#shit i love the man more than is sensible and i still would have tossed him in a cell until after the final battle at MINIMUM. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forever-rogue · 2 years

Note

Hey! If requests are closed, than please ignore this! If they're open though, I'd love your take on this if you're open to it - Benny is staying at Frankie and Reader's house for whatever reason and accidentally walks in on Reader naked or changing and sees some things. Later on, Benny makes an innocent comment to Frankie about how good Reader's body is. The rest is up to you how it goes!

AN | Not me looking at this and immediately going “and they were roommates.” But that’s what happened! [ps - I would do anything for you] 🥰

Pairing | Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, yearning/pining, lots of lusty thoughts, some spice, sinful use of sunscreen

Word Count | 3.1k

Masterlist | Frankie, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had been cold all day, finding it almost impossible to get warm and finally settling on taking a long, hot shower. The idea that you might have used up all the hot water didn’t bother you; that was a Frankie problem he could deal with later if he had to. Once you finally felt warm enough, your skin screaming for lotion as soon as you toweled yourself off with a big, fluffy towel, you padded back to your room.

The house was quiet for what seemed like the first in forever; you loved Frankie and Benny but the two of them together was a lot. Benny was staying at the house you shared with Frankie for a few days while he had a contractor doing some work at his own place. While good hearted and nothing but kind, Benny was the definition of a chaotic mess. Somehow you managed to convince the boys to go out to the bar for a few drinks along with Santi and Will so you could have an evening to yourself.

A contented sigh escaped your lips as you walked back into your room, dropping the towel you’d wrapped around your body without even bothering to close the door. You were home alone, might as well take advantage of it. Reaching into the dresser, you grabbed a clean t-shirt (one of Frankie’s that you managed to steal at some point) and some sleep shorts and tossed them onto the bed.

Grabbing the bottle of your favorite lotion you pumped some into your palm before putting a leg onto your bed to start soothing your skin. You loved taking some time for self-care and this evening it felt nothing short of amazing. Once you were finished with your legs, you turned around to grab some more lotion when you heard the tell-tale creak of the floorboards.

Without thinking about it, you turned around and found Benny outside of your bedroom, his face flushed a brilliant crimson before he murmured a small, “oh shit.”

“Benny!” it was then that you realized you were still completely naked, quickly scrambling to grab the towel off the floor to preserve whatever modicum of modesty you had remaining, “what are you doing here!?”

“We just got back,” he stammered as he slapped a hand over his eyes, “I was coming to see where you were and y-your door was open and you’re naked.”

“I thought I was home alone,” you groaned, your whole face flushing with warmth, “oh my god. Benny, go!”

Before he could say anything else, you quickly slammed the door in his face and locked it. You knew he would never try and open it, but in the moment it had seemed like the most sensible thing to do. You hastily pulled on your clothes before sitting down and trying to catch your breath. It wasn’t anything catastrophic or even that bad, but right now all you could think about was the awkwardness and the knowledge that Benny had now seen you naked. Of all of the boys, you’d have thought he would be the last one.

“Fuck,” you groaned to yourself as you flopped on the bed. Maybe you were being dramatic, but it had thrown you for such a loop and you had a feeling it would take some time to not think about that moment whenever you saw Benny, “fuck.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Benny almost ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab another beer. Frankie had been in the process of doing the same thing, giving the younger man a concerned look.

“Everything alright?” He was amused as he watched Benny quickly open the bottle and take a long swig, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” he sighed deeply, “just Bee. Naked Bee.”

“I…what?” Frankie’s eyes widened in surprise as he tried to process what Benny said, “what do you mean…naked?”

“I went upstairs to see if she was up and maybe wanted to join us and her bedroom door was open and she was naked and I saw. I didn’t mean to look, I swear, it just happened so fast and she saw me and she freaked so I freaked,” it all came out in one long breath as an odd feeling panged through Frankie’s stomach, “she’s going to hate me forever.”

“She’s not going to hate you,” Frankie insisted, trying to push away the thought of but I might, “she’ll know it was an accident.”

“I know but damn,” he slinked into the chair at the kitchen table, sighing deeply, “I feel like a creep.”

“It’s fine-”

“But she’s fine as hell,” Benny felt guilty even admitting that out loud, “but you already knew that. Lucky bastard.”

“How does that make me lucky?” he grumbled as he took a seat across from Benny. He immediately felt like his behavior was childish, but he couldn’t help but be annoyed, “you’re the one that saw her.”

“You haven’t…you haven’t seen her?”

“I-what? No.”

“Aren’t you dating? At least sleeping together?”

“Why would we be in separate bedrooms if we were dating?” Frankie definitely wouldn’t want to be just roommates with you if he had anything to say about it. But he’d never quite been able to bring himself to admit that or his feelings towards you, “no, we - Bee and I are just friends.”

“Oh,” Benny took a drink, swallowing thickly before looking away, “we all thought there was…there was more to it.”

“Nope,” Frankie popped the p for emphasis before starting down at the table, “just friends.”

“It doesn’t seem like she likes you as just a friend,” Benny gave Frankie a curious little look, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, “and it appears to me that you like her as more than a friend. You like Bee, don’t cha Frankie?”

“Fuck off, Miller. I, ugh…yes,” he finally admitted, finding it easier to get off his chest than he had originally thought, “but please don’t say anything to her. I don’t want to ruin our friendship or anything.”

“Sure, Fish,” he nodded, tapping the neck of his bottle against Frankie’s, “whatever you want man. But I’m just saying, she definitely sees you as more than a friend.”

“Miller.”

“Fine, fine,” he held up his hands in mock surrender, “she’s fine too, just remember that.”

“You’re the absolute worst!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the next day you’d decided to push everything from the previous evening out of your head. So what if Benny had seen you naked? It wasn’t that weird; neither of you were doing anything and there was nothing wrong with seeing a nude body. On top of that you trusted Benny and knew he’d never say or do anything inappropriate or make you feel uncomfortable. No; instead you realized it was fine and neither of you had to mention it ever again.

By the time you were up and ready, the guys were gone, probably at work or going for a run or who knows what. You had the day off and decided to take advantage of the first bit of summer weather that had made its appearance that day. You’d convinced Frankie to clean the pool and get it ready for use the prior weekend, citing the fact that summer was just around the corner despite the odd cold snap that had occurred for a few days.

After you’d made yourself a quick breakfast, you went back upstairs to grab the new book you’d started reading and changed into your bathing suit before going outside into the backyard to lounge by the pool. You liked the new two piece you’d picked out; it was enough coverage to where you felt comfortable but still made you feel sexy in all the right ways. Plus, you loved a good tropical palm print…the fact that this bathing suit happened to make a pair of Frankie’s swim trunks was just a happy little accident. Or not, you grinned to yourself, grabbing a towel on the way outside.

You’d only been outside for a little bit, deciding to first water the flowers and plants you and Frankie had planted recently. You’d spent a whole day going to one of the local nurseries and picking everything out before planting them all just how you wanted. That had been a good day - a nice day spent among many with Frankie.

“Hey Bee-” you heard Frankie opening the sliding screen door before you spotted him, turning around to find him frozen with his gaze focused on you. You set down the watering can before waving at him and almost bounding his way, “h-hi.”

“Hi Frankie,” you grinned at him. You noticed that he seemed stiff suddenly, and a bit of tension hung in the air, “everything all right?”

“Y-yeah, of course,” he gave you a tight lipped smile, “w-what are you up to?”

“Well, I have the day off for once and wanted to take advantage of the warm weather and your pool cleaning efforts!” you grinned excitedly, “but I watered everything too. Don’t want all of our hard work to go to waste. Actually…do you think you could do me a huge favor, cielito?”

“Sure…”

“Can you help me with the sunscreen? I can’t reach all of my back and I’d rather that not be the area that gets burned,” you’d grabbed his hand and started pulling towards the spot with the poolside loungers, already intent on reaching for the sunscreen you’d had enough forethought to bring, “why don’t you relax me with me? You’ve been working so hard lately and you seem tense. Relaxation might do you some good!”

“Bee,” his throat felt so dry as he tried not to stare at you too lustfully but keep it respectful. You were so beautiful; soft, delicate skin, an ass he really wanted to grab and your breasts covered just enough to be acceptable but god did he want to rip that top right off. He shook his head to remind himself not to be a total creep; you were his best friend, he shouldn’t be having thoughts like this. You handed the sunscreen to him and quickly tied up your hair before sitting down on the soft lounge chair, “a-are you sure you want me to?”

“What’s wrong, cielito?” you teased, completely unaware of the effect your little nickname had on him, “afraid to get sunscreen on you? Come on, do me and I’ll do you.”

Fucking hell. You had to be doing this on purpose. It quickly became a herculean task to keep from getting a full hard on as he poured the sunscreen in his hand and gently massaged it into your back. Your soft little noises weren’t doing anything to help. He took a deep breath and told himself to focus. All he should be concerned about was keeping your delicate skin safe from the sun’s harmful rays. The only thing relaxation was going to bring to him right now was a blissful death from how good your skin felt.

“All done,” his voice was about two octaves higher than it normally was and you gave him a curious look but said nothing, “I-I’ll go and change. Are you-”

“Hurry up,” you insisted, giving him a sweet smile. He nodded, swallowing thickly as he tracked back into the house, wondering if he had enough time to get himself off before you grew suspicious. But no, he gritted his teeth, he was fine. He was a grown man that could handle hanging out with his gorgeous, wonderful, amazing best friend. Ugh. He really needed to chill.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was about fifteen minutes later when he finally came back out, wearing the swim trunks that matched your bikini. You couldn’t help but beam at him as he pulled his shirt off and sat next to you. You did your best not to stare at him, not wanting to be that shamelessly. Seeing him in just his trunks with his wild mop of dark curls definitely set off something feral within you. His warm, golden skin was tantalizing as you tried to keep from counting each little freckle, desperately wanting to map them out with your mouth.

God, you need to get a grip and not lose it over him. Besides, there was no way he felt the same way about you. You wished he did, and a few times you were sure he had returned the desire that you had but neither of you had ever acted on it.

