallway filled with the small rooms the team occupies. Before you leave, you turn on your heel. Staring at him for a second as you try and form words. A lump of complicated feelings lodged in your throat. So instead of saying anything of importance. Or stating why you are fleeing the scene at a rapid pace after he said his first genuine non-work related thing. You give him a tight lipped smile.

    "Merry Christmas, Simon."

    "Merry Christmas, kid."

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

part two :)

there u are :)) it’s small and uneventful but sometimes i really enjoy writing small moments like these :)

thank u for reading <3 happy holidays !

[catnipaddictt]

I hate you

enemy TCW!anakin x gn!reader

synopsis: you and anakin hate each other with a passion

wc: 1.5k

cw: fluff, angst, kissing, making-out

Slamming the door behind you, you storm down the halls of the jedi temple, hell-bent on getting your way. You weren’t going on a mission with him. Reaching the doors that lead to the council chambers you open them with more strength than you intended. The sound causes the heads of the council to turn towards you. 

“I’m not going” you state rather than ask. “Anyone else, but not him.” You can feel the gaze of the other Jedi on your face. You sense they knew you were coming, probably through the sheer amount of emotion radiating off you. Obi Wan speaks before any of the other members have the chance to. 

“The council decided that you both could use this mission to sort out your uh-differences” Obi Wan speaks with a calm tone. If he picks up on your disapproval he doesn’t say so. You cross your arms over your Jedi robes unamused. “I won’t do it.”

“You have no choice, we have no choice, you too are the only ones available” He speaks your name softly. “I’m sorry we have to do this, but we need two people to complete this mission, and you both have the skills required.” You go to speak but are cut off quickly by the older Jedi. “It's final.”

You find yourself in a small ship somewhere in the outer rim brooding in the corner when he first speaks to you. “If you stopped sulking you would notice that we are about to land.” Anakin Skywalker speaks in a tone that is meant to incite a reaction from you. But you don’t give in to the novelty, instead you opt to ignore him completely.

You can feel him roll his eyes at your ignorance before moving to go pilot the ship to the surface of the desert planet you had been sent too. According to the Jedi Council, a smuggler had found something that was of interest to the Separatists. So here you were, on a remote planet with the one person you did not get along with. 

Twenty minutes later Anakin had landed the ship close to the coordinates the Jedi had given to R2, and you were standing by the door to the ship. Pulling your cloak over your head, you step out onto the white sand covering the landscape. Wind whips at the ground, causing sand to fly like bullets through the warm air. 

You cover your eyes with your arm as you notice Anakin make the descent down the steps. You can hear him grumbling to R2 about how much he hates sand. Something to do with where he came from, you supposed. 

You walked the short distance to the meeting spot. Which was a small oasis, surrounded by a few palm trees and shrubbery. After a few moments of waiting, your head turns towards the sound of a vehicle, and sure enough you see some sort of floating buggy moving towards you and Anakin. 

Once it reaches you, a creature that is unknown to you gets out and passes you a small silver box, which you take as Anakin hands it the payment. 

You turn the box in your hand, observing the intricate patterns etched into it. What in Kriffs name were they wanting this for? You tuck the object into your pocket as Anakin bids farewell to the trader, the cloud of sand from the buggy’s engine blows towards the ground as it zooms off. 

Your eyes briefly meet Anakins, but you both rip them away quickly, turning on your heel to march back to the ship. The other Jedi follows behind you at a distance, talking to his droid quietly. Throwing open the metal door you climb inside the ship, sitting back down in the corner. You don’t see why the council sent both of you on this mission. It clearly didn’t require any skills. 

Anakin enters the ship, scowling at you. R2 follows him before rolling off to charge and clean the sand from his joints. Anakin sits down in the opposite corner from you, folding his arms. You don’t look at him, instead observing each individual nail on your hand. 

“Are we leaving or are you just going to stare at me?” you speak after a few minutes of silence as well as Anakin's piercing gaze. “We are going to talk” he says with a hint of annoyance. You don’t even bother to look up. “The council obviously wants us to come to some sort of agreement over what is going on here.” 

“What’s going on here? What’s going on here is that you are so self centered that you can’t see that everyone maybe doesn’t like you” You spit at him, to which he responds with a huff. “And maybe if you stopped and looked around for a second you would see that you don’t think before you act. And the rest of us have to clean up your mistakes” You continue with a raised voice. 

He doesn’t reply to your words at first, but eventually he returns the peasantry with the same attitude. “Well, maybe if you acted less like a brat all the time, I would be able to stand you. You walk around like you can just get what you want all the time. And you do. All the time.” You try to get a word in but are cut off. “No, I don’t want to hear it, just because you can’t deal with not getting your way doesn’t mean you have to treat me like shit all the time.” 

You stand up, causing the crate you were sitting on to slide backwards. “Oh and you don’t always get your way too, Mr. Chosen one. Haven’t you noticed that the council gives you what you want, even if you aren’t the right person for the job.” Your words spill out of your mouth at a pace you didn’t think was possible.

He stands up as well, pointing an accusing finger at you. “Like you didn’t go complain to the council about this very assignment. You thought you could waltz in there and get out of it. I didn’t want to do this but you didn’t see me throwing a tantrum and going to the council.” Anakin rebuts, his voice now yelling at you. His brows are furrowed as he shouts.

You try to think of what to say but nothing comes to you. Instead you stand there only an arms length away from him, anger radiating off of you. “I hate you” is all you can manage. It's immature but it's the only way that you can express how you feel about him. 

You think Anakin is about to continue his verbal attack on you but instead you are caught off guard by him roughly pushing you against the metal wall of the ship. And before you can process his actions, his mouth is on yours.

You go completely still before reacting to his lips connecting to yours. Instead of doing the sensible thing of pushing him away and yelling at him more, your lips move with the kiss until it is a messy clash of teeth and tongues. Anakin’s arms cage you in as your mouths move in sync. You know you shouldn’t do this because of the Jedi code but his lips feel perfect against yours, and as much as you hate it, you are enjoying this.

Anakin pulls away to breathe, “This means nothing” he says breathlessly before reconnecting your lips. You kiss him back harshly before pulling away, “You make me sick” you say before kissing him again. The cycle of taking turns in between making out to insult each other goes on for what feels like forever. Slowly both of your tones go from speaking to whispering and mumbling into each other's lips. “I still hate you” you say against Anakin’s soft lips. He returns the favour “I still hate you too”. You both join your lips together again, his hands now roaming and coming to rest on your hips, pulling you against him. You can feel his tongue in your mouth and the air coming out of his nose on your face. 

Your own hands grab onto his cloak, still covered in a fine layer of sand, needing to hold onto something, or in this case someone. But this particular someone was your sworn enemy. You would never have thought you would be in a situation like this. Directly going against the Jedi code, especially because of Anakin, was a far off idea, that you would have called crazy if you had suggested it to past you. But surprisingly you don’t hate it. His warm body pressing against yours was nothing like you have felt before, and you didn’t want it to end.

No matter which way you looked at it. You could feel yourself becoming addicted to Anakin Skywalker's touch at this moment. Fuck. You pull away, finally coming to your senses. “We shouldn’t have done that.” you state clear as day. His arms don’t leave their new home, instead they grip you tighter as his face comes towards you again. “And you hate that you liked it.” he says with a sly grin. Instead of arguing you can’t resist attaching yourself to him again. 

You can feel him against you, and his saliva in your mouth, tainting your morals. And you hate to admit it, but you don’t want this to end. You want him all to yourself.

Taglist: @heartsforanakin @qvnthesia

I don't like this that much and I didn't know what to do for an ending but here you go <3 Also if people are interested in a taglist lmk!

[starlazergazer]

Nervous

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: Anakin is pining over the reader who is a Jedi but is kind of oblivious and shy. Starts off with noticing his gaze from across a room and what the reader thinks are innocent touches but then escalates to thick tension that the reader chooses to ignore due to the code. Eventually Anakin can’t take it anymore and does something about it.

Warnings: Nothing just so much sweet fluff it’ll give you a tooth ache

Word Count: 5.5K

A/N: Actually wrote this one twice lol trying to decide how to do it and went with an alternating reader and Anakin point of view structure as well as changing a few things about the original request that I hope work out so as always let me know what you think!

“You’re staring” a whispered voice suddenly popping up on his right snapped Anakin out of his stupor, his spoon dropping loudly into his bowl in surprise as he jumped slightly, eyes snapping down to his padawan wearing an expression that was much too amused for his liking.

“I’m eating alone snips” he grunts, picking back up his spoon and making a point to keep his eyes down “I have to look somewhere”

“Sure sure” she nods seriously from beside him, moving her head closer to his shoulder and looking out over the room just as he had “well now that I’m here should we both stare at Y/N?”

At the mention of your name he jumped again, moving immediately to try and quiet Ahsoka and only achieving in knocking his bowl to the ground, the spoon reverberating loudly against the bowl as they strike the ground, soup spraying up and splashing Anakin and Ahsoka’s feet, effectively drawing the attention of the entire room.

On instinct Anakin’s gaze came up and sought out yours immediately, catching a small amused smile on your lips, gaze snapping back down to his feet as he felt one of his own grow on his lips in response, mentally scolding both himself and Ahsoka as he felt the tips of his ears go red.

“There, are you happy now?” he asked Ahsoka, sending a glare in the young padawans direction, getting the girls best attempt at holding in her laughter in response. “Yeah that tracks” he sighed, bending down to pick up his now empty bowl. Rushing from the room before he could embarrass himself in front of you any further.

-

You weren’t entirely sure why you were nervous.

It was a simple, kind gesture, he’d either accept it or he wouldn’t and that was it. You were a general in the republic’s army, you had been in several active war zones left with nothing but your saber to protect you, you could give Anakin Skywalker a ration bar.

In truth this wasn’t something you would normally have ever considered to do. Sure you’d talked to Anakin a few times in passing, even had one mission together that went fine, but you certainly wouldn’t consider yourself friends, colleagues at best to be honest.

But all throughout lunch you could’ve sworn you felt his eyes on you, could swear through the corners of your own that he was looking right at you throughout the meal, and though you knew you were probably being delusional you had to admit it stuck with you.

Between that and the way his eyes so naturally found yours right after the bowl dropped there was some stupid part of you that felt like it was your fault it all happened, and thus felt the need to make it up to him in return.

But as you entered the briefing room, catching Anakin sitting in one of the chairs encircling the holoprojector alone, his soft green eyes scanning the room around him, the way his long slightly curly hair fell so beautifully just above his shoulders, the soft smile that played on his lips as he listened to the conversations around him, you remembered just why you were nervous in the first place. Because being the object of Anakin’s attention for any amount of time always had your heart racing.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you strode up to Anakin’s chair and thrust the bar out in front of his vision, watching the man recoil ever so slightly at the surprise of its appearance, his gaze following your arm up to your face, the corners of his lips perking up into a slight smile even as his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, wordlessly asking you a question.

“I figured since half of your lunch ended up on your shoes, you’d be hungry” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up as he slowly broke out into a wide smile, taking the bar eagerly from your hand, his fingers brushing up against yours ever so slightly as he did so.

“You saw that huh?” You weren’t expecting the question, had already been ready to walk over across the room and take a random seat on the opposite side reliving every embarrassing moment of this short conversation instead of paying attention. Instead, you were stuck awkwardly standing above him, suddenly completely unsure of what you should do with your now empty hands.

