#shit giving. instead of again. just saying no. or hell. checking on me.

[lilgynt]

naturally i’m gonna be very upset at 6:09 am after an all-nighter over my brother and his actions

[rogueddie]

It takes Steve an embarassingly long moment to realise that the spray isn't doing anything. He tries shaking it… nothing. He even checks by spraying it on his hand, shaking it again. Nothing.

He tries listening as he shakes it again and, though he's sure there's some product still left inside, nothing will come out.

He reluctantly throws it in the little trash can, just next to the toilet door. He doesn't bother rooting through the draws or cabinets either; he'd used the last of his emergency powder kit yesterday. There's nothing left.

He huffs, folding his arms, glaring at his reflection. Specifically at the very overgrown, bright blond roots of his hair.

It brings up the same anxiety he's been having for the past month. It's taken him a long time to save up for his usual hairdressers. He hadn't thought it would take so long but, with the kids and now Robin and Eddie, it shouldn't be that surprising.

Robin often pays a good chunk for things too, often paying him gas money, but it's usually him paying for everything. And now that he's paying rent in his own little appartment? He's not often left with that much at the end of the month.

He's starting to think it's not worth the trip. But he isn't going to start using box dye or anything cheap. He's spent a long time taking care of his hair, spent just as long struggling to find the right products too.

He doesn't even care that the kids and Robin mock him for it, he has great hair and, screw it, he's proud. He's not going to damage it by getting bad hair dye.

He's already booked his next hairdresser appointment for the next day, already saved up gas money too. He might as well ask for bleach instead, go back to his natural color and save himself from anymore days with overgrown roots.

He almost regrets the idea when he gets to work.

"Holy shit, you're a natural blond?" Robins grin looks almost painful with how wide it is. She's a little too excited for his comfort. "I don't know how I didn't guess before. This explains so much. How have you kept this hidden for so long? It's so light!"

"Don't you have work to do?" He bats her hand away when she, again, reaches for his hair.

"Not anymore. Why do you dye it? How did it grow out so much? When did you start hiding it? Did someone pressure you into it? They didn't make fun of you, did they? Because I will hunt them down and-"

"No one made me dye it or bullied me into it," he huffs. He can feel his attempt at a cool demeaner soften with how quickly she jumps to his defense. "I just... I never liked it. I don't think it suits me. Brunettes are cute."

"Are you dyeing it again?"

"Probably not. The hairdresser I go to isn't exactly cheap."

"You can get box dye at-"

"I'm not using box dye."

"It's not that bad, and if you really hate the blond-"

Steve swats at her when she reaches for his hair again. With a heavy sigh, he braces himself for the shift full of questions and jokes of 'betrayal'.

Like he suspected, they don't get much work done.

When Eddie comes in, towards the end of their shift, Steve is almost relieved.

"Stop bullying him without me," Eddie complains.

"Thank you," Steve says, whilst Robin boos. "What is it tonight? Movie night with Wayne or some of the kids?"

But Eddie is frozen, staring at his hair.

"I think he's broken," Robin says after a pause.

"You're blond?" Eddie blinks. "When did you go blond?"

"Always have been," Steve shrugs. "Just... not dyeing it anymore."

"Oh."

Steve and Robin stare at him. They share a glance after a moment.

"You here for a movie?" Steve asks.

"What? Me? No, I- just stopping by. And you're... yeah. I'm gonna- I've got to go. Wayne is waiting and... you know. Bye."

He turns around and practically runs out the store. His wheels squeal a little as he drives out, most likely breaking the speed limit.

"Did he just..." Robin starts, trailing off with a frown.

"Unbelievable," Steve shakes his head. "Just when I give up, he realizes that he likes me too! What the hell, Bob. Is he only into blonds or something?"

[navybrat817]

Sundresses and Leather

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: Your first date with Bucky doesn't go as planned, but that makes it all the more special. Word Count: Over 4.7k Warnings: First date, tension, flirting, brief moments of insecurity, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. Previous Part of AU: Sweet and Strong A/N: More Hottie and Sugar from our Sin on Skin AU. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you for spitballing), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Tonight was the night. You were going out with Bucky Barnes. Excited for the date was a bit of an understatement. You may have told a few customers you had a date when they wished you a good day.

Thank God they were mostly regulars and seemed happy on my behalf.

"Maybe a sundress isn't nice enough," you told Tess, regretting the words the moment they left your mouth. She didn’t need to deal with you and your overthinking. Again.

"It's plenty nice. You’re going to look amazing,” she argued, going to check on the next batch of cookies. “And he can lift the skirt and bury his-"

"I thought you said I didn't have to get laid on my first date with him," you cut her off.

"You don't have to, but the visual alone will give him something for his spank bank later."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," you smiled, but it quickly faltered.

You weren’t sure why a cloud drifted over your sunny disposition. Bucky was a good guy, a far cry from Richard. Gorgeous, kind, hardworking, the whole package. There was chemistry between the two of you that went beyond mere attraction. Maybe it was the fact that you were falling hard and fast for him that suddenly made you so nervous. You didn’t want to scare him away.

But he said he couldn’t stop thinking about me and he wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it.

Tess gave you a pointed look. “Stop overthinking. I’m begging you.”

“I’m not trying to,” you sighed, your nerves almost tempting you to grab a treat from the case. “What if I fall on my face?”

“Like Bucky would let you hit the ground. Even if you do stumble, that’s life. It isn’t going to change the fact that he likes you,” she said as you helped her with the cookies. You still had work to do. “The guy said he can’t get you off his mind and to text him whenever you want. He does not strike me as the type to just say those things and I know he doesn’t strike you as that type either.”

It took a moment, but your smile came back. She was right. Life wasn’t perfect and you were far from it, but Bucky liked you just as you are. Tonight would be unforgettable no matter what.

“I appreciate the pep talk,” you said, thankful that she told you what you needed to hear. “I’ll even tell you the dirty details if anything happens.”

“Hell yeah, you will. Remember, at this point, I’m living vicariously through you until I find my own hunk,” she winked. “But I mean it. Have fun tonight and get your man.”

I will.

After your shift, you rushed to change for your date. You somehow managed to arrive a few minutes early outside of Bucky's shop and took a deep breath to get yourself under control. Catching your reflection in the window, you smiled before you turned away. Since Bucky hadn’t given you any hint for what you were doing, you chose your nicest sundress and kept your makeup minimal. You looked and felt beautiful, though you wished you would’ve brought a jacket with you.

Maybe Bucky will let me borrow his if he has one.

“Holy shit.”

You spun around when you heard Bucky’s voice behind you, your heart fluttering as he met you on the sidewalk. Instead of the jeans you usually saw him in, he wore khakis, a button up shirt, and a blue blazer that matched his eyes. He had his hair down, perfectly parted on the right side. You were so busy staring at the broad, handsome man that it took you a moment to realize he was trying to hand you something.

Flowers.

“Sorry. You just… wow,” he said as you took the small bouquet, sweeping his gaze over you as your cheeks grew warm. “You look so beautiful.”

You giggled and quickly covered your mouth with your hand, butterflies in your stomach when he gently smiled. “Don’t apologize,” you smiled back, taking a moment to smell the flowers. “You look pretty ‘holy shit’ yourself.”

His nose scrunched as he laughed and offered you his hand. “So, you’re telling me I clean up well. Steve insisted on the blazer when I said I wanted to bring my leather jacket.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Though I wouldn’t have minded the leather jacket,” you said. He would’ve looked gorgeous, as always. “And thank you for suggesting we meet here. We had a last minute order and I was scrambling."

"It's no problem. One of my clients was running a few minutes late and I almost had to take you out in jeans."

"I wouldn't have minded," you said. You both worked hard and understood that things would come up from time to time. "So, where are we headed?"

He cleared his throat as he led you to his car. “Well, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Your stomach dropped a little. “Mmm. Bad news first,” you said after a moment. “Always better to end on a high note.”

“Bad news was I had planned to take you out on my motorcycle so we could have a picnic in the park. There was going to be live music and I would’ve asked you to dance,” he explained, looking up at the sky. “But…”

“The weather called for a storm tonight, didn’t it?” you mused, a wistful smile on your face when he nodded. The image of being in his arms under the stars as music drifted through the air made your heart skip a beat. It sounded like the perfect evening.

“Yeah. The band is rescheduling,” he said, tucking his hair behind his ear as he looked at the ground. “Then I thought I could take you to this art gallery nearby. They normally have these stunning paintings of landscapes and various statues, but the current exhibit is on human sexuality and reproduction. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but maybe it was too much for a first date.”

“Oh, come on. It couldn’t have been that bad,” you argued as he stopped and took out his phone.

“No?” he asked, tapping his screen before he showed you what you assumed was the page for the gallery.

“…That’s a giant dick,” you said before you could stop yourself, tilting your head as you stared at the phone. “And does that say BALLS?”

An older woman crossing in the opposite direction gave you an amused stare before you and Bucky burst into a fit of laughter. You had to hold on his arm to keep from collapsing on the ground. It was the funniest thing you had seen since you could remember and to think you almost saw it in person.

This date is off to a great start.

“Maybe I wanted to see a giant dick and balls,” you said once you caught your breath, pointing at him when he opened his mouth. “And don’t say ‘all I have to do is pull down my pants’ or something like that.”

But I know he has a big dick. I know.

He smirked as he started walking again. “Only if you ask me nicely, Sugar.”

He’s going to kill my ovaries.

“I’ll ask you very nicely, Hottie,” you teased, wondering exactly where you were going then. “If that was the bad news, what’s the good news?”

“I managed to get us a reservation at one of the nicest restaurants in town,” he said, standing a bit taller.

He’s trying to impress me.

“That's really nice. And I’m sure dinner will be amazing,” you assured him, hoping he didn’t beat himself up over having to change his plans. It wasn’t his fault it was going to rain. He could’ve taken you to a fast food place and it would’ve been fine because you were with him.

“Speaking of, I better get us there so we aren’t late,” he said, opening the door for you to get in. “Maybe if you agree to a second date, I can take you out on my bike and have that picnic.”

“I’d love that,” you smiled, carefully putting the flowers in your lap and trying not to appear too eager that he was already thinking of a second date. You glanced around the car when he got in and drove off, noticing it was cleaner than when he took you home days prior.

Did he clean it for me?

You grinned as he hummed along to the radio, watching as he drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. “You could’ve made it as a musician if you weren’t a tattoo artist.”

“Now you’re just flattering me, Sugar,” he said. “Believe it or not, if I wasn’t a tattoo artist, I would’ve liked to be a science teacher. I loved science and everything space related growing up.”

“Really?” you asked. He would’ve been a wonderful teacher, no matter what age group he taught. “Okay. That’s another date night.”

“What? Playing teacher?” he joked, taking his eyes off the road for a second to wink at you.

“No,” you giggled, carefully shoving his arm since he was driving. “We’re going to a science museum. That's our third date. I’m going to watch you happily geek out over everything.”

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing at you after he parked the car. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah, I would. I think it would be a blast.”

I just want to spend time with you.

A soft expression took over his features when he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips lightly brushed your skin, heat pooling in your gut as he made eye contact with you. The look alone made you want to skip dinner and go right to dessert. Why not throw caution to the wind?

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised before he got out.

You exhaled slowly and mentally told your libido to calm down. At the very least, you had to get through dinner. He went through the trouble of getting a reservation at a nice place and you weren’t about to take that away from him.

“Oh, wow. I haven’t been here before,” you said once you got a look at the name. Richard used to brag about the place, but never actually took you. From what you remember, he said the food was supposed to be expensive. You didn’t want Bucky to splurge on you.

“I haven’t either,” Bucky admitted. A fancy place didn’t seem like his style. “But it looked romantic.”

You bit your lip as he opened the door, the flickering candlelight in the entryway alone providing an intimate ambience. The date may not have been what he planned, but he clearly did his research and put thought into doing something nice for you. When was the last time someone tried to do something nice for you? When did anyone go out of their way to make you feel special?

“Hello,” Bucky said as the hostess greeted you. “Reservation for two under James.”

James?

The hostess scanned her screen before she looked up. “I’m sorry. That name isn’t coming up.”

Bucky’s cheeks turned pink when you glanced at him. “It should be under James, miss. James Barnes. Reservation for two for 7pm. I spoke with Charles. He confirmed it.”

You moved closer to Bucky when the hostess searched through her screen again. As calm as he sounded, you sensed he was anything but inside. You hoped he wasn’t embarrassed. Maybe she skipped over his name. A simple mistake.

“Charles did make a reservation for you, but he entered it for 7pm next Friday,” she said as she looked between the two of you. “We’re fully booked tonight. I'm sorry, James.”

Oh, no.

There was a tick in Bucky’s jaw before he shook his head and you wanted nothing more than to hug him. “No, that’s… It’s for tonight.”

“I’m so sorry. I can see if we can squeeze a table in for you, but it’ll be at least an hour,” she said, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. She probably expected one or both of you to make a scene. "I can get my manager?"

Bucky swallowed when he looked at you, his cheeks still pink. The candlelight danced in his eyes, but all you saw was sadness. No. You wouldn't allow that. This was your first date and it was going to be amazing.

You put a hand on his arm, his muscles relaxing under your touch. "It's okay. I know this amazing place that’s right around the corner."

"Are you sure?" he asked, the hostess visibly relaxing when you nodded.

"You have a good evening," you said to the hostess and tugged Bucky back toward the door. "I'm sure. Trust me. We may even beat the rain if we walk now."

“Okay,” he said, avoiding your gaze as you left. “Fuck. This is the worst first date, isn’t it?”

Your heart broke for him. All he wanted was to give you a nice evening and everything he tried fell through. “Not even close. And you have nothing to apologize for. Charles messed up the reservation, Hottie, not you.”

“Yeah, he did,” he said, his lip tugging like he wanted to smile. “I just really wanted tonight to be special and since I couldn’t give you the date I planned, I wanted to at least give you something nice. I couldn't even do that.”

Hearing that made you stop, even when you felt the first raindrop. "Tonight is special because you're spending time with me. That's all I wanted," you promised, squeezing his hand for good measure.

"That's really all?" he asked as he squeezed your hand in return.

"Well, not completely," you teased as another raindrop landed on your shoulder. "Maybe a kiss at the end of our date."

A wide smile formed on his face as he leaned in, not quite kissing you. "Whatever you want, Sugar."

As romantic as it was to stand on the sidewalk with him, the rain began to come down harder and had you rushing with him around the corner. “If you're still disappointed, you’ll feel much better when we eat. Antonia’s has the best food,” you said, holding out your hand in a grand gesture as you arrived. “Tada!”

Antonia's was a bit of a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. Not extraordinary on the outside, but lively and bright on the inside. The food and service were top notch. It was one of your favorite places.

“Wait, Antonia's?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes. “This is where you’re taking me?”

“Yeah,” you replied, suddenly nervous as you faced him. Did he not like it? “Is this okay?”

“This is one of my new favorite restaurants,” he said.

No way.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I designed one of Antonia's tattoos. And I decided to check out the place."

He's full of surprises.

"Then you know you're in for a treat," you winked.

The hearty aroma of the restaurant filled the air as you went inside and wiped some of the rain off your dress. Antonia was speaking with the hostess as you went up to the stand. The owner was involved in virtually every part of her restaurant.

"Welcome to…" Antonia began as she looked at you, then at Bucky, then back at you. "Oh! You two… it's a date!"

Antonia looks so happy.

"Hi. And yes. We're on a date," you giggled when Bucky sheepishly smiled. It was sweet. "You wouldn't happen to have a table for two available, would you?"

Antonia put her hand over her heart and flagged down a waiter with the other. "Lover's special for these two. Go."

You exchanged a look with Bucky, who appeared just as confused as you were. "Lover's special?"

"Yes, yes. Come with me," she said, patting Bucky's cheek before she took you through the restaurant. You expected her to seat you at one of the few empty tables, but she passed them to take you to a door in the back. "Tonight is special and that means a special dinner."

Your eyes widened at the sight before you once she opened the door. There was a lone table in the middle of the room, flowers similar to the bouquet Bucky gave you sat in the center. Unlike the bright main room, the dimmed lights gave the room a romantic glow.

Perfect.

"Peter will serve you. And if you need anything, just ask, okay?" Antonia asked, putting her hand over her heart again. Were there tears in her eyes? "Two of my favorite customers. Together! Enjoy!"

You had to pause and swallow the lump in your throat once she left you alone. A restaurant owner showed more enthusiasm for your date than your mom did for anything that involved you. She likely never would.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, pulling out your chair.

"I'm fine," you replied, refusing to let the thought of your mom damper the evening. "A little chilly. I should've brought a sweater with me."

Bucky removed his blazer and put it around you, tenderness in his blue eyes as he rubbed your arms. "I can't wait to see you in my leather jacket," he said, helping you take your seat before he took his.

Oh, he's going to give me his jacket? Am I going to only wear his jacket? Fuck.

"Thank you," you said, inhaling as he rolled up one of his sleeves beneath the elbow and then the other. You reached across the table to lightly trace one of the tattoos on his right arm. "It was nice of Antonia to put us back here."

"Then why did you look so sad when she left?"

He caught that?

"She just looked so happy to see us together and I didn't expect that. It's nice that someone is rooting for us," you said, tracing your finger along his wrist before you stopped. "I'm sorry. I should've asked before I started touching."

"Don't apologize. I like your touch," he said in a low voice.

You lifted your gaze, seeing fire in his eyes that had nothing to do with the dim lighting. When he turned his hand over to hold yours, you made no move to pull away. You wished you could put your hands all over him.

"Hi! I'm Peter!" The waiter greeted as he brought water to the table. Bucky didn't let go of your hand. "I'll be taking care of you tonight."

"Only one taking care of my girl tonight is me," Bucky said. As much as you loved hearing that, you were glad he gave poor Peter a tiny smile so he could relax. "I'm kidding. It's good to see you, Peter."

"Y-You, too, Mr. Barnes. And you, Miss. You have the best cupcakes in town."

"Thanks," you smiled, quickly putting in your order before you gazed at Bucky. "So, James. Tell me more about you. How long have you been friends with Steve?"

"James is my first name. Everyone calls me Bucky," he chuckled before he shook his head. "And that punk."

You smiled softly as you listened to Bucky, not at all surprised by how easily the conversation went. Steve was his best friend since childhood and they served together before they went into business together. It was evident that he took pride in his shop and respected everyone who worked there. He carried the same affection in his tone when he spoke about his sister, Rebecca. He liked to frequent art galleries with Steve, but also enjoyed riding his bike, reading, and everything science in his spare time.

I could listen to him talk for hours.

"You know, you haven't said much about yourself," he pointed out as he set his napkin on his empty plate.

"I haven't?" You asked.

"No, you haven't and I don't want to monopolize the conversation," he said, leaning forward to give you his full attention. "I want to know more about you."

You tightened the blazer around you, unsure of what to say. "My life isn't exactly exciting," you said, wishing you could think of something clever or fun to discuss.

"Doesn't have to be exciting. I just want to know you," he said before Peter showed back up.

"Would you like to look at the desert menu?" he asked as he took your plates away.

"I think you can bring the check. We're going to skip dessert," you answered, giving Bucky an assuring smile when he frowned. "Let's go to my shop instead."

If Bucky wanted to really know you, you had to tell him more of your story. Your bakery was the only place to do it. And it would be the perfect way to end the evening.

After you left the restaurant, with Antonia asking you to come back again, Bucky drove as safely as he could to the bakery. The rain didn't let up at all. You shrieked as you struggled to get the keys out of your purse, Bucky's blazer now soaked the longer you stood there. "Why didn't I get these out when I was still in your car?!" You shouted over the downpour.

"Why didn't I bring an umbrella?!" He yelled back, putting his hands over your head as if they would protect you.

The two of you practically fell through the door once you unlocked it and shut off the alarm. "We made it," you laughed, careful not to slip on the floor. He had his arm around you just in case. Tess was right, He wouldn't let you fall. "I'll get us some towels and you have your pick of any dessert I have in the fridge."

"You have any cupcakes?" He asked.

Your breath caught in your throat when you stepped back and caught the outline of multiple tattoos through his soaked shirt. "Yeah."

"See something you like?" he smirked, running a hand through his wet hair.

Fuck me.

"I do," you said, glancing down at yourself. "But I'm freezing and I owe you dessert."

Tess might also have words if I let Bucky ravage me by the front door.

You took Bucky to the kitchen and grabbed a few towels. It wouldn't dry you off completely, but it would help. You also put on some soft music. Not to set the mood necessarily, but just in case.

"So, this is where the magic happens," Bucky said, running the towel along his exposed skin.

"It is," you said, placing your hand on the counter. "You said you wanted to know me. It starts here."

"In the kitchen?"

"In the kitchen," you repeated, going to the fridge to take a container of cupcakes out. "I used to visit my grandparents every weekend when I was growing up. My dad wasn't around and my mom said it was for family quality time, but she never stuck around. The reality was that I cramped her style and she passed me off to them because she knew they wouldn't say no."

Bucky's jaw clenched as you let him take a cupcake. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," you said, gripping the lid tightly before you closed the container. "I remember crying because I wanted to take dance classes and try and make friends. My mom said I would be a terrible dancer and that it would be a waste of time and money. A great thing for a kid to hear, right?"

"Jesus," he whispered.

It wasn't exactly the happiest conversation to have, but you wanted to show Bucky a part of you that you didn't show to most people. "My grandma wiped my tears away and brought me into her kitchen. Said she had the perfect cure for the blues. Baking. And that's what we did every weekend until I got old enough to look after myself."

"Your grandma sounds amazing," he said, carefully examining the cupcake in his hand. "And baking became your passion."

"It did. She taught me to pour love into every creation I make. And that's what Tess and I do for others. If someone is having a bad day, at least they can have a treat and feel a little better," you said, pride in your eyes as you looked around. "My grandma supported my dream, but my mom almost disowned me for wanting to run this place. It isn't good enough in her eyes."

I'm not good enough.

Bucky's nostrils flared as he set the dessert down. "Your business isn't good enough for her? What the hell? It's flourishing. I can barely find a lull to come in to get some undivided attention. And your customers love you. She should be proud of you."

His defense of you was heartwarming. "Doesn't matter how successful my business is. She wanted me to marry rich, probably so she could get money from me, but I didn't. She berated me when I broke up with Richard. No matter what I do, I'm never going to be good enough in her eyes," you told him, patting the counter with your hand. "But this makes me happy and that's enough."

"That's why you were sad that Antonia was so happy about our date, wasn't it? Because your mom either doesn't or wouldn't support it," he guessed, reaching for you and pulling you into his arms. "She'll probably hate me. I'm not rich. Covered in tattoos."

"I don't care what she thinks of you. I don't need a rich guy or fancy dates. I just want someone who can provide companionship and support. Someone who respects and cares for me," you said, wrapping your arms around him. "A good, hard-working guy like you deserves the same."

It was too soon to voice it, but Bucky was the kind of man you needed in your life. Someone you could share parts of yourself with and know he wouldn't judge. A man who made your heart race beyond lust.

A partnership.

He stared deeply into your eyes and you had no idea what was going through his head, but his gaze told you so much. How could a pair of eyes be so expressive? "You're perfect, Sugar, and more than enough. You hear me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes before you blinked them away. He sounded sincere and unashamed at his declaration. You hadn't done anything to deserve such praise. "No, I'm not," you whispered.

"You are to me. You took a chance and asked me out. Soothed me when tonight didn't go the way I thought it would," he said, gripping your chin to recapture your gaze. "And you trusted me enough to share something vulnerable with me when you didn't have to. It means everything."

"I feel like I can open up to you," you said as the two of you slowly swayed to the beat. You couldn't remember why you were nervous about your date to begin with.

"And I'll take care of you. I mean it."

I hope he knows I'll take care of him, too.

"You know," you began with a soft smile. "Our first kiss was in your shop."

"It was," he smiled.

"So I think it's only fair that we have our second kiss in my shop," you said.

"You did say you wanted a kiss to end our date," he said, bringing a hand to the back of your neck, but giving you a chance to stop him.

You didn't.

Even though you expected it, you still gasped when he molded his mouth against yours. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, making you both eager and pliant as he licked his way across your lips. When he brushed his tongue against yours and took possession of your mouth, you mewled. Desire nearly blinded you from the taste of him.