“Turn around,” you whispered as he shifted so back was to you…that delicious broad back. Fuck. You need to pull yourself together. You reached for the sunscreen and started to rub it into his back, tracing your fingertips over as much skin as was appropriate in such a situation. You brought it all the way down his back, stopping just above the waistband of his trunks, wishing you could go lower. You cleared your throat, in a vain attempt to cover up the little moan that escaped your lips at the feeling of his muscles and shoulders under your hands, “there you go. All set.”

“Are you sure you got everything?” hell. Why was his stupid voice so delciously deep and rich?

“Y-yeah,” you tried to calm your racing thoughts and not let them go straight between your legs, “I think you can handle the front.”

“I always seem to miss a few spots,” he said as stretched, causing the trunks to dip ever so slightly so you could see the cut of his hips and the trail of hair that started at his navel and disappeared under the fabric. Why was it a million degrees suddenly? He had the audacity to look at you with pure innocence in those big brown eyes, “do you mind, Bee? I don’t want to get burned.”

“Of course not,” your mouth was dry as the sahara but your bottoms were getting more wet with each passing second, “I’ve got you.”

You tried to keep repeating inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale as you rubbed in the sunscreen over his broad chest and down his torso. His skin was soft, scattered with freckles and a few scars from his time in the army, but so tempting. It felt like sin to be rubbing the lotion onto his skin when all you could think about was wanting to lick every inch of it. You tried to work as quickly as possible so your wanton hands didn’t give away your thoughts, instead focusing on his arms. But god, those were nice, toned and firm with big, strong hands. You wondered how they would feel all over your body, touching you like you’d always dreamed off.

“Thanks,” you’d never hated him and crinkly-eyed, dimple displaying smile more than in that moment, “you’re so good to me. Do you want a hand with the rest?”

This was a test. This had to be a test divined by the universe in order to see how strong your willpower was. How far could you be pushed until you snapped and threw yourself all over him?

“I-if you want to,” you offered him the out, hoping - but not really - that he would say no, “we could just jump into the pool too? I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“You’re supposed to wait fifteen minutes to half an hour before getting in,” he reminded as you every fiber of your being screamed for him, “but if you’re-”

“Touch me,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, “I mean…umm, good ahead with the sunscreen.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he pulled you closer to him, settling your body on the lounger in between his legs. Just look at the small tattoo on his inner thigh and it would all be okay. Don’t focus on having his hands all over you.

He was slow and methodical in his approach, starting with your neck and shoulders before working into your arms. He brought it down your chest, the tips of his fingers resting just above the swell of your breasts. Frankie bit the inside of his cheek before letting himself go any further, “can I touch here?”

“Benny saw me naked,” you weren’t quite sure where the need to tell him this came from. But you just felt like you wanted him to know, “last night after I got out of the shower. It was an accident.”

“He told me,” he confessed quietly, “he was embarrassed and worried and hoped you wouldn’t think he was a creep.”

“No,” you shook your head softly, “I know it was just an accident. But there’s…umm…something else.”

“Dime,” he whispered as you decided it was now or never.

“I wish it had been you,” you confessed, worrying your bottom lip in a way that drove him crazy, “then I could have told you it was okay, you can look all you want, you can come in and do whatever you want.”

“Bee,” his voice was strained as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “you can’t just say things like that and expect me to have any amount of self control. You drive me absolutely crazy and god, I’ve wanted you since the day we met. But I can’t take advantage of you.”

“It’s not taking advantage,” you reached up for the tie at the front of your top and slowly undid the knot, letting it fall open before hastily throwing it to the side, “when I want you too. For so long now.”

“Bee…”

“You can touch me,” you whispered as you leaned in closer to him, face just inches from his, “I want you to, mi cielito.”

“If I start I won’t be able to stop.”

“Good thing I don’t want you to stop,” before you could say anything else he cut you off by finally - finally - pressing his lips against yours and kissing you with a desperate, needy hunger, “Francisco, please.”

“I love it when you call me that,” he gently nudged his nose against yours, “I love you, Bee.”

“I love you too,” you kissed him quickly, “take me inside so we can finally do this and do it properly.”

“Fuck yes.”

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader

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userlando · 3 years

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I dunno if you do requests, but if you did a possessive/jealous Tom Hardy (or Eddie, or Alfie.... I dunno, they all give off the vibe) I would I've you like my soul or something......,........

oh god, inspiration strikes again..

Alfie wasn’t a soft man, both physically and mentally. He didn’t grow up in the warmest household and his mother, bless her heart, did everything to raise her boys to be great men when their father failed in that department.

Not to say that she’d failed, considering where Alfie had ended up, but it provided him with enough resources and money to take care of her the way she’d struggled to put food on the table and provide for him and his siblings during his childhood.

Alfie wasn’t soft when he’d done unspeakable things during the war, and he certainly wasn’t soft when he’d taken his place as the king of London. His hard exterior and the amount of blood on his hands was enough for people to fear him. And that’s all he would ever ask for. Because fear was respect, and Alfie would pry out anyone’s teeth with pliers if anyone dared to show him anything else.

Alfie wasn’t soft, but that’s the word he’d describe himself feeling when he heard you laugh for the first time. It had been five years but he remembered it so vividly that it still - to this day - made his hands shake in a way he’d never admit out loud. God forbid someone would hear him spew soppy shit that only you found endearing and romantic.

It was a rainy afternoon and Alfie was craving an evening at the pub after a long day at the distillery. A drink was all he’d come for, but then he’d heard you laugh and his ears had immediately perked at the sound.

It wasn’t difficult for him to locate where that sound came from. Because as he suspected, your face was just as radiating as your laugh and it sounded silly, but he knew from the moment he laid eyes on you, that he had to have you.

You were tough at first, your boundaries and lack of interest unlike any other woman’s he’d usually pick up. The way you seemed so unattainable only seemed to pull unwanted male attention, but the more he tried to pursue you, the more word got around. You were his woman, and only his. It infuriated you at first because you were no one else’s but yours, though Alfie knew you’d secretly loved it. Even though you refused to admit it even years later when the topic arose in conversation.

So, Alfie wasn’t soft. But he was soft for you, and he was soft for your laugh. Which was why his ears - much like that day at the pub - perked when he heard your giggle echo in the distillery. A frown immediately cast over his face as he placed his pen down on the surface of his desk.

He glanced around in confusion at first, wondering who the fuck you were speaking to that made you giggle like that. And his stomach churned when he thought of all the greasy men who were working under the roof of his distillery, who’d been instructed to not speak to you if not absolutely necessary. Everybody knew this. No one was foolish enough to risk losing their ball sack to a rusty shank.

Or so, that’s what Alfie thought.

The chair squeaked in protest as he rose from it, rough hands flat on the table to heave himself up as he grunted in annoyance. Annoyance because someone was clearly not doing their job, and annoyance because you knew better than to prance around at the distillery when there was work to be done. And chances are, you looked absolutely gorgeous doing it.

Alfie’s suspicions were correct, he realised, as he walked down the creaky stairs to the base floor. He found you a few yards away, legs that he loved so much clad in stockings he knew he’d be ripping off later. You had the same green dress on he’d seen you dress in before he left for work that morning.

He would’ve stood there and appreciated the way your dress flared where your back met your bottom, or the way you’d prettily pinned your hair back just far enough to reveal your neck. The very same neck he’d buried his face into the night before and just this morning.

Alfie couldn’t appreciate it though, mostly because of the two dimwits standing in front of you, greased up faces smiling as they spoke to you. As if Alfie paid them to slack off. Fucking idiots.

As Alfie moved closer, he could hear your soft voice ask ‘How’s Claire doing? What a strong woman she is for birthing your lovely twins!’ It admittedly made Alfie soften for a second, because of course you’d take interest in everyone’s life and show genuine concern. That was the major difference between you two. Where Alfie lacked, you made up for.

“Right, last time I checked, I paid you fucking idiots to do your jobs,” Alfie startled the two men as he approached, voice booming as usual. “So, tell me what you’re bloody standing around here for.”

You turned around with ease, having been with him long enough to not bat an eyelash at his vulgar words and flaring anger. His face was scrunched up in an expression that would make any sensible man and woman in London cower in fear, and you placed a hand on his meaty arm in a poor effort to calm him down. And to silently tell him to shut up and behave.

“Alfie.” You greeted him like he wasn’t shooting daggers at the two men who now looked like they wanted nothing more than to bolt. You couldn’t blame them. “Hi sweetheart. I was just talking to Christopher and William here about their families. Did you know Will had twins?”

Alfie only managed a grunt because why did you know their names? And Will?

He didn’t know if he wanted to drag the bastard into his office by his cock and beat his face into three different shades or to toss them out on their sorry arses. He knew the first option would send him into the doghouse for God knows how long, and the other option would cause more problems between the two of you than he dared to think about.

“Two girls.” The one he assumed was named William said, albeit a little shakily. The man next to him elbowed him and they both went quiet.

“Right, I must’ve missed the part where I fucking asked.” Alfie was livid, and there were so many factors playing into that reason.

These animals who worked under him knew to never lay their eyes on you, nevertheless talk to you. And he wanted to be angry at how good you looked, at the audacity to walk into the distillery when he knew he disliked you hanging around here during office hours.

Mostly, he wanted to spank your stubborn arse black and blue.

“Alfie, why don’t we go to your office, hm?” You asked softly, feeling the way he was shaking as you squeezed his bicep gently.

He knew what it was though. Your way of telling him to simmer down and behave.

You didn’t wait for him to answer, turning on your pretty polished heels to walk around and past him toward his office. He didn’t miss the way your legs wobbled, and he knew you were well aware of what you were to expect once the fragile door of the office closed behind the two of you. Alfie knew that the wobble of your legs derived from excitement and not from fear. You could scowl and reprimand him all you wanted, but you both knew that you loved his possessiveness at the end of the day.

He watched you walk away, his anger simmering down just a wee bit before he turned his head to the two men standing in front of him. He sucked his teeth, smacked his lips and contemplated beating them with his cane before thinking twice of it.

“What the fuck are you two still doing ‘ere?” His roar was enough to have them scatter like mice.

Alfie huffed and turned around, following in your footsteps to his office where you were waiting.

“How many times have I told you, right, to not fuckin’ walk in here when I’m working, woman?” He walked in and closed the door behind him.

