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zepskies · 7 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor.

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile.

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time).

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea.

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up.

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.”

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable.

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth.

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful.

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out.

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense.

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him.

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

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geeneelee · 9 months

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Judit’s Backstory, or: Why She Supports Harry

This is a post I’ve been meaning to write for a while, especially since it’s apparently not common knowledge in the fandom, but Judit has a developed backstory with Harry that can only be put together through reading one of the case files (so perhaps it’s not that surprising that people don’t know).

We start with Joseph Mills: an idiot and a terrible person.

No, he was awful. Awful sense of humour too. The worst jokes you've ever heard. Really rapey.

Harry can find out about him from reading MURDER IN THE HOOKAH PARLOR from his case files. Long story short, Mills mistook an accidental death for a murder and wasted months on it, only for Harry to identify it as a dumb accident in less than a minute.

What’s more relevant to the present-day is this:

Beaten to death by a throng of Villalobos gang-members when him and his partner J. M. (only initials mentioned) answered a call one night. It's a sad story and it isn't really represented in *your* case files. Stop stalling and get to the MURDER AT THE HOOKAH PARLOUR.

Judit’s partner was beaten to death by gangsters, presumably while she watched. Technically, J.M. could be anyone, but basic narrative rules + a few other hints make me certain that it’s Judit. Most importantly, what she says about Harry after his disastrous call to the Precinct.

"We must help him." Minot looks down at her neatly polished black shoes. There is a quiet firmness to her voice when she speaks.

"I just know we can't give up on him when he's at his weakest. He wouldn't..." The crowd in the room has started fidgeting uncomfortably. Someone's trying to slip out unnoticed.

I’m presuming here that what she’s going to say is “He wouldn’t give up on one of us”. (Side note: judging by the reactions of everyone else, they agree. Pre-canon Harry had his good moments and his bad with the squad).

Judit might be speaking from experience - we know that she’s only been with C-Wing for two months, but why did she transfer? Given how C-wing has been hemorrhaging members, it seems odd. If she was speaking from experience, then the most likely answer is that Harry helped her out after Mills’ death (first on the scene? Provided support? who knows) and Judit, who was now without a partner, decided to follow him to C-wing.

Between her gratitude to Harry and (probably) low standards for coworkers, she’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt more than anyone else who knows him, although depending on your actions you can burn through the good will - calling her the Horse-Faced Woman and asking if you’ve had sex will make her cold towards you.

She’s also aware of Harry’s drinking problem, but has more hope than Jean does - Jean will shoot down any hint that Harry’s changed, but if he’s stayed sober, Judit will hold onto hope that it’ll stick this time

You haven't been drinking, she thinks. So maybe this time...

(Perhaps it’s just because she’s known him for the least amount of time, but it’s still more hope than anyone else in his unit has for Harry).

It’s easy to miss Judit’s implied past with Harry, and assume her patience is naivety or because she’s a mom (which might be the case in a story written by lesser writers) but it’s something more complex than that, and a tiny hint at the better side of pre-canon Harry.

#harry du bois #judit minot #harrier du bois #disco elysium #disco elysium meta #i love how many icebergs of lore there are in this game

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writefightandflightclub · 3 months

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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sorchathered · 11 days

Text

Break my heart again 🖤

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Warnings- language, angst, Jake being an idiot, Bradley being a douchebag

Summary- Jake broke your heart and regrets it more than he can say, what happens when he sees you again but you’ve moved on? Or have you?

Jake Seresin could be a real son of a bitch. He knew it, everyone around him knew it, and after he broke your heart that rainy September night you knew it too. It played out like a bad romcom, “it’s not you it’s me, I’m just not ready to commit” all the pathetic vague bullshit that really just meant that he wanted to be able to be single and hang out with the boys instead of being “tied down” to you. It hurt, especially when it felt like it came out of nowhere. You had been thinking of forever, and apparently he’d been looking for an escape route. So you did what any heartbroken girl would do, got a new look, drank too much with the girls and blocked him from every social media you could.

That was nearly 4 years and two duty stations ago, all of Jake’s drinking buddies had grown up and had families, and now he was on the outside looking in a very different window. Longing for something he should have held on to, knowing it was too little too late.

He’d been back in California for almost a month, the special detachment had become permanent and it looked like the Dagger Squad was here to stay. He was in his own head while everyone headed out for the day, Coyote finally breaking him from his trance with his suggestion to meet everyone at the Hard Deck for dinner and drinks, a couple of the guys' families had made the move to Miramar and it would be a full house. Jake agreed, still in a fog but at least pretending to be interested in the prospect of meeting everyone.

Every night at the bar seemed to go the same these days, he’d drink a few beers, beat the brakes off everyone in darts, and take some pretty girl home only to kick her out in the morning. It was getting sad if he was honest, he hadn’t planned to be nearly 35 and alone, he figured he’d have a wife and at least a kid by now, he was tired of feeling sorry for himself. He needed to stop this endless cycle of bachelorhood, something had to change. He grabbed his beer from Penny and made his way to the pool tables, jolted from his pity party by the sound of the prettiest laugh he’d ever heard. He knew that laugh, hell it had haunted him for far too long. His eyes scanned the area, frantically searching for the face it belonged to, when there you were. Long hair in loose waves down your back, in a red sundress that could make a supermodel jealous, and your arms wrapped around none other than Bradley Bradshaw himself.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, it was too hot and too loud, Jake felt like his skin was suddenly too tight for his body and he couldn’t seem to school his face to at least look normal. Javy’s wife Britt caught on that something was off, Jake was standing at the entrance of the pool area with his eyes wide and mouth gaping, so she kicked her husbands foot and ushered him to figure out what had his friend so shaken up.

But when he looked at Jake’s field of vision he knew, Bradshaw’s girl had looked familiar when they’d walked in but he couldn’t place her until now. He’d known you were Jake’s biggest regret, and he imagined seeing you in the arms of his biggest rival, probably stung like a bitch. He calmly made his way over, grasping his friend by the elbow and pivoting him towards the side exit, the night air would help, and maybe he could get him to spill his guts in the process.

Fuck this was a nightmare, he’d been thinking of you more and more lately these days, and seeing you in Rooster’s arms was enough to make him nearly throw up the contents of his stomach. He’d never felt this unsure of himself in his life and this was the final nail in the coffin. Coyote was worried, Hangman was never off his game, always the most cocksure bastard you’d ever met whether it be in the air or on the ground but this version of him was someone he’d never seen.

“Man come on, you gotta level with me. Was that y/n back there? I know that’s a sucker punch Seresin but you can’t let this drown you, it’s been what? Almost 4 years? You can’t seriously still be hung up on this” he shook his head in disbelief, his best friend had a wild reputation as a Casanova but somehow 30 seconds around this one girl had knocked him to his knees.

“She was everything. Everything you could hope for if you wanted to start a real lasting relationship and I tanked it before we even had a chance. I wanted to fuck around and sow my oats, what the fuck did that even do for me?! I’ve got nothing at home to keep my going, no one to miss me when I’m gone, and now she’s with fucking Bradshaw? Jesus. I don’t know if I can do this tonight man, I think I’m just gonna head out.” He smacks Javy on the arm and heads out to the lot, hating the sympathetic look he knows he’s getting from his friend.

Back in the bar everyone has noticed Jake’s abrupt exit, especially you. Leaning in to press his lips to your ear Bradley says “Well that took less time than I thought, you sure have got him twisted up honey.” He’s grinning, the little shit stirrer, and while you had expected more of a reaction you knew you were in for it when Jake finally got his head on straight.

You’d met Rooster in Japan, working as a medic while he was on a rotation around six months before. It had been a fun friends with benefits situation, no strings and while you couldn’t deny that the sex was phenomenal you were still in the mindset of settling down. Bradley knew that and had told you whenever you were ready to cut things off he’d respect it, you were a good friend and great company but he wasn’t marriage material and he knew it. So when he’d headed back to California and found out that not only was Hangman there, but that you were still hung up on him he had a golden opportunity. Fuck with Jake a little, and maybe get you your happily ever after, it made perfect sense to him even if you thought he was crazy for suggesting it. You couldn’t deny that it was working, Jake had been rattled and ran for the hills, maybe Rooster’s plan wasn’t so half brained after all.

Bradley made it his mission to irritate Jake as much as possible the following week, making sure to let everyone in his radius know he was taking lunch to his girlfriend, loudly answering your phone calls, even dropping flowers off at your office one day. It was maddening, Jake felt like he’d been deflated, he couldn’t even bring himself to string together a sentence when you were around not to mention how much you being around was affecting his ego.

He still hadn’t spoken to you since you saw him at the hard deck, you were so frustrated, you’d really thought he’d come show his ass and the two of you would have it out but it was almost like he didn’t even care you were here. You were so in your head as you headed for the elevator that you ran smack into a warm wall of muscle, dropping your files and your bag. “Oh shit I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even looking are you o-“ you cut off as you looked right into the pretty green eyes of your ex.

“Hey, yeah I’m ok, you alright? Here let me help you” he made quick work of gathering your stuff, accidentally brushing your hand as he handed you one of the files. You knew he felt it too by the sharp intake of breath, just being around each other was enough to bring it all back, it made you want to climb him like a tree and beg him to take you back. You were far too stubborn for that so you stepped away from him like his touch had set you on fire, for someone so uninterested in your presence he certainly looked offended by the action, brows creased with that pesky forehead vein poking out that you always used to pick on him for.

This was awkward, you’re not his anymore but being this close to you may drive him insane. Your perfume is the same, your hair is a little lighter but it suited you, and you looked so damn beautiful, just like you always had. He needed to say something, just staring at you was going to freak you out but he couldn’t find the words. Jesus when did he get so weird?! He muttered out a “see you later” and started to head back down the hall, but you grabbed his hand at the last second, yanking him back towards you.

“Ok what gives?! You’ve been so weird since I got here, I know things ended badly with us but you left me remember?”

“Oh trust me sweets, I remember. Biggest fucking mistake of my life.”

“I’m sorry…what?” He had to be fucking with you, this wasn’t what you expected at all.

“I did leave, and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. Fuck y/n I think it about it every damn day, I was stupid and thought I wanted to party my life away, all it left me with was a broken heart and an empty house. I know you’re with Bradshaw now so we shouldn’t even be talking like this-“

“I’m not with Bradley.” You blurted out. “I mean we dated for a little while but he knew how much you hurt me and couldn’t help himself. He certainly knows how to get under your skin.”

“Yeah well, I probably deserve it.” He said as he ran his hand over his face.

“You do” you said with a grin, but noticed he hadn’t let go of your hand.

“So you’re saying that you’re single then?” He said with his smug grin, all it took was knowing he had a chance to bring back the Hangman persona, you shook your head with a laugh, he was already reeling you in. “Yeah, yeah it looks like. Who’s asking?” He chuckled as he pulled you closer, hooking a finger under your chin.

“I am baby, and if I have it my way you won’t be for long.”

Stubbornness be damned, you’d had your fun and now all you wanted was to give in to whatever was causing the butterflies in your stomach, so you let him kiss you. Hot, heavy and definitely indecent considering the environment, you basked in what it felt like to have his lips on yours again. He pulled a way a little, reveling in the way you tried to chase his lips; maybe he had affected you more than you’d let on too. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t break your heart again, he was already dreaming up ideas of forever, it finally seemed like you both were on the same page.

🏷️ Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @attapullman @roosterforme @bradshawssugarbaby @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @goldenseresinretriever @sarahsmi13s @hangmansgbaby @sebsxphia @mynameismckenziemae

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #bradley bradshaw #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you

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watchtowerindistress · 24 days

Text

for the love of ... bob? - jake seresin x reader (1/2)

Summary: Being Jake's (best) friend - sorry, Javy - proved to have its ups and downs but there was something about having him in your corner you couldn't resist. Jake and you just clicked on a deeper level. That's why you didn't get it when the Southern boy was acting so weird.-

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Language, Jake being an idiot (what else is new?), Jealous! + Soft!Jake, fluff

Author’s note: Just something fun I wanted to write. I kinda hate myself for not writing for Bradley first, since I love the guy. You know, Jake's fics I love to read, yet I couldn't stand him while watching Maverick. Go figure.

I haven't watched the film enough to distinguish the traits of the characters, so I can't guarantee for accuracy for the side characters. I can only include a handful of people - that's why I don't have people like Reuben in there since their character traits aren't included in the fandom page.

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @blackmagicwoman @silenthappyplace @mrsevans90 @dempy @yourgirlypop (blank blogs can't be tagged)

Read me on AO3

“So, tell us all the details. Preferably, the humiliating kind,” Natasha asked with a curious air.

You smiled. “What about?”

“Hangman, of course.”

The Dagger Squad was the perfect company to be around, you decided. Jake, your childhood best friend, who you haven’t seen in years, offered The Hard Deck as the place for you to wait until he arrived. Video calls didn’t hold up to the real thing. Especially, with you two being very busy people and you finally getting out of New York to spend some quality time together.

“I need to get the embarrassing goods, at least before Hangman shows up. I mean, we have the perfect person to interrogate. In the rare instances, when he talks about something other than himself, Hangman keeps mentioning you,” she mused.

“Nat-” Bob interjected, who was sitting next to her in a booth while the rest of their squad were scattered in the bar.

Natasha turned her head. “Aren’t you a little bit curious about the depraved mind of Jake Seresin?”

“Not really.”

You snorted at their torn convictions when Mickey and Javy arrived at their table with bottles of beer.

“What did we miss?” Javy asked.

Natasha’s stubborn gaze didn’t stray from yours for many seconds. “I’m trying to crack Y/N.” Her eyes met Javy’s over her shoulder. “Tell Rooster he needs to stall him until I get to the good bits.”

You looked around speculatively. “Is this some sort of initiation or baptism by fire Jake should’ve warned me about?”

Javy offered a small reprieve. “Don’t mind her. She just wants to pick your brain. How long are you going to stay?”

“About a week. Enough time for Jake to show me around San Diego.”

Mickey took a gulp from his drink. “Good luck with that.”

Warm breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine when someone whispered into your ear, “Did I just hear my name?”

Your body jolted at hearing the unexpected voice. “Oh my God.” You turned and found a cheeky Jake standing behind you. “You little f- Don’t startle me like that!” Clambering out of the booth, you jumped into his arms, while giggling from the shock. “Hey, you,” you said, holding on tightly.

“Hey, yourself. Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, darlin’.”

“You’re such a jerk,” you whispered into his neck.

Jake swayed you lightly. “You love when I’m a jerk.”

Leaning back, you pressed your fingers an inch apart. “Just a tad.” You hesitated. “Like about 10%.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Talk about 75%. It’s part of my charm,” he murmured, stroking your lower back.

“Is this what you tell everyone here?” You teased, pointing to his colleagues behind you.

Javy’s scoff was joined by the others.

You looked back to see their reactions. “You know, I’m starting to really like your group of friends.” While turning back, you narrowed your eyes when you saw Jake glowering at the Dagger Squad before his expression turned into an innocent one.

“I’m starting to question your taste in people,” he said.

Someone snickered next to him. “That’s funny, … Hangman.”

Realizing that another person joined their company, you turned towards the man who looked vaguely familiar from the pictures Jake had sent you. Not to mention, you remembered Natasha’s remark from earlier that Jake would show up with someone else.

“Rooster, right?” You stepped away from Jake’s embrace and shook Bradley’s hand in greeting. Jake merely sighed and crossed his arms.

“Bradley’s fine.” He faced the rest of the group. “By the way, am I the only one that felt really awkward just standing here, watching those two?”

Mumbles echoed all around. “No, you’re not.” Still slightly by the display of the too-long-hug.

A sigh left Jake, who placed an arm around your shoulder. “Don’t listen to the others. And the words of the chicken shouldn’t be trusted. I hope those knuckleheads treated you right.”

You shrugged. “It was fun. I was this close to reveal your darkest secrets for a slice of a good ol’ fashioned apple pie made by … Phoenix, was it?”

“There’ll be no revealing. And no pie,” Jake interjected before pointing at Natasha. “You’ve already been in the company of Phoenix and the goon squad for less than an hour and Nat already found out your weakness for sweets,” he whispered against your neck. “At least you didn’t have to be subjected to the likes of Rooster here.” A shiver coursed through his body. “I shudder at the thought of you having to listen to him at first. He’ll probably want to talk about his caterpillar of a moustache.”

A languid smirk drew on Bradley’s lips as he stroked his mentioned facial hair. “Very funny. You jealous?”

You tilted your head at their teasing. “You have some weird fixation on Bradley’s facial hair. Didn’t you talk on the phone about-”

Abruptly, Jake took you by the hand and dragged you to the bar counter. “Let’s get some food into you. Your blood sugar’s getting awfully low. Someone’s getting tired already.”

“You’re being such a grump, Jake.”

Jake leaned against the counter. “I’m not. I’m just making sure you’re getting some nachos into you, darlin’.”

“You need to be nicer. We both know you’re more of a sweetheart than this.”

He rolled his eyes. “I have a reputation to uphold. And don’t let yourself be bribed by the others.” Jake turned to Penny. “A basket of nachos for this one, Penny?” You rolled your eyes at seeing Jake point at the top of your head.

There was something about Penny’s playful glance that warmed you upon first meeting. The woman nudged her head at Jake. “Be careful with this one.”

With mischief in your eyes, you stole a glance at him. “I know. This one … has been trouble for as long as I can remember.”

“Hey!” Jake uttered in mock outrage before he did introductions. “Penny, that’s Y/N. She’s my friend,” he said, placing his hand on your back.

“And here I thought I was your best friend.”

Jake hushed any further confessions, whispering, “But don’t tell Javy.”

You turned to Penny with a smile. “See? He’s such a big softie.”

Penny smirked. “I’m starting to. Where are you from?”

“Moved around a lot as a kid. Dad’s an Air Force pilot.” You waved towards him. “We grew up together in Texas. But I live in New York.”

Penny’s eyes lit up at the mention. “I’ll get you some cheese dip.”

“Thanks.”

Jake watched Penny wander off with a speculative gaze. “Someone’s making friends quickly.”

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you my ways,” you said only half-teasingly and stroked Jake’s arm. Your hand lingered on his muscles. Wait, were they flexing? “Woah, what happened to your arm, dude?”

Jake’s voice turned concerned. “Why? What’s wrong?”

There was something akin to awe in your voice. “Your bicep feels like it’s going to rip through your shirt.”

His shoulders were shaking when he chuckled. There was something about Jake turning his head to hide his blushing cheeks that stunned you even to this day. “You’re such a smartass.”

“I’m serious. Someone’s really working out, huh?” You mumbled to yourself, “This could make a girl feel weak in the knees.”

“Okay, you need food,” Jake said with a resolute mindset, before calling over your shoulder, “Thanks, Penny.”

He pushed the basket towards your elbow. “Get some chips into you.” Jake just watched you munch on your crispy snack. “Speaking of food, you want to join me and the group to some Barbecue this weekend?”

You barely lifted your head. “Barbecue? Special occasion?”

“Rooster’s uncle Maverick is celebrating his birthday-”

“Woah, hold your horses, Jake.”

You raised your hands. Either to stop Jake from continuing or to restart your own brain. “Come again? Maverick?” Your hands hovered over your mouth, as you mumbled, “You’re inviting me to Maverick’s birthday barbecue party? I don’t feel prepared for this.”

Jake groaned. “Oh great, I forgot your dad is such a Maverick fanboy. Of course.” He closed his eyes in a mixture of misery and defeat.

“Jake,” you breathed in deeply and covered his shoulders with your hands, mindful of not dropping nacho dust on his shirt. “Jake,” you began again, “I’ve never told you this, but this is the first time when I realized how absolutely invaluable you are to me as a best friend.”

“I’m seriously regretting telling you this.”

You nibbled on your lip. “I think I scared Jake off with my … how do I say it … domineering admiration for Maverick. I’m getting the feeling he’s embarrassed of me. You have no idea how quickly he dashed the moment we arrived here.”

Natasha appeared nonchalant at your worries while she took a bite from her noodle salad on her paper plate. “Not possible. I’ve only met you yesterday and can affirm that man couldn’t be closer to you. Hangman was probably held up by something. Or he’s just elevating his testosterone level with Rooster again. You met the birthday kid already?”