“It was pretty hard to miss” you admitted with a small chuckle, delighted to see his expression mirror your as you did it, using this confidence to keep speaking “the good news is there are certainly worse things to be stuck smelling like for the rest of the day”

He laughed at that and you liked the way he laughed, the way his whole body seemed to curl around the sound, the way he almost leaned into you as he did it, your mind already going into overdrive as you worried if you were standing too close to him.

“Oh here this seats empty” another thing to catch you off guard as Anakin gestured vaguely to the seat next to him.

With no real reason to object, and even a small part of you the relished the simple gesture, you nodded sitting down next to him, not missing the way he shifted his weight to lean closer to you as you did so, in fact focusing way too much on that fact. Probably just so that he could hear you better in the loud room.

“Here” you heard him say from beside you, breaking off a portion of the ration bar you had just given him and holding it up to you, prompting you to raise an eyebrow in response.

“I got that for you” you stammered, not taking the piece from his fingers “you know after you embarrassingly spilled your lunch all over your shoes in front of the entire cafeteria”

He shook his head at that, unable to pull a small smile from his lips as he did so, “Well I was trying to be nice but if you’re just going to bully me, I’ll rethink that course of action” and with that he quickly popped the piece he was offering to you into his mouth.

You giggled back at him at that, your shoulder brushing up against his as you did so, immediately pulling back from him, scolding yourself for invading his personal space for a second time in the span of five minutes. It was going to be a tough meeting.

-

Anakin knew he should probably leave you alone after that.

After pulling you in to sit with him through the incredibly boring tactical meeting and embarrassing himself in front of you at lunch you probably felt like you had seen enough of him for the week at least.

But fate, it would seem, had another plan as he walked into the jedi library and saw you standing in front of one of the shelves.

Still he could’ve gone to another part of the library, he really only needed to look up one thing, he’d be in and out in a few minutes flat. But then you were on your toes, your arm stretched far above your head, the other steadying yourself on a lower shelf, trying desperately to reach a book on the top shelf that fell just inches from your hand. And he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

He was already approaching you before he could stop himself, already ready to reach up and effortlessly pluck the book you wanted from the shelf, but then he saw you bend your knees slightly, getting ready to jump for it.

And that was why his hand immediately went to your waist, to stop you and pull you back slightly, to stop the entire top shelf from falling on top of you as you tried to pull the desired book down. Least that was what he told himself. Why he felt the need to pull you deeper into his chest as he did so, well he had less of an excuse for that.

He was ready to crack some sort of joke about your height, about the catastrophe of an avalanche of books you were about to cause, but then you spun around to face him, big eyes gazing up at him through your lashes, lips slightly parted in surprise, and he felt the words die in his throat, completely forgetting whatever he was going to say in an instant.

“I could’ve gotten it” you objected halfheartedly with a small laugh, and much to his pleasre he could see a new pink hue dusting your cheeks.

“Well I could always just put it back” He shrugged as he leaned in close to you again, reaching over your head to put the book back, telling himself it was just committing to the bit

Then your hands were on his chest and Anakin felt his breath faulter, his movements halted in an instant as you pushed him back from the shelf softly, a wide grin on his face mirroring yours as you did so, the two of you sharing a soft chuckle before he handed you the book, a little sad it was too large to have his hands brush against yours as he did with the ration bar, missing the soft tingle that reverberated through him from the simple contact.

You thanked him with a soft smile, turning to go back to your seat at the desks and Anakin was already talking himself into choosing a desk across the library from you. Telling himself he owed you some respite from him today, even if he had already ruined his last attempt at that as soon as he entered the library.

Then you were talking to him, his brain taking a brief moment to pull himself to attention at your words. “here this seats empty”

He’d never been so happy to hear his own words repeated back at him.

With a smile and a nod he followed you back to the table, giving you a brief moment to pull some of your notes and books towards you own seat and out of his way before sitting down, absolutely relishing the fact that you were making room for him to sit next to you.

“What’re you researching?” he asked you, nodding to the screen in front of you, eager to keep the conversation going.

“Devaron” you answered simply, Anakin watching the way your eyes flicked back between him and the screen as you talked, focusing more on the way your lips moved than the words they said, getting only half sentences if he were honest as you explained your plan to infiltrate a separatist encampment to steal back a holocron.

He let his posture relax more the more you talked, his weight shifting to lean more towards you without even thinking about it, his knees with a mind of their own going to rest softly against yours as he leaned in to look at your screen as you explained, not missing the way you immediately pulled your knee back at the contact, scootching ever so slightly away from him as he leaned in, trying desperately to not let your actions get to him.

Instead he pushed it a little further.

-

You didn’t even have the chance to think about moving before he was just there, his head floating mere inches above your shoulder, ends of his long hair tickling your ear softly as he peered at the text displayed before you.

“Oh here” You tried to ignore the way the words came out as a squeak, the flush of red on your cheeks at the feeling of his chest just barely skimming your back as you started to lean away, letting him get a better look at the screen before his hand shot out to your shoulder to stop you, pulling you back to your original position.

“No it’s okay you’re fine” he assured you softly, eyes never leaving the screen, hand never leaving your shoulder.

Immediately your brain was in overdrive, focusing on your breathing too much trying to make sure it wasn’t too loud, on the hand that rested on your shoulder and the tingle it sent through the area as his thumb brushed softly up and down, on the scent of his cologne that completely encapsulated you in this moment.

“Would you quit fidgeting it’s hard to read with so much movement coming out of the corner of my eye” he teased you breaking you from your thoughts.

“Well if you’d just let me move you can have the screen all to yourself” you defended, trying again to lean away from him only to have his hand hold you effectively in place.

“you’re not giving me your seat it’s fine we can share just sit still for two seconds” he protested, never once moving from the spot just above your shoulder.

And you tried, oh how you had tried so hard to be still, but he was right there, one of the most gorgeous beings you’d even seen mere inches from your face, the skin beneath his touch burned on your shoulder, his slightly musty scent seemed to completely encapsulate you, and you found it hard to focus on anything but Anakin Skywalker.

Then too quickly he was pulling back, shifting back around to sit down in his seat, a concentrated look on his face as he bent over some of the books you had pulled.

And all you could think about was that that had to have been done on purpose. The way his knee rested against yours when you sat side by side, or his shoulder bumped yours when you walked, you could explain all of that, even the way he seemed to pull you into him as he grabbed the book from over your head, or the way his eyes always seemed to be planted on you when you turned to look at him. Could chalk any of it up to wishful thinking, to innocent touches, to signs of friendship. But what had just happened?

You could read his screen from your position now without straining, without even shifting your weight towards him, there was no reason to get that close, not unless he wanted to.

But the back of your mind was screaming at you, protesting that you were being ridiculous, that there was the jedi code to think of, that Anakin was too good a jedi to even think of breaking it just to form an attachment to someone.

“Why don’t Ahoska and I come with you” His words snapped you back to reality, your cheeks heating up as you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long he had been speaking, how long you had been blatantly staring at him.

“Oh-are you sure?” you asked him in surprise.

“Yeah” he shrugged nonchalantly, looking up from the book before him with a soft smile “Ahoska could use the practice, and it sounds like you could use the backup”

“That would be great actually” you said honestly, gaze flickering back to the map before you, already forming a plan in your mind as you spoke “having a full team there in case things go wrong would be perfect”

“Great” Anakin grinned back at you, a hand coming down to clap your knee softly as he stood, Anakin pulling his hand back from you sooner than you would have liked “We’ll meet you at the loading dock tomorrow morning”

“Sounds good” you smiled back at him as he turned to leave, watching him walk back through the doors, not even thinking to question the fact that he never accomplished whatever he had come to the library to do.

-

To say that Anakin was happy to see the seat next to you on board was empty was an understatement, he was absolutely ecstatic to the point that not even Ahsoka’s teasing smirk sent is way from across the space could ruin it.

Bounding up to you happily he planted himself in the chair next to you, knocking into your side playfully as he did so, “You ready to go steal a holocron?”

You seemed almost surprised to see him, as if you hadn’t heard him come aboard and walk over to you, but still you painted on a smile, though one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, Anakin’s brain immediately switching over to concern. “what’s wrong?”

You scrunched your brows back at that, immediately pulling away from him though only slightly, gaze going to your feet “what? Nothing?”

He just shook his head at that, his eyes immediately going to your hands and the way your fingers absentmindedly picked at the skin around your nails as you avoided his gaze. Without even thinking his hand shot out, encapsulating one of your in his, his fingers effortlessly intertwining themselves in yours, Anakin wanting to admire just how well your hand fit within his but too preoccupied In trying to figure out what was wrong.

His touch pulled your attention back to him, your gaze bouncing back and forth between his eyes, clearly trying to decide if you should say something.

“It’s alright you can talk to me” he all but whispered, nodding encouragingly, all but begging you to let him in.

“It’s dumb” you dismissed quickly, eyes casting back around the ship but your grip on his hand tightened ever so slightly, Anakin unable to do anything but smile slightly at the gesture, using his thumb to rub lazy circles on the back of your hand.

You gaze was drawn down to your hands in response and Anakin felt his movement hiccup, a brief pause as he worried for a second that was he was doing was wrong, that he was making you uncomfortable, but then he saw the edges of your lips turn up almost imperceptibly and he felt his heart swell in his chest, taking a deep breath and giving your hand a small squeeze letting you know he was here.

“It’s just-“ you stuttered and stopped, finally looking back up at him “Is it dumb that I’m more nervous now with people going than I was when I was going alone”

And though Anakin could never think anything you thought was dumb he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at that, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion at your words “what? Why?”

“Because it’s like” you sighed and he felt your grip go light in his, felt you start to pull away from him, but this time he wouldn’t let you, keeping his grip tight he pulled you softly into him, your shoulder coming to rest calmly against his, your grip thankfully returning in response as a soft chuckle escaped your lips, a sound Anakin grasped onto eagerly. “It’s like now I’m responsible for three more people ya know?” you asked hesitantly, gaze going out to spy on Ahsoka and Rex talking calmly across the room “before it was just me but now if something goes wrong…I just don’t want any of you to get hurt because of me”

And Anakin couldn’t help but grin at that, not wasting the opportunity to lean over and hide his smile in your hair, suppressing his urge to press a kiss to the crown of your head as he did so, “its not dumb, it’s sweet”

You pulled back at his words, eyes going suspiciously to his face “you’re laughing at me”

And with those words he couldn’t help but chuckle, even as he tried to protest “no I’m not-“

“You are” and even your voice started to bounce as you held in your own giggles, Anakin’s cheeks aching ever so slightly as he chuckled back in response.

“No its not-“

But you cut him off again, pushing off of him to stand up but he kept his grip firm, effortlessly pulling you back down into your seat, sure that you had let him do it anyways. “hold on hold on let me explain” he tried to calm himself down, unable to think of anything at first but at how close you now sat next to him, your thigh pressed firmly against his as you all but sat on top of him.