He struggled to contain his anger when he saw you sitting on his desk, legs crossed over each other and his eyes immediately went to the sliver of skin where the hem of your dress had ridden up on your thigh. Alfie’s first instinct was to march up and grab the delicate skin until you squirmed, but he stopped himself.

He gripped his cane tighter in his right hand and rubbed his forehead with the other one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible.”

You frowned. “I can’t help it if you’re possessive, Alf. That’s your problem, not mine.”

“You know how these men are.” He gritted out, gesturing behind him to the distillery. “You cannot be this dim.”

“Alfie Solomons, I know you didn’t just call me dim.” You said and Alfie paused at the tone of your voice.

You sounded annoyed but he could detect the hurt in your voice and it was enough for him to let out a grumbling sigh, stepping up to the desk where you sat. He silently admired the frown lines on your pretty face and prayed that he hadn’t shoved his foot in his mouth.

Alfie got his answer when you parted your legs enough for him to step between them, and he struggled to breathe properly when you circled them around his behind to pull him closer.

“You’re my girl, yeah?” He muttered, bringing a hand up to cradle your cheek.

“Woman.” You protested softly, welcoming the touch as his silent apology.

You watched as his eyes appraised you and held back from preening when he grunted in appreciation and what you knew were hunger as his eyes trailed your body before landing on your face.

“And what a fucking woman you are.” He said lowly, using his hand on your cheek to pull you in for a kiss.

The clatter of the cane falling to the floor didn’t deter you as he let go of it in order to grab you by the waist, pulling you in closer as he deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth, not caring if anyone heard you. Alfie pinched the top of your arse in retaliation and you squealed.

“Alfie!” You sounded scandalised but the enormous smile on your lipstick smeared lips said otherwise.

Alfie admired his artwork with a smug smile, knowing that his mouth probably looked a mess too.

“Don’t Alfie me, woman.” He pressed an open mouthed kiss to your lips that tasted a lot like a promise. “This is just a preview of what I’ll be doing to you tonight.”

* * * * *

Welp, that turned sexual. But hello! Hi! Surprise, here’s me answering to an ask five hundred years later. I was in a writing mood so.. hope you enjoy x

#alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fic #peaky blinders fic #blurb #alfie solomons #peaky blinders #my religion is alfie solomons calling reader woman

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buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

Text

heaven

bucky barnes x fem!reader x sam wilson

⎢ masterlist.

word count: 1.781.

warnings/tags: NSFW, +18!!! threesome, fingering, unprotected sex, language, mention of bodily fluids.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

You weren't drunk enough to blame alcohol for letting Sam invade your mouth with his expert tongue. The music outside of the random room you found maintained you with your feet on reality somehow, to not think it was a dream. A good dream. Even if you were focused on the way he was making you feel and the heat he was causing between your legs to burn down your soul, Bucky's fingers rolling the dress' straps by your arms until it fell to the floor kept your attention on him too. From one second to another, you were naked among the only two men you desired in your life —your boyfriend and his new best friend.

You couldn't help but moan pleased when they pressed you against their bodies and Bucky's huge hands made their way to your hard nipples. He squeezed your breasts slowly, delighting himself with every touch and the sound of every gasp dying on Sam's tongue, still dominating yours masterfully. You ran out of breath at the feeling of their rock dicks being rubbed to your ass and pussy respectively. You were in heaven between those two men.

“Tell him what you want, doll”. Your boyfriend murmured hoarsely into your ear, touring the shape of it with his teeth, causing you goosebumps all around.

“Ca— Can you…? Fuck…” You whined through your parted lips when Bucky dug his incisors in your shoulder. “Sam… I… I wan— want yo— shit… I've fantasized of you… fuckin— fucking me with your fingers”.

“That's what you want, uh?” He inquired rhetorically, pawing your sides roughly as one of his hands toured your right thigh straight to your cunt barely covered by a thin thong. Soaked.

“Please…” You begged, placing your arms around his neck.

Sam licked his lips, not needing to look at Bucky for permission. What you didn't know is that ten minutes ago they had a conversation on the terrace to make that happen. No one could deny that you'd die for Bucky's love. He was everything you had, and you were everything he had. But, when both of them appeared in your house really fucked after a mission, you started to feel some kind of desire for Sam. Only desire. Your heart was occupied with your boyfriend.

You came back from your thoughts as soon as the second man recently involved moved the small string aside. He played and teased your folds using the fingertip of his index digit, making you toss your head back to Bucky's left shoulder. Your boyfriend drunk delighted the crying you uttered inevitably when Sam slammed his finger into your tight walls, clenching around him. While the soldier was being all sweetness and delicacy, kissing you slowly, the pilot started to fuck you hard adding a second curled finger. And God blessed the loud music outside to cover your wrecked moans and your pleads.

“Does Sam make you feel good, doll?” Bucky purred with his eyes fixed on yours, watching you gasp in sync with the palm crashing violently against your pussy.

The three of you knew you hadn't much time to be disappeared before someone suspected, and the fierce pace of thrusts to your g-spot had you shivering under Bucky's grip.

“Oh, fuck, Sam”. You sobbed, not being able to form a proper sentence.

As your boyfriend guided his lips to your neck —sucking a hickey there to mark his forever-territory—, the pilot was back to attack your mouth. Your fingers were tightly nailed to the back of his head, starting to rock your hips looking for more friction against their sensible cocks. The grunts coming from them filled the room.

“Shit… you're gonna make me cum in my pants”. Sam growled, landing his free hand in your ass, squeezing it and forcing you to move it faster against Bucky's dick, being a bundle of moans dying on your neck.

“Got'a better idea…”

As you heard your boyfriend chuckling petty onto your ear with his orbs fixed on the dark ones of his friend, you knew they were going to ruin you.

“Listen to me now, doll. 'M gonna leav—”.

“Plea— Please, Bucky, don't”. You whined, not knowing how much you could handle the way Sam was impaling you by adding a third finger, making you cover your mouth with a hand or the whole compound would hear you.

“I can wait for you”. He hummed, turning your face towards his. “But I wan'you to show him how good you make me feel… And I'll give you a reward later”.

You were conscious that it didn't matter the times you begged him to stay, they had made a decision before coming into that room and that was what was going to happen. Bucky placed one last kiss full of love and tender at the moment Sam gave a break to your abused cunt, and you watched him leave after checking there wasn't anybody around, placing well his jeans in the zone of his bulge crotch.

“We can't stop if you don' want to continue”. Sam mumbled then, holding your hand to bring you closer.

You were panting trying to recover your breathing, pouting at him inevitably. As soon as Bucky left you alone, you felt a slap of reality and insecurities straight to your face. And he noticed it, gently wrapping your lower back with his arms since your legs were shaking and too weak to stand by themselves.

“Look at me”. He asked you then, showing you a fleeting smile barely curving up his lips. “Bucky wants it and I do too. But it only matters if you want or not. This… This is like a test, alright? You try and if you like, and if you want, we'll repeat. Bucky, you and I”.

You nodded hardly swallowing, sure that you'd make it up to your boyfriend later. You weren't in love with Sam, only with Bucky and you needed to demonstrate it to him. You glanced at the pilot unzipping his pants to pull them down along his boxers, letting his painful erection spring free to his abdomen still covered by the white shirt he was wearing. Your right hand gripped his sensitive skin, licking your lips at the sight, pumping his glorious dick slowly, as Sam made you walk backward to the immaculately done bed. He sat first, not being in need of telling you what you had to do next.

He watched you pull down by your thighs your black thong till it was thrown on the floor, before heading to his lap and sitting on it. Sam's cock was thick and long, pretty similar to Bucky's, so you knew it will cost you a second to fit your clenching and abused cunt around him, but you were too anxious for being fucked by him that you didn't care. You practically bounced on Sam, ramming his hardness into you beyond your limits. He was fast enough to make you drown the loud cry out in his mouth, crashing his lips on yours.

He filled you completely, gripping his hands in your hips slightly painful to urge you to move, to dance your body. And you did it with nothing but whines and gasps.

“You're so… tight, baby girl”. Sam grunted rolling his eyes white. “Oh, fuck…”

You still couldn't believe what was happening between those four walls. You were impaling your cunt once and once, with any mercy, using your boyfriend's best friend's dick. And you liked it. You loved it. Sam was making you feel really good. Not the same way Bucky used to do, but enough to put you to beg him for letting you cum. You needed it, and you wanted him to flood your guts too.

“Ple— Please… Please”. You cried hiding your face into the crook of his neck, feeling the tears of pure desperation run down your cheeks.

“C'mon, my sweet girl… cream my dick…” He whispered with such a honeyed tone, almost hurting you by the way he had to nail tighter his fingertips in your buttocks. Painfully pleasurable.

You couldn't contain the orgasm anymore at his petition, looking for his mouth to invade yours again by using his tongue to drown the delighted scream he caused on you, while the ecstasy hit your body wildly. But Sam didn't stop from forcing you to keep jumping onto his twitching cock, pushing you down strongly and feeling him almost touching your stomach when his seed was spilled inside your clenching and glad abused pussy.

“For the fuc— fucking love of… God”. He roared in a broken tone of voice.

Your thighs were quivering at both sides of his legs, your lungs were emptied and your mind went completely blank.

Once you made sure to look like anything happened, you left the room before Sam —ashamed but satisfied—. Trying to walk normally, as your legs were still feeling weak, you looked for your boyfriend where he told you where he was going to be waiting for you. In the desolate kitchen. You glanced at Bucky sipping a glass of whisky, suddenly fading away your embarrassment and your insecurities with a smirk towards you, stretching his cold hand to hold yours and push you to his warm body.

“Did Sam fuck you good, uh?” He wanted to know humming, gently caressing your swollen and somewhat darker lips with his iron thumb. You nodded in silence, stealing the glass from his other hand to drink it in just one gulp.

“Can yo… Can you take me home?” You murmured in a plea, almost pouting at him.

“Hey, hey… Listen”. His tone changed in the blink of an eye from seduction to concern, placing his index finger under your chin. “You don' have to demonstrate me anythin'… God… I've never in my life felt so damn turned on than tonight… Watching you being fucked by Sam while you were looking at me…”

“You… You didn't leave bec—”.

Bucky interrupted you by freeing your hand from the glass, wrapping his left around your throat, and nailing the other in the center of your ass, directing his middle finger to that tight unexplored hole under your dress.