I want more.

"I don't want our date to end," you breathed, clutching his arms to steady yourself.

"It doesn't have to," he said, resting a hand on your hip. His eyes were dark and full of want. To have him look at you that way, how could you possibly end the evening with one kiss? Why deny yourself what you both wanted?

"No, it doesn't," you agreed with a coy smile. "So. My place or yours?"

So. How do we think the evening will go? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[itsjusthockey]

A Hughes Affair - Jack Hughes

This might be my favorite and cutest shit I’ve wrote ever. Enjoy.

I’m bribing you. If I get lots of engagement (reblogs, comments, love in general) I’ll get nuts and do something crazy.

w.c: 4,541 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)

On a rare day off that you and Jack get to spend together, you’d think he would want to spend it latched together somewhere private, away from his daily chaos. You would be wrong. Instead, he insists you spend the day at your least favorite place, doing your least favorite activity. The fucking golf course.

You’re two drinks in, lounging uncomfortably on the golf cart as you watch Jack take a swing, the ball immediately flying off the green toward the tree line. You can’t help but let out a loud snort, which earns a nasty glare from your boyfriend.

“Huh? What was that?” He starts walking toward you with the club handle outstretched toward you. “Think you can do any better?”

You gently bat the handle away from you when he gets close enough. “Why do you think I’m in the cart, J?”

He gives you a small smile, bends down to capture your lips in a quick kiss, and then strides away again.

“That’s what I thought.”

You narrow your eyes, then let out the most dramatic sigh you can muster.

“I’m just saying, J, if you’re gonna insist we go golfing, you better perform.”

He rolls his eyes at you, walking back toward the cart, and sits down next to you, pointing toward the direction of the ball.

“(Y/N), my love, will you please take me toward the ball so I may prove I’m worthy of you?”

You smack his knee but put the cart in motion anyway, speeding toward the ball as fast as the golf cart will carry you. You hit a couple of bumps on the way, satisfied when Jack grips his side handle and looks a little scared at your driving ability.

When you finally park next to the ball, he gets out, settles into his form, and swings away again, the ball going toward the correct direction.

“That was better,” you call out. “Not good, but better.”

He rolls his eyes again, and you throw him a wink, going to grab another shooter that you’d bought earlier. If he’s going to force you to watch him golf, you’re going to be a bit tipsy, and he’s going to have to take care of you later.

After your shot, you settle back into your regular system. You taunt him, he retaliates, you kiss and makeup, then the cycle begins again. It’s a good system; you genuinely love it, but when the sun starts to dip below the horizon, and you’ve run out of alcohol, you know it’s time to leave.

Jack must’ve sensed this, too, because he returns to the cart, places his club back into the bag, and sits down somewhat hard next to you.

“You may be slightly right. Today wasn’t my best showing.” He sighs. “But I’m on the rise.”

You laugh, grab his face, and pull it toward you, planting a giant kiss on his cheek, hoping to dull the pain of his inadequacy at golf.

After your kiss, you take that as your cue to finally escape this green hell, and you start driving toward the insanely nice country club main house to check back in your gold cart.

As you get closer to the building, you and back share a look. It’s decorated to the nines, and nicely dressed people are out and about, drinks in hand and mingling.

“It must be a wedding?” Jack questions, raising his eyebrow.

You hum in agreement and start making your way toward the drop-off point. You drop the cart, handing back the keys to the uninterested-looking teenage girl. You offer her your best smile and go to walk out before she calls after you.

“By the way, if you’re with the wedding party, the dance starts in half an hour.”

You move to say you’re not before Jack squeezes your hand and answers for you.

“Perfect timing then, thanks.”

You throw him a confused glance as you head through the door. A slight smirk is playing on his lips, and you don’t like the mischievous glint you see settling into his eyes. Once you clear the space, you head toward his Range, but before reaching for the door handle, he leans against the passenger seat, blocking you.

“How do you feel about crashing a wedding?”

You widen your eyes at the boy in front of you. Never in a million years would you expect him to say that.

“What?”

He shrugs his shoulders and points toward the trunk of a bag you have in there.

“I mean, it’s kinda fate. You still have that dress from Brunch, and I have an extra suit.”

You honestly think he’s joking, but his look is serious.

“What if we get caught? I would die.”

He shakes his head at your question, opening the back and pulling out your bag and the suit.

“We won’t,” he seems so sure of himself. “And if we do, we’ll handle it.”

He thrusts the bag toward you and opens the back door, gesturing you inside to change. You throw him one last questioning look but decide it’s much easier just to follow his lead.

It takes you a few minutes to change in his back seat, but it wouldn’t be the first time, and you highly doubt the last. Once you’re finished, you hop out and motion to the back of the dress so the zipper you couldn’t reach. Jack is quick to move your hair to the side and grab the zipper, pulling it up. Once he does, he gently kisses your shoulder and moves behind you to get dressed.

You stand watch as more and more people pour into the wedding. Your heart is thumping, and the nerves of what you’re about to do are getting to you. You feel slightly relieved when you see many couples your age walking in, but it also sets you even more on edge, knowing your age group will be a factor.

Almost in record time, Jack hops out of the vehicle and stands before you, spinning around and giving you a 360 view.

“How do I look?”

You smile at him. “Very handsome.”

He does, actually, for someone who just changed into a backup suit in the back of a Range Rover. He steps toward you, and you smooth down his lapels and straighten the tie to be perfect. Once you finish that, he helps you step into some heels you’d worn earlier, and once they’re on, you do a quick little spin for his approval.

“Look okay?”

He gently grabs one of your hands, pulling it to his mouth and kissing it softly.

“Beautiful as always.”

Once you’re both settled, you make your way to the doors and pray that you get in. Your heart is thumping out of your chest, and Jack's hand gently rubs over your thumb to help your nerves. As you get close, another couple beats you to the door, and you both wait as they talk to the two women standing next to a greeting table out front. They say something you can’t hear, and the ladies offer a bright smile and ushers them inside. You’re up next, and as soon as the other couple steps through, Jack pulls you toward the table.

“Hello!” One lady says brightly. “Bride or groom?”

You weren’t expecting the question, and your face falls slightly, but your overconfident boyfriend doesn’t miss a beat.

“Both, actually.”

The ladies smile again brightly and hand over a little brochure.

“That’s both the bride and groom's signature cocktails and the dance should be starting soon.”

The one closest to the door gestures to you both inside, and Jack leads you in, gently squeezing your hand again.

The inside looks beautiful. Lights are strung everywhere, and the decorations are tasteful. You bask in the essence of it, and you genuinely love weddings. You see a couple of signs as you walk, and you catch sight of pictures of the happy couple.

“Kevin and Stacy. We should probably remember that.”

You snort at your boyfriend, but you do make a mentor note. It would be rather apparent of your wedding crashing if you didn’t know the names.

Jack leads you to the main ballroom, where everything is stunningly assembled. Most of the chairs have been cleared, and a dance floor in the middle waits for people to hit it.

You follow Jack to the table toward the side, which holds hundreds of pictures of the bride and groom throughout their life. You see that when they seemingly meet one another, it mirrors very similar to your relationship. You smile big as you see pictures of them doing almost everything together. They spent their summers boating their winters by a fireplace, and there is even a photo of Stacy hugging her man after a hockey game. You jab Jack in the ribs as you see it, noting that he’s donning a University of Michigan club hockey jersey. Once he sees the photo you’re looking at, he pulls you closer and laughs at the small connection to his family's favorite place.

Someone clears their throat behind you, and you freeze. You both turn slowly to see a woman standing there, two drinks in hand.

“You two look like you need a drink while staring at these photos.”

She hands you and Jack each a cocktail, and your heart starts beating faster.

“I’m not sure I know either of you.” She pauses, a puzzled look crossing her features. “But you also seem so familiar.”

You take a deep breath, ready to be caught, and accept your fate.

“I know Kev from hockey at Umich. Back when he played club.”

You want to die as your boyfriend lies through his teeth, but as soon as he speaks, the girl laughs.

“Oh my god, that makes sense. It’s nice to meet you..?” She pauses.

“Jack.” Jack extends his hand to hers, and then she turns to you.

“(Y/N).”

She shakes your hand as well. You’re thankful she gets called away moments later, and she sends you one last smile and walks toward the group of women who called her.

“That was close.” You breathe out, then turn to Jack. “Since when did you get good at lying?”

He chuckles a bit and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a middle child. I’ve always been good.”

He retakes your hand and leads you away from the picture table to look more around the venue. You kill as much time as possible, and finally, the dance begins to start.

You and Jack sit far away from the dance floor in the back of the crowd. Like everyone else, you both coo as you see the happy couple for the first time, having their first dance on the floor. You watch as they sway back and forth in their little world, ignoring everyone else and focusing on one another. It’s a sweet moment you’re witnessing, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty.

“I feel terrible, J I think we should go. I wouldn’t want to ruin their night if they knew a few strangers were here.”

Jack listens intently to your plea, and he knows by the look on your face that you’re already on edge and staying here won’t help.

“Okay, let’s go. I have to run to the bathroom. Are you good here for a minute?”

You nod your head, and he gets up. You watch as he goes and then force yourself to stare at the floor, which is now crowded with many attendees from the wedding. You smile at the people dancing again and count down the seconds until Jack gets back.

As you sit there anxiously, Jack goes as fast as he can to the nearest bathroom. It’s nicely decorated as well, and it seems to be empty except for one another man. Jack keeps his head down, does his business, and tries to go as slow as possible. Nevertheless, the other man takes his sweet time, and Jack meets him at the sink area.

Jack offers a small, tight-lipped smile as he washes his hands, and so does the other dude. He goes back to drying his hands when he catches the other man doing a double take, and a brief look of realization crosses both of their features and a sudden pit forms in his stomach.

“Holy fuck,” The man says. “Are you Jack Hughes?”

Shit.

Jack swallows and then slowly nods his head and swallows hard. “Yep. That’s me. I assume you’re Kevin? The groom?”

Jack half expects the man to get pissed, and he prepares for the worst.

“What’re you doing here?” A crazy smile cracks across Kevin’s face.

Jack thinks he could lie, but at this point, there is no use. So, for the first time all night, he tells the truth.

“Honestly, me and my girlfriend saw your wedding while golfing, and I convinced her to come and crash it.”

Jack explains the situation quickly, but as he speaks, a look of disbelief flashes across Kevin’s face.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, man, I’m sorry. We’ll leave now, and I can pay you for the drinks and whatever else.”

Kevin suddenly busts out laughing, shaking his head.

“Why would you leave? The old people are finally going home, and the real parties are about to start.”

Jack's mouth drops open, and he can’t believe it.

“Are you sure we can stay?” He gapes.

Kevin nods his head and gently clasps him on the shoulder.

“You could crash my honeymoon night and I wouldn’t mind. I’m a huge fan, and this is the craziest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Out of all the ways Jack ran through with what would happen if they got caught, this wasn’t one of them at all. They spend the next few minutes talking, and it feels like they’re old buddies.

“Just let me tell Stac, she’ll go nuts for you two.”

They leave the bathroom, and Jack makes a beeline to where you’re sitting. As he closes the furnace, he can see your worry etched across your face, and you look as though you want to die. When you finally see him coming, your eyes narrow a bit.

“Jesus, Jack, what took you so long.” You hiss.

He takes your hand. “You’re never gonna believe who I ran into.”

He quickly explains the bathroom story to you, and you’re hanging onto every word. Your mouth drops open as he finishes, and he sees the wave of relief practically roll over you.

“So now we’re invited?” You ask.

“We’re invited.”

You lean over him and throw your arms around his neck, planting a small kiss on his cheek.

“Who knew that being you would have so many weird perks.”

————————————————————————

Kevin wasn’t lying, and the minute the older folks left, the real party began. Drinks are flowing, and everyone in the wedding party is dancing their asses off. The mix being played is heavy on the 2000s hits and club music, and you’re loving every second. The minute you drag Jack to the dance floor, he knows his night is going to be wild.

Usher is bumping in the background as you settle your hips on Jack. You spend that way for half a song, and you love every second of feeling his arms wrapped around you. You’re genuinely on cloud nine, and nothing could be better now—only maybe one thing.

“I need some water.” You yell over the music.

Jack nods his head toward the bar. “You want me to grab you some?”

You shake your head no and pry his arms off of you. You quickly give him a peck and a swat to the ass as you walk toward the bar. You patiently place yourself in line when a tap on your shoulder takes you out of your daze.

“I take it you’re one-half of the wedding crashers?” You flush red and widen your eyes as you see the woman of the night.

Her evening dress is gorgeous, and her hair and makeup are perfect. You finally meet her stare dead on, and you think for a moment that she might be upset, but much to your surprise, she loops an arm through yours and pulls you close to her.

“I’m so happy you guys are here.” She whispers in your ear. “You made my husband’s life tonight. He’s told almost every guest that Jack Hughes came to his wedding. He’s never going to let this go.”

You giggle at the woman beside you, and soon enough, the line clears, and you’re at the front. You politely ask for water, and the bride behind you interrupts you.

“We will also have two shots.” She leans over your shoulder and shoots you a wicked smile.

As soon as the bartender delivers your drink. She grabs the two shots, hands you one, and loops your arm again to take a twisted shot together.

“Bottoms up.” She winks at you.

You toss the shot back, and the hard liquor burns down your throat. You laugh as a little bit slides down your face, and you wipe it away as Stacy suddenly drags you away, Introducing you to the wedding party.

Everyone is lovely, and you finally make it to the maid of honor, who you recognize immediately as the woman from earlier who gave you your first drinks. As soon as you properly introduce yourself, she throws your arms around you in a hug.

“You look like a killer on the dance floor; let’s go.”

Like that, you’re magically accepted into these strangers' lives, and you make your way to the dance floor with the rest of the bridesmaids and the bride herself.

More shots flow and terrible dance moves are danced. When you enter the floor with your new crew, you spot Jack in a circle with the groom. You mentally laugh at the humor of the situation, and you can’t help but love how the night has panned out.

Almost an hour later, you’re beyond drunk and still dancing with the bridal party. You’ve become fast friends, and by now, you’ve already promised to set two bridesmaids up with the single devil players you know.

It isn’t until the DJ gives everyone a little dance break with a slow song that you suddenly miss your boyfriend very much. He’s nowhere in your eyesight, but you nearly jump when someone grabs you into their arms and places a kiss on your neck.

“You look like you are having fun,” Jack whispers in your ear, pulling you in even closer.

You snuggle into his hold and find yourself melting. You love being in his arms; it’s your favorite place. Especially when you’re drunk, they feel like the safest place in the world.

With the slow song playing in the background, Jack turns you to face him. He’s got that smitten look on his face, but he doesn’t look as glazed as you thought he would.

“Have you been drinking?” You question, running your hands at the nape of his neck.

He shakes his head no. “Stopped a while ago. Someone has to drive us home, and I saw you take two shots with the bride thirty minutes ago.”

He chuckles and squeezes your sides, and you yelp away from him.

“You don’t have to stop,” you complain. “We can Uber.”

He smiles again, and a soft look crosses his face.

“Nah, I wanna be the one taking you home.” he cups your face in his hands and gives you a soft kiss.

The slow song continues, and you place your head on Jack's shoulder, savoring being there. You’re letting him lead, and he’s gently swaying with you on the floor. Many other couples surround you, but you couldn’t care less about anyone else in the room. If he’s near you, he’s the only person on the planet.

As soon as the song ends, he sits you down at the edge of the dance floor and goes to get you a glass of water. You sit at the table, drunkenly overlooking the crowd, and smile at the wedding around you. You love weddings, and you often think about yours. You don’t know how far out it will be, but you can’t care less as long as Jack is the one who asks. Though you’d never tell him, you’re ready whenever he is. You knew a year in that he was it for you, that he was your everything. But alas, you have school, and he has hockey, and you know he’ll pop the question when he’s ready.

At the same time you’re daydreaming, Jack is grabbing the water from the bartender and having one last talk with the groom, who also was getting water for his new wife.

“How long have you two been together,” Kevin asks Jack, nodding toward you at the table.

“Over two years,” Jack answers. “So a while.”

Kevin whistles at the answer, and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Yeah, a long while.” He nods toward you again. “Two years was when I popped the question. Knew I waited long enough, and she was the one.”

Jack snorts at the man beside him, and Kevin counters again.

“Is she the one?”

Jack watches you from across the way as you’re watching everyone else. He smiles as he sees you eyeing the various couples, flowers, and lights surrounding you. He genuinely believes you’ve never looked more beautiful underneath the dim light and the essence of love and joy radiating through the air.

“Yeah, she’s the one,” Jack says firmly, meaning every word.

“Then what’re you waiting for?”

The question is fair. You’ve talked about marriage, but it’s always been on the back burner behind your school and his hockey. You both have discussed how you’re both so young, and you have nothing but time to waste together.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m waiting for her. I don’t know if she’s ready.”

Kevin suddenly starts to laugh, almost uncontrollably, and Jack shoots him a confused look.

“Man, I’ve been watching how she looks at you all night. I don’t think I’ve seen any woman that ready.”

Jack eyes him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Jack and Kevin talk for another minute, saying their goodbyes and making promises to gold together soon when Jack makes his way back to your table. You are sitting sleepily and messing with the edges of the cloth table. When he gets close enough, he calls your name and hands you the water.

“You ready to call it a night?” He asks.

You nod your head, and he pulls you to your feet and takes you on your rounds to say your final goodbyes to the gracious couple who let you crash their wedding and all the new friends you’ve made in a singular, memorable night.

As you both leave the venue, Jack takes your hand, intertwining your fingers as you walk together. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin after the warmth of the crowded dance floor. You lean into Jack's side, feeling content and happy to have spent such an unexpected but enjoyable evening together.

As you approach the Range, Jack opens the door, gesturing for you to get in first. Once you're settled in the passenger seat, he closes the door gently before going to the driver's side. Before starting the engine, he turns to you, a soft smile on his lips.

“You know, deciding to crash that wedding with you was one of the best decisions I've ever made," he says, his eyes meeting yours with warmth and affection.

You let out your millionth laugh of the night, feeling a rush of love for this man beside you.

“I agree. Way better than golfing earlier.”

With a soft chuckle, Jack leans in to kiss your lips tenderly, the moment feeling incredibly intimate and memorable with the surrounding setting. As you pull away, you meet each other's gaze, and nothing but love is shown on both of your faces.

“Come on, let’s get your cute ass home,” Jack says softly, his hand finding yours again as he starts the car.

As Jack begins the drive home, you lean back in your seat, feeling the warmth of the evening still lingering in your heart. You glance over at Jack, his focused expression softened by the glow of the dashboard lights. Moments like these make you realize how lucky you are to have him by your side.

The drive is quiet but comfortable, and you can’t help but stare at him. You, indeed, are in love with this man.

As you approach home, Jack pulls into the driveway and turns off the engine. The night air feels crisp against your skin as you step out of the car, Jack following closely behind, grabbing your things. Together, you make your way to the front door, the warmth of home beckoning you inside.

Once inside, Jack makes quick work of jumping into caretaker mode, and he takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, where he helps you remove your makeup with a tenderness that never fails to make your heart swell. He fetches everything you need for bed, your inevitable hangover, and anything else you request.

Finally, once you’re all settled, he tucks you into bed with gentle kisses and whispered words of affection. As you drift off to sleep, Jack lingers for a moment and watches how peaceful you are. With one final kiss on the forehead, he remembers Kevin’s earlier words.

Quietly slipping out of the room, Jack heads to the closet where most of his summer hockey gear sits. There, underneath many stacks of old hockey clothes where you’d never look, he retrieves the secret wedding ring that no one in the world knows about. He bought the ring after only six months of dating when he learned that you were it for him. That you were then and were always going to be his everything. He’s been holding onto the ring now for almost a year and a half, waiting for you.

Holding it in his hand, he turns it over and reflects on the depth of his love for you and the certainty that you're the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. In this quiet moment alone, Jack makes a silent promise to himself to ask you to marry him very soon. He doesn’t want to wait, and he wants to start forever as soon as he can.

He gently places the ring in its hiding spot and returns to the room. You’re still knocked out. He smiles as he sees you’re dead to the world, and he tucks himself next to you under the covers. He almost dies of adoration when, like a magnet, you fold yourself into his side. You fit perfectly there, and he���s half tempted to wake you up and pop the question now.

He doesn’t, though; instead, he pulls you impossibly closer and lets himself think about how he’s going to ask you to marry him, and then eventually, he lets himself fall asleep, dreaming of the life you're going to have together.

[greatooglymooglyyy]

Drowning (Chris Sturniolo)

contains: angst, drinking, verbal fighting, general sadness, a makeup, happy ending, 1.4k+ words

“Girl, what the hell are you thinking?” I snap at my best friend and roommate, Kelsey, as we whisper fight in the kitchen.

“Please, friend. I need you to wingman me. It's way too awkward if it’s just me.” She pleads, grabbing my wrist.

“This looks like a two man, Kels. Chris will kill me if he finds out there are three boys in our apartment.” I say with a sigh.

“Noooo, it’s so innocent.” She insists. “One of the boys is gay, and the other has a girlfriend."

“Kelsey…”

“Pleaseeeeeeee.”

I tilt my head back in defeat, closing my eyes, and pull my arm away from her. “Fine, but let me call Chris.”

She grins and kisses my cheek before grabbing a bottle of vodka and heading back into the living room with the boys.

I call Chris twice, but it goes straight to voicemail. He’s probably filming. I shoot him a text to call me when he’s done, and I head off after my friend.

***********

I throw my head back in laughter as one of the boys completes his dare to pretend to call his mom from jail. They have all actually been really cool so far, and I can tell Kelsey’s crush is feeling her as well.

I look down at my phone as I see Chris’ name flash across the screen. But as soon as I’m about to answer, the boy next to me accidentally knocks his drink over, right onto my phone.

“Fuck!” I say, hopping up and running to the kitchen to dry it off.

“Shit, I am so sorry.” He says, following right behind me.

“It’s okay. Just an accident.” I tell him with a tight smile.

He reaches above my head and grabs rice out of the cabinet and a zip-lock bag. “Here, leave it overnight, and it’ll be fine.” I nod and give him a small smile before dropping my phone in the bag with a sigh. I go back in the living room to Kelsey, my mood a little ruined.

“Can you text Chris that I broke my phone, please? I’m just gonna head up to bed.” I ask her. She frowns and checks the time, but I guess she reads the look on my face and just nods instead of complaining.

“Goodnight guys.” I throw over my shoulder as I head upstairs.

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

As soon as I wake up, I have a nagging feeling in my stomach. I head downstairs and, to my shock, see the boys from last night asleep on my couch. I massage my temples, feeling my irritation grow, and slip into the kitchen. “Thank god.” I say, as my phone powers on instead of the black screen I got last night. My stomach drops as I read all of Chris’ worried text from last night. I even have a couple from Nick and Matt.

I click his name to call, and he answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” He rasps, clearly fresh out of sleep.

“Hi, baby. I’m sorry about last night. My phone-”

“Hey, do you have an extra toothbrush?” A deep voice calls from behind me.

Shit. My breath hitches as I wait for Chris’ reaction. But instead, there’s just silence.

I turn to the boy behind me and shake my head, shooing him away, then clear my throat and call Chris’ name.

“There’s just no fucking way you’re that bold.” He says, his voice like steel. “Who the fuck is that?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you last night.” I say quickly. “Kels invited some friends over. That’s all.”

He’s silent again for a second, so quiet that I double-check that he didn’t hang up.

“So it’s a coincidence that the night there are boys in your apartment, you literally go ghost all night?” He says. His voice is so calm that if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was asking about the weather.

“Chris. I don’t know what you are trying to say, but nothing happened. How stupid do you think I am?”

“I honestly never thought you were stupid at all until right now. Or a fucking liar.” And then all I hear are those three distinct beeps.

***********

I’m laying in bed, watching my comfort show, and trying not to think of watching this same episode with Chris. It’s been a week since he went no contact. I stopped trying after calling back to back for two days straight. I can’t make someone trust me, and I’m not the type to chase a man who’s running. But it doesn’t stop my chest from tightening up when I think of him. When I think about the weight of his head on my chest and the calmness of his presence, it takes all I have not to cry.