“Nope.” At the mention, your hands tightened around the food container.

A soothing smile tugged on Natasha’s lips. “Deep breaths. You can’t miss him.” She pointed outside to the backyard. “He’s the guy at the grill, in the sunglasses and Hawaiian shirt. If he has a mustache, you’ve gone too far.”

“Got it.” You exhaled quietly and reminded yourself under your breath, “No mustache, Hawaiian shirt.”

“You’ll survive, don’t worry.” Natasha looked behind her. “Rooster, take her with you. She wants to meet the birthday man in question.”

“Sure.” Bradley stepped forward and offered his arm.

Your body acted on pure instinct.

“Holding my hand, alright, that’s fine.”

You only mouthed in gratitude, “Thank you.”

They walked a few steps onto the lawn when Bradley looked around. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Nat told me he was probably wrestling in the mud with you to assert his dominance.” You cleared your throat when you realized something. “And not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say. Just making sure where you two stand if he sees us standing together, holding hands.”

“Jake Seresin is not my dad,” you said absentmindedly when a dark-haired man caught your eye. Your throat felt dry. “Is that him?”

“As everyone keeps telling me.” Bradley approached the man standing behind the grill. “I found someone who wants to send their birthday wishes, Mav.”

Maverick revealed a crooked smirk. “Is that so?” You could feel his curious gaze through his sunglasses. “You’re a new face.”

“Um, yeah. I’m Jake’s friend.”

“Hangman has friends?”

“I know it’s a first for everybody,” you admitted. Knowing that Bradley and Jake were at least on speaking terms, and with Jake inviting you to Maverick’s barbecue party, you elaborated, “He needs some time to let people get close.”

Bradley gasped. “You don’t say.”

You focused on Maverick. “A few days ago, Jake invited me to your birthday. Hope that’s okay. I brought you peach cobbler as a present.”

At the mention, Bradley’s head whipped around. “Jesus, why didn’t you just go with that?”

Maverick moved his glasses until they laid atop his head and his eyes were uncovered. “You had me at cobbler.” He rubbed his hands against his jeans. “Bradley, you mind taking over the grill for a bit?”

“Fine. Get me a beer along the way?”

“Sure.” Maverick faced you again when he led you towards the table filled with food. “I didn’t catch your name?”

Just being in Maverick’s company felt surreal. You tried to restrain yourself from appearing too much like a crazy person.

“Um, Y/N … L/N. You’re Maverick?” Nervously, you stroked a curl of hair behind your ear. Even saying that name while standing right in front of him felt out of this world.

“Pete’s just fine.” His expression turned inquisitive. “Did Hangman tell you stories or did I miss something?”

You swallowed thickly. “My dad’s a big fan of yours. He’s a pilot in the Air Force. Told me stories ever since I was a kid. Your flight maneuvers have been legendary.”

He smiled at the devotion in your voice. “Still are.” You adored that playful glint in his eyes still shining through.

“Definitely. You probably get this all the time.”

“Want a beer?” After seeing you nod, he gave you a bottle. “Sometimes. Although, that kind of reverie I’m not used to.”

To calm your nerves, you downed some alcohol. “Really? Okay, I’ll try to control myself. However, Iceman’s skills were far-” Your eyes widened at your blabbing mouth before you covered it. “I’m sorry, too much liquid courage.”

Pete—even thinking that name felt strange—released guffaws of laughter at your gaffe. “Hey, it’s still my birthday!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Happy birthday, Ma-Pete.”

~ Jake POV ~

“Hey, Hangboy, I need to have a word with you,” Jake heard Natasha’s hard voice a few feet away from them as he hung out with the boys. Despite that, the concept of strength in numbers didn’t make him feel safe, judging by her vehemence.

He swallowed at the dark glare in Nat’s eyes. “Vernacular?”

Natasha didn’t appreciate the humor and crossed her arms, letting uncomfortable silence fester around them.

Jake pressed his lips together. “Bad timing?”

“Someone ever say you’re a bad friend?”

Without hesitation, he replied dryly, “You. Every morning when I show up to work.”

“I had to send Bradley in Y/N’s direction because she was nervous about meeting Maverick.”

He groaned at the thought, throwing his head back. “Oh, poor Y/N. Being forced onto the company of that dull-stache? Sounds horrible.” Jake checked his surroundings, hoping to pick them up.

There was something about Natasha’s innocent eyes, with murder in her eyes, that unsettled him deeply.

“You make me want to punch you in the gut. And you know I grew up with brothers. I know how to make it look like an accident.”

Jake dropped the drink he was holding on a nearby table. “I have a plan.”

Natasha tilted her head in fascination. “Wow, your brain can actually do that? Could’ve fooled me. What does that even look like?”

He drew nearer at the sound of her challenge. “It’s called giving each other space. Did I miss something or why are you so gung-ho when it comes to Y/N? Do we need to have a talk?”

“Five minutes in her company and I already know how she’s too good for you.”

Something bitter settled in his stomach at the mere mention. As if he didn’t already know. He smiled tensely. “Thanks for the reminder, Phoenix. Do I need to save her from Rooster?”

Natasha waved a hand. “Not to worry. Y/N is having fun with Bob.”

His mind went blank, trying to process her words. Jake pursed his lips, feeling confused. “Wait—w—why—what are you saying? Bob? Bob with the glasses? Or is there another Bob I should know?”

Natasha hummed, analyzing his reaction. She chose to unnerve him further by chuckling maniacally. “Cake stand. Have fun.” And with that she left.

Jake whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes. The food area instantly caught his eye. Y/N stood with Bob and was laughing uproariously. It felt X-Files-strange to watch that anomaly. Y/N arched her back and patted Bob’s shoulder, with a plate of cake slice in her hand.

Feeling perturbed by the macabre reality, Jake imagined Y/N being into Bob of all people. He frowned at that scenario, whispering, “Bob?”

~ Y/N POV ~

You held your stomach. Your cheeks were hurting from uncontrollable laughter, as you were trying to breathe. “Oh my God, Bob, that’s so-”

Jake inched closer with a small smile on his face. “What’s so funny?” He draped his arm over Y/N’s shoulder and reached for her dessert plate, either so she wouldn’t drop it or to have a taste himself. Without looking at him, you placed it into his hands.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “Why didn’t you tell me that Bob is so funny?”

Jake swallowed before coughing. “You learn something new every day. Still waters, huh?”

Bob smiled awkwardly.

Upon seeing his reaction, you spoke up, “I always hated that saying. Bob’s an absolute sweetheart.” To reinforce your point to him, you rubbed Bob’s shoulder.

Bob adjusted his glasses while blushing. “I try my best, ma’am.”

“Bob!” You chuckled in mock outrage, swatting lightly against his chest.

He nodded with a small smile. “Yes, Y/N, affirmative.”

“We’re getting to know each other. I just found out that Bob’s from Montana and his momma used to be a Grizzlies mascot. Personally, I’m more of a Saints girl, but to each their own.”

Jake groaned, with his mouth full. “I’m eating here,” he muttered indignantly. Jake swallowed his food. “What did I ever do to you? The last time we did this, we had the Cowboys/Saints-gate.”

You leaned your head back against Jake’s chest, patting his cheek consolingly. “He’s such a big baby.”

Bob pressed his lips together. “Uh, I think I hear my name. I need to say hello to Maverick real quick.”

You reached out with your arm. “Oh, do put your feelers out if the birthday guy is still fine with me after I was blabbing my mouth about g-loc and Iceman’s record stats.”

“He’s probably fine.”

“But still!” You called out against his back as he left.

It was turning out to be a quiet evening, you realized, rubbing your feet.

Jake stepped into the living room, drying his moist hair with a towel. He leaned his shoulder against the doorway, watching you. “Would you look at that.”

You were transfixed on the film playing on Jake’s TV while you snuggled deeper under the towel on the couch. “What’s up?”

Jake decided to join you on the couch and put your feet on his lap. He spread his legs comfortably. Unconsciously, warming your heels. “You know, feels like old times. You sitting on my couch, taking all the blankets.”

You covered your eyes, with a groan, and leaned your head back. “You make me sound like a mooch. I offered to go to a hotel.”

“Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Jake chuckled. You felt the warmth of his hand when he reached for yours. Before you could blink, Jake stared deeply into your eyes and interlaced your fingers together. With a smile, he whispered, “I missed this. Feels like old times.”

With blushing cheeks, you felt your skin tingling at sitting so close to him. It was moments like these that made you question the nature of your friendship. You swallowed at seeing Jake’s sage-green eyes sparkle. His soft smile was making it hard to breathe.

You whispered, “Me too.”

“You know what else I miss? And what I can’t stop thinking about?”

You swallowed thickly, licking your lips. Feeling uncertain by his thought process, you slowly asked, “Which is what?”

Jake inched closer. “How I used to do this.” He tilted his head, rubbing his wet hair into the crook of your neck.

“You jerk!” You giggled from his attack. It made him seem more like a dog than a human when he was content in brushing his wet hair against your skin.

He grumbled lowly, as his warm breath puffed against your skin. “But this feels really nice. I could stay like this forever,” he said with a hum.

Your phone emitted a notification sound. “You’re an idiot.” Slapping against his forehead to push him away, deep chuckles followed you while your focus switched to your phone.

“You hungry? I could whip up some chicken teriyaki for us? I think I got some sauce in the cabinet. I know how much you love your teriyaki.” He groaned while standing up.

Giggles left your mouth when you read the incoming messages.

Jake turned his head. “Your girlfriends miss you already?”

You bit your lip. “No, it’s Bob just being sweet.”

Blinking slowly, Jake tried to process the words you just uttered. He cleared his throat. Jake’s voice turned slightly high-pitched. “Come again?” He coughed, placing his hands on his waist. “Are we talking about the same Bob? Bob Bob?”

You hummed in agreement without looking up.

He mumbled, “Didn’t know you guys already exchanged numbers. That’s quick, … right?”

With a curious gaze, you looked up. “What do you mean?”

Jake paused. “What do you mean?” He licked his lips, backtracking a bit. “With, you know, Bob … being a total sweetheart.”

You smiled fondly at the memory of the barbecue. “Well, he is. I really loved talking to him.”

With grumbling breaths, Jake puffed his chest. “Really?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yep, it was fun.”

“As you keep mentioning,” Jake murmured.

“I did some thinking,” you spoke, “and I was wondering, how would you feel about doing karaoke night with your squad?”

At first, Jake had a look of appreciation which took a turn to disappointment. “But karaoke night is our thing,” he said, pointing between them.

“I know, but this could be like a bonding thing. You’d get to know them, I’d get to know them and we could have fun together. Win-win!”

He sighed deeply, letting his shoulders drop. “You’re far too invested in this.”

“I don’t want them to remember me as the friend who didn’t want to bother with them.”

Jake’s voice turned into a soothing murmur. “They wouldn’t dare think that.”

With a whisper, you enunciated, “Not if we do karaoke night. It’s going to be fun, I promise.”

#watchtowerindistress #steph writes #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #for the love of bob #jake seresin x fem!reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick fic #hangman x reader

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clownery-and-fuckery · 2 months

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As promised, my commentary on Hunter.... to the people that like him, im sorry.

Spoiler warnings and the like, this is pretty negative aside from like maybe three sentences?? Feel free to leave you're own opinions on this too ofc !!! >:)

I dont like Hunter.

Actually, that's not entirely true, I liked him in TCW season 7, when he was that silly man who fucked droids around the place, took no shit, and loved his brothers. I like the Hunter who, not putting this nicely, had a personality.

This is not a dig on him as a character, it's a dig on how he was handled, writing wise

Listen, I totally get that the "rugged-man-adopts-a-star-child" trope is popular, and I do LOVE that trope, really I do- I just don't really think it was done that well here? It's bothered me since s1 of the Bad Batch, and I don't think it's going to get any better this season....

My only real problem with the writing inconsistency of Hunter being an older brother of three to "Omega this, Omega that" and while I agree childcare is SUPER difficult at the best of times, Hunter had four brothers who were equally capable of taking care of Omega, too. It just never sat right with me that taking care of her became his ENTIRE personality

Hes a soldier, who despite being completely out of his element, had a routine he strictly followed for the whole war. Yet he seemed to completely forget about that ?? Stressed or not stressed, that worn in routines and LIFELONG LESSONS should not have left his head as quickly as they seemed to.

The most obvious and frustrating example of the oversimplification of Hunter's character is with Crosshair. I cannot even BEGIN to describe my anger when it comes to Hunter and Crosshair. It mainly stems from the way he just FORGETS his brother is with the Empire. Conveniently never bringing it up unless someone else did it first.

As the oldest sibling and squad leader, I personally think Hunter should have been the one to bring him up. It should not have had to be specifically mentioned by another character for Hunter to discuss it. He loves his brothers, he loved Crosshair, broody or not, he should have brought it up AT LEAST once, imo.

We also see this complete disregard for Crosshair AGAIN in s3, now that we have seen Hunter looking for Omega and not ONCE mentioning Crosshair. Has he forgotten that they were originally going to find Crosshair??? That they never actually FOUND their brother ??????? Annoyed me so much, tbh.

What else annoyed me was the singular language he used during the whole episode. "She's part of our squad." "Hemlock took SOMEONE from us." He's completely and utterly disregarding the OTHER TWO SIBLINGS that the Empire took away from him !!!!! It genuinely frustrates me so much.

I know I'm DEFINITELY nit-picking here, but even when Hunter looked to Tech's goggles, it was in a "He should've been here to do this." Way, not a "He should be here." Way. That's his brother, who died looking for another that Hunter has forgotten.

Hunter's tunnel vision is probably one my least favourite things about the Bad Batch, if I dare even MENTION that- and I love this show. It means so much to me, but I just can't handle this particular part of it...

I have so SO much anger directed towards the treatment of Hunter by the writers. I want the Hunter who was devoted to his WHOLE family, who fought for ALL of them, who would have NEVER allowed Crosshair to leave in the first place. Give me that Hunter back.

(Saying this- I do not mind Hunter and Omega's father/daughter and brother/sister relationship !!! I do really enjoy it- in small amounts. The fact that Hunter became nearly an extention of Omega really just- threw me off his whole character, really)

I specifically pick to ignore this when I'm making anything. Hunter has been a sergeant of three idiots(named endearingly) for the entirety of the war. One child who wanders around should not have taken up 100% of Hunter's attention, ESPECIALLY when he was surrounded and supported. It just bothers me, idk

Anyway, thats my rant !!! Back to some positives soon, promise !! I just had to get this off my chest, it's been BOTHERING me.

#sw the bad batch #tbb hunter #sw the bad batch spoilers #its a uh...#its a writing choice #definitely.#idk man i just dont like it that much

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vandnana · 1 year

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In Love With The Enemy [Prologue]

Prologue: Playing Scientist

pairing: lo’ak x female turned na’vi reader

summary: during the time when jake became toruk makto, you were quaritch’s youngest and most valued soldier, the daughter he never had. but, pandora changed you and you died during the final battle, betraying quaritch and wishing that you had been able to do more. now, you have been reborn again, as a na’vi, tasked with quaritch’s new military avatar crew to kill Jake Sully. taking advantage of this second chance at life, you help the Sullys and fall in love along the way.

genre: fluff, angst

highlights: grace being like a mother to you and jake being like your father figure while quaritch is in his toxic dad era

warnings: mentions of blood, war, violence, adult language

word count: 6,265

note: thank you to everyone who has been so excited for this series! i wasn’t originally going to make this prologue, but i really wanted to establish the reader’s old life before she was revived and how close the reader was to jake and grace first before diving into the rest of the series!

[chapter 1] [chapter 2]

The forest of Pandora holds many dangers, but the most dangerous thing about her is that you may grow to love her too much.

You were the youngest in the regiment back then, too young for war and far too young for what was in store for you in Pandora. But, Quaritch took you in when you were a child. You had no family, no home, and no promise of a real future. He had seen himself in you: cunning, willing, strong, and unafraid. You were everything he could have hoped for in a daughter, but you were real. His prodigy. And not a day went by when you didn’t live up to those expectations. You loved being with Quaritch. He had become your father and he always thought that nothing could ever change that.

Then you met Grace.

You were only a child when you first met her, and having been around army dogs your whole life, meeting her was a breath of fresh air, air that you never knew you were missing.

She was hesitant at first. You were Quaritch’s kid, an actual carbon-copy of the worst trigger-happy moron out there. Yet, even with all your harsh military training, you maintained an unmistakeable innocence in your eyes, an innocence that Grace couldn’t ignore when you asked her to teach you about Pandora, about the Na’vi, about the avatars. You were curious, genuinely curious and for Grace, although she would never admit it, it was refreshing too.

“You know, for a little Marine, you’re actually pretty smart.” She was watching you with her elbow resting on the lab table as you took notes of your findings, your eyes glued to your notebook

You didn’t look up at her, “I don’t know about that. I just did what you told me to.”

She put a hand on top of your notebook, halting the pen in your hand, “What I told you to do was simply look at the sample.”

You looked at her with confused eyes, and she sighed, taking the notebook out of your reach.

Holding it up, she displayed your work in front of you, eyes flitting from your notebook to you, “I did not tell you classify your observations and make a surprisingly accurate diagram of the snaketree’s cellular levels.”

You nodded, acknowledging your mistake. You had disobeyed a direct order and unsure what else to say, you apologized on instinct. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

Grace looked at you in awe, laughing suddenly, “This isn’t military training numbnuts. What you did was good work, real good work. I’m impressed.”

“Are you serious?” You were still in disbelief, but the feeling in your chest was one you’d never had before.

She smacked you lightly on the head, “Yes! You’re smarter than all the idiots in your squad, especially your father. And from now on, don’t call me ma’am, okay?”

You rubbed where she had hit you, smiling as you nodded, “Yes ma- I mean, yes Grace.”

Suddenly, you understood what you felt in your chest. It was different from the feeling you would get when you were praised by Quaritch. This feeling, it was like being recognized by a mother. Yes, you were that cunning, willing, strong, and fearless girl that Quaritch adored, but you were also smart beyond what you were told and you had an admirable moral compass that put the rest of your squad to shame.

Grace never let you forget that.

Still, you were Quaritch’s daughter, and being his daughter meant that you had to take on the role of who you always were. His perfect soldier.

The more time you spent on Pandora, the more you began to see past the façade you let yourself believe for so long. The mission was never about finding diplomatic solutions or building alliances. It was about destruction, money, and humanity’s wretched twist on glory, a misguided glory that Quaritch was more than happy to fulfill.

When Jake came on board, your father saw that potential, a soldier in with the wrong crowd, the thought invoking a vile taste in his mouth. Yet, with all his personal notions aside, there was an opportunity to be poached.

Jake was the key to the glory he was chasing.

Quaritch spared no time asking you to summon Jake. He was going to offer him a deal, one that he simply couldn’t refuse. You obliged to the simple request, but your heart was heavy. Six years you had been on Pandora and relations with the indigenous were only getting worse, and with Jake, your father finally found a reliable mole to fulfill his duties.

You made the short journey to the lab, the way so embedded into you that your legs were working on pure muscle memory. It had been a while since you had been there, too busy with AMP suit duty and perimeter watch to have any time to stop by. You commanded attention instantly walking through the door, the scientists greeting you warmly as you brushed past them.

Jake, who looked unabashedly lost among the labcoats, immediately looked your way, and seeing you in your full camo, he almost seemed relieved, the pristine, formalin smell of the lab permeating his nose was enough to suffocate him as he sat there, bored out of his mind.

“Jake Sully?” You approached, your demeanor intimidating at first, but betrayed by the smile on your face when you looked past him, waving.

He looked behind him to see Grace with a disapproving look in her eyes, “Shouldn’t you be playing soldier, little girl?”

“I am playing soldier...unfortunately. Which is why I’m here. I need to borrow yours.” You replied, turning your gaze to Jake.

Grace sighed, “Go ahead and take him. He’s pretty much useless here anyway,” Jake looked up at her, but he said nothing, merely scoffing.