“Look Ahsoka, Rex and I have been on hundreds of missions before and we’ve always made it back” you looked up at him doubtingly and Anakin had to fight the urge to melt into your gaze “we’ve had hundreds of missions go wrong on us, very wrong, and we’ve always been able to handle it. This one won’t be any different”

Your gaze casted back out to Ahsoka and Rex a soft shake in your head as you spoke again, your voice small and hesitant “are you sure”

And finally, Anakin let go of your hand, using his now free arm to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into a soft side hug before he whispered “yeah I’m sure”

-

“As far as the plan?” Ahsoka asked you from the copilots seat, looking up at you from where you stood behind Rex’s chair, watching the separatist encampment come into view.

“There’s three entrances” you explained, barely able to tear your eyes away from the window “main one then two others on each side that are much smaller used mostly for transporting supplies. I’ll take the east one, you and Anakin take the west, Rex stays back here with the ship ready to shoot anyone or take off quickly depending on how things go”

You cast your eyes to look back at Ahsoka who was nodding her head softly as she thought then up to Anakin just behind her chair only to see he was already looking down at you, shaking his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not going alone” he objected quickly “you and Ahsoka take the west I’ll take the east”

You physically recoiled at that, brows scrunching up back at him in confusion, not entirely sure where this was coming from all of a sudden “this is my mission, I was going to go alone anyways”

“And now we’re here” he shot back, making it a point to avoid your gaze as he watched Rex’s landing “so you didn’t have to be alone”

“Hold on I was fine with going alone you were the one-“

Ahsoka interrupted you as you started to get louder, pointing an accusatory finger in Anakin’s direction “I’ll take the west you two go together on the east”

“no” Yours and Anakin’s answer came quickly and in perfect unison, Ahsoka rolling her eyes in response as she crossed her arms over her chest, a posture that now perfectly mirrored both your’s and Anakin’s.

“Look based on the encampments shape the west side will be the less populated one so it makes sense that I take it alone and the two of you take the more difficult one” she tried to explain.

“If that’s the case than I-“ you were ramping up for your argument but watched as Anakin’s shoulders slumped slightly in response, not letting you get out another word before he was conceding with a simple ‘fine’.

As if you had never said anything you watched as Ahsoka grinned triumphantly up at her master, a gesture that just seemed to annoy him further though you still caught a small proud smile snaking its way to his features.

“Hold on-“ you tried to object again but Anakin was already exiting the cockpit, giving your shoulder a soft tap and squeeze as he did, leaving you frozen in space as you watched him go.

“What on earth just happened?” you asked the room earning a small giggle from Ahsoka in response “this was my mission did he really just come in and steamroll his way into making all the plans”

You watched Ahsoka and Rex share a look from their seats before answering in perfect unison “you get used to it”

You groaned softly at their response but couldn’t help but laugh softly at the situation, running a tired hand over your face “I just don’t get why he wouldn’t just let me go on my own, does he not trust me?”

“No he trusts you” Ahsoka tried to assure you quickly but you could already feel yourself spiraling.

“I mean I told him that I was nervous before we took off what if he thinks because of that I’m not capable”

“He speaks very highly of your abilities as a jedi” Ahsoka shook her head in response, stealing a glance at Rex as she did so “I know for a fact that he trusts you with his life”

At that you had to stop, your mind reeling for a second at the thought that Anakin could have spoke so highly about you to Ahsoka before, it wasn’t like he’d ever really been around you enough to know that. “I don’t-“

“Look” Ahsoka sighed with a slight chuckle, spinning around in her chair to face you “he likes you, he just wants to make sure you’re safe”

“But you’re his padawan” you pointed out in confusion “he likes you too and you get to go off on your own”

At this Ahsoka smirked slightly, turning back around to face the window “yeah but it’s different with me”

This only had you more confused “how is it-“

Before you could ask, however, Rex interrupted you “alright we’re here” in surprise you turned your gaze to the window to see that you had in fact landed, you too focused on your talk with Ahsoka and fight with Anakin to even register that fact. “Now you two get going let’s get out of here as quickly as possible”

-

You were uncomfortably aware of every part of his body that was touching yours, the way you could feel his chest rise and fall against yours with every breath, the way you really had no choice but to look at him.

“Come on I know you’re mad at me” his voice came out in a whisper, prompting you to turn your head up tentatively to look at him through your lashes only to see him already looking down at you, his hands pressed against the wall above your head trying to give you as much space as possible. “I’m sorry I ended up picking the worst spot to hide I didn’t know-“

You cut him off before he could go on any longer rambling “It’s not that”

He scrunched his eyebrows at you “then what is it?”

You shook your head slightly at his expression, casting your gaze back down, desperately wishing you were anywhere but here to have this conversation. Instead of just moving past it like you had hoped he would, however, Anakin stayed silent, his gaze firmly locked down on you, practically pulling the answer out of you.

“It’s this whole mission” You sighed, not missing the way Anakin seemed to only get more confused.

“This was my mission, a simple break in and grab the holocron” you tried to explain “then you ask to join with Ahsoka and I agree and all of a sudden you’re the one making the plans pushing me out of my own mission by delegating me to a less important part, telling me I need to have a partner and can’t go out on my own”

“that’s not-“ You cut him off again before he could deny it.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s my mission. That means you sit down and listen to my plans you don’t get to come in and tell me what I’m going to do and not do on my mission that’s not how this works” You paused for a quick breath, finally chancing a look back up at Anakin “You can’t demote me, not here not now”

His eyes bounced quickly back and forth between yours, concern evident on his face as he formulated his response, taking a moment before speaking “I’m just trying to protect you”

“I don’t need your protection” you countered with a small huff “I’m a fully trained Jedi knight I can handle myself, but I know you’ve regularly got Ahsoka doing more dangerous stuff than this so what about protecting her?”

“It’s different with her”

And there was that explanation again, that same cop out excuse that didn’t tell you anything. You could hope, tell yourself that you knew what it meant, but you didn’t, you needed to hear him say it.

“Why is It different?”

Anakin didn’t say anything to that, deep breaths echoing through his chest to your own as they rose and fell against one another, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your own, quick trips down to your lips that you swore were only in your head. But at that point every time you had overthought your and Anakin’s relationship was whirling around in your head. Every time you looked up to see him already staring at you, every touch he seemed to go out of his way to make, every excuse he’s made to hang out with you or be close. It couldn’t be all in your head could it?

“Are you okay?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere, surprising you slightly, your head backing up to softly bump the wall behind you.

Because in truth you weren’t, you could feel your heart crawling up into your throat, could feel every point of contact between the two of you now like electricity dancing over your skin, could feel the burning desire to just close the small gap between the two of you. But the code, always the code.

“I’m fine” You brushed him off, turning your gaze back to the ground, anywhere but his.

“Hey” He called out to you softly, fingers dropping from over your head down to your chin, pulling your gaze back up to his softly, his fingers dropping down to the side of your neck quickly, pressing softly into the skin. “Your heart is racing”

You could only feel it get faster after that comment, could feel the way your cheeks got hotter from beneath his worried gaze, brushing his fingers off you quickly “I’m fine”

“Is it the tight space?” He was whispering quickly now, already inching his head towards the grate trying to peak out.

“No I’m-“ you tried to object but he was already running off on his own tangent.

“If you need to get out of here we can try and sneak out” he was inching more towards the grate by the second, hands coming off the wall to try and pry it off.

You couldn’t let him leave yet, it was too early the two of you were bound to be caught, so you reached out, grabbing his face in both of your hands and pulling it down to meet your gaze “Anakin it’s not the tight space” you watched his brows bunch up in confusion again, letting the rest of your sentence spill out of you before you could think better of it “it’s you, it’s the way we’re pressed up against one another, the way you keep looking at me like that. It’s you, you make me nervous”

You could practically see his brain stutter, all his features relaxing for a moment as he processed what you said, the corners of his lips ticking up slightly as he did so “I make you nervous?”

“Yes” you breathed out, the panic within you forcing you to tack on more to the sentence “of course you do,  you have a reputation of regularly jumping out of moving speeders and are actively trying to sneak out of our hiding spot before it’s time”

A smirk grew on his face at your words as he dipped his head closer to yours down at your eyes level, so close your noses were nearly touching, his hands planted firmly on either side of your head against the wall “but that’s not in the way that you meant it. Right?”

You watched the way his tongue darted out from between his lips, wetting his bottom one quickly, eyes snapping up to meet his again with a blush staining your cheeks a deep enough color you were sure he could see it even in the dim lighting. “Why is it different with Ahsoka?” You whispered the question so softly you weren’t entirely sure he could hear it.

But god help you he chuckled at it, his eyes twinkling softly as he inched forward even closer, “because I’m not in love with Ahsoka”

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter two: making amends

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

warnings: language, mentions of disordered eating, mentions of past bullying, heavy descriptions of food and eating

word count: 1.8k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10

A/N: chapter two is here! if you're enjoying pls reblog / like / comment and let me know!! also comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER ONE: THE BOLTER

For the next month or so, you do your best to avoid him, even though you ache for him to walk past the infirmary and every time he magically appears like you’ve wished, bruised up from sparring or a cut from cooking, you ignore him.

The second he walks in, you try your best to look busy, or send him off with a quick Bandaid. The injuries he comes in with are never anything serious, and you wonder who he’s here for. Even when another nurse tends to him, you can feel his eyes run down your spine, like you’re the object of his desires. 

It’s so hard to keep yourself away, to deny it when you feel him staring at you like a heavy weight on your back, especially when it creates such a chasm in your chest to turn him away. But he keeps coming back, and your resolve keeps waning and waxing like the crescent moon.

It’s one such instance when you’re restocking the medical supplies like bandages and syringes, when Bucky creeps up on you, as you hum away to whatever song is stuck in your head. The infirmary is completely empty at this point, everyone retiring for the night seeing as there are currently no missions for any of the squad. As Head Nurse, you keep yourself in charge of supplies, diligently noting all the numbers by hand even when FRIDAY can do it for you just as well. 

“Hey.” He breathes, you name entangled in the exhalation. You jump out of your skin, turning around and dropping the large box of gauze you hold, tiny plastic packets ricocheting off the floor. He’s leaning on the doorframe, but immediately pushes himself off, extending both hands toward you, as if to show you he’s unarmed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His adorable face twists in concern, and when your soul finally finds its way back into your body, you let out a shaky laugh.

“It’s okay, James. I just thought I was all alone in here, and I didn’t hear you come in.” You kneel on the floor and start gathering the spilled items back on the floor, and he crouches to help you. Your hand brushes his vibranium one, and you pull away from the spark of electricity that jolts up your spine, but unbeknownst to you, Bucky reads the entire situation quite differently. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” Your eyes flit up and meet his, the look in them indiscernible. What could he possibly want to talk to you about? You find yourself getting lost, stranded in the sea hues of his irises, and you stand up. 

“To me? What about?” He too rises, and the height difference between you and him makes you swallow a gasp, marvelling at how much bigger he is than you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asks, staring down at his hands facing palms up, his tone so soft it moves you. The space between your bodies has never felt bigger, and you itch to close it.

“No, of course not. Why would you think that?” You take a step in his direction, silently begging him to meet your eyes, no matter how distracting they are. 

“Of my past. Are you sure? Not even a little?” You immediately pick up what he’s putting down, what the forlorn look in his eyes is referring to.