I hear a knock on my door, and I sigh. I’ve been avoiding Kelsey, but it’s really not her fault that my boyfriend had no trust in me. I get up, swing the door open, and find her standing there next to Chris.

He looks about as good as I feel. He’s got deep purple bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping. I want to pull him into my arms and hold him. I want to wrap my legs around his waist and never let go. But instead, I just stand there with my arms crossed because I don’t know how to love a boy who doesn’t trust me.

“Before you say anything,” Kelsey starts, reading my expression like only she can. “Me and Nick trapped him into hearing me out. I told him how it all went down. And I’m sorry, I played a part in this, but you guys need to talk this out.”

She pushes Chris into the room and slams the door shut behind him before I can even get a word in. And then I’m so close to him, I think it will kill me. I look down at his shoes so I don’t have to meet his eyes as I say, “It’s okay, Chris. You can go.” I feel the heat of his fingers on my face before I feel them. He tilts my head up to his face, and steps very slightly closer.

“I’m sorry.” He says, barely above a whisper. And his words pull me out of my trance, like I’ve had cold water dumped on me. Because I’m not just heartbroken, I’m angry. I’m pissed. I take a big step backwards and give him my most convincing, nonchalant shrug.

“It’s fine. It showed me what kind of person you think I am.” I bite out. He flinches and rubs his hand over his face. When he meets my gaze again, his eyes have a bit of fire in them as well.

“Are you honestly telling me that if I told you this same story, you would believe me, no problem?” He asks with a sarcastic edge to his tone.

I step back toward him, narrowing my eyes. “Maybe not.” I concede. "But I would have heard you out. We would have talked it out. I mean, fuck. Maybe even fought it out. But I would have never disappeared on you. I would never give up on us without a fight. But clearly, you don’t feel the same.” This hits him right where I want it to, and I can tell. Regret and defeat flood his face, and he goes to reach for me before thinking better of it and lowering his arms.

“If I didn’t trust you, it would have never hit this hard. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had anything I was this scared to lose.” He leans against my door now, and I can tell he’s fighting back tears. I’ve never seen him cry before, and it absolutely guts me. All I want to do is forget all of this. But, my mom always said, to forget is to be a fool, and I need assurance that he's a safe place to land.

Then he meets my eyes again, and I feel all my resolve cave in on itself.

“How do I know you won’t take the next chance you get to run?.” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady and backing up to sit on the edge of my bed.

"Because I’m telling you I won’t.” He says, following me and then kneeling between my legs. “I know you think I was running away this week, but really I was just drowning without you.”

I loop my finger around his chain and pull him up to eye level. “Never again, Sturniolo.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says with a smile before pressing his lips against mine.

[bindeds]

⊹・° ｡ㅤ BOYFRIEND VOX / LUCIFER / ALASTOR X FEM READER HEADCANONS ! — now i know alastor is aroace so i am once again making a post that acknowledges that as much as possible, meaning his headcanons can also be seen as platonic and his nsfw section doesn’t involve him engaging in the act of sex. i also made an aroace friendly headcanons post on alastor if you wanna check that out!

contains nsfw (+18) and it will be in a separate section <3 please credit me if you use these gifs!

mlist. request status.

VOX.

this man pampers the SHIT out of you and you cannot tell me otherwise. if you’re out walking in the streets of hell and you so much as look at a branded purse for a second longer than usual, it’s in your hands within the next five seconds. same goes for literally anything—clothes, shoes, sunglasses, books, anything you could want that isn’t a gadget, because he already gives you his latest models—only the finest for his girl.

he teleports to your phone screen whenever you ignore him, and you don’t tell him that you find it particularly endearing. the way he’s just so whiny for your attention that he’d act all petty and crash all your apps so you’re forced to look him in the face.

has the most funniest fucking pet names for you i just KNOW IT HAHA like think shrek’s prince charming. i just know that when you call him from a different room he’d definitely say shit like “just a second honey kisses!” like HAHAH I CAN’T GET THIS OUT OF MY HEAD

DEFINITELY loves having you sit on his lap while he works. i just know this man is a thigh grabber.

he loves when you dress in sweater vests, preferably in brighter colors but it’s cute when you use more muted colors as well.

relating back to my first point, this man loves taking you to extravagant AND I MEAN extravagant dates. i imagine one of them would be getting the both of you a literal floating table in the red skies of hell so you can see the entire pentagram from where you dine. he would have the food freshly delivered from the finest chefs he knows but he also seems like the type who would forget your favorite food, then demand that the food switched out with a snap of his fingers.

i’m judging this purely off of ‘stayed gone’ but he has a TON of terrible jokes up his sleeves, and they border on dad jokes at this point. you simply roll your eyes and kiss him for being so silly.

i just know this man comes home to you and WHINES. like, no matter what it is, he’ll always have something to complain about from work and you’re happy to listen to him bitch and moan about the smallest things ever. he also lays down on your lap and you to rub his shoulders and console him, whatever it is. you know he appreciates it because he usually always responds with something along the lines of “you’re right, baby, i do push myself too hard!” and you coo at him while continuing to console him further.

VOX NSFW !

i know he definitely gets irritated when someone interrupts his work but would be so into having sex on the job, and even loves ignoring calls from the vees for you. but of course doing it one too many times has its consequences, and he laughs nervously the one time he backs out. i can just imagine him going, “oh, haha, uh—sorry baby, i uh—listen i know we usually—it’s—FUCK um—just—just five minutes okay baby?”

i know this man’s hickeys feel like tiny zaps on your skin, and the marks reflect that instead of bruises

regarding the ‘sitting on his lap’ thing … you tried riding his thigh once and he DID NOT like that. seconds after you were sitting on his cock, crying his name from how he was just pumping into you mercilessly.

“still wanna tease me on my own fucking thigh, sweetie?” he clicks his tongue and grunts right after, his hands on your waist was enough to leave bruises.

that being said, he makes sure valentino never catches sight of you. the things you do to this man is beyond anything he could have thought and somehow, he feels uneasy at the fact that the way you have sex with him was DEFINITELY porn worthy and the thought of you being on camera in that way makes him want to wrap all of himself around you like a blanket to cover you from all of hell.

LUCIFER.

ironically, this man does NOT give you the world. instead, he gives you casual nights out turned into nights where you share all your secrets with him, and he tells you everything might not be okay now, or ever, but whatever it is, he’ll be right there with you. think going to your favorite diners, cruising and carpooling along the quieter side of hell, screaming at the top of your lungs. this man is all about authenticity. he wants the bond, not the experience.

that doesn’t mean he doesn’t spoil you every now and then—he definitely does research on the best bars in the ring and takes you out every month during your monthsaries and gets you at least 10 different gifts—half of which are little trinkets you and him picked up from your little adventures together.

unironically so fucking good at picking out jewelry for you. you don’t know how he does it, but every time you both visit a jewelry store, you always pick out necklaces and rings and he always comes to you with pieces that just look way more stunning on you. he always insists on being the one to slip the rings onto your fingers or chain the necklaces at the back of your neck, and he always flies up to do it.

he sometimes visits you as a bird and flies through your window. you like stroking his little cheek and it always causes him to transform suddenly which catches you off guard, and he uses this opportunity to kiss you.

he makes rubber duckies modeled after you!! all of them have different outfits from all the times you spend together.

forehead touches. so important for him, he does it so often and it’s nothing short of endearing.

this man COOKS and he COOKS WELL. every now and then when you both stay home he always whips up five-star restaurant grade steak for you, same goes for his carbonara, fish and chips, ramen, fried rice, stew—whatever it is, he loves making it with his own two hands and loves cooking for you.

lucifer makes his own clothes seeing as his hat has a gold snake and an apple on it which only really related to him, and he also has a unique circus vibe to his clothing. he made his clothes out of magic but after meeting you he wanted to get into sewing to make you something from scratch.

LUCIFER NSFW !

i absolutely agree with a lot of lucifer stans on him being a definite switch BUT i just know that if this man tops, he tops HARD. i mean, we’re talking about the angel who successfully seduced not just the FIRST WOMAN to ever exist, but the SECOND TOO. WHILE SHE WAS LOYAL TO ADAM. I FEEL LIKE THAT SPEAKS FOR ITSELF

he’d definitely do a multitude of things while trying out a few kinks to see just what kind of top flusters you. if you like service tops, he found out when he insisted on fingering you right after he’d brought you to orgasm with his tongue. dominant top? he found out when he crawled on top of you and said, “take it off for me, lovely.” all while leaving a trail of hickeys all from your jaw all the way down to your collarbone. the list goes on.

no matter if he tops or bottoms, this man begs, and its especially orgasm-worthy when he does it as a bottom. you’re riding him to your own climax and he’s close too and he goes, “ohhh god fuck please let me cum honey—let me cum please fuck! can i cum can i cum my love? i won’t until you say so oh fuck please baby—”

he knows when you’re pent up. apparently you give of a certain set of cues through body language only he sees and he’s observed it from you in all sorts of situations; going out with friends, sitting in bed with a book, tapping a pencil to your lip—it doesn’t matter what you’re doing. he can tell. and he never tells you how.

seeing as he usually has to fly up to kiss you on the lips, he takes every opportunity he has in bed just to kiss you. he could be going so damn rough on you that the neighbors can hear and he’d still be making out with you so damn hard.

definitely prides himself on cunnilingus. i know everyone mentions this because of the v he made to his lips but it just makes sense for him to do that if he’s good at it! he becomes a grunting, begging, whimpering mess when you suck him off but when he eats you out? you compare it to how restaurants have a signature dish—lucifer’s is whatever miracles he can perform with his tongue.

ALASTOR.

i think this is obvious because he literally hosts possibly the most famous radio broadcast in the entire ring, but this man has a way with words.

“to put it simply my dear, i just never thought the stars could walk on dirty streets, let alone ones that belong in hell,” he sighs with an almost dreamy tone to it as he rested chin on his knuckles, leaning closer to you from the other side of the table with his elbow propped up on it. “but it seems you’re living proof of that.”

you took that as his way of explaining his aromanticism and asexuality to you, even if he isn’t fully aware of those terms yet.

“how did a lovely thing like you end up with a gruesome animal such as myself?”

nonetheless, you and him are partners and he owns it, even if he’ll never admit that it is daunting for someone who has never felt this way about anyone else before. someone who has never liked anyone romantically before. he owns it because he doesn’t want the one person he’s ever loved to slip from his grasp. not when he was just so used to getting what he wants using his own bare hands.

seeing as he is aroace, he doesn’t kiss you directly on the lips but hugs you all the time and maybe kisses cheek-to-cheek.

he listens to your gossip and even arranges dates for you both to properly get together and just dish. he gossips back sometimes too, but not too much as he feels like that would be like treating you like the other friends he has. he’d rather spend this time he has with you focusing on, well, you, not other people’s foolish mistakes. but he sees how excited you are to tell him these things sometimes so, he listens still.

regularly slow dances with you, especially to old romantic songs the both of you like. it’s one of the rare times physical contact doesn’t feel foreign to him as he’s danced with many women, and he actually finds it endearing when you press your head on his chest. it shows that you feel safe around him, and that’s the best thing that could happen for him when you’re dating one of the most feared and powerful overlords in hell.

always does house chores with you even though he could use his powers to just speed up the process. something about cleaning up together just feels so intimate to him compared to physical touch.

ALASTOR NSFW !

he hates being touched, no question about that—but he also doesn’t like to see you pent up. he understands that everyone has their own desires, however filthy they might be—but your own are as good as sacred. you’re the one thing he treasures beyond all others and just as you can’t change the fact that he’s aroace, he can’t change the fact that you have needs.

so he comes up with something just for you; he asks if it would help if he talked you through it. praising or degrading you, whichever you prefer. telling you how much he misses having your hands on his, feeling you close to him. when he says this, he imagines you both dancing as you usually do, but of course, as you masturbate, you’re thinking of something else. this happens when he’s not in the room but he leaves his mic behind to act as a phone for the both of you.

“are you close, love? will you finish for me?” “y-yes …” “good girl.”

i imagine after a while of being with him, he would have seen you naked a few times on accident but he brushes it off well because there’s never anything sexual tied to it. so, when he is in the room while you get off, he’d use his powers to have a glowing green chain around your neck as he pulls your face closer to his.

“do you like it when i do this to you, hm? tell me just how much you relish being my good girl.”

[temiizpalace]

☆┊”CAN I COPY YOUR HOMEWORK ?”

SUMMARY: you forgot to do the homework before your next class.. excellent job prefect. no problem. you can just copy off your classmate! what’s his response to “can I copy your homework?”

CHARACTERS: all dorms (+ grim)

GENRE: crackfic, but could be considered fluff

WARNINGS: cursing

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is yuu

“i’ll help you with it!”

i mean, you COULD copy.. but how will you understand the material? if you copy then you might not understand it later! that’s not good at all! instead of letting you copy it all together, he helps you and walks you through it like the angel he is. he’s explaining everything in detail but in a way you could comprehend it. totally should be your teacher. even if you already understood the subject, he still wants to lock it in and make sure you truly do get it. (after that you felt like albert einstein)

riddle, trey, jack, ortho, rook (he already knew you weren’t paying attention so he got ya covered), silver

“yeah, sure”

you wanna copy his homework? yeah, sure. why not? you’re the overworked prefect of ramshackle dorm, or some may say “crowleys assistant.” you deserve a break every once in awhile right? maybe they do care about your wellbeing and want you to rest as much as possible. you already work your ass off every day. you study, care for grim, do crowleys work, and deal with some random dorms shit almost 24/7. hell, why not let him write it for you?

it’s that or he just doesn’t give a shit. 🤷🤷

epel, lilia, malleus

“bold of you to assume i did the homework”

you’re both in the same boat. well sort of anyway. he’s a busy guy, he doesn’t have time for that. life is short, and he should be doing things he wants. not sit in a classroom all day and write, just to sit down in his dorm room and write for the rest of it. oh no. he probably has like 10 missing assignments right now. long story short: his ass did not do the homework cause he didn’t wanna.

ace, leona, floyd

“lol nope”

damn you didn’t do the homework? well good luck with that. listen, he did the homework. he’s on top of it. you on the other hand chose not to do it. what’s that? oh you were busy? that sounds rough. he wishes you the best and hopes that you’ll listen next time. alright? bye 🫶🫶

idia, jamil

“wait, we had homework????”

there was homework? THERE WAS HOMEWORK? oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. he messed up. now he’s scrambling to get it done before his next period, panicking and triple checking his answers. poor baby was so caught up in his life he forgot all about class assignments. now you both are sitting at the cafeteria with pencils and eraser shavings everywhere. those sitting around you both were losing their appetites because for some reason their meal tastes like led or graphite. best of luck to you both 💔💔

grim, deuce, cater, kalim

“sure you can copy it! for a price of course.”

yeah he’ll let you copy it. one teensy weensy detail though, what’ll he get in return? well it was your fault for not working on it during your free time. it’s only fair right? he worked so hard to get these answers, why should he give them away for free? haha. that’s just how the world works, prefect. it’s nothing personal really, he just wants to benefit.

azul would definitely try to upsell you into getting one of his study guides. capitalist.

ruggie, azul, jade

he scolds you.

you didn’t do the homework? *sigh* perfect, oh, prefect. that’s a horrible habit to develop, really. why didn’t you do it? now you must scramble to finish it. you see not doing the homework once is alright, but if this happens again he will know about it. he’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again third time. now he’s giving you a long ass essay on why doing your homework ON TIME is the right thing to do, and why copying others homework is the road unsuccessful students go down.

but his lecture went on for hours. im sorry it won’t happen again just please let me copy it 🙏🙏

riddle (scolds then lets you copy), vil, sebek

A/N: I do all my homework stay safe guys 🙏

my second writing tada! lately I’ve just been going off of alignment charts and how I see them fit. hopefully this is good enough.

date written: 11/24/23

© temiizpalce — don’t steal or copy my work!

[sanguineterrain]

savior | jason todd

Summary: Red Hood is the stuff of nightmares. Red Hood is no hero. Red Hood is your best friend.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings/tags: angsttt, reader is afraid of red hood and they discover that he's jason, injured and kidnapped reader, emotional hurt no comfort.

A/N: hey guys! i didn't know what the hell to write so. this is what i came up with. hope ya like it :) if you like this fic, lmk through comments and reblogs!

the divider

“You fucked up!”

You wince at the shouting and the ringing in your ears. You try to sit up but that makes things hurt, so you lie still and listen. 

"What? You said pick a civilian!”

"I don't give a fuck what I said; obviously, you screwed up! He's not coming!"

You close your eyes, trying not to throw up on your gag.

Batman? Batman isn't coming?

No, that can't be. Batman knows everything that happens in his city. He wouldn't abandon a civilian in need.

You try to take a deep breath, but your chest tightens instead. Jason's probably tearing his hair out if he's home from work. He always stresses safety, to the point of paranoia.

Lock your doors. Don't walk down this street. Did you get home okay? Text me when you get home.

You hope Batman's out there, somewhere. Or any of the Bats. You don't want to die. You really, really don't want to die.

Thump!

Something hits the ground. There's a shout.

“You fucking shitheads! You were supposed to check the—”

Gunfire erupts suddenly, and you tuck your head between your knees as best as you can, with your hands and ankles bound.

Thump! Thump!

More bodies hit the ground. But Batman doesn't do guns.

"What the fuck is this?" comes a distorted voice. 

Your blood chills.

"H-Hood!” one of the kidnappers squeaks. “Sh-shit. What’re you doin’ here?”

“Protecting Gotham,” Hood says. “What’re you doing, McKelly? Thought you were on the straight and narrow. Thought the Bats taught you what happens to people who lose their way. Did the lesson not stick?”

“It’s not what it looks like, Hood! We just needed some extra cash and Black Mask—I swear, we weren’t gonna do anything to—”

“Was it worth it? He’s got my attention now.”

“It was meant to draw out Batman! Not you, honest! Aw, Hood, please. I’ll be good after this, I swear!”

“You assholes just don’t learn your lesson, do you?”

He turns and locks in on you. You freeze, tensing up.

“You hurt them," he says, voice like steel. "You hurt them. And you would've hurt them more, wouldn't you?"

“Hood—”

"I’ll kill you all.”

He shoots McKelly in the chest. You scream through the gag. Red Hood looks at you, and it seems to rekindle his anger tenfold.

He shoots the two remaining guys in the head. McKelly writhes, screaming. You shut your eyes and turn away from the bloodshed, stomach rolling. The crunch of bone and muscle makes you sick.

"Hood, please! This ain’t your s—”

The next shot silences the room. Your heart rate skyrockets; is this a rescue or a massacre?

As the footsteps get closer, you press yourself into the wall and quiver. Red Hood is terrifying. He's merciless, bloodthirsty. You know the stories. You don't even know why he's here in the first place. This isn't his territory; you live far from Crime Alley. What is he doing all the way out here?

You peek one eye open. Red Hood freezes. He's about two feet away from you. His jacket and helmet are splattered with dark blood. Tears prick your eyes.

"Hey," he says roughly, like he’s not fully present. "’S okay. Y’alright?” 

You nod rapidly. In reality, your ankle throbs, you might be concussed, and you’re sick with fear. And you don't want Red Hood anywhere near you.

"Okay. I'm gonna remove the gag."

You can't really protest; Red Hood's a big guy, and he has a lot of weapons on his body. All you can hope is that he won't decide to pick up where your kidnapper left off.

He removes the gag. Then he pulls out a blade. 

"Please don't hurt me," you say.

Red Hood stills. His voice is thick when he speaks again. The modulator doesn't soften his words. 

"I would—I would never hurt you. I don't hurt innocents. I... I came here to save you.”

It still doesn’t make sense in your mind, Red Hood being so far from the Bowery. You press your cracked lips together. You don't want to throw up. If you throw up in front of Hood, he might change his mind about saving you. 

“Hey,” he says. “It’s alright. I’m gonna remove the zip ties now, okay?”

You don't have a choice, so you watch the blade whisper past your skin. It would be so easy for Hood to cut more than the restraints. It's all you can think about, frankly.

He makes quick work of the binds. His hand lingers on your wrist. There’s blood on his sleeve. Your heart pounds in your chest.

He finally lets go and you pull away, scooting to the side. That puts pressure on your ankle, though, and you can't hide your wince.

"Your ankle," he says. "Let me see.”

You shake your head. "No, I'm f-fine. I just want to go home. It'll heal.”

Hood seems to make a decision then. He reaches for his helmet. It clicks and he pulls it off.

No. No, it can’t be. It can’t.

“Hey,” Jason says, smiling a little. “‘S just me. Just Jay. You’re safe.”

Your eyes dart between Jason and the bodies. This time, you can’t swallow your nausea; you throw up. There’s tears in your eyes. Your face is hot and sweaty. 

“You–you killed them,” you whisper. 

Jason’s smile fades. “They hurt you. I… I saved you. It’s okay. ‘S just me.”

You clench your hands, willing them to stop shaking. He watches you for a long moment. Then he puts his hand out. You flinch. 

Silence stretches. Then Hood—Jason speaks.

"You're scared of me.”

You shake your head. "Please, I just want to go home—”

"You want Batman instead?" He sounds choked. “You want Batman to come save you? Or Nightwing? Or Robin? You want a good guy?” 

This feels like a trap. You know better than to fall into it. This is the Red Hood.

"No! No, I-I don't have any problem with you, Hood, really, I'm just—"

“It’s Jason!” he shouts. “You’ve known me for three years! Jason! You know me!”

The night is catching up to you; tears begin to spill from how overwhelmed you are. You wipe at your cheeks quickly, trying to calm down, but it's too much.

Jason creeps forward like he wants to touch you. You press against the wall without thinking about it.

“Fuck, you’re—you’re terrified of me,” he rasps. “You think I’m a monster.”

Your panic has reached a peak now; you lose track of time and space, hyperventilating through your cries. Jason shoves himself backwards, tearing a hand through his hair.

“I’m good, I’m a good guy. You know me, you know me. I would never hurt you!”

You could've died tonight. The Red Hood is Jason. The Red Hood is no hero.

You don’t look at him, curled up and cradling your ankle. You’re afraid you’ll get sick again if you open your eyes.

Then someone's hand holds your shoulder. You flinch hard, expecting cold, glowing eyes in a red helmet.

Instead, you see white lenses. Nightwing smiles sadly at you, squatting to your level.

"Hey, there," he says. “I’m—”

"Hood’s here," you blurt. "Watch your back."

Nightwing glances behind him; Jason is across the warehouse, as much distance between you as possible. He has his knees to his chest. The corpses lie between you. Your eyes widen and you turn into Nightwing’s shoulder. He rubs your back.

"It’s okay. I know him. He works with us a lot these days."

“I would never hurt you,” Jason says quietly, voice cracking. “Never.” He doesn’t try to approach you again.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

"Please don't make me go with him,” you whisper. “Please, please…”

It hurts to breathe. Nightwing puts your hand on his chest and tells you to follow his breathing. It lasts a lifetime, it seems: Nightwing crouched to your level, exaggerating his breaths until you're no longer gasping for air. 

"Alright, it's alright. I'll take you home," he says. "It's okay. You're safe. I won’t make you go with him.”

Nightwing helps you stand, and when you stumble through your injured ankle, he catches you, bracing you with his arm around your back.

"Let's wrap your ankle first, okay?”

Nightwing guides you to a lone chair so he can tend to your injury. When you look up again, the Red Hood is gone.

[inoreuct]

what if, and hear me out: sanji one day grabs zoro's hand so they could run together away from some bad guy and zoro develops a dreadfully deep seated longing to hold sanji's hand (when he's not cooking ofc). it drives him insane. he cant sleep. sanji's hand is so Soft. Why??? Why does he want to feel it again??? he wants to yell into the sunset

they're sprinting through the streets, skidding into random alleyways and falling over each other as they try to outrun whoever's chasing them and sanji's laughing, head thrown back and eyes blue as the damn sky, his hair in absolute disarray. he's beautiful and his hand is warm and slim and strong around zoro's and it hits zoro like a fucking bullet to the heart.

the memory haunts him like a particularly persistent ghost. he closes his eyes and all he can think about is sanji's fingers laced with his, lightly calloused, nails filed down to a perfect glossy sheen and skin butter-smooth from the hand cream that the cook is so adamant about using. his laugh rings in zoro's ears like the echo of a bell, merry, taunting— the swordsman is half-sure he’s losing his mind. he is one more restless night away from climbing to the top of the main mast and hollering until he scares seagulls up into the air.

as it turns out, he does not go seagull scaring. he carries on and keeps an iron grip on his self-control and acts like nothing’s wrong, because nothing’s wrong! it’s all fine! it’s all fine, who, him? peachy fuckin’ keen.