“I wan'to repeat, doll”. He purred in your ear, causing you to gasp against his by the pressure in your entrance. “I wan' Sam and I to fuck you at once… I wan' you to suck my dick —your dick— as he eats your sweet, little pussy… Fuck… Fuck, I'm hard only by imagining it, doll”.

“Buck…” You sobbed tightening your fingers in his shoulders. “Take me home… I beg you… Please”.

a / n: i'm thinking about turning this into a polyamorous relationship, and therefore into a series. what do you think?

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and support writers with a REBLOG!!! 🤍

tag list: @whatrambles @phoenixhalliwell @homesicam @marvel-diaries @amelia-song-pond @heartbeats-wildly @met4no1a @weenersoldierr @petlaufeyson @sillygamingartghost @wildflowergubler @isnt-it-loverly @zealouspursecowboydeputy @rvgrsbrns @artisancowbells @plagooey @tinylumpiaa @hemsbucky @bxmaaa @quxxnxfhxll @soldierstucky @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul @hateinthemorning @asemistablehundredyearoldman @purpleelfwizard @twinerd14 @nikkixostan @stolenxkissess @wintersfilm @whoreforsamwilson @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm @baconmuffins1216 @28cnn @hxlyhoax @lieswithoutfairytales @angrybirdxx @clownerlyluv @kait-is-always-late @marvel-ousnesss @natashadeservedbetter @ebxny27 @fanofalltheficsx @spider-man-lover @masterlists101 @lewd-alien @warm-sensations @stealapizzamyheart @talk-on-the-street @theresnoplatypus

#bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader x sam wilson #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x you #bucky barnes smut #sam wilson smut #sam wilson fanfiction

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actualbird · 2 years

Text

luke drives a motorbike in canon and it's a crime we havent seen it yet but also i cant decide which among these two motorbikes i want him to have most

wc: 1k

at the end of main story 2 when mc is escaping from the many media people tryna talk to her after her first big High Profile case, luke swoops in on a motorcycle, tosses mc a helmet, and whisks her off to safety

main story 2. thats so early in canon we were given the info that luke drives a motorbike

and we

have not

SEEN IT

frankly i dont think thats fair cuz //gestures at artem and vyn and marius. artem really likes driving and hes got two illustrations already of him driving fast (SSR Entwined Fate, SSR Wandering heart). vyn likes horseback riding and hes got SR Gentleman's Game with polo as a premise along with all card evolution images wheres hes riding the horse. AND while i dont have this card, marius in SR A Dance In The Clouds has him in the first evolution image as behind the "wheel" of an AIRCRAFT HE KNOWS HOW TO PILOT

(sidenote: marius, youre 21 years old. recently for work ive had to research aviation schools n timelines and. it takes many years. how the FUCK did marius von hagen have the time in his busy busy short life to get a pilot's license. what. how. it's hilarious but also HOW)

POINT IS, all the boys have been shown driving a vehicle (horse counts as a vehicle) of their specialty

except

LUKE!!!

PEARCE!!!!!!!

thats why this is a crime but i'll move on now, just had to get that off my chest

before i go into this i gotta tell ya, i know nothing about motorbike or motorcyle stats. i dont even know the difference between those two terms so i dont know what constitutes as a Good Motorbike. im going off of vibes

and one vibe from luke that both these options go into is his love for old stuff and antiques. stellis in the year 2030 has shown vehicles being slightly more futuristic (see: interior of car where theres no recognizable steering wheel, drives me NUTS) than what weve got now. but i dont think luke would go for an advanced looking model, i think he'd be drawn to more old style models liiike

option 1: classic harley davidson

my reasons for this are the following

it's old school so it fits with luke's affinity for things styled in the sensibility of past eras and also it's COOL. IT'S A COOL GUY MOTORCYLE. and i hate to admit this cuz it infuriates me sometimes, but luke is a cool person

i dont have to enumerate his coolness just //gestures to his long grocery list of skills that are cool and also dashingly masculine

the masculinity is also a factor bc while luke isnt tryna be Manly Man or anything (imo none of the boys are, thankfully) and is shown to not a give a shit about what ppl past his circle of loved ones think of him so yes he will spend a whole afternoon enraptured by a stray cat, his skills r still pretty skewed to societally seen Dude Activities. buncha sports, being the most physically strong person in stellis maybe, shooting, THE LIST GOES ON. so it wouldnt be outta place for luke to gravitate to whats societally seen as a Dude Motorcycle

so this fits imo and my last justification is the simple self indulgence: luke would look so frigging hot driving something like this. and im a simple luke stan, ok

show me luke pearce being hot on a cool guy motorcycle

option 2: a vespa

HUGE SWERVE IN VIBES I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT

for all that luke pearce is Cool (infuriating) he is also DORK (AFFECTIONATE, LOVINGLY, I AM LOOKING INTO HIS EYES WITH HEARTS IN MY OWN EYES)

the catalog of his dorktitude is as endless as his grocery list of coolness. a tinker and inventor, collector and enthusiast of antiques, was apparently so smart he went off to a top university at 16 yrs old which was earlier for everybody else in his age bracket, viddy games, and on and on and on. hes a nerd and it is delightful because enthusiasm is always so beautiful but im especially happy to see enthusiasm in things that arent always seen as "cool"

delightful but not "cool" is, i think, the unofficial tagline for a vespa

it's a WONDERFUL MOTORCYCLE. classic as well so it fits with what i mentioned earlier. and also it's reminiscent of movies where characters drive through quieter provinces and theres no action in the movie at all, the film is more focused on this vibe of like, enjoying the sunlight and grass and stuff

//points at luke pearce. for all that hes a literal action hero, he shines so brightly in moments where he enjoys the little things in life. the vespa, in my humble opinion, is the perfect motorbike to do this with

also he'd just look so cute driving it. //puts my face into my hands

in conclusion

im torn. i cannot decide. i want luke pearce cutting through stellis traffic on a harley davidson looking like the coolest person in the entire city. but i also want luke pearce stuck in stellis traffic on a vespa and everybody who sees him---sunshine boy on a sunshine motorcycle---finds a smile pulling at their lips

maybe he could have both? maybe theres garage space somewhere in that building he owns? why must i choose?

oh also, whatever motorcycle luke has, hes deffo modded to be Better, to be Optimized

so no matter what, there will be scenes where luke is doing infuriatingly attractive mechanic stuff. yknow, with the towel over shoulder, tank top outfit, expression of deep concentration and when mc calls out for him and shakes him outta The Zone he turns to her hes got a streak of grease on his face he didnt notice and mc will HAVE to come over and wipe it off and feel extremely flustered doing so

im not sure i made a point in this whole post. mhy, i want to see his motorcycle please

#tears of themis #luke pearce #tot luke #tears of themis headcanons #xia yan

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

I’ll just leave it at I love you

Summary: In which Hotch and the reader are holed up in a safe house to avoid a killer set on destroying the BAU. A tale of smut, because what else happens when two consenting adults are fighting their feelings, then get stuck in a house together?

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, female reader, domHotch, PIV, virginReader, oral sex, mildly rough, language. WC-3500

A/N: I have crushes on fictional men and I'm not afraid to take that energy and create shit like this for the hell of it! Edited but feedback appreciated.

Hotch was restless, his shower had done nothing to help him relax. He stood in the kitchen, staring into the fridge as if it would give him the answers he needed. He wished he could go for a run, let off some steam. His pent-up energy, this cottage, (Y/N) being so close-it was all too much. The lines of professionalism were bound to blur, but he felt as if they were so far gone in the dust, he couldn’t see them anymore, not in his mind.

Their argument that afternoon had been like a match being lit within a gas station. It had heated up too quickly and then burned away, leaving them both feeling angry and dejected. And she had been right that Hotch was being overprotective, but it didn’t mean the problem would go away, and to just let her go back to DC would only end up in her being hurt, or worse.

He wanted this purgatory to end just as much as (Y/N) did. He longed to be back with his son. And with the team, solving cases. But none of them could do that until the killer was found, and Hotch had no control outside of this cottage.

As thoughts of his control, or the lack thereof, came to mind, he slammed the fridge shut in frustration and sighed. (Y/N) had been challenging him since the moment they set foot in this place, which he could understand. There was no one else, and therefore she took out her anger and fear on him.

He could handle that, he had thought at first.

When she yelled that she should leave, go home, and then offered to be the bait to lure the killer out, Hotch had felt something inside of him snap. The final tethers of his patience and sanity disintegrating. The team were in this together, all making sacrifices to protect (Y/N) because she had been the one receiving the death threats and mysterious packages. She had been the one whose photos were displayed on the walls of the crime scene in DC, a clear message-(Y/N) was the target.

So why was she so determined to leave and put herself in danger?

He was leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the edges. The sound of her soft footsteps approaching alerted him to her presence. Hotch opened his eyes, meeting hers directly. She was standing next to the island, biting her lip and looking at him with dark eyes, her arms wrapped around her middle protectively. She still looked angry. Hotch just stared back at her and waited for her to speak.

“I...” She frowned, “I’m not apologizing.” (Y/N) said stubbornly, making him tense, furious. But he refused to respond, he simply glared at her. He was not going to fight again now, it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

But she stepped into the kitchen further, looking determined.

“You should let me go right now, let me go and lure him out and end this, please.” She looked so hopelessly desperate as she spoke. Hotch shook his head, gripping the counter more fiercely.

“You know I can’t let you leave, just as much as I can’t leave.”

(Y/N) scoffed at his words, pointing toward the front door, “If I decide to walk out that door right now, you can’t stop me, Hotch!” Her eyes flashed dangerously until Hotch stepped away from the counter, standing at his full height. He saw something behind the anger shift, a modicum of fear.

He kept his voice steady, low, “You are not leaving. End of discussion.” She watched him speak, her face twisting further in anger. She turned, abruptly, toward the front door, blind rage overtaking her sensibility, and she moved toward it.

She was in a sweater and jeans, and she walked toward the front door like she was in full combat gear, ready to take on the world. But Hotch was quicker, he reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her first toward him, and then into the wall behind them. He wasn’t harsh, careful not to hurt her in any way, but her furious yell made clear that she was not impressed. “For fucks sake, Hotch!”