“No,” you assure him firmly, “I wouldn’t be scared of you for that. That wasn’t you. I— I don’t want to bring it up, but…you were used as a vessel for horrible evil. But that doesn’t mean you did it. That’s not who you are, James. Steve loves you, you guys have saved the world time and time again. He trusts you, so does everyone else in this building. Why would I be scared of that?” You tilt your head, searching his startled expression.

“Then why are you avoiding me?” He takes another step towards you, and all of a sudden it’s too short a distance and you take a step back, spine crashing against the shelves and in your haste almost miss the tortured look that paints across his features for a split second.

“I—um…You called me really pretty.” You decide to be truthful. He clearly didn’t expect those words to leave your mouth

“So you skip dinner?”

“What? I…I don’t skip. I just don’t like eating in front of people, and I’m quite busy. You know, being a nurse and all.” Your heart catches in your throat at the fact that maybe he’s figured you out. And it’s true, you don’t attend dinner with the rest of people in your building, and it really is because you don’t like eating in the presence of other people. But… he doesn’t need to know the rest.

“Sure. All three times a day?” You nod, unable to speak as your cheeks light themselves on fire. 

“Oh, come on, just admit it. You’re afraid of me.” He lunges at you, but you don’t move. It’s not him you’re afraid of, just of how he makes you feel. You can’t explain that, it would just be embarrassing.

“I’m not. I already told you.” He’s so close it’s hard to focus when you can smell him and it makes your eyes erratically flutter at just how fucking good his cologne smells, stimulating pretty much all of your sense as you try to hold his gaze. 

Has the colour blue always been so consuming?

“Then why is it that every time I come down here, you do everything in your power to avoid me, or to send me back as quick as humanly possible?” He cradles your head in his human hand, and the warmth radiating off of his body makes you melt.

“You called me pretty.” You repeat. “I thought you were making fun of me.” 

The silence is deafening and you watch the gears in his pretty head turn as he formulates a reply. “I wasn’t. I meant it— I mean it.” You huff out a laugh, shaking it off. “Really, I wasn’t joking, or making fun of you. I mean it, I do think you’re really pretty. Respectfully.” The mild internet reference coaxes a smile out of you.

“Okay.” 

“Come with me. I want to do something with you.” You blink at him incredulously and silently nod, and he grins and takes your hand. You try to not stumble over yourself at the way he’s touching you, or the way he looks when he smiles as he drags you to the kitchen.

It’s quite late at night, and it seems everyone is asleep. “Everyone’s off to do karaoke, or drinks or something. I don’t know, I didn’t ask.” You tug at your sleeves as he fiddles with something on the ridiculously large stove unsure of where to stand or what to do.

“You’re not a fan of large crowds, are you? Me neither. It’s always too loud and hot everywhere —Guess I’m just not like other girls.” He laughs at that, and you smile, the sardonic joke landing exactly as you intended. 

When Bucky turns around, he’s holding two plates of food. “Now, apparently there’s this one really popular show I haven’t watched, I was wondering if you wanted to with me?” You stare at him, stomach grumbling at an embarrassing volume.

“Depends on what show it is.”

“I don’t really remember. It was supposed to be funny? Sam recommended it to me, it’s called Annabelle. Apparently, it’s about a girl and her doll?” A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

“Is Sam already back to his tricks? James, Annabelle is a horror movie franchise where the main premise is some evil demon possesses a doll and wreaks havoc on whoever has it. It’s not funny, but you can laugh at it. Some of the VFX are horrible, and the jumpscares are cheap.”

“BFX?” He tilts his head to the side as you approach him, smiling at his childlike innocence.

“VFX. It stands for Visual effects, I’m pretty sure.” He processes your words, eyebrows furrowed so cutely you could cry and try to smooth it with your thumb. 

“Oh. Well in that case you can choose. You like burgers, right? I asked FRIDAY what your go-to meal is, and she said you like them. I hope you don’t mind, I made them how I used to, before the world went to shit.” He offers you a meek smile, extending one plate to you, loaded to high heaven with fries that make your mouth water by smell alone. You take the plate, a beautiful sage green decorated with artistic splatters of darker hues, unable to say no.

“Oh. Yes, thank you. You didn’t have to do this, though.” You don’t look up to meet his eyes, too scared of what emotions dwell in them. He wishes you would though, wishes you would look at him longer than in five second bursts. 

“I did. I thought maybe you’d like me a little more,” he chuckles ever so sadly and you finally grant him his secret wish. “What? I do like you, but just… we’ve already discussed it, and unfortunately the only time I’d see you is during meals. It’s not you, James. It’s me.” You move to sit down on the comfortable black couch situated in front of the ostentatiously massive TV screen, waiting for Bucky to join you.

“Then why do you call me James?” He sits awfully close to you, but you don’t mind. Not when it’s cold and he’s so warm. He stares down at you, once again silently begging you to meet his gaze.

“Your third day here, one trainee tried calling you Bucky. You berated him to high heaven and gave him a beating to match. He told me you don’t like people who aren’t close to you calling you Bucky. I don’t think I could survive a beating like that, to be honest.” You laugh, slowly beginning to eat, not worried for half a minute on his thoughts on the matter. He seems more focused on your words.

“You can call me Bucky, if you want. I don’t mind. You’re not a trainee, you’re the Head Nurse of this place, doll. Who would I be to deny the very woman who’ll patch me up the second I get a scratch?” He begins to dig into his food too, and to your joy, you’re not the one eating the most. Not that you’d shame him for it, how on Earth could you when you’ve been on the receiving end of it? But it’s nice to sit with someone who definitely won’t judge you.

“Okay…Bucky.” He smiles at you, bright and dazzling and you’re fucked. Completely, utterly, thoroughly fucked.

NEXT PART

[me-uglypretty]

Three words and you know it

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: Yelena and Kate fools Peter into a web of lies that eventually creates something more than a mischievous prank. [Loosely based on this incorrect quotes]

Warning: 18+ (G), fake relationships, comedy, pranks, fluff | Word count: 3.2k

PREVIOUS | Remember, they’re married | Notify | Navigation |

Oblivion was neither bad nor good, it was something that depended entirely on an individual’s circumstance. It was the knowing and not knowing. For an instance, there are certain time or situation in which, someone voluntarily walks into a shared space, a look of innocence on their face or that of oblivion, the utmost clarity in their words as they spoke with an unknown oath to gather attention that spew at confusion and awkward conversations. Though, it was to their unawareness.

It begun, a lovely morning for a warm breakfast, an extra sweet treat at the side, and two cups of tea. Natasha assured that breakfast duty was hers for today, and for you to sit comfortable on the kitchen chair. It forced a sort of routine, you would cook for her and she would cook for you, and Natasha profusely placing an extra pancake on your plate. Such arguments of being too full from your side was ignored.

You knew—Natasha knew. The extend of what you could eat, what you hated to eat, and everything that wouldn’t suffice your hunger. Especially for her special breakfast pancake that you truly enjoy, and have in numerous occasions requested for the same food later in the evening. It was your thing with her, and her thing with you.

Natasha knew that at every dreadful mission, the vile smell of gun powder, blood that sticks uncomfortable on your skin that was a mix of yours and the body that fell dead, and the anguish within which you hid with a joke—it was this little routine that curls a genuine smile on your face.

There, a smile etched on your face as you take anguish bites of your breakfast, and the equally contented smile on Natasha’s face as she unashamedly stares at you. A twinkle of some sort in your eyes and hers. The childlike expression which erupts at the most trivial situation or when enjoying the little things in life more than others, but more with each other.

You both were alike in that way, just not in the exact way that would make obvious of another correlation between two former assassins.

It was then, a wisp of white threadlike webs whizzed through the kitchen, an inch away from knocking your plate and a perfect hit to the cabinet behind you. At the exact moment that you swore, Natasha swiftly extracted a knife from beneath the counter, and a sound of cheer erupts with the appearance of Peter Parker.

Occasion alike this is when confusion arrives, playing a tune that led to strokes of awkwardness by the words of Peter, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Mrs Romanoff! I’m still trying to understand this, look it’s so cool, but it's so confusing and this update just made it more confusing…”

The show of a silver bracelet wrapped around his wrist had earned a whistle from Natasha, complimenting him on the new look and discreetly hiding the knife she was holding. He seemed unfazed as he continued talking. The young boy’s likely visit often result in many broken objects, and yet, Tony insists on presenting him with new devices.

“How’s uni?” you enquired, after ensuring that you wouldn’t be hit by another string of web.

Natasha who was sat opposite you, watched amusedly as you navigated your plate correspondingly to where Peter moved in the kitchen. Your attentive gaze on the young boy dithers when you meet the eyes of Natasha, the wiggle of her eyebrows seems to almost take your attention away, if wasn’t for the rumbles of the additional person in the kitchen.

“…I told him that we shouldn’t do it, but it happened anyway,” Peter had gone on, words upon words that was ignored by reason of the woman sat opposite you. “Opps, sorry again, Mrs Romanoff,” he mumbled, hands fixated on the string of web almost hitting straight on Natasha’s forehead as the other end was stuck to his bracelet.

Several taps on the countertop redirects his attention towards the sound. Natasha gave him a pointed look. “Peter…” her voice sounded stern, nearing that of annoyance, before a playful smile emerges on her face, and she waited for the realisation to settle at her attempt of a joke.

The intention was to gather rounds of laughter from the young boy, perhaps, for you to announced again that she was horrible at joking as it always seemed more scary than funny. Despite that, you would laugh, shaking your head as you always did, hand waving away any attempt of explanation for her ways of words in the tone of comedy.

Peter sensed it, she thought. There was a look of confusion on his face as he glanced between two, your shake of head and the grin on her face. His eyes widened, “Sorry, Natasha. No more last names,” he spoke, hands raised in surrender which drew soft chuckles from the spy.

Natasha doesn’t flatter, opting to wink at him then glancing at you. “Do you want anything else?” she murmured the question, voice soften so drastically, and only for you to hear.

You smiled, feeling the warmth that roused at your skin as her eyes remained stuck on you. “Not really, but maybe for lunch…”

It’s easy, the exchanges of words or when eyes met and spoke more than what anyone else could interpret between two. Perhaps, the familiarities of your past had easily engulf this understanding. The learning of life that wasn’t controlled severely, breathing in air that both warmth your chest and made your huff at the scent that carried through the room, after she had sprayed her favourite perfume.

It wasn’t your favourite scent, but you had made it a habit to expect that she always wore the same perfume. Natasha sprayed your jacket with her perfume once, and somehow, she understood that you detested the scent—unless it was on her.

It’s so easy to overlook the other person who stood there, mouth producing noises that seemed like nothing if it wasn’t her voice that spoke or yours that she kept close.

“Goodbye Natasha, and Mrs Romanoff!” Peter waved his right hand while his left grasped onto his sandwich, and he speedily left the kitchen.

It was that, the noise that enticed your attention to the sound. The clatter of silverware followed by grumbles of curses slipping out your mouth, and hands grasping onto the countertop when your knee bumped against the counter. Natasha’s head had promptly turned towards you after staring at the door where Peter’s exited. The first thing she observed was the sheer look of panic on your face, and round eyes widened as you chaotically tried picking up the fallen fork.

Natasha caught onto something there. Her sense of awareness has always been remarkable. Missions completed in perfection due to her foresee of situations and ensuring her head was clear to achieve the best outcome. Thus, your undoubted appearance had proved her theory of something else than simple exchanged of greetings. Before this abrupt occurrence, Natasha was sure that Peter was greeting her as two different persons, and throughout those exchanges, you were always by her side. Bodies almost pressed together by the proximity.