…yeah, right.

sanji’s fingertips brush his and he nearly drops the plate he’s just taken. the cook hip-checks him out of the way and he damn near chokes on a breath. they spar and he almost dies, not just because of everything, but also because sanji gets his thighs around zoro’s neck in a chokehold and zoro just gives up. throws in the proverbial towel. he doesn’t even try to get out of it.

strong, slender fingers drag him by the ear back to the men’s cabin to pick up your fucking clothes, marimo, what is this? a pigsty? because it looks like one and it smells like one, do you really expect me to— and sanji cuts himself off, because zoro’s. picking up his clothes. he looks so bewildered at the lack of protest that zoro almost laughs, and he hides it by bending down to snag a pair of pants peeking out from under his bunk. (he decidedly does not laugh, because it has suddenly hit him that he’d probably do just about anything sanji asked him to. he might complain, sure, but he’d do it—

and that is a terrifying thought to entertain.)

the days carry on, and it doesn’t get any better; hell, zoro would say it gets so much worse. his heart seems to recognise every touch of sanji’s skin as cause to go absolutely fucking bonkers; chopper literally asks him if he has a family history of arrhythmia. it’s that bad. he tries to go to sleep and imagines sanji, one bunk up, in his bunk instead, his fingers tangled in flaxen hair, his free hand laced with sanji’s. he eats dinner and gets hit with a pang of desire to help with the dishes so strong that he almost stabs himself in the face with his fork. there is something wrong with him, he thinks profoundly, a familiar sense of gloomy dread spreading in his sternum as he rests his chin in his hand, like an oil spill marbled through with potent fondness.

they’re forced to get their shit together in the end but only because luffy manages to get them locked in the galley while franky is “too occupied” to get them out. (he isn’t. he’s sunbathing on the damn deck and absolutely in on the plan.)

zoro’s barely breathing as he goes up to sanji, eyes wild, and as soon as the cook looks at him he smacks a big fat kiss on his mouth and yells OKAY BYE. he’s seriously considering jumping out the porthole window but someone snags his collar and yanks him back, pinning him in against the countertop.

“and where do you think you’re going?” sanji purrs, but it’s breathless. his eyes are sea-sky-sapphire blue, like the heart of a flame, and zoro is the stupid little moth that was too damn dumb to fly away when he could and now he’s in the thick of it and he’s burning up, smoke drifting like it does from the tip of sanji’s cigarette.

the edge of the counter digs into his back. “nowhere,” he breathes, and it’s a lie and too much of the truth all at once. anywhere away from here. nowhere away from you. nowhere i can’t find you. nowhere you can’t follow.

sanji sucks in a trembling breath, electric eyes searching for something in zoro’s face, and he must find it because the next moment zoro’s being kissed within an inch of his life and the only thought in his head is yes, yes, yes. finally. yes.

they walk out red-faced, hair mussed, clothes twisted, avoiding all eye contact and immediately darting off to opposite ends of the ship with mumbled excuses.

zoro’s mouth is kiss-bruised and his head is spinning. his hip aches where he’d banged into the edge of the table. his heart aches where he’s finally let go of the wound he’d been holding shut for ages because now it’s bleeding afresh and sanji hasn’t stitched it up yet.

(but that night, as he lays awake heavy-limbed and staring at the bottom of a bunk, long legs swing over the side. sanji drops down, angling himself to land on zoro with a soft oof.

they talk. it is easier, somehow, when they cannot see each other— but zoro knows those blue, blue eyes are on him. he feels them slip shut, lashes dragging against the pad of his thumb as he tilts sanji’s face for another kiss; softer, this time. gentle. a banked flame flickering in the hearth, warmth and not destruction.

they fit together like their hands do, puzzle-piece natural, and it feels like coming home. zoro hasn’t known home in a very, very long time.

he buries his face in silky, sweet-smelling hair and falls asleep with sanji’s pulse thrumming beneath his palm.

come morning, he wakes to find the sheets twisted around them, a dull ache blooming across his shin— sanji’s a kicker. being privy to this information delights him an unreasonable amount.

the cook stretches with a loud yawn, arms falling to rest around zoro’s neck as he rubs his socked feet together. “come make breakfast with me,” he mumbles, the words muffled against zoro’s shoulder—

and zoro finally lets himself laugh, lets it bubble out of him like champagne, a rumble in his chest. “sure, curly. five more minutes.”

he feels impossibly light. five minutes turn into ten, and ten into twenty. they both fall back asleep. their captain will have to settle breakfast himself for the day; their cook’s hands are, unfortunately, otherwise occupied.)

[archangeldyke-all]

Could I get a Sevika with a post pregnancy wife reader? Like their baby refuses to latch onto her breast and it causes readers breast to be so sore and swollen and Sevika offers to suck on them for her and it turns into Sevika finger fucking her while sucking her breast milk

hngggg... anon, every once in a while i'll get an ask that actually literally gives me butterflies and this is one of them

men and minors dni

you're tired, and sore, and you miss your wife.

sevika's only been gone for a few hours. it's a sunday, shopping day in your house, and instead of waking you up at eight in the morning like she usually does, sevika cooked you breakfast, changed your baby and fed her again before putting her back down for a morning nap, and left the two of you to sleep. she'll be back soon, her arms swinging with grocery bags, a box of diapers on her hip, and a scowl on her face from having to deal with the weekend shoppers all on her own.

she's a sweetheart. it only makes you miss her more.

your poor little girl's got a stuffed nose-- just a baby cold. but it's been hell for all three of you, because now with her nostrils full of boogies, she can't comfortably breathe while she's breastfeeding.

it's breaking your heart. she cries because she's hungry, and then she cries when you try to feed her. she cries because of her nose, and she cries when you try to clean it out. she's miserable, and you're just happy that whatever bug she's got has been making her tired enough to get some proper sleep. it's the only relief you get between her wails.

as a result, your tits are so swollen with milk that you've been leaking steadily all morning.

you would pump-- but you've already pumped so much that your freezer is full of breastmilk-- probably enough to last a year.

after waking up in a cold bed without sev, you rolled over on your side to peek into your baby's crib. she was still sleeping soundly, so you snuck out of the room to scarf down your breakfast and hop in the shower.

you spent a while massaging your tits in the shower, expressing excess milk down the drain. it makes you sad-- breastmilk is like new-mom liquid-gold-- but, you've got nothing better to do with it.

you checked in on your girl again when you finish drying off.

she was sound asleep, her nose crusted with dried boogies, and she cooed when you pressed the back of your hand against her forehead. she's feelt normal, thank god, and you pressed play on the little white noise machine and refilled her humidifier, before kissing her and heading out to the living room to spread out on the couch and try to relax a bit.

you fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow.

you wake up to the sound of your front door opening. sevika curses in the doorframe as a grocerybag gets caught on the handle, and you smile as you rise to help her.

she sees you, and her face melts.

"hi baby." you say, lifting some of the grocery bags off her arm and swooping in to give her a quick kiss. she sighs against your lips.

"hi, love." she mumbles.

you walk her to the kitchen, where you help her start unpacking the bags.

"how was the store?" you ask. she groans.

"horrible as always. how's the little shit?" she asks. you scoff and elbow your wife at the horrible nickname for your girl.

"she's still sleeping, poor thing."

sevika pouts. "i wish i could make her feel better." she says. you kiss her cheek.

"i think the vapor rub you put on her chest really helped last night." you say. sevika sighs.

"how're you feeling, mama?" she asks you, wrapping her arms around your waist. there's still groceries on the counter-- but all the frozen and refrigerated stuff's been put away, so you pull her closer to you to lay on her chest. she kisses your scalp.

"tired. glad you're home. my tits are killing me." you say. sevika pouts.

"what's wrong, 'd she bite your nipples again?" she asks. you chuckle.

"she hasn't been eating-- i'm all swollen with milk."

sevika shudders in your arms, and you pull away to look at her. she gulps.

"i could... i could help you with that." she says, her cheeks getting dark, her pupils getting wide. you blink up at her, a smirk creeping up your lips and raising your eyebrow.

"and how do you suggest you help me, sevika?" you ask, slowly trailing your hands up from her shoulders to tangle your fingers in her hair. her eyes dart down to stare at your tits, your nipples hard and sticking out of your thin t-shirt, a little damp spot over each from where it's been steadily soaking up the constant leak of your tits. sevika gulps again, her hands slowly slipping up under your shirt, trailing up your waist, until they land on your tits.

you both sigh, and sevika slowly, slowly squeezes her hands. you whimper, and sevika gasps as twin spurts of milk coat her palms.

"lemme put my mouth on you, baby." she whispers, her voice husky and low. you shiver in her hands and grins at you as she slowly walks the two of you backwards until your back hits the counter. you sigh as sevika ducks down to start pressing kisses into your jaw and neck, shoving one of her thighs between both of yours. "whaddya say, mama?" she asks. "hmm? lemme take care of you? make you feel all better?" she teases. you gulp, your cunt pulsing around nothing, before nodding against sevika.

"y-yes." you whimper. sevika grins against your neck, before pulling up to press her lips to yours as her hands fall to grab your ass and sit you on the counter.

"fuck babe." she mumbles against you, nipping your lip. you whine. "nobody told me havin' a kid would mean havin' a live-in cockblock. i've fuckin' missed you."

you laugh for several reasons. for one thing, you told sevika about a million times how different your sex lives would be once your daughter came into the world. for another-- you and sevika fucked last night in the shower.

sevika smiles at the sound of your laughs, pulling away to admire you for a moment before pressing a kiss to your nose.

"you're ridiculous." you say. sevika shrugs.

"you're gorgeous." she whispers. you grin, reaching down to pull the hem of your shirt over your head. sevika gasps as your tits are revealed to her, her eyes going wide, and her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "fuck." she grunts. you giggle again, and sevika's eyes go a little softer as they dart down to watch your stretch mark riddled belly jiggle with your laughs. one of her hands reaches down to gently grope it, the other coming up to cup your jaw.

"sevika." you say, right before she kisses you. she blinks at you, waiting for you to speak. "i love you so much."

she smiles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "i love you more." she says. you chuckle, and she grins, and then, she ducks down to begin pressing kisses over your breasts.

you're really sensitive, tender to the touch, and sevika moans against you when she realizes just how sensitive you are. a few drops of milk escape your nipples as she pushes her face against your breast, before slowly sliding down your tit and onto your ribs. sevika whimpers, nipping your tit, before ducking down to lick the small trail of milk all the way up until her tongue is against your nipple.

you gasp, arching your back to press your tit more firmly against her mouth. she chuckles, before wrapping her lips around your nipple and sucking.

you moan, your hands flying up to claw at her hair, and sevika groans.

"you're so fuckin' sweet." she mumbles, before returning to sucking your tits. "mmm fuck."

"sev!" you moan. she hums against you.

"mmhmm?" she asks. you whimper.

"f-fuck!"

"mhm." she agrees. you laugh, and sevika's hand on your stomach trails lower, fiddling with the waistband of your underwear.

"please." you whine. sevika groans, pulling away from your tit with a pop. there's milk running down her chin and throat, and she looks fucking drunk.

"you want my fingers, baby?" she asks. "i'd give you my mouth, but i'm pretty occupied." she mumbles, pressing kisses against your tits. you gulp.

"please, sev, please. need you." you whine. she growls.

"fuck, i'll give you anything, baby." she says. "anything you want." she promises as she ducks her hand beneath your waistband, her hand cupping your cunt. your thighs twitch around her, and her mouth latches around your other tit, pressing kisses around your nipple before sucking it into her mouth.

on your cunt, she starts drawing circles against your clit. you whine, and she growls, her teeth gently teasing your nipple, making you squeal.

"watch it!" you cry. she chuckles around you, slurping against your tit.

"'m sorry." she mumbles. you look down at her where she's sucking against your chest, her cheeks hollow, her lips covered in your milk. you groan.

"you're so fuckin' hot." you whine. she chuckles.

"says you." she mumbles. a bit of milk escapes her lip, falling onto your torso. in your underwear, she dips a finger down to your hole, and you gasp.

"please!"

she nods against you, blinking up at you with big eyes as she easily slides to fingers inside you, all the way up to the hilt. you both moan, the gentle vibrations of sevika's mouth against your nipple making you dizzy.

"oh shit." you whine. she nods against you again. "fuck me!"

sevika starts fucking you hard, her fingers slamming in and out of your cunt, her palm making sticky smacking sounds against your cunt, as she continues to drink you up.

"f-fuck." she says, pulling away to gasp. she's a mess, milk coating her face and throat, and you're sure your tits and abdomen is no better. "fuck, you're so fuckin' hot babe, you taste so good, and you're so fucking wet." she growls. between the two of you, your cunt begins to squelch. she flashes you a wolfish grin.

"fuck!" you whine as she crooks her fingers up to begin hammering against your g spot. "fuck, sev, right there!"

"keep it down, baby, our girl's sleepin." she teases you. you whimper.

"fuck off."

"fuckin' leakin' for me all over, aren't you?" she continues. "cunt and tits. you're even droolin' a bit." she says, laughing.

you growl, reaching up to grab her hair and forcing her face back against your tits. she goes without a fight, grinning up at you as she licks your nipple back into her mouth.

"fuckin' needy." she mumbles against you before she begins to slurp against your tits again.

you're close, and sevika can tell with the way you're clenching and pulsing around her fingers. she reaches up with her free hand to fondle your free tit, groaning when a steady stream begins to trickle out as she squeezes it.

you blink down at your wife, gasping at the sight of her, her eyes rolled back in her head, her eyelashes fluttering, her lips puckered as she continues to gulp you down. she looks like she's in paradise.

when she blinks her eyes open to meet yours, a small smirk pulling up at her lips, a dribble of milk escaping her mouth and trailing down her chin, you cum.

you cum so hard you get lightheaded, and you and sevika both gasp when you start to squirt around her fingers.

"oh fuck baby!" she growls, before sinking her teeth against your tit. you gasp and scream, and sevika chuckles against you as she continues to work you through your orgasm.

eventually you catch your breath.

you blink your eyes open, and sevika's grinning at you. in the background, you can hear little fucker's cries from the bedroom. you huff.

"you made me wake the baby up!" you pout. she grins.

"that's not all i made you do." she says, slowly pulling her fingers out of your cunt and smiling down at the puddle of cum on the tiled kitchen floor as she pops her fingers in her mouth. "fuckin' delicious." she grumbles.

you giggle, and sevika smiles up at you.

"i love you." she says. you smile and lean forward to kiss her, your milk and cum sweet on her lips.

"i love you too."

"you wanna clean up this mess or go get the kid?" she asks. you laugh.

"you should get her. i don't think my legs will work for a few more minutes." you admit. sevika grins.

"damn right they won't." she says, cockily. you laugh, pressing another kiss to her lips. she hums against you. "how're your tits?" she asks. you laugh.

"much better. feeling very loved." you say. she grins.

"good."

"thank you for takin' care of me." you say, slinging your arms around her shoulders. sevika grins.

"always." she says. you smile.

in the bedroom, your little girl's cries turn into wails. sevika sighs and rolls her eyes, pressing another kiss to your lips before turning around.

"i'm comin' baby!" she calls to your daughter. you grin, leaning forward to smack her retreating ass. she shrieks and jumps, turning around to glare at you. you laugh.

"this isn't over. you're gettin' payback tonight." you say. sevika grins.

"oh am i?" she asks over her shoulder as she walks into your bedroom. you laugh.

"you've got no idea." you call back.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[in-act-ive]

Hi can I request shameless X male reader where the reader is like an older brother to the boys and he defends them with his life pretty much it can be and he comforts them with side hugs y'know pulls them in for one especially when they fight with Fiona( nothing against her love her but I wanna comfort the boys y'know) headcanons or a oneshot i don't mind

Anyways have a good day

Yep! Sorry it's not a fic! I'm still a bit sick and I want to get this out before school starts up again!

Request : yes

Type : headcanon

A / N : more shameless stuff!! I'm not mad y'all just need to give me a minute to do some other stuff. All jokes aside this request was fun. Sorry I didn't do Liam!

Carl Gallagher

Knowing Carl you probably come to the rescue... A lot

He starts shit he can't finish

You have to come fight people for him a lot of the time

He also ends up getting people to jump him so... You have to save him then too

When you get injured he makes you deal with it

Its not that he doesn't know how

He just doesn't want to look at injuries he caused

When / after he gets in a fight with hie family he tries to avoid you

He doesn't want to bother you with his issues

You know where he hides though so you can help him

He's more of a " lets not open up.. Lets just stay DEAD SILENT instead "

You'll hug him

He won't admit it but that definitely helps him feel a bit better

Lip Gallagher

He likes to fight people for the hell of it

Lip can hold his own, really

Sometimes you just insist on stepping in cause you're much more responsible than he is and you know when he can't handle a fight or when its not worth it

Your normally pulling Lip out of a fight instead of defending him

He fucking hates it

His brothers appreciate it though

When you do end up fighting someone for Lip and get hurt he tends to your wounds immediately

He scolds you as he does so though, even if its his fault

When he gets in a fight with family he comes straight to you

He probably falls into your arms and just angrily huffs until you comfort him

He's not great with words

You've gotten used to it touch and you comfort him pretty quickly

He likes hugs and is very open about it

Especially yours

Ian Gallagher

Hes probably the more tame of the three boys

Definitely gets in fights he cant handle though

You have to step in and save him all the fucking time

He tries to tell you he's fine

He's not

When you get hurt in a fight he'll patch up your wounds

So scolding

He just explains what he's doing and does everything very gently as if your a child

He hates when you get hurt

You may be a bit older than him but he doesn't give a shit

You two just have a mutual overprotectivness over each other and everyone has picked up on it

After a fight with his familyhe comes to you first

You'll sit with him and he'll explain what's going on

You try your best to give advice

He nods and thinks about what you say as you speak

It almost always ends in you cuddling him while he sleeps

He cannot get in a fight with anyone without being mentally exhausted after

Note: This was not spell checked nor grammer checked! I apologize in advance for the mistakes

[kithtaehyung]

3tan slice:

yoongi watching reader get ready 🍊

stopppp i love this :((( this is for the 3tan yoongi and irl yoongi missers (at least, one of the things i have planned<;333)

"How about this one?"

Oh, you're back already. Adjusting his arm, Yoongi lifts his head to check his phone screen, wondering if you're gonna pass up this next dress too despite him liking the hell out of it.

"Is that new?"

Your smile is truly one of his favorite things.

"Yeah! Got it when I went shopping with Yuri. Well. She made me get it."

When you pout, do you know how it affects him?

Yoongi just huffs through his nose, settling into the crook of his elbow and letting the warmth of afternoon coat his shoulder. Casting a quick look out his blinds, he wishes you were here instead, coming in and out of another closet that comes to mind.

"Is it bad? Damn."

"Huh?" Shit, he never answered out loud. "Nah, that's the one."

"Oh, okay. You didn't say anything."

Still his problem. A million thoughts, with nowhere to go. "Sorry, doll. Just thinking."

You're in the middle of undressing offscreen, which is yet another thing he finds incredibly endearing. He can only see one of your elbows peek into the frame as you question,

"Work again?"

"You," he corrects, full of sleepiness and void of hesitation.

"Oh."

Eyes fully shut, Yoongi doesn't lift them again until you fetch for another opinion. Which is longer than he expects because you go fully silent for a bit.

"Okay, how's this?"

His eyes flicker open seconds before his heart skips.

Fuck.

He hasn't felt his chest beat like that in a minute.

Are words coming out this time? Or is his tongue as uncooperative as his brain? Why can't he say the simplest shit when you're just standing in front of him? Fuck, he can't even articulate anything but he just knows you're fucking beautiful.

When the hell did you steal his voice, too?

"I'll let you sleep," you whisper, and he hates how down you sound because should never have a reason to feel that way. "Just text me when you can, yeah?"

If he can't say how he feels, Yoongi goes for the second option. And he's not letting that one fail. "Come over when you're done."

"Wait, what?"

He adjusts his head again, slanting a bit higher to admire everything about you. "After your dinner."

"You need to sleep..."

Why are you so considerate when it comes to him? What did he ever do to deserve anything you're willing to give? He's thought about these things so much that they take up most of his sleepless, tired nights. "You're gonna keep me up looking like that anyway."

"But.. what about.."

"I won't take long."

"You sure?"

"No."

God. Yoongi will never, ever get over the ways you try to hide that shyness. There's no way he can stop his grin, and when you make him swear it will be quick, he also can't stop himself from teasing yet again,

"Depends on how long you last."

"Alright, bye," you deadpan, giving him sweet rejection and hitting him where it hurts so good. But you smile once more, agreeing to come over but only for a tiny, tiny bit.

"That's all I need, doll."

"Prove it."

Oh.

He intends to.

Because you can make him speechless for now.

But when it comes to showing you how he feels?

There's no way you're shutting his ass up.

-

-

3tanslices: mini-scenarios!

series: three tangerines

[nsharks]

buckshot | simon “ghost” riley

words: 2.4k

plot: simon teaches you how to use a shotgun so you can protect the family while he’s gone.

tags: mostly fluff, dad simon, a small touch of smut, lots of gun talk, fem!reader

a/n: I am not pro-guns at all this is just a fic. also based on my research shotguns and hunting rifles are the only guns you can own in the uk.

“Why the hell not?”

Simon is standing in the doorway of your bathroom, arms crossed and his mask off as he watches you brush your hair.

Sharing a home with him, and now a baby with him, has made Simon the most protective person you’d ever met. Perhaps even more so in the past few months he’d been home since the birth of your son. He refused to let you do anything but rest and nurse for the first month. He’d wake up multiple times during the night just to check the locks on all the doors, and recheck them, and then check up on the baby’s room, as if someone could have snuck in and swept him away.

You’re paranoid, Simon, you’d told him a couple times. Groggy and woken up again by his nightly patrol. Sometimes you even caught him just sitting in the living room at ridiculous hours; he claimed that it was due to a bad dream, but you suspected he was trying to take “watch” while his family slept.

“Because, Simon,” you say in exasperation, seeing his irritated reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I don’t like guns. Why would I want to shoot them?”

Simon always kept a shotgun hidden in the house.

You’d known that he had the license for it since before you. He even made you get licensed a couple years ago (in case of emergencies, he’d said). But you weren’t a fan of that sort of thing, and he hadn’t insisted on you actually using one until now.

“You don’t have to fuckin’ like them. You just have to know how to use one,” Simon says tersely. He runs a hand through his hair, an action he does only when he’s maskless around you. Even after all these years, it’s still a shocking sight to see him without the skull painted over his appearance.

Skull or not, he’s intimidating.

You don’t share his worries about your and the baby’s safety. Not when you’ve got him to scare people off.

“I really don’t want to,” you sigh, setting the brush down. Your voice is soft and careful, not wanting to fight him over something so ridiculous, especially when you’ve seen how paranoid he’s grown.

In no time at all, you’re standing in front of him with your hands placed on his bare chest, the strain of his muscles softening only slightly under your touch. It takes him a moment before his arms slide around your waist.

“Y/N,” he breathes out through his nostrils and leans over to touch his forehead to yours. “I’m… leavin’ soon. Next week. You’re not going to have me here in case… in case shit happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” you tell him in a whisper. “Not to me, not to our son.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. Instead, the notch in his throat presses against his skin as he swallows.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. Can you just do this for me?” His forehead slides down to the dip in your neck, breathing in your neck like he always does, and his voice has turned hoarse. “I need to… keep you safe. Have to.”

You’ve only ever heard the story about his family and his little nephew once or twice. It’s not something you could bare thinking about when your son slept just meters away, but it crosses your mind.

Maybe Simon has a point.

It took him so long to feel safe, worthy, of growing this family with you.