“Don’t worry. I’ll return him to you as soon as possible.” You said sarcastically, putting your hand out in front of her and extending your pinkie, “I pinky promise.”

You laughed as she rolled her eyes at you, pushing your hand away, “I’d actually rather you keep him, but Selfridge seems to think I need another idiot with a gun.”

“Come on, play nice, Grace.” You reasoned.

She crossed her arms, lowering her eyes at such a hopeless request, “Just get the Marine out of my sight, will you? You’d be doing me such a favor, y/n.”

You glanced down at Jake, who was holding back all the snappy responses that were just at the tip of his tongue.

“Favor granted.” You replied simply with a smile, walking away, Jake following behind you.

As you reached the doorway, you halted, turning your head back, “I saw those samples you got earlier. I’ll sneak back here after dinner, just don’t look at them without me, okay?”

Looking over her shoulder, Grace couldn’t help but concede to a grin, “Wouldn’t dream of it, but it’s Max you really have to worry about.”

You put a finger out pointedly, your tone stern, “Tell him I’ll shoot him if he touches them.”

Grace chuckled, “Alright, alright miss Marine. I’ll pass along the message.”

With a final wave, you left, navigating through the halls with Jake beside you, “Sorry about Grace. She’s always prickly at first, but she’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“No kidding.” Jake huffed, looking up at you curiously as he kept up with your pace, “Where are you taking me anyway?”

“The Colonel wants to see you.” You replied, the heaviness in your heart suddenly obvious as you walked, the hallway widening out into one of the base’s hangars, the multiple flyers and AMP suits becoming your audience as you passed them.

Jake maintained his inspecting tone, eyes flitting from the path in front of him to you, “So, what are you? A soldier or one of the science sorties?”

“Oo “science sortie” I haven’t heard that one before.” You replied sarcastically, but you maintained your placid grin, “I’m y/n.”

He nodded, but still he continued, his tone so arrogant that it almost felt insulting, “Okay y/n...you didn’t answer my question. Playing soldier and playing scientist are two completely different games.”

You scoffed, making eye contact as you pointed to his legs, “And what’s your game? Are you a Marine or are you a cripple?”

He was stunned, having no clever retort, resorting to a simple shrug, “May be out, but you never lose the attitude.”

Having heard all the military cliches, you chuckled, “Look, there’s no game here. Not on Pandora. These RDA goons and this greedy company think they’re on the winning side of a pointless war. To be honest with you, I’d rather be doing what you’re doing.”

“So why aren’t you?” Jake asked, stopping to face you.

You halted, meeting his gaze, your expression visibly troubled.

“Lieutenant Quaritch.” A deep voice called from behind you, and you turned receiving the soldier’s salute.

“Warren...what can I do for you?” You asked.

The soldier pointed to one of the flyers just ahead, your best friend Trudy waving to you as your eyes stopped where she was, “I’ve been relieved of doorman duty. Trudy wanted me to tell you the spot is open for the taking.

Turning your attention to Jake, you asked, “How do you feel about being a doorman? Trudy flies all your “science sorties.”

Immediately, Jake agreed, “I’m your guy.”

Warren saluted again, acknowledging Jake with a nod before returning to the flyer.

The disgruntled expression on your face only lasted for a moment, but Jake saw it right away, his eyes softening as he looked at you. He wasn’t all that convinced of his position being covetable or about this war you had talked about, but he did understand the pressure you were under.

Choosing to lighten the mood, Jake took an opportunity to tease you, clearing his throat before speaking, “Lieutenant Quaritch, huh? That must get you a lot of dates.”

Somehow, Jake knew that it was exactly what you needed, wanting to avoid the conversation in front of too many prying ears. You gave into your own laughter, you responded snarkily, “Probably the same amount as you, old man.”

Jake scoffed, “Old man? I’m not that much older than you.”

Your eyes darted upward as you put a finger to your chin, your expression filled with feigned wonderment, “Really? I mean, you look like you’ve earned your senior discount with that wheelchair.”

He chuckled to himself, amused as he retorted, “I’m sure my senior discount doesn’t do your kids meal justice.”

You threw your head back in another fit of laughter, “I’ll give you that one Sully. For now.”

Stopping, you outstretched your arm, “The Colonel is right through there.” You pointed, seeing your father bench pressing in the makeshift workout room the soldiers created. Although its black, metal bars made it feel more like a prison.

Jake thanked you, and you nodded, putting a fist out, which he proudly bumped.

“Hey Jake,” You began, and he looked over his shoulder, waiting for what you had to say.

The seriousness in your voice was stark as you gave him a curt expression, “I meant what I said earlier about a pointless war. Whatever my dad offers you, he’ll mean it. My dad takes care of his own. Just don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He squinted at you inquisitively, “Wasn’t planning to.”

You turned your heel, looking over your shoulder before leaving, “See you around, old man, unless you want to go back to your retirement home on earth.”

“Go crawl back to your crib, won’t you?” He yelled after you, and with your back turned, you flipped him off, his chuckle becoming fainter and fainter as you walked away.

You stopped by Trudy and she stopped what she was doing, getting up from her crouched position, “Hey, hey what’s wrong? You’ve got that look in your eye.”

Looking back, you watched as Jake talked to your father, “I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling, Trudy.”

Trudy put a comforting hand on your back, “Why don’t we go to the caf and raid the dessert pantry? That always makes you feel better.”

“Can’t hurt.” You replied, the two of you hastily walking to the cafeteria.

You felt slightly better because of Trudy’s efforts, but that bad feeling still plagued you. When night fell, you walked to the soldiers’ quarters, making your way to the far end of it to find your father in his room.

“What did Sully say, sir?” Keeping your nonchalance, you showed no heightened emotions, standing perfectly as your father turned his attention to you.

He had a smirk on his face, which gave away his answer, “We’ll have these savages by the balls in no time.”

“What exactly are you having him do?” You pushed on, maintaining your stoic expression.

Quaritch walked over to you, “I thought about sending you instead. Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind seeing as that Augustine bitch is trying to brainwash you into believe her tree-hugging bullshit.”

Still, you gave him an unreadable expression, waiting for him to continue what he was saying.

“But, you don’t have an avatar. Sully can gather intel that we need from the inside. Understand?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” You stood with perfect posture as silence enveloped you.

He smiled at you, putting a hand on your cheek, “Now, go on to bed baby girl. We got a long day ahead of us.”

Could you blame Jake for taking the deal? He didn’t know that he was really making a deal with the devil.

Jake was like you at first. Ignorant. He didn’t fully grasp the world he was entering into, clinging onto the comfort of what he had always known. He was a Marine who figured it was just another hellhole, another tour that would add to his long list of sins.

He would get a reversal, his old life before a big hole was blown right through the middle of it. Reporting intel was a cakewalk to Jake, and if that meant the promise of his legs back, then there was nothing to lose.

Three months. That was how long Jake had to negotiate the Na’vi’s relocation.

It didn’t take long for Grace to find out that Jake was talking to the Colonel, Max rushing in to deliver the news to you all, his mannerisms frantic as he threw his hands up. Grace had her usual cigarette in her mouth, and in her burning rage, she almost bit down on it, her teeth barely sinking in as she grit her teeth.

Taking it out of her mouth, she let a puff of smoke escape and you all felt her rage as her smoke cloud engulfed you all, “Those idiots have no business sticking their noses in my department.”

The rest of you were silent, listening as she continued her rant. Jake was untouchable, strangely chosen by the Omaticaya, and unfortunately, her only way back in with the clan. You could see her thinking as her eyes went to the ceiling, her forehead furrowing as she considered what her next move was. Seemingly, she had found the answer after her mental contemplation, immediately ordering everyone to gather everything up.

Quickly, she walked over to her station, her eyes scanning the contents of the table.

You followed after her, “What are you doing to do?”

She handed you her cigarette, her hands at work as she began to organize what was in front of her, “We’re getting out of Dodge. I’m not about to let your brainless father and that ass-hat Selfridge micro-manage this thing.”

She had handed you the cigarette so haphazardly that you almost grabbed the part that had been lit, cinging it on your belt once she gave it to you, “So, where are we going?”

She stopped, facing you with a warning look, “We? You really think daddy dearest is gonna let you out of his sight? He already gets that ugly vein in his forehead every time you do anything that involves me.”

“Let him have his ugly vein because I’m not staying here if you’re not.” You protested, searching her eyes for approval, but she only looked at you with a pessimistic expression.

She put a hand on your cheek, her steely tone betrayed by the concern in her eyes, “Don’t push it. “

You placed a hand over hers, “You can’t change my mind. So, just tell me. Where are you thinking of moving everything?”

Grace groaned at your stubbornness, letting go of her hold on your face as she pulled her tablet out to show you, “Site 26, up in the Hallelujah Mountains.”

Your eyes lit up as an idea sprang into your mind, “I have to go.” You said abruptly making your way back to the hangar, your eyes avidly searching for your father.

When you caught sight of him, he was about to get into an AMP suit, but the sound you calling him made him jump back down, his head turned in your direction.

He immediately gave you a toothy grin, pleased to see you as he put an affectionate hand on your back, “Is my little girl keepin’ everyone in line?”

“I’m practically walking intimidation to these people, sir.” You joked, but he took you seriously, looking at you with such pride.

“Nothing wrong with being feared. That’s how we Quaritchs get it done.”

“Speaking of getting things done,” He leaned in closer, attentive as he waited for you to continue, “The scientists are about to have a change in scenery. I know you got Jake in there, but let me fly with Trudy. With me around too, you’ve practically got your dream team.”

Facing you, he put his hands on your shoulders, his smile even wider than before as the corners of his eyes crinkled in pure regard for you, “Taking initiative. I wish I had ten more like you.”

You smiled back, “So, I have your approval?”

“You’ve got my approval,” His tone changing ominously as he stared down at you, “But don’t let these limp-dick science majors fool you. There ain’t nothing worth saving here. You know the mission, y/n.”

Hugging him, you let the smile on your face fall, the graveness in his tone sending a whirring ache in your stomach. “You know me better than that, dad. I’m your daughter.” You reassured him, your voice so convincing that even you had almost believed the lie you were feeding him.

He leaned back, looking at you with a pleased grin, “Damn right you are.”

“After all this time, we finally get to fly together. Ain’t that a bitch.” Trudy said, handing you bags as you set them into the back of her flyer.

“Better late than never.” You hummed, overjoyed to finally be away from the base.

After everything was secured, everyone’s avatars were loaded on, their impossibly large stature so lifeless that they almost seemed like statues. Flying through the mountains, you all looked around in awe, Trudy laughing at you all as your mouths gaped open, too consumed in absolute wonderment to even process her laugh. This wasn’t the first time you had seen the mountains, but that didn’t make them any less remarkable. Landing, you all wasted no time making yourselves comfortable, picking out your bunks, setting your stuff down, and inspecting the entire place.

Over the next few weeks, Jake stayed true to what he was ordered to do, diligent and detailed with every report after his excursions using his avatar. Sometimes, he would do them alone, always making sure that no one was watching, but other times you were right beside him, cringing as he attempted to make sense of the Omaticaya.

After the first month, you could sense Jake’s weariness as he closed his video log, his finger nervously hovering over the button to send it in.

Walking over, you placed a hand on the table, “Yeah, I’d be hesitating to send that in too. You look like crap, old man.” You snickered, hoping to subside his worries with your joke.

He met your eyes, annoyed, “Whatever, baby face. Don’t you have a kids meal to eat or something?.”

“I had to check on my favorite old guy. You know, make sure you didn’t keel over or anything.” You pouted, earning a scowl from him.

Taking a seat on top of the table, you tilted your head at him, What’s with the hesitation? You usually just send things in and walk away.” You prodded.

He pressed the button, not wanting to explain himself, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lowering your eyes at him, you scoffed, “It’s not a crime to like it here. Should I remind you how earth is practically just a ticking time bomb? The core is caving in on itself as we speak.”

“I want my legs back.” He replied, but even he wasn’t convinced by his tone.

Getting up, you let your arms fall to your sides, “You have legs.”

“Not always.” Jake snapped back.

“You know Jake, like it or not, blue’s always been your color.” You hinted, leaving him to contemplate your words as you went back to your bunk.

He was fighting hard denial, falling in love with the forest little by little, and everything it was giving him. Jake didn’t realize how much he missed running, hell even walking was a blessing. Things were hard at first, but with Neytiri pushing his limits, he couldn’t even complain, too grateful that he was even able to get back up from falling.

And suddenly, Jake finally had something to lose.

You watched as everything was backwards for Jake, the world he had thrust himself into for a simple mission becoming the reality, while his waking life had become the dream. Pandora was changing him, just like it changed you.

Learning the ways of the Omaticaya was the catalyst, but then there was also Grace, and Norm, and of course, you. While he had found unlikely friendships with Norm and Grace, you had become close friends since the day you first met.

In truth, you reminded him of his brother, Tommy, the science guy, the smarter one. But Tommy didn’t have that callous edge that Jake’s military background imprinted on him. It was the one thing about Jake that Tommy could never relate to.

You could though, and you did.

Every time.

You were practically cut from the same tree, and despite your usual dizzying scientific discussions, Na’vi lingo and occasional latin-rooted vernacular, you actually understood him without really trying.

You were younger than him, younger than everyone, a constant cause for concern because aside from all your one-liners and jokes, Jake felt responsible for you. You were better than him in so many ways, and he respected you, cared about you, more than he cared about himself.

And the longer you were around Jake, the more you got to know him, and the easier it became to see his internal struggle. He didn’t know who he was anymore, his concept of loyalty faltering as the burden of what Quaritch had asked him had finally laid stones in his heart.

Jake’s three months had gone by in a blink. To the disappointment of your father, his last report was more than three weeks from that deadline. Your father had called him back to base, Jake’s lag stirring his intolerance for deviancy, but you intercepted it, offering to talk to him yourself.

You waited for Jake by his pod, looking out at the Pandora forest through the window and taking in the tranquility of the scene before you. Beyond the clearing were the endless flora and fauna and amidst the air and soft dirt, were speckles of life in the form of the local insects and animals. You peered outside in awe, wondering what it would feel like to explore the forest without the confines of your feeble humanity.

Behind you, you could hear the pod open, stirring you away from your thoughts. You turned around, Jake’s expression completely contemplative as he noticed you.

You gave him an equally reflective expression, your mind carrying an unwieldy weight as you dreaded the conversation that daunted the both of you.

He pulled himself out of the pod, but you remained where you were. “My dad is starting to question your resolve. Will Neytiri and her people move from HomeTree?”

You knew the answer already, and Jake buried his face in his hands, “They don’t want anything. There’s nothing to trade, but what could they possibly want from us? Lite beer and blue jeans? They’re never gonna leave, and I don’t blame them.”

You hung your head low, “It’s not wrong for you to like it here, Jake. You didn’t do anything wrong. My father roped you into this mess.”

He lifted his head up from his hands, his expression so burdened and beaten down, “I can barely remember my old life y/n. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

You leaned forward, putting comforting hands on his shoulders, “You know who you are Jake.”

He looked up, his eyes begging you to tell him who that was. “You’re one of The People now, and this forest is your home. You can protect it still.”

Jake never cried, but he almost did as he avoided your eyes, “You once told me not to make a promise I can’t keep.”he let out a defeated sigh, “Should have taken you seriously back then.”

“What matters is what you do now. Saving them, that’s all that matters. I’ll tell my dad what he wants to hear, but you know what you have to do, and you’re the only one who can do it.” You kept a meek smile, patting his shoulders.

He was silent for a moment, nodding as he took in your words, “Whatever happens, I’m not bringing you down with me. Who knows what your dad will do when he finds out you’ve gone rogue.” His face was etched in concern, his worry for you embedded in the lines of his forehead.

You shrugged, your expression grave as you frowned, “A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning.”

You paused, looking down at your clasped hands as you reminisced about the life you had back on earth, “I owe Quaritch my life, you know. My real parents didn’t want me and no one else did either. For a long time, he was all I had, and I thought that everything he did was to protect me.”

You met Jake’s eyes again, your expression fierce with determination, “But, kids grow up and they realize who their parents are and they either accept that or fight it with all they got. I choose to fight.”

Jake’s expression softened as you continued on, your emotion suddenly overwhelming as you felt your voice almost break, “You, Grace, Trudy, Norm, you guys are my family. I got your back Jake. No matter what.”

He put a hand on your head, a genuine smile on his lips, “Don’t worry about me. You’re the baby. It’s my job to protect you.”

You shook your head, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“What can I say?” He sighed, shrugging, “I’m a stubborn old man.”

The next day, the bulldozers came and not long after that came the destruction of HomeTree. There was nothing you all could do except sit and watch as Quaritch ordered the columns to be brought down, the Na’vi scattering in waves of blue as they witnessed their home engulf in flames, the cataclysmic reds and oranges muting the once green landscape and settling into the soulless smoke cloud that rose above them all, its presence like a deadly omen.

Grace, Norm, and Jake were detained immediately, and just like Jake had said, he protected you, pretending you had no involvement in anything that happened. You, Trudy, and Max did you all you could to help them escape when you got the chance, and as you approached her flyer, Jake stopped, urging you to leave so you wouldn’t get caught.

You refused, insisting to come with them, but Grace had already made the decision for you, pulling you into a hug, she caressed your hair, “You need to stay here, baby girl.”

You could feel tears fall down your face as you wrapped your arms around her, savoring her embrace before letting go, unwillingly giving in to the urgency of the situation.

As they entered into the hangar, you ran back to the heart of the base, hiding while soldiers charged toward them, your father taking the lead. Later that night, you found out Grace was dying and you cried alone. You were beyond consolation, your grief consuming your heart, the ache tormenting you as you sat in the base, unable to do anything for her. You had seen death. Countless times. But not being with her for hers felt like you were the one you had been killed.

It was hard to feign your innocence after you found out that it was your father who shot her, and it became damn near impossible when Jake told you she had finally passed. Still, you were strong, playing the perfect soldier until the final battle came.

Fleets of ships entered into enemy territory, rows and rows of them creating an ugly, gray hoard amidst Pandora’s natural beauty. When you had entered, warriors on their ikrans swarmed, shooting left and right and bringing down the smaller flyers one by one.

You were with your father when he gave you the order to shoot Trudy down, her flyer adorned with war paint as she targeted your father’s ship, guns blazing.

“I won’t do it.” You refused outright.

In all your life, you had never been defiant, stunning him only for a second before he rose his voice at you, “Shoot her down, y/n!”

You got up, gritting your teeth as you spoke, your contempt silvery in your tongue, “I won’t kill my friend.”

Seething, he turned away from you, “If you won’t, I will.”

Before you could stop him he armed all pods, sending endless shots toward Trudy. You were frozen, unable to peel your eyes away as you watched her rotor explode, her flyer plummeting further and further down to the ground until she was engulfed in a deadly explosion. Still, you were agonized from the pain of losing Grace, but your loss became insurmountable watching your father murder your best friend.

He paid no mind to that pain as he continued his plight, too focused to care about what he had done to you. All felt hopeless suddenly, your heart breaking as you watched more destruction unfold before you. Ikran and Na’vi were being shot in the air and below you men and women were being shot down, the fits of fleeting light coming from the gunfire of the AMP suits still visible from so high up.

Then, as if a prayer had been answered, ikran were flying in swarms from all directions, their masses attacking ships and taking down sentries. On the other side of you, you saw Jake, landing on top of one of the ships, unleashing grenades and jumping off to land on the biggest ikran you had ever seen, Toruk.

You watched as Toruk maneuvered through the arching rock columns that surrounded the Tree of Souls and descended quickly to your father’s ship. With a loud thud, Jake was above you, unleashing grenades. Seeing him, your father steered the ship right, rupturing his balance as he fell backward. The grenade exploded, triggering the oxygen breach alarm. You grabbed an exo pack as you ran to the ship’s hatch, your father yanking you to the ground, his gun already in his hand as he stationed himself in the opening. Rushing, you took hold of the ladder, pushing past your father toward Jake, who was barely holding onto the ship, a missile already in his hand.

Jake threw the missile into the rotor as Quaritch fired a shot, the bullet meant for Jake hitting you as you blocked its path, the blood pooling in your chest instantly. In that moment, Quaritch dropped his gun, running toward you with his arms outstretched, his attempt at catching you futile as you already fell backwards.