Unless—and her attention shifts, round eyes marvelling at the clear nervousness on your apperance, mouth parted as though you were ready to justify yourself, but only offered her empty blows of air. Natasha raised a single eyebrow, easily grasping your attempts of changing the conversation.

“Was Peter calling you…Mrs Romanoff?”

The question was asked with a firm tone, and it agitated your hands to reach for a tissue or anything closer. A needed distraction from how you could easily utter every little secret by the sound of her voice, the look on her face, and those eyes, so green and gleaming even beneath the gloomy light.

When your eyes redirected from your almost empty plate to meet her eyes, you had perceived the look of contemplation on her face. It felt that she was genuinely engrossed in the idea. In a split second where your attempt mask of indifference slips, and you were sure that she knew.

Natasha sighed. “Why did Peter call you that…” her voice softened profusely. “I’m not going to harm you…or throw a knife at you so tell me please?”

The question itself flashed a memory in your mind. A knife that was thrown across the room, slashing a wound on the side of your arm, and if you hadn’t spent that time gawking at the known assassin, you wouldn’t had walked out with a wound to remind you of the moment you met Natasha Romanoff.

She was the enemy first, then she became your closest friend. That endearment kind of feeling, a word that tasted both sweet and bitter at your heart’s desire. At times, you wondered if staying as enemies would be enough. But you stare into her eyes at that moment, a smile that materialises on her face with a look to encourage your confession and the warmth that spread in your chest caused by her.

You would never know, perhaps, you thrive in the prospect of having a close something with her than nothing at all.

In your spiralling state, Natasha’s body remained rigid as she sat there, and waited for an appropriate reason for that mistake. There was a voice in her head that pushed forward the thought she had dejectedly hid away. It was the sound of hope that would persuade for something good than bad. If by her desired outcome, she wouldn’t continue to harbour the truth of her profound feelings that flourish at the mention of your name and more when your eyes met hers, the most delicate sort of gleam that made her body contentedly warm.

A confession may not meet the ears of others, but her mind whirls at the intended notion of being together forever. A significant other. If those words manifested itself into reality, slipping from the tongues of others like a casual banter, it made her heart swell at the idea of marriage. Natasha’s felt sure at the prospect of life spend with you.

Would it be so bad if she was so selfish to want that more than anything else?

Natasha’s round eyes widened, mouth parted slightly, and a little sound of a gasp at the realisation that dawned upon her.

It was assumed as harmless crush alike one she had on Bruce. It was a meant to pass through stages of complete fixation of a relationship she wouldn’t dare ruin to something that wasn’t important. It didn’t went pass that. In fact, she tried pretending that it was a just a friendship. A forged platonic relationship that was so pure and intimate, and now, she was seeing you as someone more than a crush she was forced to disregard.

“Honestly,” you suddenly spoke, and her attention flatters from the whirling thought, returning entirely to you. “I thought it was a mistake at first…little boys, right? But I don’t think he knows,” you finished with a shrug, appearing unbothered by the confession.

It was your reaction that struck her heart wrongly at first. Her expression seemed to flatter by seconds, the soften look to one of confusion to utter hurt. The hint of bore in your tone had easily disregard the nervousness that lingered before. She was almost sure that you were worried for an entirely different reason. One that she shared too.

The worst outcome clashed in her mind than the ones that coloured so vividly of her hope. Her hands fisted at the thought that was ready to confess her entire heart to you, and every vulnerability that she hasn’t yet shared.

Then, she heard the start of rhythmically taps. It was your nails tapping against the kitchen counter. Her shrewd eyes focused on your appearance, attentive gaze trailing a path to where your hands clenched and unclenched, followed by the look on your face. Natasha noticed the corners of your lips twitch, intending to smile or frown, then forcing a look of indifference that appeared more suspicious. It was clearly an act of masking your anxious state from her.

Something clicked in Natasha’s mind. A knowing hum resonated through her throat, her body leaned back nonchalantly and pressed against the chair. The drastic change in the atmosphere had caught onto you.

You didn’t think more of it than her knowing the truth. Natasha must had found out that you haven’t done anything to rebuke the misinformation. However, you start to notice the little act of a smirk on her face, and a subtle look of arrogance on her face. It was that reaction which straighten your posture.

“It’s not a bad thing,” you spoke out of distress. “I mean— it’s not— I’m okay with it! Mistakes happen and it’s no one’s fault…” you trailed, and entirely stopped your splatter of words.

Natasha stared intently at you, daring more words to spill that doesn’t justify yourself at all. It’s that look, the kind used during interrogations, and something you had watched from a safe distance. Natasha’s famous look that expressed, ‘I know the truth,’ and the look that made the other person tremble.

Silence transmitted first.

You contemplated the chances of escaping from having this dreaded conversation, and grimacing at your mind replaying your previous choice of words. A conclusion roused that she must had known, Natasha was definitely—to your absolute confidence—making a joke at your flustered state because she knew the embarrassing misunderstanding that Peter had produced at your expense.

“Wait, before you think that…”

Natasha decided to stop your second sequence of rambling. “I’m not opposed to it,” she spoke, a tone of certainty in her voice as she gauged your reaction.

Natasha observed the seconds where you reacted by your eyes widening almost comically then gaze falling entirely on your plate, mouth parted like you were talking to your breakfast, and you stayed there for a moment too long.

Slowly, a shy smile emerged on your face and when you shifted your gaze to meet her eyes, Natasha was beaming at you with a smile that appeared wider and happier than any kind you had ever saw.

You could only utter a word or more so, a sound. “Oh?”

Natasha nodded her head. “Oh,” she jested, switching her position to lean her elbows on the counter and resting her head on her palm of her hands. Her teeth nimble on her bottom lip, and your eyes blatantly stayed on that sight.

“So…” Natasha started, redirecting your attention away from her lips to meet her glistening eyes. “From my understanding, you like the idea of being my wife?” she teased, and slowly leaned her body forward.

It felt like a similar tactic she used on criminals, but there was a difference ambiance to the way she looked at you. A honied smile, eyes glazed of such tenderness, and you wondered for a second there on what it would feel to have that same look stayed on you forever. Natasha that developed a genuine relationship with you that was far more special and different than the kind shared with Clint. The thought itself distracted you from the actual matter in hand, and warmth that roused from your neck to your face.

You think of that. The first time you met Natasha, the first time you exchanged greetings as partners, the first time you shared a meal together, the first you swore that your feelings were something would progress into nothing, the first time you realised it was more than building an honest attraction to someone from a silly misinformation, the first time you sat and imagined the notion of being Natasha’s wife, the first time you almost confessed your feelings at her sister’s pestering and it dawned on how serious—

You gasped.

Natasha impulsively jumped backward, grasping the knife she had kept hidden again.

The expression on your face had morphed into something that worried Natasha, it wasn’t a shy look of someone sharing similar feeling to her.

You cursed under your breath.

“What?” Natasha questioned, her attention heightens on you and your surroundings. “What’s wrong?” she tried again, her hand clasping over yours.

It seemed to had break your distraction as round eyes fell on her hand at the tender touch. Natasha observed the way your eyes lingered before interlacing your fingers with hers. Where your forefinger seemed to hover over that one finger.

You looked ahead, gazing into her eyes—alike the moment you first met, the occurrence of such mundane thing, and the constant moments where hearts thumps keenly—and you didn’t look away. Natasha swore to herself at that vital moment, nothing could split the connection between you and her, even if she had to leave with a bleeding heart at the expense of your tenderness towards her.

“What is it?” she asked. It was almost followed by, ‘Do you need me to kill someone?’

You shook your head. “Three words,” you spoke softly, and she looked confused at first. “And you know it,” you continued, softly squeezing her hand.

Natasha doesn’t comprehend your implication. It was unlikely that Peter had misaddressed you as hers on purpose. The absolute innocence and sincerity in his words was supporting his case. She reflected on your words, feeling the thought rush through when your finger traced the minimalistic tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

It clicked. Your pointed look and noted pointers then the look of annoyance that materialised on her face.

“Yelena and Kate.”

You nodded your head. “Yelena and Kate.”

A silent understanding breached between two after the revelation. Of course, it was the mischief duos that landed you in this predicament.

Natasha instantly dived into planning her course of action to scare them into admitting their antics and possibly fear them enough to attempt this prank again. Internally, she was fuming at the idea that someone else could had been paired with you. That her younger sister—once innocent and wouldn’t dare be disobedient—could had your intertwined with another name that wasn’t hers. It wasn’t real, she knew that. But she couldn’t stop the way her heart hammered that you could had possibly felt something for someone else because of one prank.

It lured her to look at you than stared absently at the wall behind you. As her eyes gazed into yours, round globes seemingly gleaming beneath the awful pale kitchen light, the feeling of annoyance seemed to vanish into something warm and soft.

Natasha wasn’t eager to confront her sister, but she was eager to continue where you had left off, where it was clear that you shared her feelings for this specific future too. That was it, wasn’t it?

You appeared to understand her thoughts. “So...” you murmured, and she repeated the same word with a childlike smile on her face. “You’re not opposed to us…hanging out…as wives?”

Laughter echoes in the kitchen at your question. Natasha couldn’t stop the endearing look on her face as you added another joke at her obvious desirability for you. A prank had brought light to your shared feelings on the topic, and it wasn’t nothing alike a passing crush for someone.

Unfortunately for Yelena and Kate, the supposedly best prank might had turned into the worst assisted links of an even more compatible duos by the name of you and Natasha.

NEXT

[sinkovia]

Reflections

John MacTavish x GN!Reader

Angst

The mission had been rocky, but you and Soap managed to complete your objective, taking out all the enemies. Soap had been shot in the leg, and you were helping him back to the exfil helo. He had his arm around you, and you were using both your hands to support him.

As you turned a corner, an enemy operator suddenly appeared, pointing his gun at you. Without a second thought, your body moved to shield Soap. You turned, taking the round of bullets in your back, protecting your best friend. Soap quickly reacted, drawing his gun and killing the enemy. You slid off his body and landed with a thud on the floor next to him. He dropped to his knees in front of you, ignoring the pain that shot up his leg.

"Y/n?" Soap turned you over, and your lifeless gaze stared past him. You were dead, having sacrificed your life to protect him. Tears welled in his eyes as he cradled your face.

"Y/n, look at me... please just look at me, please say something." Tears streamed down his face, landing on yours.

Ghost turned the corner, running with his pistol drawn. He halted in his tracks as he saw Soap and your lifeless body. He cursed under his breath, watching as Soap cradled you, your blood forming a puddle underneath him.

He approached slowly, holstering his gun. "Johnny."

"Y/n put themselves in front of me. They saved me." Soap's voice broke as he sobbed against you, holding your lifeless body as close as he could.

Ghost spent a painstaking thirty minutes trying to convince Soap to let go of you. He knew that you were gone, but Soap clung to your lifeless body. Eventually, he managed to gently pry Soap away, and he carefully carried your body back to the exfil helo.