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), when did you become such a little fucking brat?” He spat, holding her against the wall, he stepped closer, looking down into her eyes, “When did you decide that it was you against the world? I’m right here trying to protect you!”

She stopped struggling and looked at him with wide eyes, “That’s why I want to leave, Hotch! Being cooped up here, knowing you aren’t safe-knowing you’re sacrificing everything for me, I can’t do this to you anymore, I can’t accept this kind of help.” She was breathless, tears burning at her eyes that she refused to let fall, arms pinned to her sides.

He shook his head, sighing, “How can I possibly make clear to you that I am okay with this, that I-I need to be the one to protect you, (Y/N)?” Hotch gripped her arms tighter, still standing so, so close.

“Why? What does that mean, that you need to?” She gazed up at him now, her wide eyes revealing her anger was disappearing, despite her frustrations. “Aaron?”

At the sound of his name, Hotch felt his anger dissolving into something much more powerful. His willpower shattered, and he dipped his head-surprised to find her expression was not of anger or fear now, but anticipation. When he captured her lips with his own, her reaction was instantaneous, her head lifting from the wall to deepen the kiss.

It was bliss, pure bliss.

Hotch slid his hands from her arms, gently cradling her head. He ran his tongue across her lips, and they opened for him, allowing him to taste her. He groaned as she slipped her hands up, gripping his shirt to pull their bodies together.

After a moment, he pulled his head back, panting, “I love you, that’s why. I love you more than I should, and I have for a while now. I think I’ve loved you since we first met, and every day I fall all over again when I see you, or learn something new, and I am never going to let you walk out of a door without me by your side if it means keeping you safe, because I’ve just found you and I never want to lose you, (Y/N).” The words rushed out of him, finally free, his shoulders lighter already.

“I thought it was just me.” She was looking at him in adoration now, tears falling, “I thought, a man like you...never, not for me, look but don’t hope.” She sniffled, and he wiped away her tears with his thumbs, kissing her forehead. “Aaron, I love you too.” At her words he brought their lips crashing together again, holding nothing back now.

He pressed (Y/N) into the wall, delighted at her gasp when she felt him hard against her stomach. He trailed his hands down, to her hips, behind her thighs. He had to stoop slightly, she was so short, and he scooped her up. Her heat made contact with him and they both groaned at the sensation before Hotch hastily carried her the few steps into the bedroom. Hotch laid (Y/N) down on the bed carefully, one hand sliding protectively behind her head. She kept her legs around him, holding him close and taking on his weight.

For a few minutes, they continued kissing, until Hotch broke away to begin exploring her body. Shifting his weight and kneeling, his hands travelled down, gently. She moaned softly, then whimpered when his hand traced over her breast, her nipple hard within her thin sweatshirt. Hotch sat up, pulling her with him so that he could pull the sweater over her head. She complied without hesitation, seeming to consent to his control.

But he was a gentleman, “Just tell me if you want to stop, okay, (Y/N)?” He breathed, pausing as he reached for her beautiful, bare breasts. She nodded, but Hotch needed to hear her say it, and she read that in his expression.

“I promise, Hotch.” She gasped out, writhing in anticipation. He began kneading her breasts, only to find she was sensitive here-his fingers brushing over her nipples caused her to jerk slightly, moans unending. He gently eased her back to lay again, before pulling his shirt off.

Momentarily, he became self-conscious of the scars scattered across his torso, now exposed. (Y/N) reached up, tracing one with her finger, “You’re perfect, Aaron.” Worry ceased at her words, his heart swelling. In response, he ducked his head and brought his mouth to her chest, his tongue flicking over her nipple. She reacted instantly, her back arching and a hand gripping his hair, encouraging him.

He took his time teasing her, moving between each breast, he ignored her hips seeking friction against him. For as long as he could stand.

A whimper escaped her lips, so full of longing it had Hotch glance up, meeting her eyes. Her pupils were blown out, desire flushing her face, lips trembling, “Hotch...”. He shifted again, this time slipping his thumbs into her waistband, tugging. She lifted her hips to help, and he swiftly removed her pants and underwear in one swoop, tossing them on the floor.

Automatically and instinctively, her legs closed. Hotch caught her left leg, pushing his hand down her inner thigh. She writhed beneath him, but her leg stiffened, and he looked at her closely, “What’s the matter, baby girl?” He whispered, concerned.

She peered up at him, looking shy, “I...I’ve never been able to cum that way, and I know men don’t really like to, you know, so you don’t have to.” Hotch gazed at her in surprise.

“Is that what you think? I don’t want to taste you?” He held her gaze, but moved his hand down, sliding a finger across her heat. Her hips bucked, “I’m going to taste you cum in my mouth, sweetheart. I’ll show you just how much I’ve been wanting this, okay?” She nodded eagerly, her breathing erratic, legs relaxing slightly.

Hotch pushed himself down the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders, finally coming face to face with her; she was glistening for him. He groaned. “Sweetheart, you’re so wet for me already.” She merely mewled in response as his fingers explored her folds. She was well-groomed, her hair trimmed fairly short, giving him a full few of her; his mouth watered.

The moment Hotch felt her legs relax on his shoulders, becoming more comfortable with his face being so close to her, he dove in. He quickly moved his hands to grip her hips, holding her in place as he began to lick up her slit, then press his tongue into her clit. She bucked and writhed, fighting against his grip to no avail.

“Oh god, oh god, Aaron, please, please...”

He smiled against her, pulling back slightly, “Please what, baby girl? What do you need?” He licked her again, and she cried out, lifting her head to look down at him. She tasted divine, which only drove him to lick and suck more, waiting for her to respond.

It took her a few minutes to form words as his assault on her clit continued, “Need...I think I might...uh, cum, Aaron.” She groaned his name, and he laughed against her, which sent vibrations deep into her. He kept up his pace, felt her tensing more, shivering beneath him.

“Cum baby girl, let go for me.” He ordered, and it was like she’d been waiting for his permission. Her back arched up and he felt her throb against his tongue, a soft cry escaped her lips. She jerked in her orgasm, over and over. He sucked lightly on her and she trembled in response, tears spilling out of her eyes before she fell back into the bed, coming down from her high.

“Oh god, oh,” She breathed, and Aaron backed off, sliding up the bed to lay next to her. He watched her catch her breath, revelling in her blissed-out expression, her red cheeks. He waited a few moments, letting her come down. “I’ve never, ever had an orgasm like that, Christ.”

Hotch laughed, leaning over her and planting gentle kisses along her hairline, her eyes, the tip of her nose, “We can stop here if you want to.” He suggested, but of course, Aaron had forgotten her age. 25 years old, in good shape-orgasm or not, she wasn’t done yet. Her eyes flew open and met his, pupils fully dilated still.

“I want to keep going, but I have to tell you something first,” (Y/N) stayed laying, but drew her legs together, “And if you decide you think we should stop, then I fully accept that.”

He tilted his head, eyes exploring her worried expression, “What is it, sweetheart?” His hand had been roaming absentmindedly, but he stopped at her hip. He gazed down at her, brows furrowed.

She seemed to steel herself, taking a deep breath.

“I’ve, never-you know, had sex,” Seeing his shocked expression, she began to ramble, “It just never happened, with anyone I dated when I was younger, and it got to the point where it was an afterthought, especially after I bought an expensive vibrator, and I know that it’s weird or, whatever, to be 25 and this inexperienced, but-“

“(Y/N),” He cut her off, stroking her cheek gently, “Thank you for telling me. But it doesn’t change my mind, about anything. I would understand if this was far enough, for now, truly, so just tell me what you want.” He hoped he could spend the rest of his life making her feel better, happy, loved. They didn’t need to continue if she wasn’t ready.

“Hotch, I...I want you, I always have,” She shifted slightly, and he watched her breathing pick up in anticipation, “I’ve thought about it, so many times...when I shouldn’t have, especially.”

His interest was piqued. Hotch rolled over her, bracing his weight on his arm, pressing his erection against her, his pants still on, “Really? Tell me.” He said, noting how she flushed any time he ordered her to do something.

“The first time I thought about it, was back at headquarters after the first case we worked when you came back to work. You were in your office and I dropped off everyone’s reports,” Hotch remembered this evening, as he’d been surprised to find the newest team member picking up the slack and finalizing everyone’s notes for submission, “You had taken off your tie, and you’d been so good to me in the field, so kind. But when I knocked on the door you were deep in thought and at first, you glared at me and I thought ‘how much would I give to climb up on that desk and get rid of that frown’.”

Hotch hissed at her words, grounding against her harshly, “You wanted me that soon?” (Y/N) nodded, a breathy moan escaping.

“After that, I thought about you too often. I had to use my vibrator the moment I got home, every day. I had to bring it on the road, even. I wanted you to take me, everywhere, anywhere, as much as you wanted.” Hotch groaned, pushed her down and sat back, swiftly removing his pants and briefs. (Y/N)’s head popped up and looked at his erection, her eyes widening in shock, instantly licking her lips. “Holy shit, Hotch...” He laughed at her words.

“I’ve been wishing I could bend you over my desk for months now, but I had no idea you hadn’t ever done this before. I want to see your face, baby girl.” Something in his voice caused her eyes to widen, further. He lowered himself, reaching down with one hand to push his length along her folds, wetting it in her juices.”Oh fuck, you’re so ready for me baby girl, tell me you want this.”

She knew he needed to hear her give permission again, and she gave it instantly, “Please Aaron, please I need you, ple-oh!” She gasped as he pushed into her, hard. Stiffening, a low groan broke free, her eyes shut tightly. He buried himself completely inside of her before freezing, waiting for her pain to subside. Pleasure rippled through Hotch.

Hotch kissed her gently as she whimpered in pain, “You did so good, sweetheart, it’ll be okay in a minute, just breath for me,” He whispered, stroking her hair back, watching her face closely. For a few moments, her eyes stayed shut, screwed up against the sensation, and he gave her credit for taking her time to adjust. He knew he was larger than average, and she was so tight around him. He had to keep still for both her sake and his own, fearing her tightness alone would send him over the edge-he wanted to take his time and make her feel...everything.

He felt when her body had adjusted, the tension in her lower body relaxing, her eyes beginning to open. He tested the waters, moving his hips back slightly, and then sinking into her again. He groaned, watching as her face lit up at his movements; so he repeated them, moving further back this time.