A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning.

What Quaritch had failed to be, Jake fulfilled, scooping you into his arms as you both tumbled downward, tightly wrapping himself around your dying body to brace you from the impact. When you had finally fallen to the forest floor, you were heaving, your vision fading as he towered over you.

He was holding onto your limp body, tears streaming down his face. “No, no. You’re gonna be fine, y/n.”

You had never seen him cry before, and that made everything feel all the more heart-wrenching. There was no hope to save you.

You smiled at him like nothing was wrong, “You know me better than that Jake. I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in fairy tales.”

He let out a weak chuckle. It was the same thing that Grace had said to him when she lay dying, making his heart twist even more. He was in utter shock, his eyes suddenly drowned with tears while hugging you, as if doing so would bring back the warmth that was slowly leaving your body.

You stared at him, piecing your final words together as you could feel the creeping darkness approach. Putting a hand on his cheek, you finally knew what you wanted to say. “You’re a good man Jake. Thanks for being my family.”

“Y/n, you’re gonna be alright.” He cooed, his heart breaking as your face paled and paled.

Taking one final breath, you smiled, “You’ll make a great dad someday.”

“Y/n.” Jake’s voice quietly inaudible, but your eyes went blank and your hand dropped from his cheek.

Your body was cold and bloody as he held onto you, and as he tried so desperately to search for a remaining light in your eyes, he was only filled with more pain, an irrevocable pain welling inside of him, his heart blocking his mind from making sense of the fact that you were really dead.

You reminded Jake of his brother Tommy, and just like him, you were dead too. He felt like he had failed you, the pain and rage stirring inside of him becoming a strength as he went up against your father.

“Give it up, Quaritch. It’s all over.” Jake yelled out, his call becoming a perfectly timed distraction as Neytiri tried to free herself from the weight of a dead thanator.

“Nothing’s over while I’m breathing.” the Colonel spat, his words imbued with his pure hatred and scorn, “You killed my little girl, Sully. And for that, death is too good for you. I want to see you suffer.”

“It’s your fault she’s gone!” Jake hissed.

“She was my daughter, and I should have never trusted her with you. You think you’re one of them?” So blinded by his own rage, the Colonel blamed Jake for your death, the fuel of his grief giving him an unholy boost in his fighting spirit.

“Time to wake up.” Walking to the pod, he broke the window, filling the oxygen isolated space with Pandora’s air. Panting, Jake could feel his link go in and out, his body convulsing in response to the breach.

When Quaritch had turned back to Jake, he laughed maniacally, enjoying as he watched Jake struggle. Grabbing him by the hair, he pulled Jake’s knife out, “I’m gonna love cutting you up with your own knife.”

Jake even in his lightheaded state, managed to keep his resolve. Hissing aggressively as Quaritch inched and inched toward his neck, Jake could feel the imminence of blood being drawn until he stopped, Quaritch’s hands going limp, dropping Jake and the knife. As fast as the first came, so did a second, dealing the final blow. Neytiri watched as Quaritch died, satisfied as he became void of life, the misguided glory he was chasing dying with him.

Those who weren’t loyal to the Na’vi were sent back to earth, and in his last ditch attempt to save you, Jake had taken you before Mo’at, hoping that Great Mother still held your life in her intricate balance.

Mo’at pleaded for you underneath the Tree of Souls, the Great Mother’s roots glowing around your lifeless body, but dimming quickly.

Lifting her head up, Mo’at looked at Jake, choosing her words very carefully, “In this time of great sorrow, she cannot be saved Jake Sully, but the Great Mother still holds her in her heart. She is not gone from us forever.”

Neytiri held him as he stared ahead blankly, so struck by his grief that he hadn’t truly grasped what Mo’at was saying. When he had shaken himself out of his state, he picked your body up, burying you where they had buried Grace’s human body, the Omaticaya chanting to Eywa as Jake, Norm, and all the other scientists gathered to say their final goodbye.

And in that final goodbye, you too had become a relic of the past, but your memory lived on as Jake continued his life, your death a painful reminder that he must always protect his family.

You had told him something long ago, something he would never forget.

A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning.

Author’s Note:

My lovers,

how did you all like that prologue? please let me know in the comments!! i’d love to know what you think :) writing grace and trudy’s death hurt me in my soUL, ITS NOT THIS ANGSTY FOR THE LATER PARTS I SWEAR

again, i wanna thank you all for waiting so patiently for this series!!

part 1 is almost done as well and im beyond excited for you guys to see reader and jake reunite :) AND OFCCC READER AND LO’AK MEETING OMGGGGGG

for all those who wanted to be part of the taglist, you’re listed below

if you want to be tagged in the next parts, please comment on this post or send me a dm or an ask with your blog name!

Love,

Nana <3

taglist: [some of the blogs didn’t allow me to tag some blogs, but i wanted to include them anyways!] @fifty-shades-of-mischeif @pretty-npeach @tonni30 @kirikuki @itsemy01 @persondoingstuff @23victoria @soobinsrose @starjane312 @valentineoxox@imthefunniestpersonalive @justlillythinking @mae-is-crazy @scarletrosesposts @paniniii @bloodyziggy @mister-police @mrs-sullys-blog @niiight-dreamerrrr @promiseofeywa @wilmalovegood @sssspencerrr @mochi-yu @d4rno @lovekeeho @dreama-little-dreamof-me @bammtoli @strawberryclouds22 @neteyamoa @devil-on-acid @a-queen-blr @my-name-duh @mayabritjohn @annoyingstrawberryballoon @0-0h0-0 @glitter-in-my-heroin @katkat1918

#avatar loak #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #loak sully #loak imagine #Jake Sully #jake sully x reader #loak #nanasavatarfics #nanasloversclan #nanasilwefic!

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 7 months

Text

A Quiet Place to Rest

It's hard to sleep during thunderstorms, especially with enhanced senses.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: fluff, cuteness, sweetness, idiots trying to hide their feelings from each other - this is SFW folks.

Thunder cracked across the sky, illuminating the barracks on Kamino. Storms were common on the water planet, and you’d long learnt to love them. Tonight, you’d opted to camp out on the large couch that Wrecker had procured from Maker knows where and watch the storm as it rolled past Tipoca City.

Around you, the boys snoozed. These days, two years deep into the war, they could sleep through almost anything.

Two years. It had gone past in the blink of an eye. You could still remember the day you’d been introduced to Clone Force 99 and assigned as their civilian handler. It was your job to keep in contact with Command, feed the boys their missions, and ensure they had everything they needed to complete their work and return safely.

While most handlers chose to remain on Kamino, away from the blaster fire and chaos, you’d elected to go with the Batch, to live on the Marauder with them and share their barracks on the rare occasion you could return to base. After all, you couldn’t keep them safe if you weren’t with them.

“Can’t sleep?” The quiet, smoky rasp of Hunter’s voice graced your ears as he circled the couch, sitting down at your side. He was as nimble on his feet as a lothcat – you'd lost count of how many times he’d made you jump by suddenly appearing next to you.

Head turning to look at the man by your side, you admired the sharp line of his jaw, the tattoo that shaded half of his face, and the bags that were a permanent feature under his dark eyes. A constant reminder of the pressure he was under as the squad’s leader. “Still winding down.” You answer just as quietly. The last few missions had been tough, back-to-back with barely a few hours downtime between them. Your mind was too noisy for rest. “Can’t sleep either?”

Hunter’s gaze flits to the large window at your question, a small noise of discomfort sliding past his lips. “Lightening.” His answer is only one word, but it explains everything. The storm was messing with his senses, producing a strong electric field that he couldn’t tune out. He’d tried all his usual techniques for blocking it to no avail. So, he’d resigned himself to a night awake, and a thumping migraine in the morning.

“Here…” You murmur, stretching out a little on the couch before patting your lap in invitation. Sometimes after tough missions, Hunter would seek you out, sitting for a while in your presence, bringing the focus of his senses onto you so he could then slowly draw them back under control.

Hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He shifts, laying down across the couch, head resting in your lap, cheek pressed to your bare leg. Your fingers find their way into his hair – bandana-less and ruffled from trying to sleep. As your nails drag across his scalp, he lets out a small sigh, warmth seeping through him at the gentle action. Slowly he starts to hone in on you, letting the soft scent of your shampoo fill his lungs as he takes a deep breath, the slow thud of your heartbeat ringing in his ears, the feel of your bare thighs beneath his cheek and the warmth coming from your body. The fact you slept in one of Wrecker’s old shirts – oversized on you and skimming mid-thigh – was both a blessing and a curse.

“Any better?” You ask softly, gazing down at him, watching as his eyes slide shut and he lets out a soft sigh, the tension in his body starting to melt away. You loved these moments, when he relinquished his fearless leader persona.

“Mhm.” Hunter murmurs, feeling the pounding in his skull starting to recede the longer he rests in your lap and soaks up your affection. But he’s greedy, and he wants more, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be having anything other than professional thoughts about you. But that’s all they’ll stay for now, though – thoughts.

You fall into a comfortable silence as he rests in your lap. Slowly your hand moves from his hair to brush across his shoulder, and then down his arm, fingers dancing across tattooed skin. You’d been surprised to learn that the tattoo which shades half his face continues downwards to darken half his body too. Eventually, you find his hand, sliding your fingers against his to lace them together. It’s only a second before Hunter’s thumb moves to press against your wrist, right on your pulse point, giving him something else to focus on.

The storm continues to rage on outside, and together you sit through it quietly. It’s another hour or so before it passes, though the sky remains clouded and grey. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other during it – lost in your thoughts, coming down from the last few missions. “How’s your head?” You ask Hunter softly, breaking the silence as you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Easing.” He breathes a sigh of relief, his senses settling as the storm moves past Tipoca City. He’ll still feel it anywhere on the planet, but the further away it moves the less grief it gives him. Giving your hand a squeeze in return, Hunter’s greed flares again and this time he allows himself to give in to it. Pulling your hand closer, he cradles it to his chest as he remains resting in your lap, dropping a kiss on the smooth skin on the back of your hand. The action pulls a soft chuckle from you, the sound one of his absolute favourites, and he soaks it up like a man stuck in the sands of Tattooine. He notes how your heart pounds a little more fiercely too, but he opts not to say anything, privately relishing the effect such a simple act can have.

You know your heart is beating quickly, but you’d long given up trying to mask it. There was no fooling Hunter’s senses, and you were starting to suspect he was purposefully doing things to set your pulse racing anyway – he’d been a lot more open with his affection as of late.

“Try and get some sleep.” You murmur, gazing down at his profile, marvelling at this incredible man curled against you. His hair had been smoothed a little from your strokes, and the tension in his shoulders was gone now. He was even more gorgeous than usual, softer and quieter, without the weight of the squad's safety on his mind now they were safely in their bunks nearby.

Hunter stifles a yawn, burrowing closer towards you and your body heat. The tendrils of sleep are pulling at him, beckoning him into the abyss. And with your request, he’s even more powerless to fight it. He knows even an hour or two of rest will do him good, and with you keeping watch, he’s never felt safer. “Anything for you, cyar’ika.”

#the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #kinktober #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter the bad batch #star wars #star wars clone wars #hand holding #cuties #fluff #mutual pining #star wars the bad batch

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neoarchipelago · 1 year

Note

For a fantasy one-shot what if the 141 gets stranded on a mission gone wrong, and they have to find a safe house cuz someone (not sure who) is badly injured and needs medical attention.

After a bit of wandering around a forest, they find an "abandoned" house. Unfortunatly for them, it's the house of witch!reader who dosent take kindly to intruders...

After a bit of calming down and convincing, Witch!reader heals whoever is hurt and maybe offers some assistance as the enemy has been draining resources from the forest?

Feel free to change the ending, I just like forest witchy vibes...😅

YES YES YES WITCH!READER

(totally love the way marvel pictures 'magic' so I kinda used that, not sure it's still... Forest witchy tho.. sorry..)

Head canons Witch!Reader X squad 141

Your little house in the forest was perfect. The wood and Vine, the flowers and greenery making it disappear into the landscape. Of course you'd still often vanished to the city, especially for some things the forest couldn't entirely provide.

You were walking back home, the greenery of the forest surrounding you, the peaceful silence around. Unfortunately, for the past weeks, some men were troubling your peace.

The fresh smell of grass and leaves were now tainted with blood and drugs that the pathetic things used to escape the real world. If only they knew how to truly look at the world.

You frowned, the thoughts only souring your mood. That and the newly smell of blood. It could have been alright... If it wasn't straight on the path to your house. You stopped for a second, thinking about the situation. Did they wander too close?

You sighed before heading straight to your house. The smell of blood intensified, now droplets visible here and there. The droplets grew to bigger little drops and to tiny puddles.

You grew weary, your steps falling deeper into a soft silent path. Once you finally had the house in sight, you decided to go straight in. Anger rushed over you, the audacity of theses humans getting on your nerves.

The smell of blood hit you, as soon as you swung the door open. The ticking of guns pointing at you made you frown.

"hands up.." a man with a fishing hat said.

You turned to them, looking unfazed.

"you barge into my house. And you dare to threaten me?" You questioned.

"you..your house?" A Scottish accent rang.

"yes. My house." You pointed now looking at the man in a mohawk, sitting on the floor next to your couch. It made you notice the man laying on said couch, blood over his clothes and... Your couch. You sighed.

"I'm not going to repeat myself, hands u-"

You didn't let him finish, two fingers pointing to the guns before swiftly swingy them towards the ceiling, the metal things following the movement before sticking themselves on the ceiling. The silence was loud. You wanted to laugh. You rolled your eyes, closing your door behind you before walking to the kitchen table to drop your bag.

"that was so co-'

"sergeant!"

You smirked, the poor Scottish land being scolded by the masked man.

"what are you?" The hat man said again.

"again. Rude. Who are you even?" You asked, crossing your arms.

The men looked at each other. They didn't look like the other idiots that tried to roam your forest. They were... Different. Your gaze fell on the wounded man again.

"what happened?" You asked, changing the subject, as you nodded towards the couch.

"i... I took a bullet... I'm... Gaz... By the way..."

You smiled. Poor boy. His shaky voice only betrayed his fear and pain. You sighed again, frowning. You shouldn't mingle. Not at all. But the face of the man, wincing in pain, and the one of his teammates, worriedly looking at him, tugged on some string you didn't knew your heart had. Not for humans anyway.

You took a step forwards, the hat man immediately, stepping in front of you.

"calm down... If I wanted to hurt all of you, i would have done so already." You said, eyes glancing to the guns still stuck on the ceiling.

After long seconds of pondering and glances towards the others he stepped aside. You walked to the couch, kneeling next to mohawk.

"I'm... I'm soap."

Well... Next to soap then. You nodded.

"I'm Y/N." You answered..

You turned your attention to the wound.

"I'm going to remove your vest and your shirt, alright? I need to see where you got hit." You explained.

He nodded weakly. Your hands rose, snapping your fingers as the two vanished.

"How the fuck do you do that?!" Soap yelled.

"I'm. A witch. Please don't tell in my ear like that..." You answered with a frown.

You looked at the man's stomach, the bullet seemed to be on his left side, underneath his rib cage, above his hip. The bullet still inside.

"i need to remove the bullet before healing you. I'm... I'm sorry, it might be painful for a few seconds..." You said.

"it's ok... I'll... Die... If you don't..."

Again. Another pull on a heartstring.

"I'm not going to let you die." You assured with a soft smile. "Soap? Right?" He nodded "can you tell me what happened and why you're in my house? The two big guys over there are much less friendly..." You grumbled.

He smirked. You turned to the wound hand hovering above it.

"well... We're military... Special task force 141. We're on a mission. We're here to localize and intercept a group of drug dealers who use the forest for-"

Light intertwined in your fingers, blue, wavy glowing smoke, the bullet inside the body shining the same light before you focused to attract it towards you to pull it out. You'd have to work fast after, but it'll get out. The man under groaned, face torn in pain.

"i know... Sorry..I'm gonna pull it out...i just need to localize it... And...PULL." You mimicked your words, the bullet flying out into your hand, coating your fingers in blood. You sighed, dropping it to the floor, now putting both hands over the wound, applying a bit of pressure to stop the bleeding before another glow of light shinned from your hands. It spread to the man's skin underneath your palm. Veiny threads expanding from under your hands, shining blue.

Soap was gasping. You smirked again, trying to remain focused on your spell.

"go on soap. I'm listening." You reminded.

He shook his head, probably trying to focus on his story.

"hum.. yeah.. the dealers... Hum... We got ambushed... He got shot... And... We found your house here... Thought it was abandoned ...hum" the man looked mesmerized as you worked.

"yeah... Those idiots keep roaming around... They're getting on my nerves. I'm glad someone's taking care of it, didn't really want to mingle with human affairs." You explained.

It took a good five minutes for the muscles and flesh underneath your energy to grow back together. You'd have to rest for a few hours. When finally the skin had melted back together smoothly did you let the glow fade.

Removing your hand, she shadow of the bullet hole was glowing, veiny threads still expanding to the man's side and stomach.

"give it a few minutes. It'll go away." You assured before standing up slowly.

"thank you..." He let out in a shaky breath.

"don't worry. Just rest. I'll prepare some soup." You said with a soft smile before turning towards the kitchen.

"are... We the soup?" Soap asked.

You frowned, confused.

"why the fuck would I eat you? What's wrong with you?" You asked.

"your hands glow!" You heard.

---

You made your soup and everyone ate. Eventually you had let them stay the night, resting. They were safe there. You decided to help them just a tiny bit, after all, they were trying to get rid of the same enemies as you.

They remained two days, making sure their friends was up for another round. You had worked wonders, gaz being able to run around and jump quite fast.

In that time, soap just kept asking you to make things fly, or glow. You had pointed out you could do so much more, that this wasn't just some marvel movie. He seemed to ignore it.

The hat man.. price as he had introduced himself, felt more comfortable around you. The masked man however still seemed to eye you from the corner. It was time to leave when you looked at them in front of your house. You leant against the door frame.

"thank you, for everything. We'll keep your secret." Price said with a soft smile.

"something tells me you will. You're trust worthy. Be careful out there. You're four. They're fifty at least." You answered in a serious tone. "Soap." You called.

The man skipped his way towards you. You took his hand, opening it, palm up. You dropped a thick red thread, braided, a little bell at the end.

"in case of emergency. Ring."

---

They didn't ring. And weeks... Months passed. You questioned yourself if they had died. But on a rainy afternoon. You heard it. In the distance, like an echo in a dream. The bell ringing.

You didn't hesitate and immediately closed your eyes, focusing on the little bell, before simply vanishing.

---

It had turned out, it was no emergency. You had appeared in a room, the squad looking at you with wide eyes, sprawled on a couch or chairs around the cosy room. You crossed your arms.

"what in Merlin's beard is the emergency?"

"i... Just wanted to see if I'd work..."

---

It turned out to be a recurrent event. One of the boys would ring the bell, you'd get there, and they simply wanted to invite you to watch a movie.

Turns out, every Friday night, the bell rang. Poker nights, movie nights, game nights or simply to spend the evening with them. You'd often find yourself falling asleep there, unable to get back home from the tiredness or the alcohol.

Gaz was extremely thankful. He had offered you flowers and beautiful Notebooks. He had noticed your collection of notebooks laying around in your house, all scribbled. You had slightly blushed, reminding him that he didn't owe you anything at all. He didn't know it but you had crystalized the flowers, keeping them over the fireplace.

Soap was extremely happy to help you. Sometimes you'd need to make potions, you'd bring your stuff over and soap would chop things or stir. You'd often had to slap his hand away from the small cauldron to avoid him tasting anything. Of course you didn't brew anything remotely dangerous around them, but the last time you had turned your back, soap had grew a much longer pink mohawk and ran around jumping for hours.

You had wrote down in one of your new notebooks under Gaz's happy gaze, that removing three ingredients to a Calming infusion turned out to create a powerful energy potion.