Soap sat next to you during the journey back to the base, holding your cold hand. He couldn't stop apologizing over and over again. He blamed himself for getting injured on the mission, which had forced you to protect him. If he hadn't been hurt, your hands would have been free, and you might still be alive. The weight of guilt and sorrow bore down on him as he replayed the events over and over in his mind, unable to shake the feeling that he had cost you your life.

He decided to bury you next to an old oak tree by a river, a place that held countless memories for both of you. It was your spot, where you would spend hours talking about everything and nothing at all. Sometimes you would sit in comfortable silence, admiring the view, or lay next to each other, pointing out figures in the passing clouds.

"I wonder if there's an afterlife," Soap mused as he stood next to your headstone, he wondered if you were looking over all of them. He looked over to your headstone beside him and then at the river just below his feet.

Looking down at his reflection in the still water, he felt a breeze against him and saw your reflection in the water, standing next to him. A smile graced your features as you looked at him. Soap quickly looked beside him, at the headstone, and then back at the water. You were no longer there.

"Thank you," he whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. The breeze continued to rustle the leaves, leaving him with a sense of peace, knowing that your presence was still with him, even if he couldn't see you.

[dreamingcloudie]

im sorry for immediately jumping into requests but i see dottore content and i immediately go gdusabjnkdsa

HI HOPE YOU HAVE A NICE DAY <33 IMMA BINGE READ THROUGH YOUR STUFF BUT LEMME JUST DROP THIS RQ

reader, feeling a bit bored and lonely, gathered a bunch of segments and asked if they could just cuddle with them OF COURSE they'd agree... prime comes back from a mission to see the tasks he'd assign them half done but before he could get too angry, sees you all snuggled up in a pile with the most relaxed expression on your face he'd seen in a while.......... he tells the segments to leave and hugs you himself instead (jealous perhaps? HHEHEHE)

HAVE A GREAT DAY, FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS NO PRESSUVE <3 !!

❛❛ In My (Our) Arms You Go ❜❜

✎ ❛❛ Dog pile!— Oof! ❜❜

Pairing(s): Dottore (& segments) x GN!Reader

Genre/Format: Fluff (oneshot)

wc: ~1.1k

Notes: Back to our regularly scheduled fluff :D This is so cute istg 😫✋️✋️Dottore and his skrunkly segments are just ANAKSHDIEJEFIS 💕💕💕 I'm sorry this is short! ^^;

You sighed as you threw your head backwards and stared at the ceiling, the pencil that you were holding dropped onto the desk.

"I give up." You groaned into your hands.

It has only been fifteen minutes since you started to sketch random objects in the room. You thought having your mind run wild with imaginations by adding some twists to them would be the cure to your boredom. 

But it clearly backfired, it required too much thinking.

If anything, it made you feel even more bored than before, if that was even possible.

Heck, you even tried to watch the raindrops sliding down the window pane, pretending that they were racing against each other! 

No matter how much effort you put into distracting your bored out mind, you were too occupied with thoughts of your lover. 

A week ago, the Tsrista had sent out an order to Dottore, there was a mission that required his assistance in the far lands of Sumeru. And since this was an order from the Cryo Archon herself, there was no way he could decline even if he wanted to. 

So reluctantly, you had to let him go for you didn't even know how long. 

Without his goofy laughs and your daily dose of kisses, you felt lonely…

Especially with how your work schedule has been pretty hectic lately. Just as you thought you could have some peaceful moments with Dottore, he had to leave.

What kind of cruel joke was this?

What to do now… You thought as you closed your eyes.

Reading… Cooking... Beating Delta's ass up—

Wait, what?

Where did that come from? 

Reopening your eyes again, you focused on your hearing and could make out faint footsteps walking past your room along with a grumpy voice.

"I can't believe Delta messed all of this up! More work for me, ugh."

So it was a segment.

The segments…

You gasped a bit when a sudden idea came to mind. 

How fun would it be if you cuddled all of them at once?

You were getting a little giddy about your genius idea but then a realization made you doubt your plan.

They are probably busy though… You let out a huff.

Before Dottore left, he had given out a task for each of them to complete. He expected them to finish everything he asked of them by the time he returned.

But a fifteen minute break for them wouldn't hurt, right? You reasoned.

---

As you slammed the laboratory doors open, you slightly cringed at the loud noise it made when it hit the wall, startling some of the segments.

"(Y/n), my dear. You could've just knocked next time," Omega lightly scolded you.

Smiling at him sheepishly, you lightly scratched your neck.

"Haha, sorry."

He shook his head, chuckling at how adorable you were.

"Well, what brings you here?"

Right. 

"So I was thinking… if we could all cuddle together?" You asked. 

Your voice wasn't loud enough to reach the other segments, but they could still make out the words "we" and "cuddle". All of them instantly dropped what they were doing and surrounded you.

Getting affection from their darling? And with no Prime around? Who would pass up such a great offer?

"Are we gonna cuddle?!"

"Can we really?"

"Cuddling? I wanna join!"

Well, that was a lot easier than you thought it'd be. 

---

Oh, how you loved their happy little faces as they trailed behind you, with you leading them to your room.

The moment you got into your room, you laid down onto your bed and sprawled your limbs out, inviting them to come join you.

One by one, each of them plopped themselves down onto the bed with you. 

Some of them held onto your arms while some intertwined their legs with yours, and a head was laid against your torso.

Though, even with this king-sized bed, it could barely fit all of them. 

Theta moved around a little to find a comfortable position when he accidentally kicked someone.

"Ow! Who kicked me?!" Delta yelped.

"Deserved, you gave me more work to do by spilling the serum everywhere!"

"Oh my— Whoever has their feet near my face, please move. It smells of rotten flesh." Omega covered his nose from… whoever feet that was.

Well, this was definitely a bit hard to get used to with how much weight was laying on top of you. 

You weren't complaining though, the weather was a bit colder than usual and they made such a great heat source.

Their bickerings died down and silence soon took over the room, only to be occasionally broken with some light snores and the soft sounds of rain hitting the window.

Ah, life was good.

---

After a week of being away from the comfort of the palace, he was finally back from the mission and he felt like he would pass out any moment.

The mission he came back from was hell even though it was a success in the end. Nonetheless, he was now back and he had missed you dearly.

Though before going to your room, he was looking forward to seeing how his personal project was coming along. He had calculated that by the time he came back, it would've been completed by his segments.

However, all he saw was an empty lab. What's even stranger was that the work was half-done.

Where did they go? They wouldn't abandon their work like this unless it was an emergency…

Dottore turned back and walked to your room, afraid that something might have happened.

The sight he was greeted with made his blood boil. His segments were slacking off, hugging you as they slept. But when he got closer and took a glance at you, he noticed how peaceful you looked, and it's been a long time since he had seen you this relaxed.

You were complaining about how your work was stressing you out and you weren't able to get some proper rest.

Well, he supposed he'd let his segments off the hook this time for helping you to relax.

Though, his chest tightened at the realization that he wasn't the one who was holding you.

It was his turn now.

He nudged one of the segments awake, and soon the others began to wake up as well at the movement. Miraculously, you were still sound asleep.

All of them stiffened at the sight of Prime glaring at them, oh boy, they could already hear the mouthful lecture they'd get later.

"All of you get back to work, now."

The segments scurried to get out of the room, a little down that they had to leave you so soon.

Changing out of his work clothes and taking off his mask, he slowly got into the spot beside you. Chuckling lightly when his thumb cleaned the drool that left your mouth.

His arm wrapped around you, sighing in content that he finally got to hold you again.

All to himself.

[dumbkiri]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝔾𝕠𝕛𝕠 𝕊𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕦 『4.5』

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ: ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ

WARNING FROM LAST PART

[Name] is declared dead and all the students can think about was the audacity they had for not being with help. Gojo Satoru now hates mochi.

Alright this is the last part to chapter four. This part is literally 13 pages long. Oh my days, I went crazy with this one. Please ignore the mistakes. I don't have a beta reader!!

“Are you cryin’?” 

Utahime looked up from the piece of rubble that was weighing heavily on her. “I’m not!” She shouted at the white haired male with an angry face. 

Satoru smiled at her and looked back at Suguru whose cursed spirit engulfed a smaller one in its mouth. “Alright, the girls are saved! Can we please go now?” 

Mei Mei sat on a giant piece of the destroyed house and asked, “You guys seem to be in a big rush. Mind telling me who's got you like this?” Though she was not staring at them, her question was directed at both the males who seemed to rush their techniques. 

Satoru waved his hand and said casually, “Eh, nothing you gotta worry about.” 

“Satoru is feeling antsy about [Name]’s solo mission to exercise a special grade.” Suguru tattled and he watched as his best friend gave him a silent death glare. Ah, Suguru couldn’t get enough of teasing Satoru’s little crush on their new friend. 

“Oh, she’s moving up to a special grade already? Her blessed technique is quite fascinating.” Mei Mei offhandedly complimented, one leg going over the other. 

“She’s just that great” Satoru praised with his hands on his hips, “She could do almost anything. We’re the perfect duo, me being untouchable and her getting rid of the curses perfectly.” 

Suguru hummed and said, “We can’t go to her yet until we tell Masamichi that we finished helping Mei Mei and Utahime out.” To which his white haired friend pulled out his phone and dialed their teacher’s number. 

“This is Satoru Gojo, we finished the mission! We are now going over to Earth-worm’s location! Uh-huh! Yup! Understood!” 

Suguru watched with a smile on his face and a chuckle left his lips when he looked over at the girls saying, “Satoru really doesn’t understand his feelings for [Name], I’d say.” 

Shoko was currently being devoured in Utahime’s arms and said, “Because of his giant ego. Satoru will never understand what a crush is until she confesses first.” 

Utahime had let go of Shoko and put a hand under her chin, “Wait, you guys really think [Name] likes Gojo? There’s no way a pure hearted girl like her would fall for that guy!” Everyone looked at her pointed finger to see Satoru still talking on the phone. 

“He might not see it until she’s in danger,” Mei Mei said with that relaxed smile on her face, “Gojo is just that kind of man. It needs to smack him in the face. He hasn’t experienced the loss of a friend yet, so he doesn’t see the importance of friendship or a crush.” 

“You might be right,” Shoko hummed and took the lollipop out of her mouth, “But [Name] is good at what she does. She may lack confidence, but she’s very strong. She can heal herself, teleport, summon weapons, bubble objects and people up, actually attack and defend. She’s an all-around jujutsu sorcerer. I can understand why the Zen’in’s are proposing a marriage deal with her.”

Suguru looked at Shoko and was taken back by her information. “Wait, [Name] accepted the marriage proposal? Who is she getting married to?” 

Utahime sweat dropped and stretched her muscles out with a nervous smile, “I take that back. I rather see little [Name] with Gojo than a Zen’in. A flower like her can’t grow in their disgusting soil. She’s not going to last!” 

Shoko shook her head and patted Utahime’s head saying, “Ah, don’t worry. [Name] rejected the offer saying she isn’t old enough to be married yet. She has plenty of years to discuss marriage deals with the Elders when she’s older.” Shoko all said this as if she was confident that everything was fine. 

But something didn’t sit right with Suguru. 

“Alright, well I am getting hungry. Are you up for something sweet?” Mei Mei opened her eyes and looked at Satoru standing next to her with a grin on his face. He was always down for a little treat.

“Of course! I just finished telling Masamichi how easy this curse was handled! I’m craving some mochi now, I’ll make sure to get some extra for my earth-worm!” Satoru began striding over to the car while Suguru felt that pit in his stomach drop further. 