“Oh fuck, Aaron!” That was all he needed to hear. He moved over her, bracing his arms on the bed on either side of her head, his hands near her face, and began to thrust quickly, long strokes that brought stars to his vision. And she was loud beneath him, one hand on his chest, the other gripping his shoulder, screaming his name. He pounded into her, groaning, and he buried his face in her neck, biting gently, which only elicited further shouts, her hips bucking slightly to meet his movements.

“Oh baby girl, you are taking me so well, fuck,” He bit her neck again, and she jerked in response, her walls squeezing him. “Such a good girl for me, such a good girl.”

“Sir, please, please don’t stop.” She whimpered, and Hotch’s eyes flew open in surprise, her words sending a shiver down his body.

He stared down at (Y/N), who seemed surprised at herself, but a small smirk quirked her lips, and he growled, a hand sliding behind her head and gripping her hair, the other grabbing her jaw, gentle but firm. “Say that again.” He kept his pace, pleasure building.

“Uh, sir, fuck me, please sir!” (Y/N) was a writhing mess beneath him, loving his reaction, his dominance, her eyes watching him in delight. She arched slightly as his thrusts became almost brutal, and began to call his name over and over, unable to stop.

Hotch leaned down and bit her neck again, leaving another mark, and she began to tremble beneath him, words escaping her when his thrusts bottomed out, hitting her deep, eyes-rolling. He kissed her, but she was so blissed out it barely registered, which only made him happier. “Fuck...Good, baby girl, so good...cum for me again okay? You can cum for me now, fuck!”

On his last word, he gave an almighty thrust and she screamed, her hands clutching his shoulders as the wave broke over her, her body tensing, squeezing him, and then, “Aaron!” It was his undoing and he came with her, spilling himself inside her as he moaned her name. He brought his head down and kissed her breasts, jerking wildly into her, his thrusts sloppy. Her body relaxed as she came down from her high.

“Oh sweetheart,” He breathed, slowly easing out of her, before collapsing on the bed beside her. He pulled her to him, and she obliged, rolling over and resting her head on his chest, while they both remained silent, catching their breath. “You did so well, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head.

“That was-I mean,” (Y/N) stammered, struggling to find words. Inwardly, Hotch smirked, happy to know he’d rendered her somewhat speechless. “I think I’ll just leave it at I love you.” She began to giggle, gazing up at him.

Hotch joined her, months of tension and longing now gone, and in its place a happy new beginning. They still had forces outside of their cozy little hideaway that worked against them, but for the time being, he and (Y/N) could simply enjoy the clear air between them.

The rest of the world could wait.

“I love you, too, (Y/N)”

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#reader insert #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner x y/n #hotchner x you #hotch smut #hotch x y/n #smut #angst #fluff #bau x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #Aaron Hotchner #fanfic #love

486 notes · View notes

h2bakugou · 4 years

Note

Idk if you do these kind of requests or not, but Amajiki, Tomura, Chisaki and Kacchan and their gf who’s on her period and she’s feeling low and just not herself???

a/n: i do hun! i did a similar period hc but this is different and i haven’t done these characters so here ya go love!

headcanon: them with a s/o who’s not feeling good on their period

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

»»————-　★　————-««

tamaki amajiki

»»————-　★　————-««

Tamaki is a sweetheart. He is there for you and will hold you until you feel better.

He’s a little shy but he really cares about you, and when it comes to the people he cares and loves, this boy will go to the ends of the Earth for you.

Soft kisses on your cheek or forehead.

Holds you in his arms while you play with his hair or snuggle into his neck.

When you’re not feeling your best, Tamaki is there to reassure you. Granted he struggles too, he hates seeing you like this.

“Bunny, you’re amazing, please don’t say such awful things about yourself.”

His indigo eyes are full of love and meaning, and you can clearly tell that he wants to say more, but will leave it at that for now.

Knowing that Tamaki has his own struggles with things like that, it really means a lot to hear him say that to you.

Tamaki knows how to take care of you and will probably not leave your side unless you need him too, or want some space.

Sleeping with Tamaki is one of the purest forms of love honestly. He’s holding you close while still allowing you to move if you ever get uncomfortable. His fingers delicately trace shapes and words out on your skin as your snoring softly beside him.

It’s nothing weird or funny, he’s not trying to pull any stunts, it’s just the two of you, sleeping, or worn-out and resting.

It’s him loving you and making sure that you’re feeling okay.

It’s him reassuring you that you are precious and that bad days happen and there’s not much you can do but let them pass.

love this soft boy !!

»»————-　★　————-««

tomura shigaraki

»»————-　★　————-««

As much as I am a Shigaraki stan, I feel like this man’s first reaction would be disgust.

“What is coming from where?”

“It’s called menstruation-”

But on a real note, he probably never had a proper sex education class, and everything he learned about anatomy and stuff was either picked up from someone else, or learnt about from a game or movie.

Onto the headcanon stuff, overall I feel like once he comes to terms with what’s happening, he’s protective and caring.

Doesn’t like when the members of his league, let alone the people closet to him in both platonic and romantic ways, get hurt.

So seeing you in almost constant discomfort and pain is agonizing to watch.

By your side most of the time unless you want him to leave you alone, which is a struggle because he is persistent and bratty in the best ways.

‘I’m not leaving you-”

“Tomura, I just want some space.”

“Shut up and let me hold you.”

He takes your huff as a sign of agreement, but eventually it’s those same arms that you wanted gone, the arms you’d fallen asleep in.

Tomura probably acts like he’s the one on the period.

He’s ordering Dabi, Kurogiri, or anyone else who steps into view to get things for you so he can watch you 24/7.

Okay but as annoying loving as Tomura is, I could also see him getting frustrated with you.

“You clearly don’t feel good so just lay down and get some rest!”

“But I don’t want to!” You’re pacing around the room you share with Tomura while he stands by the door.

“Lay down.” Tomura orders.

“Make me.”

It’s a simple phrase that comes with varying consequences, this time, it’s being slung over his shoulder and tossed onto the bed, force down by him just laying on top of you like a human blanket.

“T-Tomura! That hurts!” You breathe out.

Eventually rolls off of you and just holds you close, getting some much needed rest.

Hates seeing you look down on yourself during this time because he truly loves you. He’s learned to love because of you.

“You’re the only idiot I tolerate in this shit hole. You’re fine the way you are.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

Maybe he isn’t the best with words, but his actions, aka the hoards of hugs and kisses, are what show you he cares.

In the nicest way possible, he is the epitome of “alright babe i’m in the pad isle, what size pussy do u wear?” but he’S LEARNING

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Katsuki Bakugou is probably one of the most sensible guys to help you when you’re on your period.

He’s going to be there for you, bring you snacks if you need them, provide warmth and cuddles when it’s time to sleep or if you have cramps, but he also isn’t going to put up with you if you get grumpy.

He knows that that kind of stuff tends to happen, and he doesn’t want to make it worse by angering you more. He’s struggled with restraint, but when it comes to you, it’s both easy and challenging.

He wants to be there for you, but he knows you might need your space.

When he sees you talking down about yourself or feeling low, this man is going to beat the shit out of you verbally. He’s showing you love and affection by yelling at you. All kind words of course.

“You’re fucking beautiful! And you’re not worthless!”

“Suki, it’s one am-”

“But you’re mumbling about how you aren’t good enough and that’s bullshit.”

“Alright alright, I get it, I’ll stop.” You say softly, closing your eyes while trying to fall back asleep beside your loud boyfriend.

“Yeah you better or I’ll have to kiss you, dumbass.”

“Kissing me is a punishment?”

“You know what I meant!”

He’s flustered

Holds you close when you can’t get comfy.

Kisses you a fuckton oh my god.

Kisses you when you say bad things about yourself, kisses you to show he loves you, kisses you when you’re kinda grumpy, kisses you when you’re not mad, you get the idea.

He just wants to see you smile, and kissing you is one of those ways that makes you flustered and makes you smile that goofy smile that Bakugou fell in love with.

I mentioned this in another headcanon, but this man’s hands are period cramp relievers- place those bad boys over the pain and relax.

They’re warm, and big, and it’s also cozy and securing laying in his arms.

The best way to lay on Bakugou is to get up under his sweater and tuck yourself onto his chest, placing his hands over your sides and dozing off.

He’ll steal a few kisses, and probably take a cheesy selfie to set as his lockscreen later, but he’s not far behind you in the sleeping department.

Genuinely doesn’t see how you don’t see yourself like a goddess. But nonetheless, he will never stop complimenting you and reassuring you.

He loves you so much, and he’ll be damned if you see yourself as anything less than what you are, and that’s truly amazing.

»»————-　★　————-««

kai chisaki

»»————-　★　————-««

This man is smart, arrogant, and driven, but sometimes he can be a bit of an asshole.

Will obviously be at your side if you need anything, after all, you are his top priority.

This could go a few ways. If he’s comfortable with you, and overcoming his mysophobia, he’ll do everything he can and is comfortable with to make sure you’re okay.

If he’s still struggling with germs, he may not be physically affectionate, but he’ll do his best.

I feel like Chisaki probably shows his love through gifts, or at least to an extent he’ll try to show his love with presents.

But when he comes to terms with his feelings, he’s a man of words. He’ll say how he feels before he shows it. And it’s hard because actions do speak louder than words. And sometimes not being able to kiss or hug Chisaki is hard.

But his reassuring really hits different. Because Chisaki isn’t one for affection. He runs a gang, or a section of a larger gang. He didn’t have time for relationships before he met you, and he probably could’ve gone years before he ‘settled down’ if he hadn’t met you.

So hearing Chisaki tell you that he loves you and that you are not disgusting or pathetic, you know it means something.

You’re fully tended to when it comes to things like snacks, drinks, hygiene products, it’s all taken care for and Chisaki wouldn’t have it any other way.

He is here to take care of you unless he’s told otherwise. If it’s space you want, he’ll give it to you, but not before he knows you’re completely okay and that you won’t need anything while you want space.

If he’s comfortable with getting physical, his hugs are sweet. Just being held by him is a blessing. His kisses are even better. It’s always a private thing, he’s not just going to whip his mask off and kiss you in the middle of the hallway, despite how much he’d want too.