Price loved it when you'd produce a little flame at the end of your finger to light up his cigar. "thank you my dear.". You had enchanted his phone, he could call you now avoiding using the bell and keeping it for emergencies only. You added in the map app, tracking points of the team, just in case. He was extremely thankful, his dad worries slightly relieved.

Ghost enjoyed watching you practice. He wouldn't say it out loud even under torture, but he was always mesmerized by the soft blue light that rose from your hands or body everytime you used your magic. He had noticed how it would naturally start flowing around you, in thin smoky waves, when you were lost in your notes or reading. He'd let his gloved hand wash through it, the sensation odd yet so familiar. You had only noticed when he had grazed your hair by mistake. Eyes falling into his you had blushed, realizing your situation. He had looked away, straightening himself. You had decided to gift him a little terrarium. On the inside, in a small porcelain miniature house, remained a little light. It took you days... Weeks even. And you'd never tell him, but you had managed to create a small artificial being, a little cute humanoid blue glowing thing. It was you. All you. Your magic and energy. It enjoyed the terrarium, and you were glad, you had wanted to gift it to him directly like this. In the end... You could feel it... The pain and sadness coming from his soul. And you could feel how your magic seemed to soothe him.

Soap calls you witchy

Gaz calls you goddess/ angel/ sweetheart

Price calls you little minx/little witch.

Ghost calls you by your name, but you had heard him once, as you were half asleep, call you 'little light'.

Little bonus:

Konig would eye you like a child in wonder. After the first fear, he would just stare. He liked seeing you garden and tend to plants, usually because nature seemed to react around you and he finds it beautiful. Flowers growing around you or grass getting greener. Butterflies or mouses, bunnies and birds often visiting when you were simply reading outside in the shade of a tree, and he always found it adorable.

Calls you Göttin.

(not sure about the translation my bad... Goddess?)

711 notes · View notes

lenreli · 3 months

Text

endless pawns playing a fixed game

Explicit, 7.8k, Dream/Hob. Reacher-inspired AU with an ex-spy Hob and mafia kid Dream!

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

[AO3]

When Hob took the Endless family bodyguard position, it was mainly for the paycheck. And also a lack of breaking kneecaps for collecting debts, which he does feel some way about. More that it’s a waste of his considerable skill, but nonetheless.

Recent hushed rumours around the estate have made the Endless bosses more paranoid for their well-being, so he’s gathered in his time at the vast place.

The bosses are ― well, efficient mob, and just generally terrible people, as evidenced by shouting matches featuring Night or Time, which surely can’t be their real names―

Then again, with their children’s names, with the many different aged children also getting into screaming matches with the parents, Hob considers his lack of family a blessing, in cases like this.

The kids, with all sorts of D-name, are varied, and from what he gathered, either orphans gathered up for some good PR, or due to some twisted sense of actually wanting a family. Or maybe they were from people and former mob bosses the parents killed and raised, which would be an impressive sort of fucked up. The kids are mostly a non-issue for him as he does his job, and usually walks past a few of them throughout his days―

He’s used to seeing Death’s much-too-kind smile, to Destiny being cloistered up in the library, to Desire’s comings and goings at all hours, and surely he must’ve seen Dream somewhere before that night of the attempted poisoning.

As he looks around the room as some poor schmuck is taken, screaming and pleading, he catches blue eyes and is momentarily stunned. As Desire talks to Dream, Hob gathers that stoic, pale man mainly lives around the art quarters ― which would explain why Hob only briefly remembers him. Plus, the art quarters are very dark and moody, and this is probably the first time he’s seen Dream in actual good light, arms crossed as he talks quietly with Desire.

As he stares at the cut of Dream’s suit, the blue eyes stare at him for a moment, and Hob catalogues the minute expressions of annoyance as Dream talks with Desire. He definitely knows those blue eyes, have felt them following him since he arrived at the estate, a background awareness of everything else, and Hob considers Dream’s pink, plush lips, low voice begging and screaming, pale skin splashed with―

“Gadling!” His boss calls and he looks over, Dusk folding her arms and giving him an unimpressed look, “you’re needed.”

Blinking, he puts his hands into the pockets of his pants, “what about Cori?” He’s pretty sure Cori actually gets off on the torture in his job, and he’d hate to take that from him.

“Who the fuck knows. Hence, you,” Dusk drawls, and she gives him an extra glare for good measure, eyes narrowing as she looks between him and Dream. Hob nods and suppresses a smirk, thinking of how cute it is that she thinks her disapproval, or even some don’t fuck who you work for would stop him.

If there’s something Hob likes about his job, it’s that there’s always plots under schemes to uncover, always people to kill ― and now, Dream’s blue eyes staring at him occasionally, like they’re drawn to him. And maybe when Hob feels like a pointless one night stand, he gets a pale twink with dark hair and bites into his neck, replacing the high whines with Dream’s deep voice, the coarse black hair he tugs with the soft-looking spikes of Dream’s hair. Just for a bit of fun.

Hob’s always one for looking for the bright things in life, especially after getting out of his former job.

The point is, his life is pretty good, potential firing squad due to some light treason notwithstanding.

Sometimes the goons of the estate think that the Endless kids should learn how to defend themselves, which would be good, he’s sure, if said goons weren’t such idiots when it comes to teaching them. And today they’ve managed to drag a scowling Dream out of his art quarters, which is why he’s actually witnessing their poor attempts at teaching today.

“Are you going to keep judging, or are you going to give a few pointers?” The big man frowns at him. Hob blinks and crosses his arms, leaning more on the wall as he glances at Dream, hair ruffled and scowling.

“I’m not the teaching type,” he says with a shrug, and the goon scowls, no doubt angry at Hob as he barks orders at Dream, who looks just as impressed as Hob does with him.

The subpar teaching makes for good entertainment, and Hob briefly considers maybe giving Dream private lessons. Or maybe not so private, if only for the good screaming and whining to be echoed throughout the grounds.

At last, the goon gives up with a huff, and Hob stares at the bruise on Dream’s cheek, the colour matching the other’s lips as Dream straightens out his ratty black clothes, small specks of blue paint on the bottom of Dream’s shirt.

Dream looks at him, stepping closer, absurdly plush mouth opening―and a phone rings. Dream frowns and takes out a flip phone, answering it curtly, then shortly leaving.

A week after that, something is wrong. Dream has been one for Wednesday meetings with his sister in the library, and nothing. Only Death, looking faintly worried.

Then a ransom call comes in, and Hob only gets that Dream’s been kidnapped before he holds his anger tightly, the Endless parents not even worried as the modulated voice lists their demands. Many of the fellow security and goons give him skittish looks, who have been wordlessly ribbing him for taking a liking to Dream.

Hob says nothing to the Endless parents as he leaves the room, ringing up some of his contacts to get something, and quickly ― before he decides they need some persuasion.

In the end, it takes seven days for him to find out that Burgess, another mob boss, recently hooked up electricity to an abandoned building, the night before the ransom call. Hob briefly considers going to Fawney Rig, where Burgess’s own mansion is, then considers after, once Dream is back at the estate.

For all the heightened security that the Endless parents put in, they’re remarkably unconcerned that their own son is kidnapped, whether out of neglect, or simply because of the people around working on it, Hob is unclear about. And, well, if they didn’t give him his income, he’d consider adding more bodies to the one’s he’s already planning on.

When he tells security of his plans, they offer to give him some goons as ‘back-up’ and Hob bites back a scoff. “I can handle it myself,” he frowns, glaring at the man until he steps back, nodding sharply.

The plan is to go through the abandoned building and kill everyone that’s not Dream. A simple one, but it’s never failed him yet.

Hob is almost offended at the front door, when he goes in to see five rent-a-thugs, nothing approaching a challenge as he methodically makes his way through them. With two already dead, he uses the body of one as a shield, gunshots ringing out, but soon silenced by one of his daggers through the shooter’s heart.

The other two go down with more daggers thrown, and once he’s collected and cleaned them off with fabric from the cheap suits of the men, he puts them away and sighs.

Unsurprisingly, the other rooms are easy enough to go through, finally finding Dream tied up on a chair, with two men near the door, guns raised at him. Hob puts on a disarming smile, putting his hands up. “I’m going to be nice, and tell you how you die,” he says, smiling brightly. Then men are shaking, guns rattling quietly in their grips. “You,” he nods to the man on his right, “are going to try and shoot me, and then I’m going to go after your buddy here and kill him with a clean knife to the heart. Then I’m going to take it out of his body and throw it into your heart, and you’ll both be dead before you hit the ground.”

The men seem even more freaked out, sharing scared looks ― but this isn’t about them. Maybe he wanted to show off, just a little bit, for the captive audience. Dream’s blue eyes are wide, mouth gagged with black fabric― and the man on his right moves, and it goes like he said, pulling out his dagger and cleaning it off the dead man’s body before stowing it away.

“Hello, Dream,” the other man’s eyes go even wider, a muffled sound going through the gag as he walks up to him, leaning over the chair to cut loose the ropes holding Dream. “We haven’t met yet officially, but you can call me Hob,” he smiles as he rips off the gag, then goes to the ropes around Dream’s legs, cutting them off as he stands up. Dream also gets up, face even more pale ― and Hob’s brows furrow as he touches the corner of Dream’s mouth, where a bruise is. “Maybe I should’ve tortured them more,” he remarks.

“Thank you,” Dream croaks, eyes a dark, deep blue and Hob hums, stepping away as he rubs his thumb, still feeling the soft skin under it.

“Let’s get you back home, Endless.” Hob gives Dream a once-over, finding nothing out of place with the black suit, or the way Dream’s holding himself.

“Is it just you?” Dream asks as they step outside of the room, and Dream stops, looking at the bodies lining the rooms as they go through each one. Dream always takes a moment to stop, looking at the various bodies, wide eyes leaving them to look at him ― and his clean suit, not a speck of blood on him.

“I was offered back-up, but they’d just get in the way,” he says with a shrug. Dream nods as they exit the building, and Hob opens the back car door, then stops Dream from getting in. “Burgess met you, didn’t he? Probably to gloat, he seems like the type of asshole to do that,” Dream steps back and nods as Hob leans on the car door. “Do you expressly order for me to kill him for you, or do I have to do it without it?”

Dream’s mouth moves, opening and shutting before something hard settles over Dream’s expression, “you can kill him,” Dream says, voice breathless and Hob nods. Moving out of the way, he gets in on the other side as Dream slides in, looking at the dark screen between them and Mervyn, the driver, starts the car.

Dream still looks shocked, wide-eyed and flushed cheeks, and Hob considers the effects of kidnapping, which are never good. Or maybe it was all the dead bodies, especially considering Dream maybe doesn’t have much experience with that.

Hob watches as Dream takes deep breaths, suit jacket being thrown off, then shoes joining them, and Hob tilts his head, looking at pale collarbones, sweaty and glistening as Dream undoes the top buttons of the shirt, black a contrast to the white of his skin. “I need you,” Dream says roughly, eyes mostly black, and Hob blinks as Dream pulls him closer by his collar, “to fuck me,” Dream states before kissing him, biting into his lips. Or maybe, Hob thinks nonsensically, grabbing onto Dream’s waist as the other man slides into his lap.

Hob blinks, eyebrows raised, “no complaints here, just as long as you don’t regret it,” he breathes, fingers sliding up under a black shirt, and he watches as Dream shivers, bony limbs pushing him down onto the backseat.

“Definitely not,” Dream says sharply, cold hands tearing open his blazer, then waistcoat and shirt, and Dream pauses as his blazer is thrown off, eyes zeroed in on the bracers around his biceps ― and the daggers in them. There’s a huff as Dream takes them off, then the bracers and his waistcoat and shirt, and there’s another huff as Dream stares at the harness around his shoulders, the guns on them. “Hob.”

Suppressing a smile, he shrugs as he toes his pointed shoes off, Dream still on his lap as he watches Hob pull out a tiny syringe, then a few small daggers and puts them on his other weapons on the floor.

“A syringe?” Dream asks, leaning closer to look.

“Lethal poison,” he says, sitting up to sit against the car side, his hands going under Dream’s shirts to take it off, pale skin and pink nipples, and he nibbles up Dream’s neck, restraining himself from drawing blood as Dream whimpers. “This too, plus another, but you’ll have to take my pants off for that,” he whispers into Dream’s ear as he tugs the hair tie off his wrist, throwing it onto his pile of weapons.

Dream makes a sound, cold hands getting warmer as they tug at Hob’s pants, “a hair tie?” The other man asks incredulously, belt being taken off to join the rest of the weapons as Dream takes a moment to stare at the line of tiny daggers lining the inside of the belt.

“The hair tie can also turn into barbed wire,” he offers with a smirk, “and not that, I forgot about those,” he shrugs, arousal a constant, pleasant buzz with how Dream is sitting on him. Dream mutters something, words incomprehensible as Dream sits up to tug his pants off, the underwear, knives strapped with harnesses on his thighs thrown with everything else, and Dream’s look of annoyance makes Hob bite back a laugh.

“Is that all? Anything else?” Dream hisses, and Hob does actually smirk as Dream tugs at his chest hair. Hob hums and touches the crotch of the other’s pants, feeling a wet spot already as he unbuttons them, clearly not as turned off by all the weapons.

“Not today,” he says. Tugging Dream closer by the zip of his pants, there’s a broken sound as they kiss filthily, and Hob’s already addicted to the feel of Dream’s smooth skin as his nails scratch down thighs, Dream’s lower clothes soon joining the rest. “I’m not taking you raw,” he drawls, smiling as Dream tugs his hair and pulls back with a huff.

Dream mutters some more and reaches for the back of the passenger seat, revealing a compartment filled with small packets of lube and condoms. Desire, probably, Hob’s mind supplies as he takes some of the lube and a condom. “I thought this would involve more fucking, not all these―” Dream’s complaint turns into a moan as Hob pushes a finger inside Dream, and his cock twitches at the thought of going inside that warm heat as he bites at the other’s jaw.

Dream pants, breath harsh near his ear as fingers grip his chest hair and he adds another finger, twisting and stretching the walls around them. “Hard or soft?” He asks, free hand digging into and trailing up Dream’s spine, feeling him shiver and shake as Dream clenches around his fingers.

“Now,” is the desperate order, and Hob pulls Dream by the hair into a forceful kiss, making those pink lips even redder as he takes out his fingers and prepares his cock, lube and condom cool compared to the burning heat of Dream on top of him. Hob groans as he enters the tight heat, Dream shuddering and squeezing around him, and Dream cries out, a hand coming down from his hair to dig into the stubble of his jaw. “Yes,” Dream breathes, twitching.

Hob takes a deep breath, smelling blood and sweat on Dream’s neck as he gets used to the feeling, a part of him wanting to drive in, but also Dream was just kidnapped, so he tries to have a modicum of care as he bottoms out, nails digging into Dream’s waist as they adjust. The tenuous self-control frays as Dream wriggles on top of him, licking into his mouth as Dream grinds down onto his cock.

“Stop being such a pussy and fuck me,” Dream croaks ― and there’s a gasp as Hob’s free hand circles Dream’s neck, nails digging into the other’s esophagus until Dream coughs, eyes wide and dick leaking onto Hob’s stomach.

“With the way you’re acting, no,” he frowns as Dream continues to cough, eventually nodding frantically as Dream’s hand pulls the one away from the other’s throat.

Dream licks his lips, a bit of terror in his eyes that makes Hob’s sharp anger lessen. “Please,” Dream whispers, eyes still overtaken with black, a thin ring of deep blue as the car passes a pot-hole, jostling them and Dream wails. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Better,” he breathes, tugging Dream’s hair roughly as he guides the other man up and down his cock, feeling tight walls slowly loosen up as Dream is impaled on him. Dream tries to say something, but Hob shifts him and only a cry comes out as he hits the other’s prostate, and Hob nibbles at the blossoming bruise on Dream’s throat in the shape of his hand.

Dream sobs and claws at his chest, at his shoulder as they fuck, as his tempo rises ― and Dream comes with a sob, squeezing his cock tightly and pulling an orgasm out of him.

Checking all his weapons are where they’re meant to be, he puts on his clothes as Dream frowns, glaring at him on the backseat. “Now, I have to report to security, and you’ll probably have to deal with your family, so. See you around, Dream,” he says with a lazy fingered salute as he hops out of the car. “Mervyn,” he says with a smile and a nod towards the driver. Mervyn gives him the middle finger as he leaves.

The security briefing is, well, brief. Mainly because he doesn’t reveal the people who kidnapped Dream. So that he can go after them himself, but that’s splitting hairs. There’s a cacophony of sound, and there’s a done-up Dream, looking only a tiny bit ruffled as he’s surrounded by all his siblings as they talk at him. Dream catches his eye and sends him a desperate get me out of here look, and Hob only shrugs, leaning against the wall as Death and Delirium move on to hugging Dream, only quickly though.

Dream scowls, bruises on his neck hidden by layers of collars and black as he steps into Hob’s space once the room has cleared out and the siblings have dispersed. “Will you join me? To my room,” Hob raises an eyebrow and Dream looks away, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, “for protection, after my ordeal.”

Hob frowns, Dream looking so exhausted now, and he nods, following after Dream into the labyrinth of the mansion until they end up at a room near the art quarters, opening into a red and black bedroom. Hob watches as Dream sheds off his clothes, marks and bruises ― mainly from him, bright against his skin as Dream goes into the bathroom. Hob closes the bedroom door as Dream fills the bath in his en suite, eventually hopping in with a weary sigh.

There’s only the sound of a ticking clock, a far-off, muffled television as Dream curls up in the bath, eventually hopping out after at least an hour. Hob’s heart aches, which he ignores as Dream pulls a fluffy black towel around himself. “Hob,” Dream whispers, voice rusty as Dream dries himself off, getting into a ratty black shirt and pants. “Will you stay? Until I fall asleep?”

Dream looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, drained and tired, at how vulnerable Dream is, and he wants to make sure that no-one else ever sees that look, as much as he wants to make it even worse. However, he did say, he would deal with Dream’s captors, and he thinks of the soft touch of the other’s skin, the fiery determination, even after being rescued.

His heart, which he long thought dead, twists at the other’s exhaustion, and the decision is simple.

“Of course.”

Going through the information gathered on Fawney Rig, Hob may actually have a bit of a challenge, so he decides to take his time working out angles, and what he plans to do. Especially when he discovers that the kidnapping wasn’t the first time he’s interacted with Dream, and those haven’t been good either. Nothing as overt as kidnapping, but enough of a pattern to make Hob think of the many ways to flay an old man alive.

Afterwards, Dream asks him to his room more. Sometimes for just peace of mind, apparently. And other times for sex, which isn’t trouble at all, and Hob is happy with the way things are going in life, even as he deals with rising amounts of plots against the Endless family with no clear mastermind, much to his frustration.

However, there’s always time for some fun, this time with Dream pushing him against his bedroom door and kneeling down, hands quickly taking him out and Hob gasps at the hot mouth around his dick, sucking him to hardness. Groaning, Hob grabs onto soft dark hair as Dream pushes his hips against the door.

“What, no undressing me first?” He says, and Dream stops to give him a withered look, clearly not in the mood to deal with his many weapons. Hob barks out a laugh as Dream licks him.

Dream moans, long black lashes fluttering as Hob fills up in his mouth, the other’s nails digging into the harnesses under his pants, daggers cold against his skin as Dream licks and sucks.

“You may want to move those hands,” he breathes, tugging the other’s black hair, “daggers.” Dream gives him a tired look and pulls off him, teeth lightly grazing the top of his cock, annoyance showing even more as Dream tugs down his pants to reveal the harness and taking off the daggers.

There’s a huff as Dream’s mouth returns, one of Dream’s hands going underneath his shirt to tug at his chest hair, and the pleasure fizzles steadily, unwilling to look away from the other man.

Even just looking at Dream in this position is enough to make his arousal build, spiraling at how much Dream obviously enjoys it. “So pretty,” he whispers, and Dream shivers around him, lashes fluttering and Hob smirks as Dream’s hips move, grinding into air. “Taking me so well,” he says, a hand trailing down to touch Dream’s jaw, going down to a pale throat as Dream moans and swallows around him. “Knew you’d be good with lips like these.”