“Actually I think we should head over to [Name]’s location.” He suggested firmly which made the group stand still looking at him with concern. 

“Hmm, is everything okay, Suguru? You’re the first one to believe in [Name]’s strength,” Shoko tilted her head and swished the small lollipop in her mouth. 

Suguru stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked towards them. Before he could get his answer out, Utahime’s stomach growled loudly and she bashfully shouted, “That was nothing! You all heard nothing!” 

Everyone laughed and Suguru smiled with his eyes closed, his shoulders shrugging, “You’re right. Let’s get a bite before Utahime dies of starvation.” 

“I’m not that hungry!”

Satoru watched his best friend closely and was going to question him about his urgency earlier, but it was washed away when everyone was deciding on a place to eat at. The car Satoru, Suguru and Shoko followed after Utahime’s and Mei Mei’s leading them to a cafe that was still relatively close to [Name]’s mission location. 

They all chatted with each other and ate delicious food with laughter filled in the air. Shoko and Utahime were rambling about their interests while Mei Mei listened to them quietly, her relaxed smile still present. While Suguru and Satoru were chatting about the large amount of mochi Satoru ordered. 

“She’s not going to finish all of that mochi, Satoru.” Suguru snickered. 

“What? Of course not! I’m going to share it with her while we look at the stars together. She might be super tired after the mission, but mochi always gets her up!” Satoru shot back and began packing the mochi into a paper bag. 

Suguru’s phone began to ring and he pulled it out to see Masamichi’s contact. He flipped the phone and answered it with a smile present on his face. “This is Suguru Geto.”

His eyes shot open and he abruptly stood from his seat, pushing the table a bit. The girls grabbed their drinks and one shouted at him. 

“Hey, Geto! Watch where-” Utahime immediately shut her mouth seeing the look on Suguru’s face. His eyes were wide with shock and his free hand was clenched into a tight fist. 

“Are you sure?” He asked over the phone and looked down at Satoru with a hidden pain. Suguru took a deep breath in and he fell back into his chair with a solemn expression. “Yes, I understand. We’ll be there soon.” 

The call ended and Suguru let his face rest into his hands. Then he straightened out his back and looked at the girls purposefully ignoring the piercing blue eyes next to him. “Masamichi needs us to investigate the death of a student.”

“A student? Well who is it?” Shoko asked, the fear seeping into her racing heart. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. They were going to see her after this quick meal. They were going to help her out. 

“Don’t you dare say her name.” Satoru threatened Suguru. His voice was harsh and deep. His bright blue eyes glaring daggers at Suguru. 

The black haired male blinked and informed the group, dismissing the hollow warning from Satoru, “[Name] completed her mission only for her to die outside the veil. Her assigned assistant is missing and she was…” Suguru closed his eyes tightly and breathed out, “She was stabbed seven times, she bled out two hours ago. A local citizen found her body as he was jogging up the mountain. He called local authorities, but now everything is being covered by the school and council.” 

Everyone was silent upon hearing the devastating news. 

The wonderful taste in Satoru’s mouth from the mochi soured. His eyes glared at the table and he slipped his glasses off the bridge of his nose. He stood up from the table and looked at Shoko and Suguru telling them, “Let’s go. We wasted enough time here.” 

Shoko stood up hurriedly and Suguru followed after him with a look of regret. Damn, if only he described that pit in his stomach. If only Suguru went after that dreaded feeling. [Name] was dead now, she had been for two hours. They could have found her. They could have helped her. 

……

The drive up the mountain was long and silent. No one spoke a word to one another. The three of them were blaming themselves for their lack of urgency, strength and awareness. 

The car stopped and bright lights lit up the crime scene. Satoru was the first one out of the car and his shades were back on his face hiding his anger and sadness. “I know this could be difficult, but Masamichi wants you to examine her body. He doesn’t trust the men sent over here.” Suguru spoke softly to the short haired girl and she nodded. 

She got out of the car and closed the door behind her with trembling hands. Shoko watched Satoru walk past men with his head held high, his only goal to reach the girl that he promised he would help. She woke herself from the dip of reality and began to follow his footsteps. 

Her brown eyes widened a bit seeing that [Name] was still laying in her spot of death. Her wounded back was facing her and one arm was outstretched like a call for help. [Name]’s uniform was scuffed and soaked in her blood. 

Shoko was standing above [Name]’s body with relaxed breathing. She had to keep her cool and do her job. It was obvious Masamichi knew something was different today. There was a reason why Shoko was asked to look after her body.

She pulled out a pair of gloves from her pocket and put them on. Her hands were no longer shaking and she pulled [Name] forward to look at her back. She was stabbed five times here. Then she pushed her body back lightly. The dead girl laying on her back and her face looking up at the stars. 

Shoko took note of her bloodied nose, but she didn’t see any visible harm done towards it. Her nose looked perfectly fine. Then her hands moved down toward her abdomen where she was stabbed two times. “I’m so sorry, [Name],” Shoko apologized quietly. 

Her bloodied hands used two fingers to feel a pulse, but there was nothing left. The sign of life was nowhere to be found. “Fuck,” she whispered with an exhale. [Name] was really gone. 

“If you’re done now, miss, I’ll be taking her.” 

Shoko opened up her eyes and looked at the complete stranger that had a stretcher out for [Name]’s body. “W-who are you?” Shoko asked, scooting closer to [Name]’s body. This guy’s energy was raising red flags everywhere. 

“I am the coroner specified to look after [L.Name] [Name]’s body. I let you look at her body, but now it’s my turn to do my job.” 

Shoko shook her head and denied him, “No, she’s going back to Jujutsu Tech. Her body was to be closely examined there.” 

The man sneered and pointed at the two men next to the stretcher, “Pick this body up and deliver it to the Zen’in’s now.” He wasn’t going to listen to a girl, she would be stupid enough to question authority. And he didn’t have time for it.  

Shoko watched one man grab [Name]’s arms and the other her legs. To this, Shoko hugged [Name]’s cold body and shouted, “No, you can’t take her! She’s not yours or that cruel Zen’in she rejected rightfully!” 

Her outburst caught the boys attention and Satoru was standing right behind the man directing all of this. He took his glasses off for the second time that day and warned the three men, “If you don’t let go of her body, I’ll make sure to stuff you three into one bag and send it to the Zen’in Household. I’ll even send them a card with a nice little message on it signed by Gojo Satoru.” 

The two men holding [Name]’s limbs immediately let go and rushed away with mumbled apologies coming from their mouths. Shoko huffed and the man talking to her walked away with a scowl on his face. He would have to report this immediately to the Zen’in Head. 

“Shoko, I can take her now.” 

She looked up and saw Satoru staring at her with soft blue eyes. His clean hands were outstretched towards her to receive [Name]’s body. Shoko whispered ‘thanks’ and let Satoru pick up [Name]’s lifeless body. Her head was resting on Satoru’s shoulders and the rest of her body was held close to his chest. 

Shoko noticed the tender look in his eyes, the way he looked at [Name] with a longing. 

“Let’s go home.” 

Shoko heard Satoru whisper gently to [Name] and Shoko felt deep remorse in her soul. If only they had listened to Suguru and went straight towards her location. If only, if only, if only, if-

“Hey.” 

Shoko stood up and looked to her left to see Suguru clamp his hand onto her shoulder, “This is not our fault. [Name] knows that too, so let’s not push ourselves over the edge.”

Shoko nodded her head and wiped her eyes before the tears would fall. Suguru was right. The ones at fault were the murderers and she had an idea on who it was that killed her. 

……

Satoru sat in the passenger seat with [Name]’s body in his arms. He held onto her cold body tightly afraid she was going to disappear in a puddle of petals. Her sticky blood had seeped into mind, reminding him of how much she went through.

It was a long and uncomfortable ride for the three students. Again none of them said a word to one another. Too afraid of what was going to be said or what wasn’t. 

His blue eyes looked at every inch of her body. His six eyes examined her state and really confirmed that she had passed away. Her healing capabilities were beyond helping her. 

“Satoru, we’re here.” 

Satoru looked away from [Name]’s peaceful expression and looked to his right to see Suguru’s hands on the open car door. The white haired male stepped out and was greeted by their teacher, Nanami and Haibara. 

Their grim expressions said everything Satoru needed to see. Everyone was just as heartbroken as he was for losing [Name]. His long legs took them up the steps of Jujutsu Tech with everyone following after them. 

They all knew where Satoru was bringing [Name]’s body and no one was going to argue with the strongest. He was followed into the garden maze and he laid her body at the center where roses of all colors surrounded her body immediately. 

He brushed a lock of hair out of her face and sadly smiled down at her peaceful look. She was so beautiful despite being covered in blood and dirt. [Name] looked so serene through it all. He could only imagine the pain she went through.

Yes, my child did go through a lot of pain.

Satoru looked up from his kneeling position and was just as astounded as his peers for staring at the spirit of a goddess. Nami was showing herself to meet humans, they weren’t so sure Nami was actually real. The sad look on Nami’s face confirmed to everyone that [Name] was really gone. But Satoru already knew that with his six eyes. 

She begged for that monster to stop the pain. But like my own tormentor, he did not care. He stabbed my poor girl seven times as a lucky omen to his god.

Nami’s spirit kneeled in front of Satoru’s, both of them on either side of [Name]. Nami’s hands touched [Name]’s face and all the blood began to disappear within an instant. 

“Did she…” Satoru swallowed the lump in his throat. He was afraid to hear the answer from the goddess if he asked his question. Did she call out for me? 

Nami looked up from [Name]’s face and into the blue eyes of her child’s crush. 

No, she didn't. Her mind was too busy with the pain and suffering. But she did think of you before she left. She thought of your blue eyes and white hair. Your smile and the sound you made when you laughed.  And the thought of never seeing you again. 

Satoru clenched his teeth and balled his hands up into fists. His anger was getting the best of him and he wanted to try bargaining with the goddess to save [Name], but he knew she wouldn't have wanted that. So he took the seedling out of his pocket and held it out to the goddess. 

“Take this. For some reason, [Name]’s blessed energy was lingering on this.” Satoru grumbled. 

Nami’s irises shook upon seeing the seedling in his palm. Then she looked at the humans behind Satoru who all held looks of gloom on their faces. Nami was going to let [Name]’s soul rest after the tragedy she went through. But the world needed her and it was obvious so did her friends, her new family. 

Thank you, Gojo Satoru. 

Nami swiped the seedling out of his palm and began singing a lullaby. Her voice was capturing everybody in a trance as she planted the seedling by the podium of her protected soul. 

The bush grew with long vines and two balls of light danced around Nami’s feet. She grabbed the  [f.color] ball of light and hugged it tightly. The music and her voice was so clear in their heads. 

Then Nami walked over to [Name]’s body and pressed the ball of light into her chest where it disappeared into. A gentle smile was on Nami’s face, the singing voice fading softly as she said She won’t remember the tragic events of today. It’s best not to remind her. 

Satoru looked from [Name]’s healing body to Nami, “Are you saying that she will be alright? That she’s-” 

Nami laughed and nodded her head, It’s way too early for this precious soul to come home. But promise me that this time around you’ll protect her, Gojo Satoru?