You can only imagine the fear he must feel. How much responsibility he feels to make sure your fate doesn’t end up like the rest of his family members.

Hands moving to the expanse of his back, you melt into him and finally give in. “Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, okay. Show me how to use a gun, Simon.”

_____

You both feel awful saying goodbye to your son for the day.

It’s the first time you’ve asked for a nanny. Simon preformed his own “background check” on each name you listed off to him, names that had been mentioned to you by friends or family. After his thorough research, you had finally settled on someone to watch the baby while the two of you went on your “hunting” trip.

“I think he will miss you the most,” you’d pouted, watching Simon hold your son before you left.

The baby looked so small in his arms; even at three months old, Simon’s hand could cover the entirety of his little back.

“No way, love,” Simon gave a small kiss to the boy’s forehead. “You’re the one feedin’ him. He’s gonna miss the fresh meals more than his dad today.”

Now, not at home with the baby for the first time since his entrance in your lives, Simon is driving you down a gravel road in the middle of nowhere. You have been awfully quiet the whole ride, equally as hesitant about the new babysitter as you are about what your husband is dragging you out here to do.

You know what he does. You’ve known perfectly well what Simon is infamous for, what his nickname is, and the long list of names of the people who have died at his hands. You’re okay with it since you never have to see it, because when it comes to violence, you are nothing like your husband. You used to catch Simon practically smirking when a gory or violent scene would come on in a movie. Meanwhile, you’d bury your gaze in his chest and grimace.

Don’t worry, pet, they’re not even showing it accurately, he’d tell you, as if that would help.

The place he stops at is a wooded area where the dirt road starts to dissipate into tall grasses. He claims to know the property’s owner so it’s fine for you to be there. He’s instructed you to wear long pants and comfy shoes for the occasion. For himself, he’s opted for black cargo pants and his painted balaclava.

“C’mon,” he says, stopping the car and eagerly getting the shotgun he brought out of the trunk.

You follow him into the woods. Something about his confidence indicates that he’s been here before, but you’ve never known him to hunt animals, especially with what his father used to do with them.

“We’re not… we’re not killing anything, right?” you ask when he finally stops walking. There’s nothing but tall trees around you and the occasional bird or squirrel causing you to flinch in surprise.

Simon’s too busy loading the gun to look at you.

“No.”

Something about his voice is different than the Simon you know. Concentrating intently, he closes the shotgun and then reaches for your waist, pulling you close to him.

“Take it,” he says huskily. Your fingers outstretch to wrap around the gun and take it from his hold. It feels… heavier than you anticipated and your grasp is awkward, the butt of it pressing into your chest.

“Well, not like that,” you can almost hear the amusement in his voice, but then it sobers, deepening with a tone of command. “Place this hand on the stock wrist.”

He’s behind your body, closely pressed against you so he can maneuver your hands where he wants them. You’re trying your best to focus since this is a serious situation, a loaded gun in your hands, but it’s hard not to feel the satisfying warmth emitted from his chest.

Once Simon seems satisfied, he asks you, “How does it feel?”

“Heavy,” you admit.

“Let’s fix your stance,” he instructs gruffly, “That should help.”

He uses his booted foot to tap against your feet, urging them further apart until they’re about shoulder-width. He shows you how to stand properly, how to bend your knees slightly and keep the gun high by your cheek as you hold it. He tells you to keep your feet planted to absorb the recoil. You’re doing your best to follow his instructions, feeling like one of his soldiers.

“Is this okay?” you ask, his hands dropping from yours so it’s only you now.

He takes a step back and inspects you with heavy eyes, the same eyes he drags over your naked body in bed. But this time, he’s not inspecting every detail of your bare skin and reveling in the beautiful sight of your curves and dips. Instead, he is inspecting the quality of your stance as you hold a weapon, and you try your best to appear confident under your husband’s experienced gaze.

“Good girl,” he finally says. The praise makes you shudder. “You’ve got a solid stance.”

“Can I shoot it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He shakes his head and leaves you to grab his backpack. He pulls out a couple of empty bottles.

“Point it at the ground, love,” he orders before he steps in front of you. You obey, lowering your aim and being mindful not to shoot him as he places the bottles on a fallen tree in front of you.

Once he’s out of the way, back by your side and wrapping his arm around your waist, you lift the shotgun back to the position he has showed you. His hot breath floods through his mask and tickles your neck.

“There’s a safety lock on it,” he mutters lowly, pointing to a little switch next to the trigger. “You need to move it if you want to shoot.”

“Oh,” you say, cheeks flushing from the sound of his voice. “Should I unlock it now?”

“Go ahead,” Simon says, “The gun in the house is loaded. You just have to unlock it if you ever need it”

There’s something about the way Simon’s powerful presence envelops you that makes your head feel fuzzy. It’s time to shoot now, but your heart is thumping wildly and you can’t help but lean into him.

“Can you… can you shoot it with me? For the first one?”

“Just the first one,” he warns, but is already placing his hands over yours, touch warm and strong and reassuring. There is always safety to be found in his touch. “Don’t worry so much about aim, alright? These aren’t regular slugs. They’re buckshot’s.”

You blink. “What?”

“They have a bunch of little pellets, not a single projectile. It’ll be easier for you.”

Although you are wildly out of your element, he is comfortably in his. You’re almost certain this isn’t even the kind of gun he uses in the field, but still, it is a language he is readily able to speak no matter the weapon.

“Finger on the trigger,” he murmurs in your ear.

Your finger finds the curve of the trigger, his finger following yours so you’re not pressing it on your own. There’s not another second for you to hesitate before he’s shooting it for you, bringing your finger down with his. The shot rings out. Echoes among the wilderness along with the sound the shattering bottle.

The recoil presses you further into his hold, but he keeps a firm grip on you, taking most of it in himself.

“I’ve got ya,” he assures you, noticing the wideness of your eyes. “That was good. You did good.“

“Oh, wow,” you sputter. The strength of it, the feeling of its power beneath your gentle hands, is not what you imagined. You wonder what it feels like to have this frightening kind of rush all the time. How it must feel to watch a body take the bullet rather than a bottle.

“On your own now,” Simon huffs.

The warmth and security of his touch is lost when he steps away and leaves the gun in your hands. The weight causes your hands to falter, but you repeat everything he’s told you in your head and adjust your grip. You want to show him you can handle yourself. Ease his worries with the assurance that you’re not weak and incapable whenever he’s gone.

But you hesitate.

Swallowing, you take your eyes off the next bottle to look at him for help. “Simon, I can’t-“

“Hey, hey.” The command in his voice remains, firm yet gentle. “Yes, you can. You are the strongest woman I know.”

“But… but I’m not you.”

“You don’t have to be me to shoot a shotgun.” His eyes catch yours and he gives a small nod of encouragement. “It’s just for protection, yeah? Not trying to turn you into a soldier.”

With the small encouragement, your finger returns to the trigger. You widen your stance a little. Keep the gun’s stock up by your cheek. You feel his eyes watching you carefully, but for just a moment, you pretend Simon isn’t there. Because the truth is, he’s not there all the time. There are stretches of time when the only person you, and now your son, have to rely on is you, and that’s not a responsibility you take lightly.

You shoot the gun and the next bottle shatters.

The strong recoil causes your feet to dig into the dirt and your body shudders.

“Christ, nice shot,” you hear Simon say over your steady breathing. You lower the gun and beam at him, the rush from the shot filling you with confidence.

“Thanks to you, lieutenant.”

_____

Practicing until all the bottles are broken leaves you with a sense of adrenaline that Simon assures you he knows how to soothe. The sun starts to set as he gets you back to the car, but once you’re inside, he’s pulling you onto his lap and attaching his lips to your collarbone.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he groans against your skin and anxiously peels off your top, your pants, every piece of fabric that gets in his way. He kisses the marks that pregnancy has left behind, always supplying them with adoration. His skin is hot to the touch, just as consuming as it had been during his teachings, and when he starts moaning into your neck about how fucking hot you are, you wonder if seeing you shoot a gun is the cause of the wild lust in his voice.

“Got to reward you,” he hums low, giving you his fingers just how he knows you like them. “You were such a good girl for me.”

When you’re back home that night, finally leaving after his reward in the car, Simon is the one to put the baby to bed. Then, he joins you in your room, slipping his warm body under the blankets beside you, and sleeping through the night for the first time in months. He thinks, maybe, now he won’t be quite as worried when he has to leave you both next week.

——

a/n: ok I promise simon picked up all the glass and threw it away somewhere because he’s not a litterer 👍🏻 also I don’t like any kind of gun at all and I’d prefer if they didn’t exist but I can understand why someone like simon would feel safer with one in his house given his past

[sant-riley]

AAAAAAA IDEAAAAAAAAAH

Hi! I'm new here! I've come to bombard you with the idea of a parent of the reader's(most likely dad) showing up to the base out of nowhere.

Secret admirer,

-🐍

Omg I have my first ever emoji anon, Hi!! And yes absolutely I love this. I'm gonna try and be neutral with the parent in question so it's open to anyone :)

P.S idk how I used to format this shit I'm not checking Lmfao

[Task force 141 reacting to your parent/s showing up out of nowhere to visit]

If we're taking into account that this Simon and the og Simon have the same backstory,, its safe to say he doesn't have fond memories of his dad, though he has some for his mother.

Depending on your relationship between you and your parent/s, Ghost is either gonna point blank tell them they're not welcomed here. While Price IS above him, he isn't afraid to pull the intimidation and rank card to get them to get the hell out of there. Ghost was abused by his dad, God fucking forbid you were EVER treated poorly and he finds out.

However, even if your parent is kind, he still is uncomfortable by them being there. It makes his chest feel heavy watching you interact and it just brings up bitter memories he much rather not think of, so he won't linger around and instead go to the gun range and wait it out. He cares for you, and unfortunately, it won't ever really transfer over to your parents. Best he'd do is a stern nod and be on his way.

Soap, however, is very happy to introduce themselves and your parent swoons over his accent and likes him immediately, even if they're not the greatest of parents, Soap will make it a point to put his best foot forward and ask them if they'd want a tour.

If your mom is present she immediately likes him and isn't afraid to give you a look with an eyebrow raise saying "why aren't you dating him?". Don't get me wrong, though. He's not afraid to make smart comments and then joke it off. He's protective but not in your face kinda way.

He's definitely the type to sigh with relief when they're gone, complaining about small things he disliked about them to you openly (a lil bit of a hater but his mom raised him to not be rude to his elders okay.)

Doesn't matter who your parents are, Price intimidates them. He's the captain, and from what you've told them, he is extremely good at his job and he's a no nonsense leader, but you also mention that he's kind and he'd never leave one of his own behind.

Price talks EXTREMELY highly of you, he isn't afraid to clasp a hand on your shoulder and smile that stupid smile of his while he looks down at you in admiration.

It'd be most likely that he himself would have invited your parents without your know how, he has the ties and the authority but trust and believe if you expressed any discomfort with it, he'd rectify it and send them on their way.

Your parents may not like how particularly you close you are with such an older man but it's obvious he cares so much for you and your safety, so they take peace in that.

Gaz is probably the most easy going out of the 4, casually making conversation and if your parents are the type to play match maker, he's their #1 choice I'm not sorry, it's the truth.

Gaz sings your praises, mentioning time and time again that you've been such a good help on base and a good comrade and friend and he will thank your parents for raising you. (Imagine him taking off his hat and holding it to his chest or tipping it what if I swooned)

You KNOW he's invited to family dinners if he's ever in the area, or if he has no plans for the holidays, he's welcome at the family home. (You tell him later that he doesn't need to feel pressured but he just ruffles your hair and asks what kind of alcohol your family prefers)

[softspiderling]

never knew (that I could fall so hard) | j.h.s.

summary: “Nothing,” you muttered, picking at the small napkin under your glass, before pressing the question out. “How come you never really date anyone?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, since we’ve known each other, you’ve never had a serious girlfriend. Just casual hook-ups or flings. Why is that?” or, you and Jake are friends. Just friends

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x reader

warnings: allusions to sex

word count: 7,6k

author’s note: idk why but this took me so long. but it's a big one. i hope you enjoy it, besties

title is from fall so hard by christopher

Jake: All good. Talk to you later.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What?” 

You looked up from your phone to see your co-worker Patrick giving you a look. The way he was leaning into the door of your office, which you hadn’t even heard opening, told you that he’d been standing there for a while.

“You’ve been staring at your phone for like, ten minutes. What’s up with you?”

With a sigh, you flipped your phone over so the screen was facing away from you, leaning your head into your hands. 

“Jake’s just come back from his mission.”

“Oh,” Patrick echoed, shutting the door behind as he sat down across from you, his eyebrows raised. “Is he okay?”

“He says he is, but he’s being extremely cryptic about it,” you groaned, picking your phone up yet again, to show Patrick the message. He frowned at your phone, before side-eying you. You dropped your phone on the desk, waiting for his opinion.

“There’s nothing cryptic about it.”

“It just sounds like he’s trying to hide something from me.”

“Girl, you should have told him how you felt about him before he left for that mission.”

You gave him a look, your shoulders drooping. 

This again. 

“I told you a million times that I don’t have feelings for him. We’re just friends. You know it’s really sexist that you assume that men and women can’t be friends.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Men and women can be friends, but you and Jake can’t.”

“What the hell is that even supposed to mean?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Meanwhile Patrick looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. 

“It means that it’s obvious the two of you have feelings for each other and are too chicken-shit to do anything about it.”

Patrick was right, in some ways. When you first met Jake, you hadn’t realized he’d become such a big part of your life and now that he had, it was hard to imagine your life without him. But that didn’t mean that you were in love with him. You wouldn’t want to imagine your life without any of your friends.

“This is not helping Patrick,” you muttered, leaning your cheek in your hand. “I thought you wanted to stop me from spiraling instead of berating me.”

“Just trying to help. At least it got your mind off of the mission?” Patrick said, unhelpfully bringing your thoughts back to the mission, grimacing as he realized his flaw. You clicked your tongue, annoyed, ushering him out of the office a bit more forcefully than necessary before sitting back into your chair with an exhale. 

You spent the rest of your workday trying to focus on your actual assignments, but your focus kept straying. It didn’t help that Jake went AWOL after the text he sent you, not replying to any of your texts. 

You: that sounds ominous. Are you really okay?

You: Is Javy okay?

When you realized that you wouldn’t get any more work done, you decided to call it a day, packing your belongings together and taking the rest of the day off. You even got Patrick to end his day early and the two of you walked out of the office, parting ways in the parking lot.

“Hey, let me know when Jake texts you back, okay? Don’t spiral again!”

You waved at Patrick, getting into your own car. Before you started the engine, you checked your phone again - nothing - before starting the drive home. It didn’t take long until you were parked in front of your building. Shouldering your bag, you headed inside, your focus back on your phone as you walked up the stairs to your apartment. Absentmindedly, you reached into your bag for your keys, one hand on your phone to type out another message to Jake. 

You: Jake you know I hate it when you do this.

A ping finally made you look up from your phone, just to see Jake Seresin standing in front of your door. 

“Told you I’d talk to you later, didn’t I?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you gave him a gentle shove before barreling into his chest, throwing your arms around his body. Only when you heard his heart beating in his chest, slow and steady, you let yourself breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“You’re such a jerk,” you sniffed. Jake only rumbled out a laugh, his body shaking. His hands were stroking down your back soothingly, and soon you peeled away from him, your heart starting to beat too fast. Jake grinned down at you, but you only glowered, moving to unlock your door, with him hot on your heels. 

��I’m sorry if I made you worry, darling. When we got back on land I just wanted to see you so I drove out here,” Jake explained and you raised your eyebrows at him, shutting your front door slowly. 

“You came straight here after you docked?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“A simple yes would’ve sufficed,” you muttered, a flush on your cheeks. “How long are you staying?” you then asked and his face fell. 

“I don’t know. But I actually have to go back to Fightertown later. The team’s planning a little party tonight and I have to be there.”

“Of course you do,” you teased. You were a bit disappointed that he couldn’t stay for long, but he didn’t have to drive out in the first place, so you figured you should be happy he was here at all. “Do you want to grab an early dinner before you have to head back?”

“I am not sure if we’re gonna have time, how long do you need to get ready?”

You paused in your tracks, glancing at him. “Get ready for what?”

“You’re coming with me to Fightertown. Javy wants to see you too and you’d get along with the rest of the team like a house on fire,” Jake answered, like it was obvious. 

“Jake, I can’t come with you, I have to work tomorrow.”

“On a Saturday?”

Sighing, you nodded, sitting down on your couch. “A client of mine has an event tomorrow I have to oversee. I’m sorry Jake, I really wish I could come with you.”

And you did. You hadn’t really met any of Jake’s friends except for Javy, the other aviators he was stationed with weren’t really his friends. Sometimes it worried you a bit that Jake didn’t have a lot of people who had his back, but it seemed like he came back from the mission a changed man.

“It’s okay,” Jake huffed in humor, rubbing a hand over his face. “I should have known better than to spring this on you. Another time then.”

“I promise!” You said, biting on your lip, almost scared to ask. “Are you going back to Lemoore?”

Jake sat down next to you, bumping his shoulder against your gently. “We have the next three weeks off to recuperate and then we’re supposed to finish our previous posts, but I don’t know where they’re going to send me next. Maybe I can choose. I did save the day, after all.”

“Not an ounce of humility in your bones, huh?” 

“You don’t need to be humble when you’re this good,” Jake pointed out with a smug grin, looping his hand around your wrist, pulling you up. “C’mon, let’s go to Reyna’s. I had to live on carrier food for the past few days, I need something real.”

San Diego, circa 2016

“Hey, can I get another caipirinha, and then close out my tab?”

It was around one am in the morning, Tess had just left the bar, after you had insisted you were fine and would head home after one more drink. Usually, you weren’t comfortable staying behind but tonight you didn’t really care. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend and wanted to celebrate your newfound singleness. Which was… Odd, considering you’d been dating for two years, and one might be more tearful after breaking up with someone. 

But when you realized, it wasn’t normal to be crying basically every single day for the past half year, you broke up with him and for the first time in two years, you felt light.

When the bartender slid your drink over the counter along with your credit card, you gave her a smile, immediately taking a sip. 

“Closing out your tab so soon?” Someone drawled behind you, making you sigh. Of course you’d get approached as soon as you were alone.

“I should’ve closed it out sooner to avoid running into you,” you replied, before turning around, your mouth dropping a little. A gorgeous man was standing in front of you, toothpick between his lips, green eyes twinkling at you. His dirty-blonde hair was neatly styled, and when your gaze dropped down to his chest, you understood why. 

Navy.

He smirked at you, obviously aware of his good-looks. This man was clearly a womanizer and to your bad luck, he had his sights set on you. “Oh sweetheart, I’ve had an eye on you the whole night.”

“Yeah, because that’s definitely not predator behavior at all,” you scoffed at him and he only grinned wider, picking his toothpick out from between his lips. Flicking it into the small bucket that stood on the counter, serving as a trashcan, he offered his hand to you.

“The name’s Jake. What can I call you, besides sweetheart?”

You bit back a smile, shaking your head a bit. Even though you had no intention of going home with him (or taking him home with you) you figured there was no harm in flirting with him, right? You told him your name with a stir of your drink, and he repeated it slowly, rolling your name between his lips and you could get drunk off the sound of your name out of his mouth.

“Any special occasion for being out so late or were you just ringing in the weekend?”

“I was actually celebrating my new relationship status,” you replied. Jake’s eyes immediately flitted to your left hand that was wrapped around your glass, but finding it empty, he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Single?”

“Single.”

Jake smirked, lifting his beer bottle. “I’ll drink to that.” You clinked your glass against his bottle carefully, rolling your eyes, a grin on your lips. 

“So you’re Navy?”

“Naval aviator, yes. I just started the Top Gun programme today and we just came out for some drinks with the other aviators.”

“Well, shouldn’t you get back to them, then?” you asked, sipping on your drink, your eyebrows high. 

“Ah, I think they’ll be fine. You’re much better company anyway.”

His eyes never left yours and it made you shudder a bit. You could understand the allure of him, and it was obvious that every other woman in the bar, and some men, too, were ready to pounce on Jake as soon as he’d left your vicinity. But by the way he was caging you against the bar with one arm, his hand splayed against the counter, it didn’t seem like he’d leave any time soon.

“This your first time in Fightertown?”

Jake nodded, grinning at you.

“How do you like it so far?”

“It’s starting to grow on me,” Jake smirked, blinking slowly. “So pray tell, what kind of idiot let a woman like you go?”

“Oh come on, he didn’t let me do anything. I wasn’t happy anymore, so I left.”

“A woman after her own heart, huh?”

“Something like that,” you chuckled. Somehow, Jake managed to rope you into a conversation, which was surprisingly not as superficial as you had thought it would be. Having immediately labeled him as a womanizer, you had expected him to use cheesy lines on you rather than ask genuine questions about your life. Even when your drink was slowly coming to its end, you decided to take smaller sips, trying to give yourself some wiggle room, but wanting to stay true to your word on leaving as soon as it was finished, not wanting to live your life according to another man just after having left one.

“- and now I can’t coffee unless I am well into my day,” you sighed, your eyes catching another man dressed in khakis approaching. He laid his hand on Jake’s shoulder, who barely moved a face muscle. Must be a friend.

“We’re headed out, are you coming with us?”

“No.” - “Yes.” 

Jake raised an eyebrow at you, his dimple showing. “What, you tryin’ to get rid of me, sweetheart?”

“You’re welcome to stay here, but this is my last drink and I am going home when I finish it, which is about…” Taking one last sip of your caipirinha through the straw, you waved the empty glass in his face. “Right about now.” You placed the empty glass on the counter and sent the two men a smile. 

“See you around boys.”

Ducking out under Jake’s arm, you weaved your way out of the bar, inhaling deeply. You’d been in that bar for hours, not realizing how stuffy it was inside and the fresh air was a welcome change. It wasn’t too long before you heard the doors to the bar open again, the music blaring out briefly before the doors shut.

“Hey, wait up sweetheart!”

Wow.

You tugged your jacket tighter against your neck, decidedly not waiting up as he caught up with you, slowing down when he fell in step with you. Jake was grinning as he looked over to you, shaking his head slightly. 

“You didn’t give me a chance to say good bye.”

“So you thought running after a woman in the dark was the smart thing to do?”

“Awe come on sweetheart, only trying to get you home safe,” he drawled, making you snort out a laugh as you looked over to him. 

“I am not taking you home, Jake.”

Jake tilted his head at you, and for a second you thought he’d just turn on his heels and return to the bar, to maybe find a willing man or woman who’d take him to bed, but Jake kept walking with you. 

“Let me at least walk you home, yeah?”

This man would just keep surprising you, huh? You figured it wouldn’t hurt letting him walk you home, even though you lived in a pretty safe neighborhood, it was always better to be safe than sorry. So you sighed dramatically, shrugging with your shoulders.

“Fine, if you insist,” you said, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “So was that one of your co-workers back there? You seemed close.”

“Javy? Yeah, he’s my best friend actually,” Jake replied and you raised an eyebrow at that. 

“Really? You’re that lucky to be stationed with your best friend?”

Jake laughed. “We can hand in papers asking to be stationed together. It’s more of a suggestion than anything else, but yeah, we got pretty lucky. Helps that we got a couple of achievements on our belts and the higher ups are more lenient with us.”

You rolled your eyes at his humble brag. At least he was consistent.

“That’s nice. It’s good to have someone familiar with you, I can’t imagine it being easy to be away from your family all the time. Do you miss them?”

Jake was silent at your question and when you glanced over to him, the light of a street lamp illuminated his hardened face and you mentally cursed, embarrassment running up your neck.

“I am sorry,” you quickly said, stumbling over your words, but Jake only let out a breathless laugh.

“‘s okay. Nothing to worry about. I’m not close to my family so I don’t really mind.”

His answer was short and the tone told you that he was done with the topic, so you pressed your lips together, feeling prickly. You weren’t sure what else to say, scared you’d put your foot in it again.

“Now don’t clam up on me sweetheart,” Jake teased, amusement evident in his voice and you scoffed giving him a look, the tension bleeding from your shoulders. 

“Shut up, I was trying to be considerate of your feelings, okay?”

“Out of a sudden? I am touched.”