Dream whimpers as his hand goes up to pink lips, split around his cock, a thumb pressing inside the warm heat. There’s a cry, blue eyes shiny and tears sticking to the edge of long lashes.

His orgasm is a slow thing, helped along as he tugs Dream by his hair, making him choke and swallow around him desperately as he comes. Dream coughs, covering his mouth as he swallows the white fluid. “Was that necessary?” Dream asks, voice rough and fucked, and Hob meets on the floor with a smirk.

“No, it was just fun,” he says with a grin, making Dream gasp as he tugs black hair roughly. Pulling him in for a messy kiss, licking some off of Dream's puffy lips as Dream whimpers. His other hand goes to black skinny jeans, swiftly undoing them―and Hob raises his eyebrows, leaning back as Dream’s face reddens. “Was it the praise or the way I used you?”

Dream’s face burns even more as his hand feels a softening cock, come coating his fingers as he takes his hand out.

A different day, and Hob’s spent hours between Dream’s sheets, wringing out orgasms until he’s had his fill, the night air cool on his skin as he sits up on the bed, a warm lamp and moonlight showing their clothes strewn about the room. He at least tries to sit up, with a skinny arm going around his waist, and there’s a groan as Hob puts some of his daggers back into their harnesses. “Cuddly, are you?” He asks.

“No,” Dream groans, muffled against his skin as the other man curls around him, a thumb going under one of his thigh harnesses as bright blue eyes peek at him. “Surely there’s better things to do than whatever you’re planning.”

“Like making you come even more?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he finds his syringe of poison, putting it into place. Dream huffs, pouting as Hob moves off the bed to sheathe even more of his weapons before haphazardly putting on his pants, afterglow settling in his veins.

“I could read to you,” Dream says, pride in his tone and Hob blinks, baffled as he turns to look back at Dream. “I have been told I have a good reading voice,” Dream explains as he picks up a book from his nightstand. Hob considers ― and Dream does have a good voice, and Hob did work very hard today with his own side project of dealing with Burgess.

Hob crosses his arms and waits, although, “well, Prince of Stories?” Hob says sarcastically, and Dream blinks, shock on his face before it quickly becomes blank, Dream flipping through to the start of the book, a bookmark kept in place near the end of it.

“Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen. In Carcosa,” Dream begins, words deep and resounding, and vaguely familiar.

“Horror?” He says with a grin, going back to sit on the edge of the bed. Dream’s eyebrow twitches.

“It’s what I’ve been reading,” is offered primly. Dream clears his throat and pulls the sheets over himself, eyes focused on the page in front of him intently. “Strange is the night where black stars rise. And strange moons circle through the skies But stranger still, is Lost Carcosa―”

Hob frowns as he walks towards the art quarters, knowing that Dream would be there, since he’s not in his room. While the mansion has many cameras, there are none in Dream’s art areas or their rooms ― and not that he’d care for them, but it’s handy, especially with what he wants to talk to Dream about. Sighing, he enters the art room, finding Dream mixing paint near a canvas. “Anything you want to tell me?”

Dream turns around and blinks, paintbrush in his hand dripping black paint. “About?”

“Like another attempt on your parent’s life, which I only found out about after I left your room,” he says slowly, walking closer to Dream.

“What are you implying?” Dream asks, shock giving away to an offended glare as the paintbrush gets put down. Hob doesn’t say anything, just watches as Dream glares at him, and continues―until a tiny tic, Dream looking away momentarily.

“You knew,” he drawls as he grabs the other’s jaw, forcing blue eyes to look at him as Dream tries to look away again. “Why?”

“You have some gall to accuse me,” Dream breathes, trying to push his hand away and failing as Hob digs his nails into Dream’s jaw. There’s a brief look of terror from Dream as his fingers go down a pale throat, beginning to cut air from his windpipe. “It wasn’t,” Dream gasps, voice high, “I did want to spend more time with you, but also.”

“Again. Why?” He asks as he lets go, letting Dream wheeze and take some deep breaths.

“They want to send Delirium off,” Dream mutters, “and we―my sibling and I, don’t want that.”

Hob nods, rumours and attempts coalescing into a clear picture, “that’s all? They want to send her away?”

“Among other things,” Dream says quietly, giving him a wide-eyed look, “you can’t tell anyone.”

Hob crosses his arms as he tilts his head, “I don’t know. I do enjoy the money.”

“Once they’re ― nothing will change with that, I swear,” Dream says, almost pleading, “just a change in who runs things.”

Sighing, Hob steps back as he pats Dream’s cheek, a brief flash of fear crossing the other’s face. And, well, he did briefly consider killing the parents himself for the way they acted with Dream’s kidnapping. “As long I get my money, do what you want,” he says curtly as he leaves.

A day later, and Dream freezes once he enters his bedroom. “Hob, I thought you’d be…” Dream trails off as Hob smiles, waiting for the other man to come closer.

“Maybe I wanted to reward you for being so honest with me,” he says, holding his hands out ― which Dream takes warily as he pulls Dream on top of him. The other man looks confused and apprehensive, even as they share biting kisses. “A gift,” he breathes, smiling as Dream’s hands go under his shirt ― and stops, the hands leaving to pat over his thighs and chest.

“Why do you have no weapons,” Dream says flatly, patting his thighs like he expects them to suddenly materialise from where Hob stashed them in the en suite. Hob resists rolling his eyes, bringing Dream in for another kiss, licking into the other’s mouth as their clothes are shed. The arousal builds slowly as he grabs Dream’s hip, stroking up and down as Dream gets his lube.

“No,” he whispers, and Dream lets out a sound as Hob takes the lube from Dream, coating his fingers in it ― and Dream makes another sound as Hob puts the finger in himself, feeling odd after so many years. “Like this,” he says into Dream’s lips, watching Dream’s eyes widen, mouth dropping as Hob puts another finger in, stretching himself.

“You―what,” Dream chokes, thin hands gabbing his waist tightly as Dream stares down as Hob puts another finger in, stretch sliding from weird to pleasurable as he brushes his prostate, gasping at the jolt of it.

“A gift,” he whispers, looking up through his lashes as he finishes prepping himself ― and putting a condom on Dream’s red, leaking dick. There’s a whimper from Dream, hands fluttering up and down his chest as Dream breeches him. “And a punishment,” Hob says with a grin as Dream bottoms out, and he shivers through the pleasure, nails digging into Dream’s jaw to force those blue eyes to look at him.

“Fucking you? A punishment?” Dream asks, expression flummoxed, then quickly turning into determination and cockiness as Dream holds him down. The rhythm builds quickly, sometimes brushing against that bundle of nerves and bringing Hob closer to orgasm ― and Dream looks quietly smug, blue eyes dark as Hob clenches around him.

Hob blinks, watching as Dream fucks into him, nails scratching marks into his waist as Dream gets closer to coming ― and when Dream exits him, he puts his hand around the other’s cock. Dream cries out, orgasm stopped in place by his hand. “I think I need another orgasm. You, however.”

Dream’s eyes widen, pink mouth gaping, cockiness forgotten, “but I. No. Hob,” Dream pleads, “Hob, please.”

Smiling at how he can feel Dream’s cock twitch and jerk in his hand, he deems the orgasm stopped ― and uses his other hand to control Dream by the hips, guiding him in. Dream cries out, body collapsing on top of him as Hob guides the other’s cock, oversensitivity making it pleasure-painful as his cock eventually starts to fill again, and there’s only the sound of slapping skin, his moans and Dream’s pleading as his next orgasm arrives slowly.

By then, he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm once more, who continues to beg into his neck.

His third orgasm is erring on the side of painful and dry, but he enjoys it anyway as Dream lets out a broken wail as his own orgasm is stopped, Dream’s body shaking above him, and he can feel tears on his neck. “Do you think you’ve learnt yet?” He asks breathlessly, smiling as Dream nods against his neck. “I’m not entirely sure you have, considering that stunt you pulled.”

His fourth orgasm is entirely dry, the oversensitivity making him grit his teeth as his walls clench around Dream’s throbbing cock. Dream at this point is completely incoherent, only the suggestions of begging are almost discernible beneath broken sounds.

It’s after he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm for the seventh time, does he take Dream out, who is a collapsed, shivery mess on top of him. As he gets up from the bed, Dream blindly reaches for him, eventually gripping onto one of his biceps. “Hob,” Dream croaks, blue eyes watery and puffy, black eyeliner running.

“Behave, and I might let you come,” Hob purrs, pulling Dream in for a filthy kiss by his hair, and then leaving to put everything on in the en suite.

Next day, the soreness is pushed away with painkillers ― and the way Dream stares at him, eyes pleading and suit askew at a meeting for the family. Hob listens on with half an ear, mostly looking outside the window as he feels Dream’s gaze on him.

“Oi!” A voice hisses next to him, and Hob turns around to see Matthew ― and a cut-off, decaying finger in a ziplock bag. “Hold this.”

Sighing, he gets out his leather gloves, putting them on before handling that, turning it around to look at a tag also in the bag, only making out a vague Choron, “more dirty work?”

“Trash, actually,” Matthew says as he picks up a drink. Hob gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it, I just wanted a bit of space.”

Hob goes to say something, but catches Dream’s intense stare across the way ― the way Dream’s lips have parted as they hand at his hands. “Ever wonder how they lived with that?” He asks idly, shaking the bag and bringing it up to his eye level, Dream’s gaze pinned on his hands.

Matthew chuckles, and there’s a gulp and sigh as Matthew drinks more of the middling beer usually on offer for such a fancy place as this, “badly, probably. Can’t imagine jerking off with a missing finger, poor fuck,” Matthew says with a laugh. Hob smirks, and the rest of the meeting passes uneventfully, and Hob watches as Dream squirms in his seat, heavy gaze resting on him all the while.

Meeting adjourned, Hob’s unsurprised with how fast Dream appears next to him ― although, the way Dream grabs hold of his lapels and pushes him against the corridor wall is a bit of a surprise, considering the cameras as they share heated kisses. “What brought this on?” He asks, gloved hands holding onto the other’s jaw, watching as Dream shivers, body pressing against him.

“Hob, you know why,” Dream says, tone almost desperate as he pushes his face into Hob’s hand. “Please.”

Humming, his hand trails down the other’s torso, feeling Dream press even closer as he reaches Dream’s clothed cock, his other hand going to tug Dream’s head to the side as he bites into the marks hiding under Dream’s collar. Arousal flares as Dream whimpers, squirming against him as he opens the other’s pants, leather-clad hand stroking Dream’s leaking cock.

“Yes,” Dream gasps, a pale hand gripping the back of his neck as he strokes Dream, almost no friction from pre-come getting onto the leather. “More,” Dream breathes and Hob looks up, catching sight of a goon staring at them.

“Think this is good enough for now, don’t you think?” He smirks, keeping eye contact with the shocked goon as his hand in Dream’s hair ghosts down his back to slide under Dream’s shirt, feeling him shiver and cry out. The goon seems to move out of his stupor and walks out of sight, Hob tracking him as he bites further up Dream’s neck. “After all, the only reason I’m not fucking you at this moment, is if I’m not sure if you deserve it.”

Dream lets out a pathetic sound, clutching him tighter he presses against the slit of Dream’s cock, making the other man shiver. “It won’t―that won’t happen again,” Dream pants.

Hob sighs, twisting his wrist as Dream moans, hands scrabbling desperately over his torso as it takes only a few more strokes until Dream comes. There’s a loud cry, Dream going boneless as his other hand goes to Dream’s front to pinch at pink nipples hidden under the black dress shirt. “Next time, I won’t be as nice,” he says, hand moving out of―

Until Dream grabs his wrist, and his cock, neglected, throbs as Dream licks his come off the black leather, eyes an intense dark blue as they look at him.

“Needy, aren’t you?” He rasps, Dream’s eyes fluttering shut as he continues to lick the his gloved hands, and Hob moans as Dream grabs his cock. Dream undoes his belt and zipper as his thumb presses Dream’s bottom lip, black glove and pink lips making his cock twitch before Dream gets his own hands on it, stroking it in a frenzied rush as Dream bites at his fingers, licking the palm of his hand as Hob comes with a groan.

Dream has asked him to be around his art room, looking haunted ― and Hob gets the impression he’s there for more emotional support again, which. He’s a bit out of practice with, but for Dream usually just requires being in the area, so he’s sitting in one of the plush chairs and reading a book, while Dream mixes paints and glares daggers at a canvas.

There’s a sigh, and a clatter as brushes get put down, “why do you let them do that?” Dream asks, apropos of nothing and Hob blinks, attention dragged away from his book to Dream.

“Let who do what?” He crosses his legs, placing the book down the side of the chair.

“I heard some guards talking about you. They don’t know about you.” Dream clarifies, eyes narrow as they stare at him.

“They don’t matter. And I like to operate so that people under-estimate me,” he shrugs, putting his face on his hands. “Art not co-operating today?”

Dream scowls and glares once again at the canvas, then stands up and comes over to him, hands gripping his thighs. “I read about you ― or what wasn’t heavily redacted. What did you do?”

Hob’s brows raise, and he huffs, gently pushing Dream away with his foot ― and Dream lets out a sound, blue eyes darkening as they stare at his pointed shoes. That’s always an option, Hob considers as he guides Dream onto the floor, shoe on Dream’s shoulder. Cocking his head, he thinks that Dream kneeling for him might be one of his favourite things. “A light disagreement with a former employer, nothing interesting,” he breathes.

“It said you’re to be executed on sight, from the MI6, that wasn’t redacted,” Dream scowls, trying to hold onto getting his answers. Hob hums, smirking as he puts his other leg in between Dream’s, lightly pressing onto the other’s crotch, and Dream gasps.

“The disagreement wasn’t so light, then,” he amends, feeling Dream’s cock fill under his shoe as Dream grabs onto his shin, nails digging into him.

“Hob,” Dream growls, staring up at him with blue eyes swallowed by black ― and Hob’s other shoe taps against Dream’s cheek, trailing to the other’s jaw and pulling his face up, legs loosely crossed as he does.

“Dream,” he mimics, feeling Dream shiver as he grinds his shoe into a hard cock. Hob blinks, resting his head on his hand, watching as Dream holds onto his ankles. “While you’re down there, there’s better things to do than talk about ancient history,” Hob drawls ― and Dream shivers, arching into the shoe on his groin ― and the point of the other shoe presses into Dream’s pink mouth.

“I―I don’t,” Dream whines, muffled by his shoe as he’s given him a wide-eyed look, surprise as Dream grabs onto the shoe near his mouth. There’s a whimper as Hob continues to press onto Dream’s cock, making the other man shudder and curl in on him, Dream’s nose brushing against his other shoe, cheeks flushing red.

“You don’t even have to do anything if you don’t want, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy,” he purrs, own arousal making his dick hard in his pants, and he grins as Dream moans, blue eyes glazed over as they look at him, mouth open. “Look at that,” he breathes, leaning over to grip Dream’s hair, Dream following along obediently. “Now,” he guides Dream’s face to his other shoe, still grinding into Dream’s cock as the other man whimpers. “Be a good boy and lick.”

Dream lets out a whimper, staring up at him, then to his shoe, blinking ― and there's a frisson of pleasure coiling inside at seeing a tentative lick on the top of it, blue eyes fluttering closed. There’s a broken, surprised noise as Dream kisses his shoe, hands moving to grip underneath as kisses and licks get laved upon it.

Having been roughly involved in the BDSM scene, but again. Disagreements, and yet he’s delighted to see how easily Dream falls into subspace, feeling the scrape of teeth through leather as Dream bites at the point of the shoe, sucking it and Hob shivers, dick throbbing as he watches. Licking his lips, he lifts the one on Dream’s crotch, and Dream whines, staring at him imploringly. “If you want to come, you’ll have to work for it.”

Reclining back in the chair and resting his fingers on his cheek, Dream takes a few deep breaths, blinking up at him. Dream moves forward, a hand coming to grip the ankle of the shoe that was grinding into him ― and he lets out a pleased sound as Dream starts to press against his shoe, chest arching into his leg as Dream moves up and down.

“Beautiful,” he praises, stroking Dream’s red cheek as he whines and grounds up against him, licking the top of his other shoe, and there’s only the sound of their breathing, and Dream’s whining, with leather creaking as Dream works himself towards orgasm.

Dream comes with a cry, hiding his face into Hob’s shoe as he pants, weight falling onto Hob’s legs as Dream stares up at him.

A week later, Hob enters Dream’s room, who reacts with ― embarrassment, blue eyes looking away as Dream’s face starts to redden. “What?” Dream asks, voice gruff and giving him a death glare.

“I’m going to visit a mutual friend today,” he says dryly, and Dream, hunched over a desk with a notebook, tenses as Hob pulls a gun out of the holster under his suit jacket. Refraining from rolling his eyes, he grabs the barrel of the gun, butt facing Dream as he walks up to the other man, other hand in his pants. “Remember, whose men I had to deal with to free you?”

Dream’s eyes widen, looking between the gun and his face as Hob leans against the desk. “Why now?”

“Had to make a plan, at least a bit of an effort regarding some things,” he shrugs, and now Dream looks more confused, closing his notebook. “As for this,” he rattles the gun, thumb moving to the side of it to show the shining gleam of it, “a kiss? For luck,” he says with a grin.

The other man scoffs, staring down at the barrel, “why? You don’t need it,” Dream mutters, glancing between the gun and him for a few moments. Hob raises his brows, and Dream’s lips purse before he moves forward, lips pressing onto the barrel of the gun. There’s a clack of teeth against steel as Dream grabs onto his hand, eyes dark as they stare up at him.

A pink tongue presses against the barrel and Hob takes a breath, feeling himself get half-hard as Dream pulls him down, breath almost mingling over the top of the gun― And Hob takes the gun away, putting it back in its holster, Dream’s stare heavy and Hob forces his mind back on track, that’s not filled with Dream’s delicious cries and warm skin. “Later,” he manages, voice rough as he steps back, and eventually out of the room.

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dream of the endless #hob gadling #writing #not sfw #oh my amoral baby of a fic i care you so much #the second part is pretty much almost done and so

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sweetlittlegingy · 2 years

Text

I Don't Start Shit, But I Can Tell You How It Ends

✦ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Better Man Universe

✦Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Single!Mother, Dagger Squad vs. Davis

✦Word Count: 2.8 K

✦Warnings: Protective!Hangman, Angry!Hangman, Protective!Dagger Squad, Asshole Guy, Failed Drugging, Jake hints at killing people...

✦A/n: The Dagger Squad finally gets ahold of Mathew's old Principle. They really hate the man, we all do tbh! Day 2 of 500 celebration!!!!

✦Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

He’d told you he wouldn’t go to the school, and Jake Seresin was nothing if not a man of his word. Especially when the promise was made to you. No, Jake had informed Rooster of the situation. Of how the piece of shit, Davis, had touched you and made completely inappropriate comments about not only you, but also Mathew.

Jake had gone to Rooster knowing that the information would have him on a manhunt, and it did. Rooster was overwhelmingly protective of you, and though Jake had hated it at times, right now he was more than thankful for it. What Jake hadn’t meant to have happen, was to have Bob overhear him and Rooster talking.

No, that was defiantly not a part of the plan.

Though it quickly became a part of it.

“I figure, you go in and sweet talk the office Lady and —”

The slam of the locker room doors had Jake pausing, both him and Rooster looking over their shoulders to see a fuming Phoenix.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her tone has both the pilots, exchanging a worried glance. Glancing behind Phoenix’s form at the other two male pilots, hoping that their faces would provide a revelation.

Jake's eyes first meet Coyote, a hard unamused gaze meeting his own. His eyes leave his best friend, to flitter between Bob’s own unusually hard gaze and Phoenix, her eyes never leaving his own. Her hands rested on her hips, giving both Jake and Rooster a ‘What The Fuck’ look.

“Nix baby, what’s wrong?” Rooster's tone causes a scoff to fall from Phoenix’s lips, taking a step toward the two of them. Both Rooster and Jake to step back, one hand leaving her hip to point at the two of them. A silent accusation.

“When were you going to tell me that my sister-in-law,” Her gaze cutting to Bradley harshly. “and god-son were getting FUCKING harassed by some idiot Principal.”

Both of them remained quiet; never noticing, until now, that lock room floors were remarkably shiny.