Chisaki works and he works hard. So it wouldn’t be rare if he only ever cared for you at night/during the morning. Of course he’ll spend time with you during lunch or if he’s got a break, but he can’t spend every minute of the day with you.

But I think not seeing him constantly is what makes spending time with him that much better.

You’ve got something to look forward too, as does he. He enjoys coming back from a long day, to take a nice shower and climb into bed with his favorite person and hold you until you both fall asleep.

Kisses you on your shoulder, neck and cheek the most. Hugs you from behind and cuddles you by wrapping his arm over your side, having your back pressed to him.

He genuinely hates seeing you talk down about yourself, but he’s not going to constantly remind you that you’re gorgeous and nothing is wrong with you.

It’s hard to love yourself, but he knows deep down that you’re special and you’ll realize it sooner or later.

Overall, Chisaki is a pretty sweet guy, but he’s resilient and reserved. He knows what he wants, and he’ll do anything in his power to make you feel better.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

1K notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Leave No One Behind

Ch 13- We Don’t Get Along

Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Summary: The team undertake another mission, only this one doesn’t go according to plan putting the entire team in danger and Ari is left facing the fact that he might have pushed both Hannah and Sammy too far this time…

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairings: Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

A/N: Man it feels so GOOD to get back to this fic! We’re ramping up to the climax of the film now guys, so buckle up!

Leave No One Behind Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 12 Part 2

A love like ours is love that's hard to find. How could we let it slip away? We've come too far to leave it all behind. How could we end it all this way? When tomorrow comes and we'll both regret, the things we said today.

“Ari?”

Ari turned from where he had been helping someone across the sand to see a Navy Seal heading up the shore towards him.

“Yeah?”

“Here, this is for you.” The man handed him an envelope and Ari frowned. It wasn’t unusual for the Navy to sometimes bring messages and the like from home, especially as recently the stricter rules had meant that mail into Sudan from certain countries (Israel included) was being closely monitored, but still, he’d had a letter from Maya little over a week or so ago and wasn’t expecting another so soon.

“It's from your wife.” The seal continued, noting Ari’s hesitation and Ari reached out for the item in the man’s hand, glancing down at it.

“Thanks.” He folded the envelope and stuck it into his inside jacket pocket before he glanced up to see Hannah watching him, a confused expression on her face having clearly overheard the man refer to Sarah as his wife, which in fairness she still was as they weren’t divorced yet. But as he locked eyes with her, he saw the confusion slide into, well, hurt would be the most appropriate thing to describe it as and Ari, despite everything that was going on, let out a little groan. He hadn’t bothered to correct the man about Sarah and him being estranged because it wasn’t important all things considered.

Thankfully, Hannah shook herself out of her little moment and turned back to the task in hand which Ari was grateful for. This wasn’t the time or the place and he knew that Hannah would understand that. There were far more pressing things to deal with.

And those things got even more pressing when Max’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Guys, we have company.”

Ari froze, the radio in his hand as he hastily glanced around. “Say again?”

“We have company.”

Ari wheeled round and frantically began gesturing at the group of people on the shore line. “Go, go, go!” he urged, walking along the wet sand, his hand running through his hair as he looked up and over the beach. “What kind of company?” He asked, his voice urgent.

But the only response that came was Max cursing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Military jeeps approaching from the North!” Max’s voice was clear but Ari could tell he was panicked “I see three, four jeeps.”

“Fuck!” Ari yelled, turning and gesturing to another Navy seal “Go, go, go, get on the Waverly!”

“Ari, what-” Hannah looked at him but before she could finish her sentence the sound of gunfire exploded across the night, sand scattering into the air as the bullets hit the beach all around them. Hannah gave a scream and ducked as Ari instinctively pulled her in front of him, placing himself between the oncoming fire and her.

“Sammy!” She yelled, looking around and Ari raised his head to check if everyone was alright. Jake was hurriedly shepherding a group onto one of the boats, helping push it out into the ocean, Sammy dodging around everyone trying to stop the panicking refugees from running away up the beach.

And then, one of the Navy seals gave a shout and dropped not far from where they were. Sammy paused and looked at the injured man, Hannah doing the same and they both ran towards him, keeping low.

Hannah was the first to reach him, and dropping to her knees she instinctively started to remove the man’s outer layer of clothing. “What's your name, soldier?” She asked, and when the man’s response was nothing more than a pained and panicked scream, she repeated her question a little more forcefully, trying to get him to stay conscious. “What's your name?”

“David.” He stuttered out, swallowing as he glanced up at her, his eyes wide with fright.

“David.” She nodded, her gaze not moving from his face as Sammy dropped to her side and immediately got to work, tearing off a sleeve from the man’s jacket and pressing it to the wound in his chest attempting to stem the blood. “Stay with us, okay?”

“You're gonna be all right.” Sammy nodded, before he looked up at Ari. “Get my bag, it's in the truck.”

“There’s no time!” Ari urged, ducking as another wave of bullets came flying their way. “We gotta get him to the Waverly.”

Sammy and Hannah exchanged a glance and Hannah took a deep breath.

“We’re sitting ducks out here, Sammy. His best chance is with the Navy medics.”

Sammy nodded and Ari grabbed one of the seals who had come running to help “Grab a leg!”

Ari and the Soldier lifted the wounded man, Sammy keeping his hand pressed over the wound in his chest as they made their way to the last waiting boat where they lay him down carefully with another seal.

“Hey, don't let go of this wound.” Sammy looked at the soldier who took over from him.

“Keep the pressure on even if your hand turns numb.” Hannah shouted over the noise, issuing instructions to the man in the boat. “You let go, he's dead!”

Hannah began to back away as Ari and Sammy gave the boat a shove, sending it over the beach before the three of them began to sprint up the beach, the bullets continued to fire into the air and sand around them. Ari shoved Hannah in front of him, yelling at her to keep low and not to stop, his heart pounding in out and out panic that she was going to get hit as they half ran, half stumbled to a cluster of rocks set a bit further up the beach, a little back from the shore line. Ari had no idea where Max or Jake had gone, he only hoped they’d found cover, but they were sensible guys, they knew the drill.

The three of them dropped into the shelter of the rocks, gunfire splintering shards off the boulders as they ducked, Hannah shrieking again as Ari once more twisted himself around her, one hand pushing her head down, the other curling around his own in a brace position.

“Dozen or so targets have been identified.” A Navy operative cracked on his radio. “Permission to engage.”

“No, do not engage!” Ari yelled back into his radio, desperate to try and keep control of the situation. “If you engage, it's all over. I'll handle it.”

“How?” Hannah screamed at him. “How the fuck are you going to handle this, Ari?”

Her eyes were wide with fright as he looked at her, swallowing slightly before he moved and took a quick look around at the approaching Sudanese Military.

“Do you trust me?” His chest heaved as he snapped his head back to look her in the eyes and she frowned.

“What? Yes, of course I do but-”

Before she could say anything else he grabbed her face, his large hands practically crushing her cheeks before he gave her a quick, furious peck on the lips and moved, tossing his radio onto the beach and covering it with sand.

“What are you doing?”

“Stay quiet and hidden.” He looked at her. “Once we’re gone, you find Max and Jake, and get back to the resort.”

“Ari, don’t you dare! I swear to fucking God if you leave-“

“Hannah for once in your life just shut up and do what I say!” He hissed at her, his face stern. At that he turned to Sammy “Follow my lead. “

“No, Ari-” Hannah began to protest but at that Ari stood up.

“Don't shoot, don't shoot!” He urged as he stepped out of the cover of the rocks.

“Sammy, please!” Hannah sobbed quietly as her brother dropped a soft kiss to her head.

“Do as he says, Han.” He urged before he too stood up and walked towards Ari, his hands held either side of his head.

“My name is Guy Thomas!” Hannah could hear Ari shouting. “From the Red Sea Diving Resort. We have tourists on night dive. What are you doing? Where's your commander?”

There was more shouting, and angry yelling and Hannah clamped her hand over her mouth, her body shaking uncontrollably as the tears poured down her face. She fought to keep the sobs from escaping her mouth, as she flattened herself back into the rocks as the shouting grew quieter and quieter. Eventually she heard the slamming of truck doors and the sound of engines as the vehicles tore away from the beach, and then there was nothing but the noise of the waves crashing against the shore.

Her chest felt tight and she was struggling to breathe, like her airway had been cut off. Scrunching her eyes closed, she hugged her knees closer to her body, waiting for the panic to subside as the world around her began to spin. She counted, reached down to the sand, feeling it between her fingers, cool against the heated skin on her clammy palms. Eventually, her chest released and she took in a painful gasp of air and opened her eyes, focussing on a spot of seaweed which lay to the left of the rock she was leaning against.

Hannah had no idea how long she was sat there, but eventually she gathered enough about her to take a cautious peek out from the rocks. She could see nothing, so she emerged at a crawl, staying low to the ground before she tentatively rose to her knees, then her feet, and began to scramble as best she could up the sand. A movement in her peripheral made her still but as her eyes focussed in the dim moonlight she recognised Jake’s loping gait. Then, another movement to the right had her focussing in that direction and she saw Max making his way towards Jake.

With a relieved sob she began to run towards them, stumbling a little as she sprinted as fast as she could towards the two men, just as Jake tackled Max to the floor. She continued running as Jake let go of Max having realised who he was and helped him to his feet, giving him a quick and urgent embrace. The two of them then spun in her direction and as she stumbled again, this time she couldn’t stop herself, and she felt her body pitching forward.

“Hey, I got you.” Max caught her under her armpits and pulled her to him as she pressed her face into his chest, her breathing ragged as she began to sob.

“Ari, Sammy, they took…they took…” She was hyperventilating again, the tears coursing down her face and Max pulled back a little, both his hands cupping her cheeks.

“We know.” He nodded. “They’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that!” She practically screamed and Jake hastily hushed her. “This, it’s like Andy again, Max! I can’t lose him! I can’t lose him, or Sammy, I can’t!”

“Cracker, I know this is hard, but you gotta be quiet.” Max’s hands curled around her upper arms as he stooped down a little so his face was level with hers. “We need to get out of here.”

Hannah took in a deep gulp of air, trying to control herself as she knew he was right.

“Let’s get home and find out what’s going on.” Jake added, his voice a little shaky.