Satoru nodded his head and said easily, “I promise.” 

Nami’s soul and the other ball of light retreated away leaving the garden in complete darkness again with the full moon being the only source of light. Everyone crowded around [Name]’s body hearing the conversation between Nami and Satoru loud and clear.

A few minutes went by and Haibara looked around the circle with a nervous smile, “She’s supposed to wake up right?” 

“Nami didn’t really specify when, idiot.” Nanami nudged Haibara away from his face with an open palm. This didn’t deter Haibara though as he crouched down by [Name]’s head and cupped his hands around his mouth. 

“IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP, SLEEPY HEAD!” 

“Haibara! You idiot, that’s not going to work!” Nanami scolded and whacked Haibara at the back of his head. The teenager laughed and shrugged his shoulders saying that it was worth a try. 

Meanwhile the second years pondered about how long [Name] would take to keep sleeping. Shoko put her fingers on her wrist and sighed in relief, “Her heart is beating and her breathing is coming to. It looks like she’s just sleeping.”

“We’re lucky that we have a goddess on our side or else we could have lost [Name],” Suguru commented lightly, sitting down next to a quiet Satoru. 

The white haired male agreed with a nod of his head. His hands combed through his hair and he laughed lightly, “We did lose her…for a while. I only brought her body here based on a feeling and that feeling was only because of the seedling. Her soul had transferred over to that seed.” 

Before everyone could ask what he meant by that, [Name] woke up with a groan and yawn. Her body stretched out and everybody dodged her flying limbs. “Careful there, sleeping beauty!” Haibara shouted with an energetic laugh. 

[Name] opened her eyes and looked at everyone strangely, “Alright who dragged me out here?” She sat up and couldn’t help, but notice the tears in Haibara’s and Shoko’s eyes. “Is everything- oomph!” She was enveloped in a giant hug by those two and she looked at the four with confusion. 

“Don’t worry about them. It’s Shoko’s time of the month,” Suguru joked while Nanami nodded his head, “Yes, same for Haibara.” 

[Name] released a laugh and hugged her friends back, “Geez, guys give me some space! I was only sleeping for a bit. Oh man, my back is so sore.” [Name] yawned into her hand and was let go from the hug. 

Her eyes scanned her surroundings and asked, “Why are we in Nami’s Garden? This is a sacred place for the goddess. You can’t just bother her for a prank!” [Name] put the blame on Haibara immediately and pulled on his ear. In turn, Haibara laughed out loud and didn’t mind the small punishment from his classmate. 

“Actually Satoru was setting up a nice star gazing night for you all and I gave him permission,” Masamichi said, walking out of the garden exit. 

[Name] tilted her head and looked at Satoru for the first time since she came back to life, “Huh? Is that true Gojo-senpai?” Her innocence was going to be the death of him. The white haired male crossed his arms over his chest and mumbled, “Yeah.” 

It was supposed to be just them two though. Back when she didn’t die though. 

“What a great idea! Let’s go get snacks at the vending machine!” Haibara shouted and began dragging Nanami with him. He walked away with a cheesy smile on his face rubbing the heck out of his ear.

“Shoko, let’s go join them,” Suguru walked behind the duo and she followed quickly telling [Name] that they’ll be back with blankets and pillows as well. 

“Hey Gojo-senpai, you seem off tonight. You’re very quiet,” [Name] observed and stood up from the bed of flowers that was shaped oddly around her body. She didn’t have time to dwell on it because her upperclassman sighed as he uncrossed his arms. 

“Stop calling me Gojo-senpai and just call me Satoru. We’re almost the same age, you just enrolled a little too late into the school, okay?” 

He sounded exasperated and this made [Name] stifle a laugh with her hand. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t know it bothered you that much, uh, Satoru.” A blush spread across her cheeks and she looked away from his vibrant blue eyes. 

Satoru couldn’t believe he was actually doing this, but he already lost her. This wasn’t going to hurt him at all. So he walked up to her and enveloped her into a hug again, but this time she was warm. This time he turned his infinity off. 

He wanted to feel all of her and she noticed it too. 

“What did I do to earn you trust, Satoru? Your infinity is down for this hug of ours,” [Name] commented softly, her chin barely resting on his shoulder. 

Satoru thought hard about his words and he pulled back to let his right hand caress her cheek, “Your energy is very inviting and I feel…safe around you.” 

[Name] hummed with a cheeky smile, “That’s a lame excuse, Gojo-senpai.” 

“Hey! What happened to calling me Satoru?” He pouted and his shoulders slumped. 

“Maybe if you admit the truth, I’ll go back to calling you by your first name,” She teased. 

“Maybe this will answer your question” Satoru whispered and brought his face closer to hers. She could feel his breath fan across her lips before he dipped further in feeling her lips on top of his. [Name] couldn’t believe it. 

Satoru was actually kissing her. THE Gojo Satoru was kissing her in Nami’s Garden. This definitely had to be a dream. So she took advantage of it. She pressed back with the same amount of enthusiasm which caused Satoru to chuckle lightheartedly in this kiss. 

He pulled back with that beautiful look on his face, “Eager are we?” 

“I’m just making sure it’s not a dream. It felt like I was sleeping for a long time, Satoru,” She whispered with a sad shine in her eyes. 

Satoru quickly noticed this and he pulled her head into his chest, “No, no. You were fine all along.” He didn’t dare look into her tearful eyes, he couldn’t admit to her that she was dead for hours. He didn’t dare tell her of the monster that brutally murdered her. “Your body just needed that real good rest, you know? We all do at some point.” 

[Name] didn’t question why he was acting this way. Why did he ignore the look in her eyes? All she knew was that the kiss was amazing and being in his arms felt safe, like she belonged for once. She hugged him back tightly and whispered, “Thank you, Satoru.” 

She had no idea what she was thanking him for, but she felt the need. 

Satoru rubbed his hand down her back and replied with, “Of course.” His eyes stared intently at the rose that glittered with a bright shine. It was like Nami was giving him approval of his slight confession. He closed his eyes and smiled, thanking Nami again for being the one to actually save [Name]. 

..........

SONGS THAT INSPIRED THIS CHAPTER

Isabella's Lullaby by Takahiro Obata

Just a Man by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

[glorious-spoon]

Thinking about the prompt "no, you’ll get an infection." since I just saw a gifset of our beloved firemen ripping open packages with their teeth. 😄

thank you! have a bit of established-relationship dorks on a very serious rescue mission.

-

"Buck," Eddie says, in the deeply patient tone that means he's refraining from adding, what the fuck is wrong with you. Buck's found that most people have a version of that tone, at least around him. Eddie doesn't employ his all that often; most of the time, Eddie is on board with pretty much anything Buck suggests. Digging around in storm drains for a missing stuffed animal is the limit, apparently.

"I've almost got it," Buck says, twisting slightly to wedge his shoulder against the grate. His fingers just brush the soggy synthetic fur of the small purple stuffed rabbit a few feet down.

"Isn't this how that kid lost his arm in that movie?"

He twists back to stare up at Eddie, who is backlit by the midday sun with the carnival spread out behind him. His hands are on his hips and his expression is half-amused, half-exasperated. "What?"

"Pennywise? Evil clown monster that lives in the sewers and eats children? It's based on a Stephen King novel."

"I repeat," Buck says. "What?"

"Right, I forgot that you don't watch anything other than nature documentaries and whatever Christopher adds to your Netflix queue."

"Bold words for a guy who's memorized every single telenovela from the past twenty years."

Eddie scoffs. "Come on. Who knows what's down there, you're not even wearing gloves, you're going to slice your hand open on some grimy piece of metal and get an infection."

"I'm being careful." Buck turns his head to squint down into the storm drain. It's too dark to see much of anything other than the faintly oily glimmer of water. There are cigarette butts and greasy fast food wrappers floating in it, and it doesn't smell great, but he's definitely dealt with grosser over the course of his career. Besides. He's so close. If he just stretches—

His fingers brush the rabbit's ear again. It topples over into the grimy water with a splash, and Buck swears under his breath. The toy is now half-submerged and several inches out of reach no matter how much he stretches.

"Buck," Eddie says again, softer. "Come on. It's just a stuffed animal."

"That Christopher won."

A sigh. "He's thirteen. I don't think this is going to break his heart, sweetheart."

Buck knows that this is probably objectively true. Chris was gleefully triumphant about winning at balloon darts even after Eddie grumbled about rigged games, but the stuffed rabbit itself seemed like an afterthought. He shoved it into Buck's hands with a quick grin before going off with his friends twenty minutes ago, and Buck is—stupid, probably, for the fact that this is sort of breaking his heart.

He hasn't thought about that giant stuffed bear that they won at the pier, the one that must have washed out to sea along with half of the Los Angeles coastline, in years. He doesn't even know if Christopher remembers it. He was little. And it wasn't exactly the most memorable part of the day. The little stuffed rabbit, which fits in the palm of Buck's hand—and incidentally, between the holes of a storm drain grate—makes a much more convenient souvenir. And it felt kind of—nice, having a sort of redo on that, even if Chris doesn't remember.

But Eddie's right. Short of trying to pry up the grate cover—which he could absolutely do, if he had a halligan handy—there's no way he's going to reach it. He sighs, resting his forehead on the metal frame, then wriggles his arm out of the grate and sits back on his heels, defeated. "Okay, fine. You win."

There's no response. When he turns around, Eddie is nowhere to be seen. Feeling more than a little put-out, Buck straightens up and looks around. It's not that crowded here, but there are enough passers-by that Buck's been getting a few strange looks, which he's been ignoring. The two streets to his left are closed-off for the carnival; to his right is a black-and-white parked across the median with a bored-looking beat cop directing traffic, and a couple of sanitation workers in hi-vis vests. Eddie is talking to one of them, but he glances back like he can tell Buck is watching him.

Buck spreads his hands in question, and Eddie holds up a finger, turning back toward the guy he was just talking to. Buck slumps, then sits down on the curb, staring forlornly at the storm drain.

A moment later, footsteps approach.

"Come on, stop pouting, scoot over," Eddie says as his shadow falls across Buck.

"I'm not pouting," Buck grumbles, but he scoots over.

"Sure you're not," Eddie says agreeably, sitting down next to him. "Here. You think this'll work?"

Buck blinks at him, then looks down at the trash picker Eddie is holding out to him, which has LA - DPW scrawled down one side in Sharpie. "Did you…"

"I mean, I had to give them a whole sob story, so you might as well try it," Eddie says, wrapping his hand around Buck's knee and jostling him gently. Buck takes the picker, then laughs, dropping his forehead to Eddie's shoulder.

"Sob story, huh?"

"Just saying. Probably more sanitary than trying to stick your bare hand down a storm drain."

"I love you," Buck tells him, and he feels Eddie's shoulder shake slightly with laughter before he straightens up.

"Love you too," he says. "Now come on, let's get started on this rescue operation. Though I think our patient is gonna need a thorough hose-down before we can transport him."

Buck snickers into Eddie's shirt. His eyes aren't wet, because that would be dumb. He rubs his cheek against the warm cotton anyway before lifting his head. "You're such a dork."

Eddie grins at him, ruffled and lovely in the afternoon sunlight. "Just trying to follow proper triage protocol here."

"Dork," Buck repeats, but he leans in to steal a brief kiss before they get the rescue operation underway.