“Hmm?”

“Baby, I was going to tell you—”

“Don’t even Chicken,” the name instantly shutting the man up. She’d only ever used it on him when he was in trouble, using it more often than she did his actual name. “You are sleeping on the couch tonight.”

He shouldn’t have laughed, but Jake loved to see Rooster get in trouble. His laugh quickly dies though, when Phoenix’s pointed finger cuts to him.

“And you, what was the plan? Huh?”

“Trace, I had a plan.”

The sound of dripping water echoed through the silent locker room, each of the pilots waiting for Jake to continue. Jake’s eyes moved back to Rooster, who remained not only silent, but looked like he’d just gotten his favorite toy taken away from him.

Jake’s eyes rolled, realizing that Rooster would be no help to him. The 6-foot-something pilot was already in the doghouse with the wife, and wouldn’t be risking getting more sleepless nights on the couch.

“I mean it’s a work in progress, me and Rooster were hashing it out.”

A grunt leaves Rooster, “Look baby I was just listening, and then I was gonna come tell you.”

His head slowly nodding, “Yeah, I was actually about to tell Hangman that we need your input.”

It was clearly a lie, everyone knew it.

But Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, was in fact the biggest suck-up to his wife. If Jake wasn’t so in love with you, he would’ve laughed. Though from the moment he had met you, he was yours. You said jump, and he said how high.

“You’re an idiot. I love you, but you’re an idiot.” Walking over to Rooster, she gives him a soft kiss, her gaze then bouncing between Jake and Rooster. “But also, you do need me.”

….

Phoenix’s plan was no doubt better, than what the two pilots had initially thought of. Rooster didn’t love the fact that Phoenix was the “bait” in the situation, but she’d quickly told him to shut up before the protest could leave his mouth.

The first part of the plan had worked smoothly, Phoenix and Bob had quickly found Davis’s Facebook page and found the general area in which he lived. They had also learned what car he drove, and like the damn detective that she was, Phoenix found the man’s choice grocery store to shop at.

The momentum of the plan acceleration, like a snowball rolling down the hill. With a “accidental” meeting in the fresh fruit section, Phoenix quickly had a date set with the man.

That was last week which led to here and now, as Phoenix sat at the bar in the Hard Deck, wearing a dress and waiting for her date to show up. The guys crowded around the pool table, causally playing as if they weren’t about to beat the shit out of some middle-aged man soon enough.

You were home with Mathew and Jake knew that you wouldn’t be coming out. He would usually be with you and Maty, but he’d told you that he needed to handle an issue at the Hard Deck with Roos. You hadn’t even questioned it, only asked if he would be coming by after, to which he replied of course.

…

The bar was slightly crowded for a Thursday night, though it didn’t stop the pilots from clocking the door every time it opened. Before long, Davis had shown up, 20 minutes late to the “date,” but he had showed.

Jake notices the way Phoenix slightly stiffens as Davis’s hand rests a tad low on her lower back, and he has to grab Rooster before he goes and beats the shit of the man. Phoenix glances back at the group of guys, meeting Rooster's eyes and giving him a silent ‘I’m okay.’ He relaxes slightly in Jake’s hold, but is still slightly tense as he moves back to the pool table. The group continues the game of pool, eyes fleeting between the game and the bar.

They watch as Phoenix holds a conversation with the man, though maintains a safe distance from his wandering hands. They hadn’t told Penny about the plan, the group of pilots grin as they notice her continually checking in on Phoenix.

….

Penny had once again made her way over to Phoenix and the man, giving her a smile and the man a harsh glare. Penny knew that this couldn’t be one of Phoenix and Rooster's plans to spice up their marriage, no she could tell that this was different.

“Can I get you two a refill?”

“Yeah baby, get me a beer and – ” Davis looks over to Phoenix, before turning back to Penny. “Get her cocktail.”

Penny recoils at the name he calls her and glances back to Phoenix who has remained silent.

“She usually takes a beer or shoots liquor, buddy.”

“Yeah, well cocktails are ladylike.”

The comment has both the women rolling their eyes, Penny’s eyes moving back to the group of pilots, and raises an eyebrow at Rooster.

Rising up from her seat, the dress fluttering down around her hips, drawing Davis’s eyes directly to her tan legs, catching his gaze, Phoenix scoffs.

“Get me whatever Pen, I’m going to the bathroom.”

She leaves before Davis can say anything, more than fed up with the overly handsy and sexist man. Making her way past the group of pilots, she silently looks at them, before going into the bathroom.

…

Jake is making his way to the bar before the bathroom door is fully closed. He slides up to the bar, right next to Davis as he flags down Penny.

“Penny ma’ dear, can I get a whiskey?”

He can feel Davis’ eyes on him, silently watching and assessing. While waiting for Penny, Jake leans his back against the bar, his eyes finally landing on Davis.

“Do I know you?” Jake’s eyes stare at the man, like a lion taunting his prey.

“Nah, don’t think so.”

The reply is short and to the point, but it has Jake laughing slightly. Turning back to lean his forearms on the bar, his gaze harsh and waiting for Davis to bite.

“No, I know you from somewhere.”

Davis doesn’t get a chance to answer as Penny arrives again handing Jake the whiskey and setting down the two drinks for Phoenix and Davis.

“You drinking that girly shit man? Cuz I know Nix doesn’t.”

The comment makes Davis release an uneasy breath, before ignoring Jake altogether. The pilot looks back over his shoulder at the group of guys patiently waiting by the pool table.

If he hadn’t turned back when he did, Jake would have missed it. Lucky, Jake sees it as Davis mixes a bag of powder into Phoenix’s drink.

“Oh buddy, you did not just do that.”

Though the words sound light, the comment is anything but as Jake lays a hand harshly on Davis’s shoulder.

“Listen here, this has nothing to do with you. So just go back to your little friends and leave me be.”

Jake’s tongue slightly clicks at the man, head caulking to the side and laying a harsh gaze upon him. His eyes calculating as ever. Jake has been pissed off before, but now, after this, he was just about ready to kill Davis.

The tick of his jaw, gives Jake away “You know, I thought you looked familiar. You are the piece of shit, who fucked with my girl.”

Grasping the glass of whiskey, Jake shoots the rest of it back. Arm falling to rest upon bar, as he gives Davis his signature award-winning smirk.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen, Penny ma’ dear you’re going to ring that bell and asshole here is going to pay for a round of drinks.” His soft gaze moves from Penny and back to a clearly worried Davis, eyes instantly hardening when they make contact with Davis‘s own.

“Me and you, we’re gonna go outside and have a little talk, about how you treat women.”

Before he can reply, Bradley and Coyote each grab one of Davis’s arms, and drag him out of the bar as Penny rings the bell in the background. Davis lands harshly on the ground, as Rooster and Coyote release him with a harsh shove. The group of pilots crowded around him, each of them staring down at him with bitter gazes.

“I don’t know wha—”

The words instantly die on Davis’s lips, as Jake crouches down next to him. The surrounding group intent on quietly watching; waiting for Jake to make the first move. Rooster hadn’t seen, the way Davis slipped a powder into Phoenix’s drink, though when he found out Jake was sure he’d want to kill the man just as much.

“Now I’m sure you don’t remember, given that you seem like the type of scum that regularly hits on women without their consent.”

The harsh jab Jake lays on the man’s chest, send him back a bit. The boys had seen Jake mad before, but never like this. Never with such fire and anger burning in his green eyes.

“You see, you made my girl cry. Not just that, you put your hands on my girl, and then you have the nerve to talk about how she’s raising our son.”

Sure, Mathew wasn’t his son yet legally, but with or without the paperwork he was still Jake’s boy.

“She showed up at your office, wanting to have a talk about how your school had been treating Mathew. But she comes home to me crying and hides in the bathroom until I knocked the fuckin’ door down.”

His voice slowly rose with every word, and watching as his words sink in. Jake laughs as he watches Davis pales upon his realization of the words. Jake’s hand raises up to smack Davis gently across the face laughing as he does so.

“Ahhhh, there it is.”

Jake quickly rises back up to stand over the man, turning back around to the group of pilots and motions them to go grab him. As Rooster and Coyote grab onto the man, lifting him back onto his feet, Jake slowly makes a show.

He always like to show off, it made people uneasy. Jake liked making sure everyone knew just how good he was. He glances over his shoulder, as he unbuttons the khaki uniform top, pulling it off so he’s only wearing the white undershirt with his khaki pants. Glancing back at the man with that well-known smirk,

“Can’t have you bleeding on my good clothes.”

He says it so easily, but he knows that it hits its mark, as Davis shutters slightly in Coyote and Roosters hold.

The sound of the bar doors opening, has the group looking back toward the entrance. Watching as Phoenix exits the bar and makes her way to the group.

“Did I miss anything?”

Davis silently stares at the woman, his eyes moving between Jake and her. The realization slowly crept in that this whole night was a set-up; the meet-up in the grocery store, Jake coming up to him in the bar, and now here with his back pressed against the side of the bar wall.

“Not a thing, Trace.”

The shift of Davis’ shoulders sends everyone's eyes back to him, watching and calculating just how bad his night might become.

“Now as you can tell, well maybe you can’t cause you’re an idiot, but we’re all in the Navy. And with the Navy, comes call signs.”

Jake’s form comes to a halt, staring down Davis with a wicked smile that just about sends Rooster and Coyote running.

“My callsign, well there are few people that know the real reason behind it, but you’re about to find out buddy.”

Glances are exchanged between the other pilots, though it’s Coyote's gaze that never leaves Jake’s. He’d been there when Jake earned the name Hangman. It had been a long time ago, but he knew that Jake, still lay just beneath the surface.

“See everybody likes to assume, that it’s because I like flying alone. Well, that just ain’t it, nope.”

The calculated steps, unnerving gaze, and the way in which Jake talks were clearly meant to scare the man.

Let it be known, that when you pissed Jacob Grant Seresin off, all hell would break loose.

Jake’s right arm shootouts, to grasp Davis’s neck so fast that I has Phoenix gasping. The other pilots only shift slightly at the brutal action.

“No, I got named Hangman because I’ve been known to string up men and play the judge, jury, and executioner.”

With each title that falls from his lips, Jake lifts Davis slowly until his feet no longer touch the ground and the only thing keeping him up, is the hand clasped around his neck.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The group of pilots remain unmoving, all watching in unnerving silence and slowly comprehending the way in which Jake actually got his callsign. Davis tries to nod his head, though the hand around his neck makes it near impossible. As if only to taunt him more, Jake taps his ear slightly with his left hand.

“What was that?”

Shades from red to a light purple, start to cover Davis’s face, a clear sign of his lack of oxygen. His mouth moves though no words can fall from it. A sharp chuckle leaves Jake’s lips, as he loses his grip slightly as the man gasps for air.

“I understand.” The panting of his breath only makes Jake smile widen.

“Good.”

As the single word is muttered from Jake’s lips, the right hand once clasped over Davis’ neck drops. His body falls to the floor on the concrete, causing him to lean back against the bar wall, gasping for air.

“And I thought you would be more fun to break.” His tone light and easy, completely unfazed by the events that just occurred.

Jake reaches over to take his shirt from Phoenix, giving each of his friends the smile that they all came to know once Jake met you. He was a completely different person, than the one he was just moments ago. As he pulls the shirt back on, without missing a beat Jake lowers himself down to Davis. Laughing slightly at how the man flinches away from him.

“Don’t ever come around my girl or son again.”

The tone of his voice sends another shockwave through Davis’s body. Rising without any care for the man, Jake kicks the man’s limp foot before turning ready to get home to you.

A final glance over his shoulder, to the group of his friends still standing around Davis unsure of what to do.

“Hey Roos, I forgot to tell you that he tried to drug Nix.”

The final words, might as well have been those that a coroner would’ve signed in the finalization of the death certificate.

#better man universe #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #natasha phoenix trace #robert bob floyd #javy coyote machado #mickey fanboy garcia #rueben payback fitch

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mangowafflesss · 8 months

Note

How do you think Price would react if the reader was apart of 141 and admitted to being in love with Price, and planned on leaving 141 because the reader feels compromised cause of it?

I literally have no idea what I just wrote 😭 but I’m frustrated and tired so here just TAKE IT!

Laying on the ground you couldn't help but sigh as you thought about the disaster of a mission you just came back from. A freshly sewn bullet hole marked your shoulder as you thought about what you had done.

You had promised yourself that this little crush you had on your Captain wouldn't get in the way of your work but here you are in pain as the memory of you pushing him out of the way replayed in your mind.

Your stomach was jumping around as you ran towards him and saved him from getting shot by the enemy. You knew you let your feelings get in the way, he was supposed to be shot and you were supposed to stand by and let it happen.

But you just couldn’t.

“Argh, why am I such an idiot” you say to Gaz as he lay beside you.

“It’s not your fault you’re in love” he simply states and you turn your head to the side and stare at his side profile.

You’re in love.

With your Captain…

This was bad, so very bad on many levels. You’re going to do something more stupid than today and that’ll be it. Kicked off the team, be yelled at by superiors on why you acted so dumb. And you’ll have to tell them it’s because you can’t control your thoughts and feelings about your Captain.

“I have to go”

“Huh?” Gaz looks at you confused wondering if he heard you right.

You were sitting up now with your head in your hands, your shoulder was killing you but so was the feelings you had for Price.

“I should leave, transfer to another place” you didn’t want to, but you didn’t want to put everyone in harms way especially Price.

“And why is that?” You freeze still as you hear the same familiar voice you’ve wanted to avoid ever since getting your shoulder checked out. Gaz had already stood and left which made you want to die.

You didn’t move off the floor and instead stayed there staring at the ceiling. You continued to do that in silence until the plain white sky was replaced with the handsome face of John.

“You didn’t answer my question” he didn’t sound commanding but you could hear it underneath the layer of the niceness.

You patted the floor beside you with a sigh and he obliged. His back was flat against the hard floor and he looked up at the uninteresting ceiling.

“I’m a danger to the team if I continue going on like this. I can’t keep being unprofessional” you say without any direction of where you’re going. Price hums and interlocks his hands over his chest.

“Today when I pushed you out of the way. That was me not thinking of the danger, I just wanted you to get out of that situation that I was willing to disregard my own health and that’s why I should transfer to another squad or different country entirely” you rambled to the ceiling as if he wasn’t even next to you right now. You heard the light rumble of laugher and turned your head to the side.

“I think that’s a little drastic and I can tell that’s not the entire truth. So tell me. What’s the real reason you want to leave” he was facing you now and you felt your whole heart skip when you looked into his eyes.

“Promise you won’t think anything different of me”

“Of course” he holds out his finger and you interlock your pinky and suck in a deep breath.

“I’m in love with you. I understand if you want me to leave and I agree with whatever you decide” you blurt out to him and his eyes drop to your shoulder and everything seems to click together in his mind.

Your body was screaming for you to run but you couldn’t move, this situation terrified you but you needed to stay and figure out what is going to happen.

He gave you a smile which confused you and then he sat up. “Well I wouldn’t want you to leave that would be a terrible idea but if you feel as if you really need to then I’m not stopping you” there was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes as he said those words but this was serious. You couldn’t be a danger no more.

“I should leave, before I change my mind and screw a lot of things up” you say and he simply nods and reaches a hand out. You grab onto it and he grabs you so you’re sitting up straight. He brings you into a hug and you feel as if he’s making this worse for you.

“You will always be one of my best, come back to me soon yeah?”

You were getting so many different signals from his words but the hug quickly ended and he left you all alone.

#captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price

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thewinterpoet2 · 2 months

Text

ROXANNE

Jake Peralta x Reader

In which the reader is a secret vocalist outside of work as a detective in the 99th precinct, Jake becomes suspicious which leads to feelings rising to the surface.

WARNINGS: Swearing, themes of crime, theft, interrogation.

Word count: 15,654

Y/N~ Your Name

L/N~ Last Name

The first time Jake started to become suspicious of Y/N was on a random Thursday in December.

It was nearing Christmas which meant crime in Brooklyn had reached a new level of stupid, leading every Detective and Beat Cop to internally curse every black Friday sale to hell for eternity.

The squad of the 99th Precinct tended to be divided around the holidays, Boyle sprung into action, in true Boyle fashion, buying ridiculously expensive gifts for, well, everyone.

Santiago spent countless hours writing Christmas cards, and for the fifth year in a row, apologised incessantly to an exhausted UPS driver as she reluctantly returned all her holiday gifts for Captain Holt.

Gina loved Christmas and celebrated, to some, in what would be a very unusual way. But in her defence, setting up a PO box for her fans, meant she could have a very cheap Christmas. Thrifty and entrepreneurial, that's Gina.

Whereas, some members of the squad weren't as keen on Christmas. We know how Jake feels about Thanksgiving and with no suprise, this translates to his views around Christmas, too.

Rosa Diaz, although she hides it very well, spends Christmas with her family every year. Now her sexuality was out in the open, the healing her family went through have led, thankfully, to a much closer relationship. Rosa would never say this out loud, but knowing that they're fighting in her corner, is the best gift she could have ever asked for.

Oh, but if you asked she'd definitely tell you to "Mind your own fucking business before I get involved in yours" and according to her, "you definitely don't want that, do you?"

Jake Peralta was a great detective but a tricky human being. To put it bluntly, Jake hated Christmas. He hated carols, trees, "little scary elves that show up everywhere", and most of all, romcoms. Jake despised hallmark romance films. Was it because he was single for the 8th Christmas in a row? Who could tell, but he'd certainly deny it if anyone had the courage to ask.

Y/N, was definitely the wildcard out of the squad, especially when it came to the holidays. She'd told every detective the same bullshit tale of how she was going back to England to see her family for the holidays, how her least favourite gift is socks, how more than anything she hates carolling. Because, jesus, no one wants to hear her sing!

Detective L/N was a liar, for many reasons. Yes she was from England but she actually didn't mind socks and the biggest lie of all, maybe she'd convinced the detectives they wouldn't want to hear her sing... But her bandmates and their followers definitely did.

See, Y/N wasn't just a Detective, she was a trained singer, performer and songwriter. After work she tended to dodge Shaw's to head to band practice or straight to a gig, not that anyone had figured that out of course.

Not yet anyway.

Tne first time Jake became suspicious of Y/N was on a random Thursday in December.

Jake and Y/N were in the middle of interrogating a perp, nothing too gruesome or inhumane, a couple counts of petty theft and something that would hopefully have led to a new lead about a future bank heist.

William Dobson was his name.

"Why do all these perps have such boring names, why isn't he called Franco Goldminer"

Peralta turned around, slamming an evidence file onto the nearest desk. Y/N looked unamused at the topic of conversation but not surprised, it was Jake after all.

"Because I'm pretty sure 'Franco Goldminer' is A) too obvious for a criminal B) kind of ironic and C) sounds like an idiot that still lives with his mum in his 30s"

Jake's eyes twinkled at her quick and easy retort, not that she'd have seen that of course.

"Nah I stand by it, he's got a dumb name"

Scoffing Y/N stopped reading the provided statement, sighing in conclusion, rubbing her face with her hands,

"So we've got nothing, Jesus."

Peralta let out a sigh of annoyance,

"L/N why don't you go talk to him, I'll watch and see if he opens up to you"

Giving a cheeky grin he continued,

"I would say you could try annoy him into talking but you basically do that anyway"

Slapping his shoulder Y/N walked straight back into interrogation, ignoring his laughter trailing behind her.

William looks up at Y/N, recognition dawning on his face.

Fuck, this wasn't good.

"So Dobson, recount the night of the 16th for me again, seems some details don't match up from the tapes-"

Mid sentence you're cut off,

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Y/N made a sound of aggravation at being cut off

"Small world, lots of people. Anyway the footage shows a different time to the one you claim you-"

"Roxanne on 5th right?"

Shit, shit, SHIT. Y/N's blood ran cold at the name of the club she performs at, it's nice to meet fans, just not in the middle of an interrogation.

Fuck she had to play this off cool, nochelant, like nothing happened.

"I don't care about your personal life Dobson, you're here because you're a criminal. Distraction techniques won't work with me, I don't recall being your best friend, Sir"

Awesome she thought, professional and managed to get an insult in at the same time.