Shaking your head at him, you came to a stop in front of your apartment building. 

“So this is me,” you said, shifting from one foot to another. “It was really nice of you to walk me home. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t,” Jake hummed and you sighed in exasperation. 

“Can’t you just say you’re welcome?”

“You’re welcome.”

You fished your keys out of your purse, your eyes never leaving him. “How are you getting home?”

“I am calling an uber, don’t worry about me.”

“Okay. Good night, Jake,” you said quietly, biting your lip before unlocking the door and heading inside. Through the glass door, you could see him looking at you, pointedly not reaching for his phone before you disappeared from his eyesight. 

As you climbed in bed, you wondered if you should’ve gotten his number. You could see something maybe happening with Jake, but were you ready for jumping into another relationship, so soon after breaking things off with Isaac. And even if you were ready, wasn’t Jake just looking for a hookup, instead of something serious?

Even as you woke up the next morning, Jake was on your mind. But luckily you stopped thinking about him when you fell into your routine of a Saturday, going to the grocery store as your fridge was empty and getting your apartment in order. Around four, you headed out to get some coffee, since your coffee machine was still broken. Jogging down the stairs, you suddenly paused when you saw Jake outside the building, staring at the buzzer. Slowly, you open the door, giving him a once over. 

“... What are you doing here?”

Jake straightened his back, giving you an easy smile. He was out of uniform this time, dressed in a simple black shirt and some blue jeans, sunglasses hanging in the neck of his shirt. 

“I seem to remember something about your coffee machine being broken and thought I’d take you out for a coffee,” he said and you furrowed your brows, a slow smile starting to form on your lips. 

“Really.”

“Yeah. What do you say?” 

Jake raised an eyebrow at you and you relented with a laugh. “Sure, okay.”

*

“So, they just made up a squadron for you?”

“Sure did.”

“That’s insane,” you snorted and Jake raised an eyebrow at you, his fingertips drumming against his beer bottle. 

“What’s it going to take for you to believe that I am damn good at what I do?”

“You’re telling me you weren’t surprised when you found out that the higher-ups were so impressed with you that they just made up a whole new squadron?”

“No.”

“He’s lying,” Javy interjected, drawing your attention to him. “We were together when we got the orders and you should’ve seen his face. It was hilarious.”

“Don’t listen to Javy, he’s just mad that he lost in darts again,” Jake drawled, leaning his arm on his best friend’s shoulder, who only shoved his arm off with a scoff. You only watched with an eye roll, already used to their antics. Taking the last sip of your drink, you stood up, fixing your blouse.

“I have to use the restroom,” you told them, grabbing your purse and pointing a finger at the two men. “You better have resolved this by the time I get back.”

You squeezed your way through the crowd, headed to the bathroom. After finishing your business, you walked over to the sinks, where a girl was fixing her hair in front of the mirror. The two of you exchanged polite looks through the mirror, when the girl’s smile suddenly turned sheepish as you washed your hands.

“Hi, sorry to be this forward. But is the blonde guy at your table your boyfriend?” She asked and you returned the smile somewhat nervously, reaching for the paper towels.

“Jake? Uh, no,” you replied, pausing as you assessed her. “Would you like me to introduce you to him?”

The girl beamed at you and you exchanged names as you left the bathroom. She seemed friendly enough and she was really pretty, so you figured Jake would like to get to know her, he never was one to turn down a pretty face. Jake and Javy both raised an eyebrow at you as you arrived at the table, no longer alone. 

“Jake, Javy, this is Maya. Maya, these are my friends Javy and Jake,” you introduced them and they exchanged pleasantries as they shook hands. “Jake, Maya told me that the music’s kinda lame and I told her that you know your way around music. You should show her the jukebox.”

It took Jake a second to understand what was going on, before he gave Maya an easy smile, taking her to the jukebox in the back of the bar. Sometimes, when you saw Jake around other women, it made you wonder why Jake never really pursued you. You did meet because he was hitting on you, how did you become friends instead? What was so different about you? Maya was laughing as Jake conversed easily with her, leaning his arm against the jukebox and throwing in a quarter, letting her choose a song. He always was good at making the other person feel wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Why am I doing what?” you asked back, tearing your eyes away from Jake and Maya to turn to Javy, who only looked at you unimpressed. Your hand curled around the fresh caipirinha on the table that had replaced your empty one, stirring the drink with the straw.

“Pawning him off to other women.”

“Jesus Javy, I am not pawning him off to other women. I am wingmanning him. She’s cute. I figured Jake deserved to have some fun.”

Javy rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. It was obvious that he was annoyed, but you didn’t want to press the topic any further and it didn’t look like he was going to add anything else, so you took a sip from your drink.

“Hey, thanks for ordering me a new one” you said with a small, grateful smile, trying to change the topic, but Javy only arched an eyebrow at you, before snorting, shaking his head.

“You know damn well that it wasn’t me who ordered that for you.”

Biting on your lower lip, you leaned your elbow on the table, slightly miffed. 

“We’re friends,” you stated, somewhat unnecessarily and Javy sighed in exasperation. 

“I know. So what?”

“He doesn’t see me like that.”

“You do remember how you met, right?”

Your brows drew together. “You know what I mean, Javy. Just because Jake hit on me before we knew each other, doesn’t mean that we were destined to be together. Sometimes people are better off as friends.”

“But you love him.”

“I love all of my friends, Javy,” you pointed out. “I love you, too.”

“You know, some day he’ll find someone else who puts up with him and it’ll be too late by then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, I am not going to be your shoulder to cry on,” Javy said, pointing his finger at you. Scowling, you rolled your eyes at him, purposefully angling your body away from him. The two of you sat there in tense silence, as the bar around you stayed rowdy, until Javy leaned forward, his expression softening. 

“I’m sorry. That was harsh. I just want Jake and you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Javy. So is he. He’s a good friend and he’s there for me when I need him, just as much as I am there for him when he needs me,” you responded and Javy only clenched his jaw, before nodding. 

“If you’re sure about that….”

“I am.”

Javy hummed thoughtfully, squeezing your wrist. “Don’t be mad at me, okay? We good?”

Sighing, you gave him a look. You knew that he wasn’t trying to be a jerk, even if it sounded like it. He was a good guy and an even better friend to Jake. Javy, while out of line, was coming from a good place. You gave in, patting his hand gently.

“Sure.”

Soon, Jake returned, his shirt ruffled and untucked, and you managed to only wrinkled your nose slightly. Javy’s eye twitched a bit, but he didn’t say anything, choosing to take a drink from his beer instead.

“Really, Jake?”

“What? You were the one who introduced her to me” Jake pointed out, sitting down next to you. His thigh was touching yours, warmth radiating from his body, but you didn’t mind. Then he reached for your glass, but you moved it out of his grasp quickly, tutting. 

“Nuh-uh. There’s no way you’re putting your mouth anywhere near my glass, Jake. God knows where it was ten minutes ago.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re scared of boy germs,” Jake teased, and you shoved his shoulder playfully, pulling a face. 

“No, I’m only scared of your germs.”

“Stop squabbling, I was going to get another beer anyway,” Javy sighed, rolling his empty beer bottle in his hand. “Last round?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You wanted to go to the farmer’s market tomorrow morning, right?” Jake asked, nudging you gently, surprising you. You had completely forgotten about your plans for the following day. 

“Right, yeah. I’m good with this, Javy,” you said to Javy absentmindedly, waving him off before he went off to get the usual for him and Jake. Tapping your finger against your glass, you watched Jake. You truly believed what you told Patrick and Javy, that you loved Jake as a friend. But you feared that it would be so easy for you to fall in love with him. Or maybe you already had? Without realizing it?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Blinking, you frowned at him. “What?”

“I think I just lost you for a minute,” Jake asked, amused. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, picking at the small napkin under your glass, before pressing the question out. “How come you never really date anyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, since we’ve known each other, you’ve never had a serious girlfriend. Just, casual hook-ups or flings. Why is that?”

“You haven’t dated anyone either,” he pointed out, but you only rolled your eyes.

“It’s different. You knew I just got out of a relationship when we met. I am not vehemently against a serious relationship. But you act like it’s the worst thing that could happen to you.”

“You know serious isn’t really my thing, sweetheart. A relationship means work. Hard work. And that takes time, which I don’t have. A relationship just isn’t realistic with my job, anyway. I’m making the best of the card’s I’ve been dealt.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Jake’s forehead creased. “And what makes you say that?”

“You can’t tell me that everyone you work with doesn’t want a serious relationship.”

“Perhaps not. But it’s not what I want,” Jake said. “But I promise I’ll help you find the man of your dreams. Maybe you’ll meet him tomorrow at the farmer’s market.”

Biting back a sigh, you put on a fake smile, turning back to your drink. At least this cleared any lingering questions you might’ve had. Even if you had any feelings towards Jake that were more than platonic love, you’d never risk your friendship with him for casual sex. After Javy returned to the table with two beers in hand, the conversation slowly started up again. You were only listening half-heartedly however, too busy trying to figure out your feelings for the man next to you. Frowning, you rubbed your eye, and Jake noticed, squeezing your shoulder. 

“Hey, you tired?”

You nodded, rolling out your tense shoulders to discreetly get Jake’s hand off of you. Luckily, he didn’t notice as he slipped his phone out of the pockets of his jeans, opening the uber app. 

“The uber will be here in five minutes.”

The three of you got up, chairs scraping against the floor and headed outside to wait by the curb. Normally, you might’ve leaned against Jake for some support, but instead, you wrapped your arms around yourself. When the uber finally arrived, you were quick to snag the passenger seat, only sending the two aviators a cheery smile. 

“Sorry boys, you gotta cram into the back.”

You could feel Javy’s eyes burning into the back of your head, but you ignored it, not wanting to subject yourself to his judgment right now. It didn’t take long for the uber to arrive at your place, your hand already on the car handle, opening the door. 

“Thanks for tonight, it was really nice,” you said over your shoulder with a smile. 

“Night!”

You climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind you, but before you could take another step, Jake called out your name, the window rolled down. 

“What’s the rush? You got someone waiting for you?” Jake teased and you gave him a look. 

“I’m just tired Jake.”

Jake’s face softened. “Get some rest sweetheart, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Biting your lip, you nodded, giving him a small wave before the car pulled away, driving off. Sighing, you walked inside your apartment building, your stomach heavy. This felt all too familiar, getting home from a bar and having conflicted feelings about Jake. Difference was that this time it felt like there was so much more on the line for you. Maybe it was better for everyone involved to get some distance, at least until you figured out what the hell you were feeling for Jake. 

Over the next few weeks, you managed to avoid seeing Jake. After canceling your visit to the farmer’s market with him, he’d been insisting on spending time with you, especially since he was stationed nearby. Only as you rebuffed every single of his invitations to go out or to grab lunch, you began to realize that you spent a lot of time with him, whether it was online or in real life. 

You started feeling bad about avoiding him when he started lamenting about not having seen you for a month. Maybe it wasn’t fair to give him the cold shoulder like this after all, this wasn’t really his fault, was it? This whole situation made you miserable, but you were convinced that it was the only solution right now. Your head knew that you were friends and nothing more, it was your heart that needed convincing.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Jake standing in front of your door, a frown on his face.

“... What are you doing here?”

“Are you mad at me?” he asked back, instead of answering your question.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Jake gave you a look, stepping inside your apartment and shutting the door behind him. He was standing so close to you, you could see the golden specs in his eyes. Far too close. Averting your gaze, you fled to the kitchen, but Jake was quick to follow

“Come on, don’t play coy with me. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, ducking my calls, canceling all our plans. You’re mad.”

He was leaning on your kitchen counter with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised, as if daring you to prove him wrong. 

“I am not mad, Jake. I was just really busy with work and everything, and honestly, I thought you’d be busier as well, you know, with your new squadron and all.”

Jake stared at you intently, trying to gauge if you were lying or not, before sighing, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Fine okay. I’m sorry for barging in here like this. I just thought you were dodging me. But if it was because of work, and not because you’re mad at me, you can come out for drinks with me tonight, right?”

“Uh…”

Crap. 

You knew that if you’d turn him down now, that it was just an excuse and that you had lied to him. And if he’d found out that you lied, he would want to know why. 

“Fine,” you relented and finally, a genuine smile appeared on Jake’s face, his hand coming around your neck to hug you. Exhaling, you leaned into him briefly, your shoulders sagging, some of the tension seeping out. Your heartbeat quickened when you felt his hands ghost down your back and you pulled away quickly, clearing your throat. 

“I’ll… Uh, go get changed real quick okay?”

The words had barely left your mouth before you already fled down the hallway into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Leaning against it, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. You screamed into your open palm out of frustration and then pushed yourself off the door to get dressed. Ten minutes later, you were on the road, suspiciously not taking the route into the city.

“Soo where did you say we were grabbing this drink?”

“I didn’t,” Jake chuckled, glancing over at you. “We’re going to the Hard Deck.”

“Wait, the Navy bar?”

“That would be it, yeah. 

Pulling a face, you sunk deeper into your seat. “Am I going to survive a night surrounded by men brimming with testosterone and arrogance?”

“Now what is that supposed to mean, sweetheart?” Jake drawled, turning into a street that slowly turned from concrete into gravel, the small stones crunching under the tires of the car. He pulled up next to a blue bronco and you leaned forward to look at the bar that was situated right next to the beach. 

“Huh. Not bad.”

You got out of the car, slowly taking in the number of uniformed people coming and going. While you had seen your fair share of navy personnel at bars, you’ve never gone to an outright navy bar. 

“You coming?”

Jake was looking back at you with a raised eyebrow, already a few steps ahead of you. Puffing out a breath, you caught up with him, entering the bar right after him. It was pretty packed, which was to be expected, but the most rowdy section of the bar was in the back by the pool table, right where Jake was headed. 

Figured.

“Hey Hangman, what took you so long? I was starting to think you got scared of facing me in a round of pool,” a brunette woman said with a smug grin when she noticed your arrival, leaning on a cue stick, her eyes landing on you. “Oh, hey. Are you the reason why Hangman’s been sulking for the past few weeks?”

Your cheeks reddened and Jake only smirked at the brunette. “Easy Phoenix, let the girl breathe,” he said, placing his arm at the small of your back, introducing you to his squad. You waved, saying your hellos, when Javy sidled up next to you, hugging your side briefly,

“He was sulking, what did you do?” he whispered into your ear, making you elbow him in the stomach. You turned to Jake, when someone else joined your group, a very attractive guy with a mustache, pressing a beer bottle in Jake’s hands, pausing when he saw you standing next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I didn’t know you brought someone.”

“‘s fine,” Jake waved him off. “This is Rooster.”

Rooster shook your hand gently, but firmly. “You can call me Bradley.”

“Hi Bradley,” you said with a shy smile, introducing yourself. 

Jake paused a beat, before he cleared his throat, his eyes finding yours. “I’ll get you a drink. Caipi?”

He didn’t even wait for your reply before he disappeared into the crowd and Bradley let out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. 

“Told you he’s sulking,” Javy said with a sing-song voice, before he picked up a cue stick off the pool table, challenging another aviator, you believed his name was Fritz, to another round of pool. 

“So, how do you know Hangman and Coyote?” Bradley asked curiously. 

“Oh, uh, Jake kind of hit on me? When he was in the Top Gun program.”

“You’re his girlfriend?” 

“Oh, no!” you flushed. “Uh, we’re just friends. He hit on me in a bar but we're just friends.”

Bradley hummed, nodding slowly as he eyed you skeptically. You were about to ask what the look was for when Jake returned with your drink, glancing at Bradley for a second. It wasn’t really clear to you if the two of them were friends or not, so you took a sip from your caipirinha, hoping the tension would dissipate. 

“Anyways, it was nice to meet you,” Bradley then said. “I’ll see you around.” 

He squeezed your shoulder and clapped Jake on the back before he moved to the back of the pool table. Jake watched him go, his jaw clenched. 

So, not friends, then?

“Thanks for the drink, Jake,” you said, snapping Jake out of his thoughts as he cast his eyes on you with a wink. 

“Of course.”

“So, what was it with you sulking because of me?” you teased and Jake huffed. 

“I was just a bit upset. You were giving me the cold shoulder for no reason, sweetheart, can you really blame a guy for that?”

The guilt welled up again. If his co-workers had noticed his mood, Jake really must have been upset. You lowered your gaze to the floor out of shame, before you reached out to squeeze Jake’s hand; he looked at you in surprise.

“I am really sorry, Jake. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” 

You weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but Jake’s face tinged pink and he turned away, clearing his throat. 

“Don’t worry about it, it was just a misunderstanding. Right?”

“Right,” you echoed, grimacing a bit before you lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were already on you, and there it was again, your heart beating wildly. 

THUMP.

“Hey Hangman, are you gonna come join us in a game of darts?”

You and Jake sprang apart, your hands dropped numbly to the side and Fanboy paused, looking between you two.

THUMP. THUMP.

There it was again.

“... Sorry, did I interrupt something?” he asked, his voice apologetic. 

“No no, you’re fine,” you insisted, while Jake took a long sip from his beer. Fanboy nodded, turning back to Jake. 

“So, darts?”

“Go,” you told Jake. He looked unsure, but you gave him a gentle push. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

You leaned back against the table as Fanboy left with Jake, and as he disappeared from your eyesight, your heart slowly returned to its normal beat.

Traitor. 

“Sick of us already?”

You looked up only to see Bradley across the table from you with a smirk, a beer in his hand and you chuckled, shaking your head. 

“I’ve expected worse, actually.”

“Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” Bradley whinged, pressing his flat palm against his chest dramatically.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of hysterical?” you asked, amused.

“It’s part of my charm. You just must be impervious to it.”

“Oh please,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Has that line ever worked for you?”

“It’s not a line,” Bradley pointed out. “I don’t make it a habit to flirt with women who are spoken for.”

That caught you off-guard, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Excuse me?”

Bradley inclined his head towards Jake, while taking a swig from his beer. Jake was talking to Javy by the dart board, though his shoulders were tense, his gaze set straight, as if he did his best not to look in your direction. 

“I told you we’re not dating,” you spluttered and Bradley only grinned, like he knew something you didn’t.

“You might think so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bradley sighed, leaning his elbows on the wooden surface, as if he was talking to a toddler. “I’ve seen you together for like an hour and I can already tell you’re head over heels for each other. And the past few weeks he’s been in a foul mood, worse than he usually is. He didn’t even want to come out with us in the first place. But then you guys made up and he’s suddenly a ray of sunshine?” 

You pursed your lips as you watched Jake, throwing a dart with more force than necessary. 

“He doesn’t look very sunshine-y to me,” you pointed out and Bradley blinked at you, before barking out a laugh. 

“You’re joking, right?”

You crossed your arms, slowly feeling like he was fucking with you and Bradley sobered up quickly at the look on your face, laying his hand on your arm. 

“Hey, I am not making fun of you. I mean, I kind of am. But seriously, I think you should just talk to him.”

“It’s not going to change anything,” you sighed, uncrossing your arms. “Even if he did love me, we don’t want the same things. I am not going to ruin our friendship.”

Bradley shrugged with his shoulders. “Why are you so sure that it’s going to ruin your friendship? Don’t think. Just do.” With a knock on the table, Bradley saluted at you before walking off and you only stared after him with a frown.

Don’t think, just do? What kind of lifestyle coach tip was that?

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the dart board, trying to find a glimpse of Jake but he wasn’t there anymore. You craned your neck, looking for him on the other side of the bar, he was still nowhere to be found. So you went up to Javy, who was still playing darts with Fanboy, pulling him aside. 

“Hey, where’s Jake?” you asked him. He only gave you a brief look, nodding towards the patio through the window. Thanking Javy, you walked through the doors that led outside, finding Jake on one of the patio tables, his feet on the bench.

“Been looking everywhere for you,” you said, somewhat accusingly as you sat down next to him. Jake only gave you a wry smile, before turning back to the beach. 

“You looked pretty busy, didn’t want to bother you.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his insinuation and you wondered if Bradley, and everyone else, was right after all. 

“Are you jealous?” you then finally asked, and Jake didn’t react. You weren’t sure if he hadn’t heard you, or if he was simply ignoring you, but then-

“Of Rooster?” He scoffed out, running his hand through his hair, a scowl on his face. “Maybe.”

Stunned, you reeled back a bit. You hadn’t expected for him to be so direct or honest, not after all this time. You opened your mouth to say something, but you didn’t know what to say. Jake beat you to it. 

“He’s a good man. I think he could make you happy,” Jake said and your eyes widened. 

“What?”

Huffing, Jake looked at you from the corner of his eyes before he turned away again, leaning his arms on his knees. “He’d treat you right. Rooster’s got a bit of baggage, but everyone does nowadays.”

“Jake, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You want to know if I am okay with you and Rooster, right?”

“What? No! He’s not my type.”

“Oh,” Jake said stupidly, his shoulders sagging a bit. You weren’t confident if it was a relief, but it sure looked like it. You knew you loved him. But did he love you, too, like everyone was claiming? You took a deep breath, closing your eyes to collect all your bearings before you reached out to place your hand on his knee. 

“Jake, I love you.”

Jake’s head snapped in your direction, his face hopeful for a split second, before his expression darkened again, turning away from you.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am bad for you!” Jake snapped at you. “This could never work, I am just going to end up hurting you and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So you don’t love me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It sure sounds like it,” you bit out, tears welling up in your eyes. “You’re kind of a dick, Jake.”

You pushed yourself off the table, jumping off the bench to walk back inside, but before you could go far, Jake grabbed you by the wrist, whirling you back around. You crashed against his chest, not very softly, but you didn’t really care.

“Don’t you get it?” He said softly, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “I love you. I love you so much, there’s no one good enough for you. Least of all me.” 

“But I want you,” you whispered, blinking up at him, your heart beating wildly. 

Jake let out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against yours. “There’s no going back if we do this.”

“I think it’s already too late for that anyway.”

He let out a laugh, his hand finding your waist to pull you even closer before he finally tilted his head down to place his lips against yours, kissing you. Letting out a soft sigh, you kissed him back, your arms coming around his neck. When you ran out of air, you pulled away, only ever so slightly, looking at him, searching for any ounce of regret, but there wasn’t any. When your eyes met his, you flushed slightly, giving him a shy smile. 

“Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” Jake chuckled, his thumb drawing circles into your backside. 

“Shut up.”

A knock on the window made you look ove, just to see the entire squadron pressed against the glass, hootering and shouting various cheers at you, like they were watching a movie. Bradley even gave you a double thumbs up.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake muttered with a headshake, turning to you. 

“This is your fault.”

author's note: hiii! don't forget to comment/reblog if you liked it! love you!!

taglist: @littlebadariell // @labellapeaky // @solacestyles // @shaded-echoes // @sssjuico10 // @lgg5989 // @luckyladycreator2 // @ssaic-jareau // @xoxabs88xox // @averyhotchner   // @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  // @tiredqueen73

moots: @gretagerwigsmuse @greenorangevioletgrass @wunderstruck @sunderlust @seasonsbloom @seresinhangmanjake

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Love Bites

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader (feat. Max Phillips!)

Rating: M (adult content, non-explicit smut, 18+)

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: Vampires! Blood drinking, talk of hunger (for blooooood) and killing (for bloooooood!). An art crime which is never actually solved, Soft Marcus, sarcastic asshole with a heart of gold Max. IDK if this is a threesome but it’s definitely threesome-adjacent, idiots in love, vampire venom causes euphoria and spontaneous orgasms because I said so, kissing, men kissing men, vampire bites, feeding, sharing blood through kissing, 

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike make a house call to the home of a wealthy art collector who just reported the theft of a two-million dollar glass, er, “sculpture.” At first, you can’t stand the smarmy Max Phillips, but when you find Marcus unconscious in the man’s living room, you find you have bigger problems than Max’s gross overuse of vampire puns…

A/N: I hallucinated this entire thing one night a few weeks ago instead of sleeping. Many, many thanks to @littlebirdsbookshelf for enduring and encouraging an endless line of screenshots of this fic and for helping with the moodboard!

Masterlist

As you read your newest assigned case file, your eyebrows feel as though they’re skyrocketing up into your hairline. You look up, shooting your partner a skeptical, unamused stare.

“Someone’s pulling your leg, Pike.”