"aren't you in that ba-"

Slamming her file onto the table

"Jesus give it a rest you don't know me"

Y/N's voice came out high pitched, aggravated and very, well, unlike her. This was enough to peek Peralta's interest from behind the glass, this wasn't the Y/N he knew, his coworker who hated anything boring but rarely took risks.

Hands up in defeat, Dobson backs down and the interrogation continues as it was before, absolutely useless.

What Y/N didn't know is Peralta was on the other side of the glass, a puzzled expression on his face;

This was the day Jake Peralta made it his mission to investigate further.

"Who are you Y/N?" He mumbled.

A few weeks later, Jake stopped going to Shaws with the squad.

This in itself was confusing for his fellow detectives, Boyle was practically heartbroken thinking that he'd done something to scare his best friend off.

This led to Boyle doing everything he could to try and entice Jake to their bar, regardless of how weird it was.

Boyle is Boyle, he's very extra, but he's got such a big heart and that's all that mattered to Jake.

However, Charles' interference was only causing Jake more stress, his plan needed to be a secret to be able to make this work.

It was a Friday night, the day before New Year's Eve. Y/N had requested annual leave tomorrow, something that was rarely granted on holiday's (thanks again New York) Jake managed to find this much out from a single conversation with Gina, oh, and because the holiday schedule was on a public server but that seemed too easy.

If he wasn't suspicious before, he definitely was now, something was in the water and he simply had to know what was going on.

It's not like Jake was OBSESSED with Y/N, he just wanted to know her on a more personal level and she made that incredibly difficult.

"I like to keep myself to myself, work is work, home is home. Keep them separate"

Her beautiful voice repeated the devastating series of words more times than he'd have liked to have heard them. Never. None. No thanks.

He'd invited her to Shaw's so many times he'd lost count, he'd asked if she wanted to watch Die Hard at his apartment, he'd even asked if he could do more overtime so he could spend more time with her. In the 6 years he'd worked with her he'd made absolutely zero progress, it's hard to fancy someone that doesn't acknowledge your existence.

Jake thinks Y/N is perfect.

Plain and simple.

Starring at her, lost in thought. He thinks about her eyes, how he wishes one day she'd look at him with the same love and happiness he looked at her with. He wonders what their kids would look like, okay Jake that's a bit far you're sounding a bit like Charles, he internally scolds himself.

"JAKE" Y/N snapped her fingers to get his attention, a look that can only be described as concern adorning her features.

"Huh? Oh yes, yes. I agree, yes let's do that. Whatever it was you said" He rambled at the speed of light, pretending to have acknowledged the last 20 mins that don't exist in his mind.

A smirk grew on Y/N's face, something he barely saw but made him feel like the room just got 20 times hotter.

"Oh so you were listening, yeah? Fabulous, so we can go ahead and schedule the hip replacement..."

Jake's eyes grew wide, babbling out some incoherent nonsense he managed to find two words; "HIP REPLACEMENT?"

Y/N couldn't hold back anymore and cried with laughter, barely being able to form any words.

"I was talking to you about someone I booked using their need for a hip replacement as an excuse, I joked she could use yours" wiping away tears, Y/N's laughter dies down seeing his daze and confusion.

"Are you okay, Jake?" Starring him down, he does what he does best, panics.

"I have to go" Jake stands up bolts out the room at top speed, leaving a very concerned Y/N.

Y/N has always liked Jake, he's bubbly, silly, but cares so much about everyone in his life, he'd go above and beyond for anyone and that's something you can't buy. She has wanted to let him into her personal life for a while but mixing personal and professional has never worked in her favour so she stops herself from letting things get weird and complicated again. Life is as complicated as she makes it after all.

Tomorrow Y/N's band were performing at Roxanne again for their NYE party, she was debuting the title song of their new cover album. Y/N has always been such a huge Fleetwood Mac fan, so "Go Your Own Way" definitely made the cut, providing, Jamie and Simon (her bandmates) were okay with that of course. She was excited, finally time to let her hair down and shed any stress from work.

Jake, after running out at top speed, took to his phone, made a few calls and booked a table tomorrow night for nine people.

At Roxanne.

Jake, Charles, Rosa, Amy, Terry, Captain Holt, Gina, Sully and Hitchcock.

And Y/N had no idea.

Well, neither did anyone other than Jake. This was going to be interesting.

The morning of NYE came and Y/N was ecstatic, eating breakfast at lighting speed, grabbing a coffee, brushing her teeth and then heading to the subway, felt like seconds. You know what they say, time flies when you're having fun.

Y/N arrived at Roxanne at just gone 1pm and immediately hugged Jamie who gave a huge grin seeing her arrival.

"Hi baby! Don't you look a treat, you excited for later?"

Blushing and hitting his shoulder Y/N laughed at his brash complimenting.

"Yeah, yeah, save it Jame, where's your boyfriend? He better not be hiding, we're fucked without him"

"Right here gorgeous"

Y/N jumped and let out a sharp gasp seeing him right behind her.

"Don't scare me like that, dick!"

Laughing he pulled her into a hug.

"Ready to blow the world away with your pipes tonight angel?"

Laughing gently she said "As ready as I'll ever be, right let's practice idiots. Then we can grab some food before we have to change"

Y/N had her mind free from work and Jake, but for Jake, well that was another story.

To Jake this was a stakeout, he had no idea whether he'd find a Mafia organisation or nothing at all. He phoned up Roxanne to ask about the event but all they said was to "Check the damn website, it's not 1942 anymore" and the website hadn't been updated in months.

Jake was terrified.

An afternoon turned into the evening and soon Y/N was slipping on a red sequined dress, black knee high boots, two lace black gloves, smokey, dark makeup and her hair was in curls, ready to take to the stage.

Roxanne was bustling already and it had only just gone 8, she was on in 30 mins and this was their moment.

Warmed up and excited, adrenaline coursing through her veins, she jumped up and down to hype herself up, she had got this.

Jake on the other hand, was only just getting ready, nothing too extravagant just a classic shirt, no tie and a jacket, but a clean jacket so it counts, right? The table was booked for 9 and he had no idea what was going to happen or what would be uncovered.

5 minutes to their opening call, Jamie, Simon and Y/N were all hugging and hyping up each other, knowing this was going to be the performance of a lifetime.

The crowd are cheering already, the bar is stacked and there's no space in the room, the floor is filled to the brim full of people and the only remaining space is one singular table on the balcony of the club, a reserved sign sitting neatly in the center.

"LADIES, THEYDIES AND GENTLEMEN, TONIGHT WE TAKE YOU INTO THE NEW YEAR IN STYLE, YOU KNOW THEM, YOU LOVE THEM, IT'S 'CRIME ME A RIVER"

Running out onto the stage, the heat from the stage lights hit Y/N and then everything changed, her body felt warm and she'd never felt more comfortable. The first notes started of Go Your Own Way and she took a breath then started to sing.

Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?

The crowd scream at the sound of her voice, the sweet melody carrying through the entire club, out the doors, into the night.

If I could

Baby, I'd give you my world

How can I

When you won't take it from me?

Y/N can't help but think about Jake as she sings, music really is true to the heart and god what her heart wants more than anything is him.

You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day

You can go your own way

Go your own way

Jake and the squad pull up to the club, Terry already confused about why they're at such a random location on NYE when they could be at Shaws or "somewhere that doesn't look straight out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show"

Squeezing through the crowd blocking the entrance to the club, Jake heard Amy gasp.

"Oh my god, Jake"

"No fucking way" Rosa chimed in.

"This is unexpected" Gina remarked.

"Terry did not see this coming" Terry exclaimed.

Tell me why

Everything turned around

Packing up

Shacking up is all you want to do

Looking at his shocked colleagues, Jake followed their eyeline to the stage, seeing Y/N he unconsciously held his breath. She looked out of this world, so out of character from the person he shares a desk space with, but at the same time, she'd never looked more, her. His heart beating faster than the beat of the music, he turned to look at the squad once more, seeing Rosa's smirk, Amy's disbelief, Terry's enjoyment, Boyle squealing like a child at Jake's reaction.

"Oh Jakey, I knew you liked her, I knew it, I can't wait to be best man at your wedding" Charles then carried on monologuing but it all drowned out to Jake who only heard Y/N, oh boy, could she sing.

If I could

Baby, I'd give you my world

Open up

Everything's waiting for you

During this moment he imagined Y/N was singing directly to him, his heart fluttered and in that moment he knew he had to tell Y/N, he just had to. Or he'd explode.

You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day

You can go your own way

Go your own way

All the squad started pushing past the crowd to try and get as near to the stage as possible, ignoring their table completely (well apart from Hitchcock and Scully) cheering, dancing and having a great time. Enjoying every second.

On the last note of Y/N's performance she took a breath and basked in the screaming of the crowd.

"THANK YOU! MY NAME IS Y/N AND WE'RE HERE SO YOU CAN HAVE A GOOD TIME, DO WE WANT A GOOD TIME?"

Hearing a scream of "YES" she continued by saying "OKAY SO HERE'S OUR NEXT SONG, THIS ONE IS A BIT DIFFERENT, IT'S MORE OF A POWER BALLED, ARE WE READY?"

But before the first note could be sang Y/N made direct eye contact with Jake, who was fondly shaking his head in disbelief. She smiled widely and blushed a deep red.

She knew they'd talk after, and he did too. But for now she'd show how she loved him by showing him who she really was, Unapologetically and he loved nothing more.

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this fic, might do a part 2, if you want to be added to a taglist or if you want a part 2 full stop please let me know:) unedited so it's definitely not perfect haha. Enjoy!

#jakeperalta #jakeperaltaxreader #brooklyn99 #brooklyn99fanfic #brooklyn99jake #jake #jakeperalta #jacobperaltaxreader #xreader #charlesboyle #rosadiaz #amysantiago #captainholt #terryjeffords #ginalinetti #scully #hitchcock

#jake peralta x reader #jake peralta #brooklyn #brooklyn 99 #x reader #Jake #brooklyn 99 x reader #charles boyle #rosa diaz #amy santiago #Scully and hitchcock #gina linetti #captain holt

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blitzyn · 1 year

Text

special attention pt.2

dottore x m!reader

request : none

Synopsis: He was the last person you thought you'd see at your front doorstep when you returned home after a particularly exhausting mission.

first part | third part

a/n -> part 2 i guess? where he sees reader again

wc -> 2.2k

cw -> anal fingering, anal sex, non-descriptive injuries, blood, reader is a masochist, dottore is a sadist, deep throating, face fucking

You sighed in relief at the comfort of your home, finally returning after your especially exhausting mission. Some idiot revealed the location of one of your more valuable bases to treasure hoarders and, subsequently, local authorities. Normally, you’d be able to handle your own efficiently, but the sheer amount of people brought was enough to overwhelm your entire group.

You managed to handle most of them, but a few others had the chance to hit or stab you in more unguarded areas. Truthfully, you were livid. Everything could have been prevented if he was more careful; now you’d have to return to work soon with injuries that may only grow worse. And you’d have to deal with the issues concerning the now vulnerable base - but if you manage to shift the blame, maybe your punishment would be lighter.

You limped to your room after gathering gauze, a wet rag, and bandages from your bathroom. Settling on your bed, you were in the process of carefully removing your clothing before a knock sounded through your house. With a loud groan, you got back up and hobbled to the front door. Your eyes widened a fraction when you faced a familiar figure.

Instantly, you dropped to kneel. “My Lord. I was not expecting you here.”

“I’d be surprised if you did,” he said. “Face me.”

You struggled to rise, feeling your wounds throb underneath your clothes.

“My, you’re a mess,” he teased, much to your embarrassment.

Your voice slightly waivered, “I apologize. I had just returned from my mission.”

“It must have been a difficult one if someone like you sustained those injuries,” he scanned your body. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” you hurriedly moved out of the way to let him inside, closing the door after him. You subtly fidgeted - what did he think about your home? This was the first time you’d let anyone inside your safe space, so this was quite a new and uncomfortable experience for you.

“Have you already tended to your wounds?” he questioned, earning a shake of your head in reply.

“No. I was about to until you knocked.” you lead the way to your room, where your supplies waited.

“Let me help you, then,” he made you strip, to your surprise. He stared at you. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before.”

You felt your face heat up as you took your clothes off, focusing on the way your cuts stung to avert your attention. A light grimace overtook your features when the fabric rubbed against them, letting out a sigh when everything was removed.

“You haven’t done your briefing yet,” he stated, cleaning some wounds on your arm. “Might as well do it now.”

You nodded. “I managed to finish my patrol around Fort 28 and double checked that the valuable supplies were well-secured before returning to the entrance. I noticed that Officer Belyaev was walking along the path back to the base, which I hadn’t granted his permission to leave.”

Dottore shifted himself so he faced your back. “I heard him boasting about something to who I assume was his friend when a squad of treasure hoarders ambushed us. It was easy work getting rid of them, but the noise must have alerted nearby authorities. They have been meaning to - ah!”

Your back arched away from the doctor when a particularly harsh sting struck your nerves. You could hear the unhidden amusement in his voice when he told you to continue.

“Right. They have been meaning to find a plausible way to get rid of us for a while now, so I suppose that ‘disturbing the peace’ was enough of an excuse. They are no doubt going to attempt to remove the base with brute force now that we’ve attacked citizens, as they put it, so I’ll need to find a new spot soon.”

“That certainly sounds like quite the hassle,” he said while returning back to your front. “I do hope you manage to pull that off.”

“We wouldn’t want you to be punished, after all,” he gave you a smirk after seeing you look away, clearly dreading the outcome if you couldn’t achieve the best possible results.

“I will do my best, my Lord,” you promised.

“I expect nothing less.”

He moved on to the cuts on your legs, starting at the back of your left calf. He gradually worked his way up, finally reaching your thighs. You looked at anything that wasn’t him and his skilled hands, focusing hard on where you would need to place the fort. But as he tightened the bandage, a sharp pain traveled through your body, and you couldn’t help but look down.

Your throat closed as you stared at him kneeled in between your thighs, his gloved hands gliding over your skin, lingering just a little too long before moving onto the next wound. The way he firmly held onto the plush flesh reminded you of your time in his office not too long ago, new thoughts slowly beginning to occupy your mind.

A seed of humiliation was planted deep into your chest that bloomed into a large flower of shame the harder your cock got. You looked elsewhere again, wishing your erection would go away.

"I haven't done anything and you're already aroused?" He tilted his head up to look at you. "Just how pathetic can you get?"

The hand on your thigh moved up to palm you through your underwear. You made no change in your expression, but the way you throbbed under his touch was more than enough to relay your thoughts. He could see your body tense, and removed his hand before anything else happened..

"Don't you think I deserve a little reward?" he questioned, standing up to remove the various layers of clothing on him. You swapped positions as soon as he finished, lightly moving some away to avoid kneeling on it.

You swallowed nervously as you peered up at him, unsure where to put your hands so you opted to leave them on your thighs. This was the first time you'd ever seen him shirtless, and you wanted to take in the sight for as long as you could.

His torso was littered in countless scars, no doubt from various different encounters and experiences. They grew in number at his forearms and hands, most likely from hands-on incidents gone wrong. You noticed a long scar that ran diagonally from his thumb to his pinky finger, but you couldn't ponder about it when he spoke.

"Well? Go on."

"Apologies." You held the base of his semi-hard cock and gave a lick up to the tip before taking it in your mouth. You gave a brief suck to the head before dragging your tongue down the side, tracing a prominent vein. You moved back up and flattened your tongue along the underside of his cock to take him in your mouth again. You pushed more of him into you, hollowing your cheeks, and swallowing a spurt of precum. You steadily bobbed your head, carefully going deeper and deeper. The drool that escaped your mouth provided efficient enough lube for you to jerk off what you couldn’t get.

You looked off to the side, letting memory please the Harbinger, which allowed you to think about where you should replace the fort.

“I had it made near the entrance of some ruins,” you thought. “So maybe, with enough effort, I can put it further in, and hide it in plain sight?”

It was obvious to him that you were zoned out - you had even begun to slow down without knowing it. That would not do. He needed your attention on him.

He snaked a hand through your hair and rested it on the back of your head. He waited a moment for you to look at him in question before shoving you down. He let out a long, satisfied sigh as you choked on his dick, which only spurred him on to force you deeper. Your wide eyes watered with every gag you made, chest aching.

As much as your body screamed at you to struggle against him in reflex, you fought those instincts and allowed him to do whatever he wanted with your throat. He did not stop pushing your head down until you were pressed against his pelvis, your nose brushing against his pubic hair. His scent had you yearning for more, rendering you utterly intoxicated - as absurd as that seemed. Your cock strained against your underwear, staining the fabric with a growing spot of your precum.

His calloused fingers curled in your hair to drag you back up. He shifted himself so his other arm held him up on the bed, hips raised, before thrusting into your throat. You countered your gag reflex as much as you could with a hum and provided him additional stimulation - which he expressed his approval with a slight moan. Killing two birds with one stone, you supposed.

The occasional gag, low grunts, and skin slapping filled your room as he fucked your throat open. His thrusts were punishing and harsh. Drool slipped from your mouth and traveled down your chin and throat in thick streams. It was getting harder to breathe with the sheer amount of saliva that pooled in your mouth.

Your chest tightened, mind beginning to haze over with the need for air, but honestly? You couldn’t care less. You were too busy entranced with the way his abs flexed with every thrust, noticing the vein on his bicep that became more visible the tighter he held your hair. Black dots collected at the corners of your shrinking vision.

You moaned as he finally stilled, keeping your face flush with his pelvis as he came. The groan he let out could be enough to fuel your orgasm alone. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt his cock throb, near countless amounts of cum flowing down your esophagus, and you tried your best to swallow it all.

You were on the brink of passing out when he pulled out, letting you take in large gulps of air. Your cheek rested on his thigh, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

He let you regain your composure before grabbing you by your arm to lay on the bed. You were positioned face down, ass up. You heard him shuffle around for a moment before he returned to your side, holding a small vial of lube in one hand. Why did he have that? Was this his original intention?

You were about to take off your underwear when he impatiently sighed and pulled it off of you himself.

He poured half of the fluid on his fingers and inserted two inside you, the burn making you tighten unexpectedly. He moved them in a scissoring motion. You let out breathy moans, but winced at how raw your throat felt. His free hand wrapped around your neglected cock. A surge of electricity shot up your spine as the coil in your abdomen snapped.

Dottore chuckled as you hid your face in your pillow.

He removed his fingers and positioned himself behind you, pushing his dick inside you. You moaned at the stretch, shifting yourself to rest on your hands. Every exhale you let out was practically a whine.

He had a firm grip on your hips as he started to thrust, gradually going faster and faster until your headboard began striking the wall. He was not gentle - no pity for the jolting body below him. You could barely hear him muttering over your whorish moans; something about you being tight? You couldn’t tell. But you knew it was in the positive direction with the way he twitched and throbbed inside you.

The creaking of your bed was drowned out by the skin slapping and moans - and you hoped nobody could hear.

“W-Wait! Ah!” you yelped in alarm when you felt a sharp sting in one of your legs. You noticed that your wound began bleeding again, but that wasn’t enough to deter Dottore. In fact, you noticed him reach a hand down to the bandage and press, staining his hand with your blood. The pain coursed through your body in a quick succession that ended in fueling the fire in your groin.

“Pl-Please let me cum, my L-Lord,” you cursed under your breath.

“You may,” he allowed, much to your relief. You weren’t sure how long you’d last if he didn’t. With a scream, you tensed as ropes of your semen stained your bed. He groaned alongside you as he pushed his cock as far as he could inside you, cumming. You took this time to catch your breath, arms relaxing.

You trembled as he pulled out, flopping on the bed as soon as he fully removed himself. Your eyes widened when you saw his lips; they were colored a light red, but you didn’t comment on it. As your high wore off, the dull throbbing from your wounds turned into sharp aches.

You were far too tired to see the Harbinger off, but you were lucky he didn’t seem to mind. With a low hum that fueled your need to sleep, he put his clothes back on and looked back at you. He decided to redo your bloody bandages before he left - he wasn’t that mean.

cross-posted on ao3

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