Your partner playfully rolls his pretty brown eyes and flashes you that boyish smile that you lov–that you think is really nice, that’s all. 

“You don’t think I had the presence of mind to fact check and verify this guy’s story? You wound me.”

“Who the hell spends that kind of money on this?”

Marcus shrugs. “It’s not uncommon for affluent art collectors to buy million-dollar pieces for their collections.”

“Yeah, but this?”

“Don’t tell me that you, of all people, are going to give me that old, tired dismissal of modern art simply because you don’t understand it.”

“This is a dildo,” you deadpan.

Marcus presses his lips together, nodding slowly. “...Some people have more money than sense.”

“Apparently.”

Your partner crosses over and picks up the file you’d dropped on your desk. “I spoke to the collector on the phone earlier,” he says as he scans the page. “Has a penthouse up in West End, told him we’d be up to do forensics this afternoon.”

“Yipee.”

“This is serious. It’s not every day that… ‘Arthur Feathermoore’s… Animals of Pleasure’… goes missing,” Marcus says, squinting down at the file as he reads the name of the sculpture.

You can’t help but snort at the title, and it causes your partner’s serious facade to dissolve into laughter himself, and the two of you giggling like rookies for a few moments before your eyes meet. Marcus’s face is the very picture of warmth, and as you often do, you feel as though you’re falling into his dark brown pools. The mirth is suddenly replaced by an uncomfortable silence that he breaks first, coughing awkwardly and looking back down at the case file in his hand.

“So anyways,” Marcus says brightly, “how about a little field trip up to West End?”

“You got it. I need to meet the idiot who spent a million dollars on a glass dildo.”

“Feathermoore’s Animals of Pleasure,” your partner corrects with a teasing smile.

“Quite the place,” Marcus comments as the two of you enter the ornate lobby of Maplebrook Heights, the building of luxury condominiums where your art collector lives on the top floor penthouse.

“I think it’s shit,” you say, eyeing the crystal chandelier hanging near the elevators. Something about the place makes you want to leave greasy handprints all over the spotless mirrors and stainless steel elevator doors.

You flash your badges to the lobby attendant, who picks up a phone receiver, listens for a couple minutes, nods, and sets it back down again.

“Mr. Phillips has been expecting you,” they say, leading you over to the elevators and pressing the top button without saying anything more.

When the doors open again, they reveal a man in a well-tailored suit with an overly-starched shirt and even starchier expression. The overall effect evokes a sort of statuesque rigidity–a man made out of stone. Suddenly, though, as if just noticing your appearance in the elevator, the man’s lips curl up into a smarmy, affectatious smile. 

“You must be the feds,” he says in a buttery-smooth tone that you aren’t sure is real or as artificial as the rest of him seems to be. 

“That’s us,” Marcus replies cheerfully, stepping forward and offering his hand. The man seems to pause, looking your partner up and down with his head cocked to the side before taking it and shaking it firmly. 

Trying to be professional, you extend yours as well. Rather than give you the same firm handshake he offered Marcus, the man gently grasps your fingers and ducks his head as though he were about to kiss the back of your hand. Feeling off-balance, you give his hand an awkward squeeze and shake before stepping back quickly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips,” Marcus says, expertly disguising your discomfort, much to your relief.

“Max, please,” the man replies with an amused pout. “Come this way, I’m sure you’re both dying to see the scene of the crime.”

You shoot Marcus a look behind Max’s back, raising one eyebrow at his odd phrasing. Your partner shrugs gamefully before following the suited man through the double-doors to his penthouse.

As soon as you’re inside, your eyes widen at the décor. Every available inch of wall is covered in artwork from the Renaissance to the Modern, and you suppress the urge to gasp in amazement.

“Quite the collection,” Marcus comments.

“Mm, yes. You could say that I've spent generations acquiring it.”

“So art collecting runs in the family?”

“Of course.”

“This piece, er–Animals of Pleasure–was that an inherited piece, or…?”

Max grins widely, showing a row of alarmingly white teeth. “That one was a personal favorite–the sculptor is an acquaintance of mine.” He walks through the living room to an empty display case and regards it with a little frown. “Look at that. Like a wooden stake to the heart.”

“Apparently it was the personal favorite of someone else, too,” Marcus remarks.

“You’re a funny one, I like that,” Max drawls. 

“In your report, you said you noticed it was gone on the morning of Sunday the 25th,” you interject. “What were the circumstances leading up to that discovery?”

“I had a… rather sizable party here the night before,” Max answers with a crooked smile. “I assume the culprit was one of my esteemed guests.”

“Got a guest list?” Marcus asks.

“Of course I do.” Max produces a paper from a nearby desk with an exaggerated flourish. 

“Anyone on this list that might have shown particular interest in the piece?”

“They’re all a bunch of vampires,” Max scoffs dismissively, waving his hand. “I’m sure there are more than a few of them who’d love to sink their… teeth… into my collection.”

“Are you suggesting this theft was out of revenge?” you ask with a confused frown. “Did any guests have a personal vendetta against you?”

“Now, now, I’m practically the life of the party,” Max chuckles. “Most of the attendees and I go way back. There’s no bad blood between us; if anything, I’d say this is simply a distasteful prank.”

“You called the FBI for a prank?” you can’t help but ask.

“I like it,” Max says, putting on what’s clearly his best ‘sad puppy dog’ face with exaggeratedly upturned eyebrows and pouted lips. “It’s the crown jewel of my collection, and I want it back.”

“Of course,” Marcus reassures the other man. “We in the Art Crimes division treat art theft with the utmost importance it deserves.”

“Ah, yes, the FBI, always as serious as the grave.” Max says teasingly, giving Marcus a simpering smile. You don’t like the way he’s looking at your partner–sizing him up in the same way one would a conquest… or a meal. 

“We’ve got what we need, Mr. Phillips,” you say brusquely, snapping your notebook shut a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Of course, of course,” the other man says dismissively, as if he couldn’t care less about the whole affair.

“We’ll keep you informed of any progress,” Marcus adds, smiling amicably. He always did do a better job than you of hiding his distaste for unpleasant characters.

“You should go use the little girl’s room before you leave,” Max suggests, again flashing you a row of perfectly white, straight teeth. “Long drive back to HQ.”

You’re just about to tell him where to shove that condescending suggestion, when you suddenly realize it’s a great idea. It is a long drive back, and you don’t remember needing to before, but for some reason as soon as the suggestion leaves his lips, you find yourself needing to find a bathroom sooner rather than later. You nod and excuse yourself, turning your back on the odd twinkle in Max’s eyes.

What a weirdo. You’ve worked with some characters before–and sometimes it seems the richer they are, the more eccentric and out of touch–but Max Phillips really takes the cake. The uncanny smile, the stupid puns, the uncomfortable innuendo that you never could figure out were intended for you or for Marcus… 

You hope the case wraps up quickly, is the point. You finish washing your hands on a towel that feels as though it has a higher thread count than any set of sheets you’ve ever owned and hurry back to the sitting room where the two men are waiting for you. 

When you get there, Marcus is lying on the floor, unmoving. 

“Marcus!” you exclaim in alarm, pushing past Max–who is standing calmly as though nothing unusual has happened–and drop to your knees beside him. “What the hell happened?” you demand, staring up at the other man.

“Dunno. He just collapsed.” 

You want to scream at him. How can you be so indifferent? A man just collapsed in your home. Before you can say anything, though, Marcus coughs.

You whirl back around, cataloging Marcus’s face frantically as he opens his eyes and blinks dazedly. 

“What–Why am I on the floor?” he asks, staring up at you in utter confusion.

“You tell me,” you murmur, placing your hand on his clammy forehead. “I came back and you were on the ground. Mr. Phillips says you collapsed.”

Marcus sits up blearily. You watch as he frowns and shakily brings one hand to his neck, feeling it gingerly as though he’d been injured, although you don’t see anything to indicate it. 

“Yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Yeah, just… collapsed. Uh–” He looks around the room with wary eyes.

“Can you get up?” you ask, standing yourself and extending your hand. 

Marcus nods and allows you to pull him to his feet. Once standing, he sways and blinks rapidly, as if he were dizzy. When you place your hands on his shoulders to steady him, he giggles, like he suddenly finds the entire situation hilarious.

You don’t share his humor.

“C’mon,” you say, grabbing his wrist and trying to lead him away. You can’t explain why, but something in your lizard brain is telling you to get out of there as quickly as possible. 

“Feel better soon,” Max offers lightly, smiling that unsettling smile again. “Drink plenty of fluids.”

You don’t bother answering.

Marcus continues to be unsteady on his feet, and you end up having to help him down the front steps of the building and into the passenger seat of the car.

“Hi!” he slurs enthusiastically when you enter and sit down in the driver’s seat. “Wow, I feel really funny.” You watch with growing concern as he holds up his hands and examines them as though he’d never seen them before. 

You don’t know how to respond, so you busy yourself with adjusting the seat to your height, since Marcus had driven you there. Pressing and holding the button, the electric motor whines as you slowly slide upward, then a good deal forward. 

Marcus giggles again. “You have short legs.”

“Astute observation,” you grumble as you turn the key into the ignition. 

“Legs,” he repeats, and laughs again. 

“Jesus,” you mutter. “Marcus… were you drugged? Did Max Phillips drug you?”

“No!” he protests. “I… I don’t think so?” he adds, sounding less sure. 

“What happened when I was gone?” you asked. “Before you collapsed.”

Marcus shrugs exaggeratedly and makes a nonchalant ‘nnNNnn’ sound.

“You don’t remember?’

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “Wait… he said… the–the guy?”

“Max?”

“Max! Yeah. He said uh…” Marcus giggles again. “He said… I was pretty? That’s weird. Is that weird?” he looks over at you, looking so concerned and worried that you almost laugh in spite of yourself.

“Little weird,” you agree. 

“He said that I was pretty… and that it would be a shame to let that go to waste,” he adds, frowning down at his hands as he remembers.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I guess it means I’m pretty,” Marcus says matter-of-factly, sitting back in his seat and grinning for a few moments before suddenly sobering again. “I think he was… gonna hug me?”

“Hug you?” you ask, looking at your partner in confusion.

“Yeah, he… he was really close, and–” Marcus’s hand absentmindedly touches his neck again. “Nah. Never mind. I don’t think that’s right.”

“I think he gave you something,” you tell him, starting to feel more and more worried by the minute. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“Hey! You know what sounds really good?” Marcus suddenly asks, sounding excited. “Tomato juice. Except… not tomato juice. Something like tomato juice, but… different.”

“Like a bloody mary?” you ask skeptically, humoring him.

He purses his lips, as though thinking deeply about something. 

“Yep,” he finally agrees. “That’s it. Bloody mary.”

“Great,” you say as you pull in front of Marcus’s building. “Tell you what, you go to bed and sleep off whatever the fuck this is, and I’ll buy you all the bloody marys you can drink.”

You help Marcus up the stairs (nearly an impossible task, because he keeps stopping and looking around him as though he’s never seen a stairwell with chipped paint and cracks in the walls before) and when you finally reach his apartment, you unceremoniously deposit him onto his bed.

He’s asleep the second his head hits the pillow. 

You watch him snore for a couple of minutes, completely at a loss for what to do now. All you know is that you can’t leave him–not when you don’t know what’s wrong with him. And something is wrong. Every nerve in your body is in agreement there: Marcus is not okay. 

You resist the urge to press your palm to his cheek and gently trace the line of his cheekbone. He’s asleep. He wouldn’t know. 

No. Even now, you can’t bring yourself to give into that temptation. Even with as worried about him as you are, physical affection is still way off limits. You’d be showing too much of yourself.

Shaking the thought, you turn and walk from the room, quietly latching the door on your way out. 

And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

By the time Marcus’s bedroom door opens again, you’re nearly frantic with worry. Just the soft sound of the doorknob turning has you jumping to your feet and muting his TV. You watch as he stumbles out, one hand pressed to his forehead and the other steadying himself against the wall. 

“How… How long did I sleep?” he asks, face a maelstrom of confusion. 

You glance quickly at the clock. “Twenty-five hours.” And seventeen minutes. Not that you were counting.

“What? Jesus…” he mutters.

“How are you feeling?”

“Starving. Like I haven’t had a proper meal in years,” Marcus answers, moving past you into the kitchen, where he starts opening cabinet doors at random, pulling out food items, examining them with a frown, and discarding them on the counter. 

“I could, uh, order something?” you suggest warily, watching him go about his task in a whirlwind of movement. 

“That’s not necessary,” he answers absentmindedly, staring blankly at a can of pinto beans before putting it on the counter next to a jar of artichoke hearts.

“Well, I’m hungry,” you say, grabbing a takeout menu at random off of Marcus’s fridge with a little more irritation than is warranted. “Shit.” You hiss, jerking your hand back and watching as a sliver of red appears on your thumb, a little bead of blood welling up and threatening to spill out of the newly-created crack. 

Before you can blink; before you can even react, before your brain even registers the movement, Marcus is there. With a low, desperate, almost animal sound, he grabs your injured hand and brings it to his mouth.

The taste of you seems to make him moan louder; he greedily licks and sucks at the wound as though he were parched and this small papercut his only oasis. 

At the touch of his tongue, or maybe the feel of his saliva, a sudden, inexplicable wave of euphoria washes over you. You gasp softly, watching with open-mouthed shock as he licks and licks and licks until there’s nothing left. 

Eventually, Marcus slowly–almost reluctantly–releases your hand and blinks rapidly as though he were waking from a deep sleep all over again. 

Whatever spell that seemed to be holding you in place breaks; you jerk your hand back and stare at him in horrified confusion.

“Marcus… what the hell?!” 

“S-Sorry,” he offers weakly. 

“Have you lost your mind?” You can’t tell if your question is intended rhetorically or not.

“I… I don’t know,” he answers softly. “I don’t know.” 

“That’s not a comforting answer,” you say dryly.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Marcus murmurs, quietly enough that you aren’t sure if he intended to speak the words out loud.

“Thinking about what?”

“How I want to– I want–” he begins, but whatever it is he wants, he never manages to say. Rather than finishing the sentence, his hand slowly comes up to–alarmingly–wrap around your neck, his thumb pressing directly on your pulse point. He’s too close; you can feel his rapid, heavy breathing against your face and all you can do is stare up at him, the silent question of what the fuck written in your eyes.

Suddenly, you’re being released and Marcus pushes you away, stepping back from you with an expression of abject horror all over his face.

“Leave,” he commands raggedly. “Please, you have to.”

You shake your head in protest, frowning. “Marcus, you’re not well–”

“LEAVE!” he roars, and you flinch as though he’d slapped you. In all your years as his partner, you’d never heard him yell. You take one more look at him–really looking, taking in his clenched fists, his heaving chest, and the odd, almost inhuman look in his eyes–and obey. Backing away slowly at first, and then increasingly quickly, you flee the kitchen. 

Your hand is on his front door when you suddenly come to a halt. No. You can’t. You can’t leave him. You cast your eyes around until they fall on the door to the nearby guest bathroom. With a hissed curse under your breath, you open that door instead, slipping inside and locking it behind you. 

For a few moments, all you can hear is the sound of your shaky breathing. Then, footsteps as Marcus approaches. They pause, as though he’s working out what happened. You jump, suppressing a shriek, when a loud thump resonates in the small room before you hear the unmistakable sound of someone sliding down the wall and onto the floor.

The heavy, defeated sigh is audible through the bathroom door. 

“I told you to leave,” Marcus remarks sullenly. 

“I left the kitchen,” you point out.

The answering silence lets you know what your partner thinks of that response.

“I’m scared,” he admits quietly. “Something’s… not right.”

“I’m here,” you tell him. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Marcus is quiet for so long, you almost begin to wonder if he’d fallen back asleep. 

“I can feel you,” he suddenly whispers. “There’s a door between us, but I can feel your pulse like it’s still under my thumb.”

“Wh-what?”

“I can sense it all. Your heartbeat. The blood rushing in your veins. It’s unbearable,” he chokes out, voice breaking on the last word as though he were at the end of his wits. 

“I don’t understand what that means,” you admit. “And I’m not gonna lie, that’s freaking me out more than a little bit, but I meant what I said. I’m right here and I’m going to help you, okay?”

“Okay,” Marcus whispers shakily. “I… I appreciate that. You–it–means the world to me. You being here, I mean.”

“Marcus,” you say, your heart pounding even more than it had been, “I–”

Whatever you had planned on saying is interrupted by Marcus’s cell phone. 

“It’s Max Phillips,” your partner announces, somehow, after everything, jumping into work mode. “I’ll put it on speaker. This is Pike,” he answers.

“Hey, buddy!” Max’s voice is so cheerful compared to the tense situation you find yourselves in that it feels jarring and almost makes you physically recoil. “How ya feeling?”

“You,” Marcus hisses accusingly. “You did something to me.” 

“Oh, that,” Max says dismissively. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Help what,” your partner growls. 

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Max laughs. 

“Stop playing stupid and help us!” you shriek through the bathroom door, completely out of patience and good manners.

You’re greeted by crackling silence on the other end of the call. Then… “She’s… she’s still with you?” For the first time, the careless demeanor seems to have dropped. Max sounds… concerned.

“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business,” you snap, unable to stop the flood of anger now that you’ve released it, “but I was fucking worried about my partner after he left your house acting drugged–” 

“Where are you?” Max interrupts. “I’ll come to you. Bring supplies. But she needs to leave. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you shoot back belligerently. 

“Your funeral,” Max says, adopting the aloof nonchalance once more. To Marcus, he says, “Text me your address.” Then the line goes dead.

“Are you going to tell him where you live?” you ask skeptically. 

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Marcus says quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, but it’s clear that Max does. And if he knows, then maybe he can… stop it, somehow.”

“What did he mean, ‘bring supplies’?” you ask. 

“Dunno,” Marcus sighs. “Guess we’re gonna find out.”

You’re forced to listen to Max’s arrival through the safety of the bathroom door. 

No sooner than he walks into the apartment, you hear him stop and–is he sniffing the air?

“She’s still here,” he accuses. 

“‘She’ can hear you,” you snap. 

“She’s in there?” Max asks, sounding indignant. “Behind that flimsy-ass door?”

“It’s not that flimsy…” Marcus begins, but Max cuts him off.

“Pal, I’ve seen newly-turned vampires claw through cinder block walls with their bare hands to get at a food source. You could have ripped that door from its hinges, but here you are–”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Marcus interrupts. “I couldn’t fathom it, I– Hang on, did you say ‘vampires’?”

“Yup. Like, y’know, Dracula and all that. Undead. Drinks blood. Vampire.”

“This was a mistake,” Marcus mutters. “You’re clearly insane, and I don’t have time to listen to the bullshit ramblings of a sociopath.”

“Oh, it’s bullshit now, is it?” Max says airily. “You’re going to sit there and tell me you haven’t been sitting there desperately trying to stop yourself from ripping your pretty partner’s delicate little throat wide open and gorging yourself until she’s a withered corpse?”

You can hear Marcus sputtering angrily… but he doesn’t deny Max’s accusation. 

“Great. Now, we can continue arguing over semantics and nomenclature while you just get more and more hungry, or you can accept the truth and drink this.”

A zipper–on a backpack, you assume–unzips, and the faint sound of crinkling plastic reaches your ears.

“What the hell is that?” Marcus asks, voicing your question for you.

“B positive. I won’t lie to you, O-neg is where it’s at in terms of flavor and mouthfeel, but beggars can’t be choosers, pretty boy.”

“Are you giving him blood?” you shriek through the door, but no one answers you. Irate, you bang on the wood. “Hello!?” 

“He’ll be right with you,” Max says in a sing-song voice. “He’s busy at the moment.” 

“Marcus,” you say lowly, “please tell me you are not drinking blood right now.”

“Mmph–so good,” your partner groans through mouthfuls of… something. 

“I’m coming out there,” you announce, jumping to your feet. 

“Wait,” Max commands, an odd timbre to his voice, and you stop immediately, your hand hovering six inches from the doorknob. “Not until pretty boy here has another pint.”

“Marcus,” you say warily, pressing your palm against the door as if you could somehow feel him through it. 

“I’m okay.” And strangely, Marcus’s voice is calmer, more… human… than it’s been since the moment he woke up from his day-long nap. You still don’t trust Max. But Marcus has been your partner for years. You’d trust him with your life–and you find yourself believing him when he says it’s okay.

“One more,” Max says. “O-positive from 2020. Practically a vintage at this point.”

You shudder, imagining your partner with red tinged lips, a trickle of blood running down his chin as he– 

“How are you feeling now?” Max asks. 

“Better,” Marcus answers. “Can… Can she come out? Is it safe? I won’t… I won’t hurt her?” 

“Depends on the vamp,” Max says. “Most newborns I wouldn’t trust within fifty feet of a pulse, but you? You’re an odd one.”

“I’d never hurt her,” Marcus says again. “I’d rather die.”

Max lets out a loud, barking laugh, as if Marcus had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “That might be easier said than done,” he chuckles. “But I get the sentiment. Come on out, doll.”

In any other situation, you might have scolded Max for even daring to call you ‘doll,’ but your body is thrumming with anticipation–and a little fear–to see Marcus again. 

Carefully, slowly, you unlock the bathroom door and swing it open. 

Your gaze–as it usually does–finds Marcus before anything else. He’s sitting on the floor opposite the bathroom, his long legs awkwardly bent in the narrow hallway, with two crumpled blood donation bags laying beside him. He’s staring back, his eyes swimming with apprehension and worry. The strange, animalistic glint you’d seen earlier is completely absent.

Still, you find yourself moving cautiously and deliberately, as though a sudden movement might break this tenuous moment of peace. You carefully sink to your knees, at his level, and extend your hand. 

Marcus swallows thickly, watching you. For a few tense moments, he doesn’t move. Then, he shifts–and oh, how you hate yourself for flinching. You try to hide it, but you can tell by the hurt in his eyes that he definitely noticed. Never once taking his eyes off yours, he slowly reaches back until his fingertips are just barely brushing against yours. 

You don’t miss how Marcus’s breath catches at your touch. His eyes slip closed for just a moment, and he lets out a shaky exhale.

“Hi,” you say quietly. 

“Hey,” he whispers back. 

“You scared me.”

“I know. I scared me, too.”

“Is this real?” you whisper, hardly daring to voice the question. “You’re really–?”

“I think I might be,” Marcus says softly. “It’s… it’s the only thing that makes any of this make sense.” He gestures at the two empty blood bags he’d been given by Max.

Max.

In a fury, you round on the other man, grabbing the collar of his stupid-expensive shirt and slamming him against the wall. 

“What the shit–” Max exclaims in surprise.

“You did this,” you hiss, pressing against his throat. “You… you made him into this.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Max wheedles, putting his hands up in supplication. “I thought he’d make a really sexy vamp.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” you growl.

“I’d love to see you try,” the man drawls with a lazy smile.

“Hey.” Marcus says softly, putting a hand on your forearm and encouraging you to release Max. “What’s done is done. This isn’t going to help anyone.”

“It’ll help me,” you say dryly, still glaring at Max.

“I can see why you like her,” Max grins.

You shove harder, your other hand coming up to join the first as you take out your anger on the man’s dress shirt. “Here’s an idea. Stop talking about ‘her’ while she’s still in the room.”

Max suddenly sobers, sniffing the air again. “You were bleeding,” he says accusingly. “When?”

“What? No I wasn’t,” you protest. “Well, okay, I got a papercut, but it stopped bleeding ages ago, after–” 

“After what,” Max prompts. 

“He–” you begin weakly, your eyes flitting quickly to Marcus and then back to Max again. 

Max moves you away from him as if you weighed nothing at all, before turning to Marcus with a look of utter disbelief. “You fed from her?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess I did,” Marcus answers slowly. “I… I didn’t really realize what I was doing, I–”

“Did you puncture her skin at all?” Max interrupts. “This is important.”

“No,” you answer for him. “He just… licked it clean, I guess?”

Max stares at Marcus skeptically, then turns to you. “He just licked it,” he repeats. 

“And… sorta… sucked?” you add weakly. 

“What’s the problem?” Marcus interjects.

“Newly-turned vampires aren’t exactly in control of their bodily functions,” Max explains. “A puncture might mean inadvertently injecting venom into your bloodstream.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means this would have turned into a two-for-one vamp special.”

“He can make me a vampire?”

“How do you think he became one in the first place?” 

“I wouldn’t remind me of your role in this too much, if I were you,” you growl at Max.

“...Venom?” Marcus asks, interrupting your standoff.

“It’s got some interesting properties,” Max says with a grin. “Injecting it in its pure form will a vamp create, but the trace amounts in your saliva is what makes feeding fun.”

“Do you ever actually explain yourself?” you ask irritably.

“Let me put it this way. When pretty boy here licked that little papercut of yours, what did you feel?”

You think back to the moment–through the fear, through the unease, back to the sensation of Marcus’s lips and tongue on your skin. Finally. 

“It felt… good,” you admit quietly. 

“Just good?” Max asks, pouting his lip teasingly.

“Better than good,” you whisper. “It felt like… joy. Like everything was right with the world.”

You risk a glance at Marcus, who is staring at you open-mouthed with an inscrutable expression. 

“That’s the venom,” Max says with a shrug. “Creates a feeling of euphoria in small doses. Can also cause spontaneous orgasm.”

Marcus makes a pained choking sound, and Max slaps him on the back. “That’s the fun part.”

“How the hell do you… feed… from someone without accidentally killing them?” Marcus asks.

“Carefully.”

“No shit.”

“I can show you if you want,” Max says lecherously, making a show of sweeping his gaze up and down your body in the most exaggerated way possible.

“I think the fuck not.”

Max guffaws loudly, slapping his knee. “I knew you'd be a good time.”

“He is not your good time,” you interject. 

“At least let him speak for himself, princess! Nah, as… interesting… as that could be, I can tell when a guy's unavailable.”

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head. “He's not–I mean, we're not–”

“We're partners,” Marcus adds helpfully.

“Oh yeah,” Max agrees condescendingly. “For sure. Just partners. Well anyway, apropos of nothing in particular, I wouldn't recommend feeding from anyone you particularly care about for quite some time. Not until you can control yourself.”

“Speaking of,” Marcus says, clearing his throat, “got any more of these?” He holds up one of the empty blood bags.

“No,” Max says indignantly. “I have got some backup supplies, but I wasn't exactly prepared for this situation.”

“What are you talking about? You turned him yourself.”

“No, this situation. The situation where you're here, with your pulse and rushing blood and warm flesh. Your presence would be fucking kryptonite for any new vamp,” Max hisses. “You're a neon sign of temptation. A little hen in a henhouse with a very hard-to-control fox. Had you not been here, two bags would have lasted until pretty boy here could arrange his own supply, but you complicate things.”

“Well, excuse me for making sure he was all right,” you say, placing your hand on Marcus’s arm in a way you hope is comforting.

Marcus murmurs your name softly, but urgently. “Can... Can you… back up? Just a little,” he asks, looking pained. 

Eyes widening, you take several hasty steps backward. 

“How long will it take you to get more?” you ask, not taking your eyes off of Marcus. 

“Any amount of time is too long when you insist on staying here,” Max says. 

“It worked out fine the last time,” you point out. “I'll just go back into the bathroom and lock the door again.”

Marcus shakes his head warily. “I–I don't know… Maybe you should leave.”

“Not a chance.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” Marcus says softly. “I don't even want the idea of it. Please. You don't know what you–”

“What I… what?”

“What you mean to me,” he confesses, and you could swear time stops. “I could never risk it. I can't… I can't bear the idea of losing you.”

“You won't,” you promise. 

“I didn't want this,” he says bitterly, casting an agonized glance at Max, who, for once, has the decency to look regretful. “All I ever wanted was you.”

You feel as though you’d just had the wind knocked out of you, the words affect you so deeply. Resisting the urge to steady yourself on the wall, you fix Marcus with a stare that you hope conveys every single emotion you’ve ever felt for him.

“I'm staying here,” you say. “And that's final.”

Both men shake their heads at the same time.

“What if... what if he uses me?” you ask Max, ignoring Marcus's protest. “You said it's normal to uh… feed off of live humans.”

“I believe I also said it's something he shouldn't even begin to consider until he's out of the newborn phase,” Max says.

“What if he's careful?” you ask. “What if you help him?”

Marcus softly says your name in warning, but you don't back down. 

“Whatever I mean to you,” you tell him earnestly, “you mean the same to me. The same and more, Marcus.”

Time seems to come to a standstill as his eyes widen with realization. 

“You… You feel the same?” he asks breathlessly.

“For a long time now,” you find yourself admitting.

You watch as a slough of emotions flicker across Marcus’s face–yearning, longing, affection, and regret.

“I… I wish I had known,” he murmurs sorrowfully. “Before now. I’d… God, I’ve imagined this moment so many times, and in none of those times did I ever tell you to back away because I’m worried I’d just as soon kill you as kiss you.”

“I guess you owe me,” you tell him with a little chuckle. “When this is over. When you aren’t hungry anymore. You can drink from me without hurting me, I know it. And Max is here to stop you if you–”

“This is all very cute,” Max drawls, interrupting you, “but okay. Let's say he's careful. Let's say I stick around to help and intervene if he loses control. I want to make sure you understand that this is… intimate, you understand? Like, I'm all for a sexy romp, myself, but I don't know if I stressed the effects of the venom enough before.”

“You mean the uh–”

“Spontaneous orgasms,” Max finishes for you. “Yeah. Wasn't kidding about that.”

“So, what you're saying is–”

“Is that I'm usually all-in for a feeding orgy, but you two have something else going on entirely, and call me a romantic, but I'd rather not get between you.”

“So you do have a conscience,” Marcus deadpans. 

“If you tell anyone, I'll deny it.”

Marcus takes a deep breath, and suddenly shudders. “Shit,” he mumbles to himself. “Shit, I feel–”

“Like you’ve been wandering a desert for days on end with no water? Yeah,” Max shrugs. “That wears off, or gets easier to manage, I dunno. But after a while it’ll start to feel more like normal hunger and less like a–” he trails off, waving his hands back and forth.

“Like an all-consuming fire threatening to stamp out every last shred of my humanity?” Marcus fills in wryly.

“Yup,” Max answers. “Something like that.”

“Does it hurt?” you ask softly, reaching out to touch him again.

This time, it’s Marcus’s turn to flinch. He pulls back, eyes widening in alarm and leaving you to wonder whether you really should be this close. But no, your desire to comfort the man you’ve been secretly harboring feelings for for years overrides your sense of personal safety.

Or any kind of sense, whatsoever.

So you persist, running your hand up and down his arm soothingly and watching his eyes flutter shut at the feel of your skin. The expression on his face–agony, yearning, desperation–causes an ache to sink like a stone in your chest. 

“Yeah,” he answers with a rough, strained note to his voice. “Yeah, it hurts.”

You look to Max with pleading eyes. “Help him,” you demand. “Help us. It was you who got us into this situation, so if you have any sense of morality left in there, make it stop hurting.”

Max’s eyes flicker dangerously. “As long as you acknowledge what that entails,” he says quietly. 

“Blood,” you deadpan (Marcus shudders pitifully again), “I assume.”

The other vampire rolls his eyes. “Sure, right. Fine,” he mutters, scooting closer to you and Marcus. “First lesson. You don’t bite here–” he carefully taps his index finger on your neck. “That’s either gonna get you another vampire, or a corpse. The, uh, thighs–” he clears his throat awkwardly– “are good places to feed, but you’ve gotta be careful about the femoral artery.”

Marcus lets out a pained sound and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes with gritted teeth, rocking slightly back and forth.

“Alright, that’s enough lessons,” Max says brightly. “Good place to start for a newbie is the wrist. So, uh, you’re just going to want to puncture the skin a teeny tiny bit, and drink from that. Less is more, waste not, et cetera, et cetera.”

No sooner than the words leave the other man’s lips, Marcus’s fingers curl around your wrist like a vice grip, and you gasp.

“Jesus, hang on a minute,” Max sighs. “New vamps, always so lacking in table manners. Listen to me–you’re gonna probably lose control and try to take more than what she can give, and I’m going to do everything in my power to restrain you and get her away. Up to and including violence.”

Just as Max’s words leave you wondering whether this is actually a terrible idea and you should have done what Marcus had asked in the beginning and simply left, Marcus’s eyes meet yours again, his expression surprisingly clear-headed.

“I won’t,” he says softly. “I said I’d never hurt you. That’s a promise.”

Solemnly, you nod. “I know,” you tell him. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

You slowly reach toward Marcus with your palm facing upward like an offering. You’re suddenly hyper aware of your heartbeat racing, thrumming loudly and quickly in your chest, and you somehow have the wherewithal to wonder whether Marcus will get more of you as a result. 

Marcus cradles your forearm as though it were a precious gift. You can feel the trembling in his hands, see the quiver in his lower lip as he tries to keep all his emotions–the hunger, the fear, the worry–in check.

“Tiny bite,” Max reminds him in a low voice. “Just the tip.”

You shoot him a disparaging look, but when you see the ghost of a smile on Marcus’s face, you realize he successfully broke the tension.

Hesitantly, he lowers his mouth to the delicate skin of your wrist, and just as you’re wondering where the hell the vampire teeth are supposed to be, his face… changes. You do your best to hold in the gasp that threatens to escape; you don’t want to startle the man and risk him accidentally tearing your flesh. He’d put a stake through his heart himself, you muse. Wait–is that a superstition or a fact? You make it a point to ask Max later as you watch Marcus with curiosity. His face, it’s not ugly, exactly, but certainly monstrous. It’s grotesque in the same way the circus can be grotesque–in a way that fascinates you, thrills you, draws you in…

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as you feel his teeth sink into you.

The split-second of pain melts immediately to a wave of pleasure like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Every nerve ending seems to tingle, sending a frisson of electricity up and down your spine–again, and again, with every lick of Marcus’s tongue. It’s every good sensation you’ve ever felt condensed into one moment, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if any human has ever become addicted to being vampire food. You wouldn’t blame them. 

Soon, though, the fact that a vampire is drinking your blood completely fades, because all you feel is unadulterated euphoria. Euphoria… and Marcus. Now you’re consumed with one thought and one thought only: get closer to Marcus. You scramble into his lap without a second’s hesitation, not hearing the sudden sound of surprise that comes from Max.

Marcus, who had been single-mindedly consumed in his task, looks up in apparent awe as you straddle him. The hand not gently holding your wrist immediately winds around your waist and pulls you even closer. Now that your eyes are locked, you can’t look away. Those beautiful brown eyes that you know so well are flecked with an animalistic yellow-amber, his brow sharper and more pronounced in his monstrous form but still very much Marcus. He holds your gaze as he lathes his tongue across your skin over and over, each lick causing flames of ecstasy to course within you. You can’t look away–not even when he swallows gratefully with red-tinged lips and dives back in for more. You start to squirm in his lap, each little wave of euphoria–a side effect of his venom, you know, but it feels so real–causing warmth to build in your core. Marcus moans around your wrist when he feels you grind against his leg, and you start to whimper every time your clothed center meets the delicious resistance of his thigh muscle. 

As your movements become more and more frenzied, so do Marcus’s; he licks and sucks at the little twin puncture wounds with a fervor that could only be described as carnal. Everything starts to pull up tight deep inside you, and you know, you know what’s about to happen–but suddenly, another arm is there pulling you back, away from Marcus, away from this beautiful pleasure unlike anything you’ve felt before and how dare they, you’re so close, you’re so close, soclosesoclosesoclose–

“That’s enough. Enough,” someone is saying behind you. “It’s time to stop.”

Marcus lifts his head, his lips still smeared with your blood and his eyes dazed and glassy. His face, although still contorted into this macabre new form, is open and unguarded as he tries to comprehend the source of the interruption. As Max pulls you away more forcefully, however, Marcus bares his teeth and hisses at the other man in what’s clearly a show of territoriality. 

In a split-second, before you can even begin to worry about being in the middle of a fight between two vampires, Marcus regains his wide-eyed, earnest expression, and his exaggerated features seem to melt, giving way to the face you know so well. 

“I’m fine,” he promises, chest heaving. “I’m okay. I’m done, I’ve stopped. Please, can–” he swallows, looking up at you with pleading eyes. “Can you come back? I just–I need–”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re scrambling back into Marcus’s arms to kiss him with everything you’ve got. He opens to you immediately, his tongue darting out to explore your mouth, and you shudder when you taste the tang of iron. It should disturb you, you think to yourself. The blood, the fangs, the fact that he could kill you at any second. You should find his distorted face horrifying, but you can’t help but be mesmerized by his features in any form.

Marcus’s hands are everywhere–rubbing up and down your spine, gently palming your face, reverently stroking the skin of your wrist as if to apologize for taking what he so desperately needed from you. You sigh contentedly into his mouth as your hands explore him in kind–carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing against the soft muscle of his chest, tenderly tracing the little crease in his brow in an unspoken promise of forgiveness.

You’ve imagined kissing this man so many times, and yet you now know you’ve never once come close to the reality of how it feels to have his lips against yours. It might be cliché, you might be projecting your own desires here, but everything about Marcus’s mouth simply fits, like a puzzle piece. Like recovering a long-lost part of you. Kissing him is coming home.

When Marcus pulls back, you follow him, causing a joyful smile to spread across his face as he whispers, “Are you okay?”

You smile back as you nod. 

“Here.” Something orange is thrusted into your field of vision, and you look up to see Max standing awkwardly next to the two of you, still entwined on the floor against the wall of Marcus’s apartment. 

You accept the fruit–because it is fruit–and start to messily peel it before popping a slice into your mouth. 

“Do you feel dizzy at all? Lightheaded?” Max asks as he watches you chew. 

You shake your head. “Nope. Nothing like that. Just… kinda tingly,” you giggle, glancing back at Marcus. “Not in a blood loss way, more like in a um, well. You know.”

Marcus grins and pulls you back down for another soft, chaste kiss. 

Pulling back, you give Max a smug look. “Told you he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I won’t lie, I’m pretty surprised,” the other man replies, frowning slightly. “You don’t have any frame of reference for this, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that this is not normal. New vampires cannot control themselves and kill any living thing they try to feed from. Every time.”

“How many of those new vampires were deeply in love with the person they tried it with?” Marcus asks, meeting your eyes with an ardent gaze.

“Of all the times I’ve dreamed of hearing that from you, I never imagined it would come out quite like that,” you say with a wry smile. 

Max makes something like a strained choking noise in his throat, grimacing uncomfortably. “Well kids, this has been fun, but I’m gonna get out of here.”

He sticks out his hand and you accept it, letting him pull you up to standing. Once on your feet, all the blood seems to rush away from your head, and you sway slightly. 

“She should lie down,” Max comments, watching you. 

Marcus nods in agreement and wordlessly (and effortlessly) lifts you into his arms and moves in the direction of his bedroom.

“Does ‘she’ get a say in this?” you protest, although this time it’s somewhat more good-natured than before. 

Your answer is another kiss from Marcus before he gently sets you down on the comforter. 

Sitting here, on Marcus’s bed, with him hovering over you, opens up an entirely new set of opportunities. The look in Marcus’s eyes lets you know his thoughts are along the same lines, and when he inhales, his breath catches in his chest.

“I’d caution you against that,” Max says in his characteristic deadpan tone from the doorway. “Really easy to lose control in the heat of the moment, and he’s still hungry.”

“Are you?” you ask Marcus hesitantly, who shrugs and drops his gaze.

“Was trying to be polite about it.”

“I didn’t let him take much,” Max explains. “Far easier to rectify taking too little than too much.”

“Does that mean he could do it again?” you ask, the breathlessness in your voice giving you away immediately. 

Marcus is, predictably, the one who quickly tries to shut that idea down, murmuring your name and shaking his head in concern.

“You don’t know how it felt,” you whisper. “I think I’d do it every day if I could.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Marcus answers for what feels like the hundredth time.

“You won’t,” you promise. “And besides, Max will be here just in case.”

The two of you turn to the other vampire, who’s leaning against the doorway with an exaggerated sulk. “Oh sure, let’s ask Max. I’m sure he won’t mind watching you feed in the throes of ecstasy… again. Max has no opinion, Max can manage his own hunger, it’s fine.”

“Done pouting?” Marcus asks pointedly. “I think I’m justified in saying that you fucking owe me one.”

Max glowers, but offers no further protest.

“Is this wrist sore?” Marcus asks you, running one fingertip across your skin. “Should I do the other one?”

You shake your head slowly. “I had somewhere else in mind.” Capturing Marcus’s hand, you guide it downward until it rests on your inner thigh. “Here,” you whisper.

Max makes another garbled noise, which Marcus deliberately ignores. Keeping his eyes fixed on your face, he carefully sinks down onto his knees before you. Carefully, so carefully he unbuttons your pants and draws them down your legs, leaving you in your underwear. 

“Fuck, I can’t–” comes the sudden exclamation from the bedroom doorway. “If this is retribution, I guess I deserve it, but still.”

You turn your head to look at Max, who appears to be doubled over in pain, and something pangs in your chest. Marcus, who is still fixated on the crux of your thighs, ignores the interruption.

“Marcus,” you whisper, getting his attention.

“He’s fine,” the man murmurs, clearly distracted.

“He’s hungry,” Max groans pitifully. “I might not be a newborn anymore, but I have feelings.”

“He can wait,” Marcus growls. The words sound slightly slurred, and when you look down again, you can see his fangs already protruding.

Max makes another pathetic whimper as Marcus runs his nose along your upper thigh and inhales greedily. You stop him with a gentle hand carding through his hair.

“Maybe we are being cruel,” you say softly. “He’s been trying to help.”

“He’s not feeding from you,” Marcus insists darkly. The possessiveness seems to make his face transform even more–his brow thickening and his eyes flickering with an eerie yellow glint.

“She’s–she’s yours,” Max agrees weakly. “I know. Just—shit.”

Marcus pauses, his tongue darting out to touch the tip of one elongated canine as though testing their unfamiliar shape.

“Come here,” he commands.

Max frowns, hesitating.

“Before I change my mind.” Turning to you again, Marcus strokes the sensitive skin just below the seam of your underwear. “May I?”

“You might be the politest vampire I’ve ever known,” Max muses to himself as he walks toward the bed with cautious steps.

“Please,” you whisper. 

Marcus runs his nose against your thigh again before he lowers his mouth. You feel the sharp sting of his fangs for only a second before a sudden wave of pleasure overtakes you.

Perhaps it’s the change in location–from your wrist to somewhere much more… intimate, but this time the sensation of his venom feels even stronger. So much so, in fact, that everything pulls up tight without warning and you come undone while Marcus’s fangs are still buried within you. 

You shriek in surprise, bucking your hips instinctively, but Marcus follows, sealing his lips around your thigh and sucking. Each aftershock makes the wound feel like it’s pulsing, but all you can do is writhe on the bed and whimper as the vampire–the man you love–takes from you. 

Suddenly, though, Marcus pulls back, pressing his hand against the twin puncture wounds, which are still bleeding openly. With his mouth clearly full, he fists Max’s shirt collar, pulling him in for a rough kiss. Max makes a shocked noise–you think you do, too–but quickly groans in pleasure as Marcus gives him your blood from his own mouth. 

Over and over he repeats the action: gently licking and sucking your thigh as you gasp and squirm under the euphoric influence of his venom, then pulling back to give some to Max before swallowing it himself. 

The constant waves of pleasure reach a peak several more times, although you can hardly keep track. The combination of the venom and the blood loss, perhaps, is making you woozy, and you’re already drifting in and out when Max gently tugs Marcus’s hair and draws him back. You hear him say, “That’s probably enough,” before you lose consciousness entirely.

Everything is peaceful. You don’t think you’ve ever slept this deeply or felt relaxation this profound. When your eyes open again some untold amount of time later, you do so with a lazy, serene smile. 

You blink lazily, trying to gather your senses and focus on the scene in front of you. You can feel the rise and fall of a strong chest beneath you, comforting arms surrounding you as you lay on Marcus’s bed. You know without looking that it’s him that’s holding you, keeping you safe and protected with his body. 

To your surprise, Max–you figured he’d be long gone by now–sits at the bedside, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“She’s awake,” he says to Marcus, who immediately loosens his hold and gently tilts your head back onto his shoulder to look at you.

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. “You scared me a little, there.”

“Told him it was normal,” Max says, with the air of someone who’s said the exact same sentence fifty times already, “and that she wasn’t in any danger.”

“Still,” Marcus fusses gently, scanning your face with a slightly furrowed brow. 

“Here,” Max interjects, handing you a small bottle of gatorade and making sure your hands are wrapped around it before pulling back. “Drink this, and once you can sit up, you need to eat a little something.”

You accept the drink gratefully and take greedy sips until the bottle is empty. When it is, Max sets it back on the nightstand and hands you a couple of oreos pilfered from Marcus’s cabinets, and the rest of the orange from before. 

“How are you feeling?” Marcus asks–still with a hint of concern in his voice–as you eat.

“Really good, actually,” you answer with a sigh. “That was–listen, not to be weird or anything, but that was… amazing.”

Marcus chuckles low in his chest as Max smirks next to you. 

“Can’t say I minded that particular method of feeding,” the other vampire comments wryly. “Might almost be better than from the source.”

Marcus clears his throat awkwardly, and when you glance up at him again, his ears are tinged pink. 

“I didn’t know that about you,” you say softly.

Marcus tries to shrug noncommittally, blushing deeper as he does. “I like to keep my private life private.”

“Fair enough.”

“Don’t mind sharing with the people I care about, though,” he adds.

“Awww, he cares about me!” Max simpers with a teasing pout.

“I hate you,” Marcus counters with no conviction or malice behind the words whatsoever.

“No you don’t.” 

“I was talking about her, though.”

“And me!”

“Children,” you sigh, shaking your head in exasperation. “I hate to interrupt, but can I trouble one of you bloodsuckers for some juice or something?”

Marcus raises one eyebrow at Max, who salutes sarcastically and marches out of the room. 

“I can’t tell if I like him or if I can’t stand him,” you murmur to Marcus when the two of you are alone. 

“Makes two of us,” your partner hums, ducking down to kiss your temple.

“Really?” you ask incredulously. “Didn’t look like you minded so much before.”

Marcus huffs quietly. “It was the solution that came to me at the time.”

“Is that all it was?”

He lets out a slow, even breath as he tightens his hold on you. “No.”

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, as Max comes back with a glass of juice and another handful of oreos.

“Maybe later,” Marcus answers, sounding a bit bashful.

“Vampires have super-hearing, you know that–right?” Max comments as he moves back toward the bed.

“Wh–what?” the other man chokes out nervously. “Really?”

“...No.” Max hands you the glass of juice with a deadpan stare.

You try and fail to contain your laughter, snorting as you cover your hand with your mouth to disguise the smile.

“But now I know you were talking about me,” Max purrs, leaning toward the two of you. 

“No,” Marcus lies–unconvincingly.

“Pretty boy,” Max chastises with that same childish, teasing pout he’s done before. “I thought so highly of you–don’t tell me you’re in the middle of some silly gay panic right now.”

Marcus snorts. “We’re too old for that, don’t you think?”

“You tell me.” Max’s expression is guarded, but you can tell he’s very invested in the other man’s answer.

“Truth is, I’ve harbored feelings for this one for a long time,” Marcus says affectionately, looking down and brushing his hand up your forehead and over the top of your head. “A long time. And it feels disingenuous to even consider the idea of treading on that, somehow.”

“Right,” Max says, standing up stiffly and quickly. “I’m gonna–”

“Wait.” 

The vampire pauses, eyeing the two of you warily.

“In a way, it was you who… brought us together, in a way,” Marcus continues. “In a weird fucking way, I’ll add, but I can’t deny that this day has been… beyond my wildest dreams. And–” he swallows thickly, licking his lips before continuing, “–you were a part of that, for better or for worse.”

You carefully sit up, extricating yourself from Marcus’s arms to lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

“I’m not used to this much attention,” he adds, laughing self-deprecatingly as he shakes his head in apparent bewilderment. “And now I’ve got the two of you looking at me like that, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

“Enjoy it,” you tell him with a soft smile. “I love you. Max likes you. Maybe that’s all we need to know right now.”

“He can speak for himself,” Max teases, parroting your earlier words.

You look at him. “Did you really turn him because you thought he was pretty?”

“Can you blame me?”

*