“Yeah, okay.” She nodded, her voice wobbling. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for.” Max gently placed his hand on her neck in a sign of affection. “Come on.”

He offered her his hand and she took it, lacing her fingers into his and he gave a little encouraging squeeze. Taking a tentative step, she was pleased to find her legs cooperating, and with Jake walking on her other side, the three of them made their way quickly to the trucks.

“Dumb bastards left the keys.” Jake’s voice was shaky but relieved as he checked the ignition in one truck, Max inspecting the other before he gave a nod.

“Same here.” Max spoke. “Okay, we’ll take the off road route home. It’ll take us a little longer but we’ll avoid anyone who may or may not be waiting for us.”

Jake nodded, before he paused, and gave Max a quick embrace before he stooped to give Hannah a hug, noticing that she was shivering violently from a combination of fright and cold.

“Here.” he said gently, taking his jacket off and dropping it over her shoulder.

“Thanks Jake.” She mumbled, clutching it round her tightly, her fingers curling over the material, clinging to it as if her life depended on it.

“Any time, Red.” He smiled and she gave a little nod before she turned and made her way to the truck Max had checked.

As Jake made to walk away, Max grabbed his arm.

“You stop for nothing or no-one. If anything happens to one of us, the other keeps going.” He instructed, his voice low as he shot a glance over his shoulder to double check Hannah wasn’t in ear shot. “Fuck this leave no one behind bullshit.”

Jake nodded. “Keep going, yeah, got it.” He looked around before he sighed.” Ari and Sammy, man. They’re-”

“I know.” Max replied, his voice sombre as he cut Jake off. It didn’t need saying, he knew that they were in deep shit. “But if we don’t get back, then this situation is gonna be a whole lot worse.”

“Stay safe.” Jake nodded, and with a final quick embrace the two men headed to their respective trucks. Max hauled himself in to his and stole a quick glance at Hannah as she sat on the passenger seat, huddled in on herself, looking out of the window over the ocean. He took a deep breath, turned the key in the ignition and then set off, pulling away from the beach quickly, the wheels spinning slightly on the loose shale ground beneath the tyres.

****

"We're gonna get outta here. It's gonna be okay." Ari stated with fake conviction as he paced up and down the filthy jail cell he and Sammy had been thrown into.

Sammy didn't respond, he had fallen into an introspective state the moment the Sudanese soldiers had made them get in the jeep and was now sat on a rusted bench inspecting the blood on his hands. Ari was worried about him and he had given Sammy a side glance before assuring him everything would turn out right, hoping to get the man out of the dangerous headspace he seemed to be caught in, but Sammy didn't even spare him a look.

Then a guard walked past, the sound of a bunch of keys jingling and the clanking in another cell lock alerting Ari who turned hastily. "Hey, hey, excuse me." He called. "Excuse me. I need to talk to your commander. Hey!" Ari insisted but the guard totally ignored him, causing his despair as he resumed his pacing along the cell. "Fucking asshole."

"You're the asshole, Ari." Sammy spoke, his voice calm as his eyes remained fixed on the floor.

"What?" Ari stopped and turned to look at him.

"I told you to cancel tonight's operation, I told you. I told you." Sammy insisted, his tone still calm as he fiddled with his fingers.

"You don't get to make that call." Ari responded somewhat irritated as he approached the cell door again.

"No, I don't get to make that call, only you get to make that call."

"Is there something you wanna say?" Ari harshly asked.

"Why did you bring me down here?" Sammy lifted his head to look at Ari for the first time since they had arrived in the jail. "You act like we're best friends, but you never listen to a word I say. And I'm clearly not the best field doctor around anymore." He added as he raised his injured hand to punctuate his words. "Is it pity? Or was it just so you could get close to Hannah again?”

Ari snapped at Sammy's insinuations of him having a hidden agenda. "Yeah, it was pity. You happy? Now shut up." He ordered as he ran his hands through his hair. "We'll get out of here if we stay calm."

"They're gonna find out who we are." Sammy groaned. "They're gonna go to the hotel if they're not there already and they're gonna kill every single one of them, Max, Jake, Rachel..."

"Hey, stop using names." Ari cut him off as he walked towards him. He wanted, or better yet, he needed Sammy to keep the cover, and he also didn't need to hear him say the name of his sister. He didn't want to think about it, nor did he want to think about the fact he had left her behind albeit for a good reason, and the thought of her not being able to get to the resort safe and sound made him feel physically sick. "You don't know who's listening."

Sammy sat still but continued with his tirade against Ari's methods. "You think this kind of work is romantic? It's not romantic, it's practical. There's a protocol. You can't just make shit up as you go along and hope for the best."

"I know that." Ari snapped. "What we do is dangerous. People get hurt sometimes." He said in an attempt to justify his reckless ways, but that was the last straw. At the mention of someone being hurt Sammy cut him off loudly.

"Oh, I know." He shouted as he help up his hand angrily

"Is that what this is about? Your hand? Tangiers?"

"You know, I was a surgeon before I met you, and you dare come into my clinic, and make a joke about me not saving lives." Sammy replied, his tone harsh but calm at the same time.

"What joke, when did I make a joke? What joke?" Ari asked, annoyed and stunned at Sammy's accusation.

"It's not about my hand! It's about you." Sammy yelled as he stood up to face Ari. "It's about you and me. And Hannah. You had to drag her back into this fucking shit, and now she loves you." He spat the words at his friend's face, causing Ari to wince. "And they’re gonna torture us and we're gonna die in here and she’s gonna lose the both of us, lose someone she loves, again, and... and it's because your ego won't accept any help from anybody else. And no matter what you do, I still fucking follow you around like that fucking dog of yours."

Ari swallowed. He was frozen and lost for words and the least he could do, or so he thought, was to allow his friend the right to pour his heart out whether he liked his words or not. Sammy stood there looking at him for a few seconds before he laughed softly.

"I'm so stupid. I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid..." He repeated as he retreated to the cell door crying until he eventually shut up and started sobbing as he held onto the bars of the door.

"Hey." Ari tried to calm him, but then Sammy let out a scream of a yell, causing Ari to run towards him in an attempt to make him shut up.

"Hey, hey, hey, stop, stop, you're gonna get us killed. Don't-" he started to say as he tried to keep his voice even but Sammy cut him off with a punch which took Ari by surprise. Sammy took advantage of his staggering friend and blew him a couple more blows before Ari finally reacted, dodging the next one and was able to retaliate with a punch of his own, more in the hopes of making Sammy stop in order to avoid attracting the guards attention, than in a real desire to hurt him.

Eventually, the fight finally broke when Ari was able to overpower Sammy slamming him against a wall.

"Sammy, stop." He hissed.

Sammy didn't fight back but pushed him away. "I tell you something now, Ari. If by some miracle we get out of here, if anything has happened to my sister, or Rachel because of you, I’ll fucking kill you myself."

Ari stared at Sammy as his words sank in. He was devastated, overridden by guilt and worried that his friend’s words might be actually a reality when or if they got out of that prison. That something might have happened to Hannah, to his firefly, because of him and his ego getting in the way. He had put his need to try and maintain cover so that they could continue their work before the safety of his team by forbidding the Navy Seals to get involved. They could have ended this there and then on the beach, and now they’d be on a ship heading for the safety of home. Instead here he was, banged up in a cell, again, with Sammy, having no idea if Hannah and the rest of the guys had made it home.

And if something happened to them, to his Firefly, he didn't know what he was gonna do.

He felt the tears stinging at the back of his eyes as he slumped on the bench, his head in his hands, before he starting to silently sob.

****

The cell was silent, both men slumped on the floor on opposite walls. The only noises made since the fight had been Sammy's panting and Ari's hushed sobbing, which had died after a while. Ari was now watching his diver's watch, the time going painfully slow. It had been almost eight hours since they had been there. Eight fucking hours and every guard had ignored him. He sighed and threw his head back, grimacing as his face hurt from the blows Sammy had given him. He felt miserable. It was hot and sticky and he was in pain both physically and emotionally as Sammy hadn't spoken a word to him since their fight.

Eventually, Ari gathered all the strength he had left and pulled himself from the floor to sit on the bench and there he was, led on that bench, trying to clear his mind, when he heard footsteps. He sat up when a guard opened the door and nodded to them. He shared a glance with Sammy, who was also sitting up from his spot on the floor, and together they followed the guard out, down the corridor and into the main building where he saw Rachel and Madibo. Ari quickly put two and two together, Rachel must have gone to find Madibo to talk him into letting them out of the prison, and Sammy must have been thinking the same thing as Ari heard him give a little sigh.

Ari was looking at Rachel, trying to read any sign Hannah was safe, but she was just staring at Sammy, taking in his horrible appearance as she struggled to keep a straight face. Ari knew that much, so his eyes fell on Madibo who was looking at him also taking in his injuries and then the Colonel's eyes flicked to Sammy's blood stained top.

"Who did this to you?" Madibo asked them both, before he angrily turned to a guard speaking to him in Amharic.

"No, no, no, that's...It's not, they didn't..." Ari explained before he gestured between him and Sammy. "We did this. To each other."

Madibo frowned at Ari. "What do you mean?"

"We don't get along." Sammy deadpanned.

Madibo looked at Rachel before looking back at them and started chuckling heartily "Crazy Hawajas." He said before laughing again. "You're free to go."

Ari paused, not daring to believe it, to believe his luck once more. He glanced at Sammy and then at Rachel and, looking for confirmation, he turned to Madibo who nodded. “You may go."

The three undercover agents thanked him and silently they made their turn to go, being escorted out by a guard. No sooner had they put a foot out of the building that Ari gently grabbed Rachel's arm, making her stop.

"Did…"

"All three of them made it back, safe." Rachel cut him off before he could mention any names, her face expression not giving anything more away.

Ari let out a sigh of relief, as did Sammy, and the three of them stayed silent until they reached the jeep a few steps ahead when Rachel stopped and turned to Sammy, wrapping her arms around him.

"Hey." Sammy whispered, as he held her tight against him.

Ari dropped his head and stood still, hands on his jacket's pockets. He felt like he was intruding, but at the same time he was also desperate to get back and he knew it was like a five hour drive at least, till he could also wrap his arms around his firefly. Eventually Sammy pulled away and Rachel turned to Ari and examined at his face. "You did that?"

"He’s an asshole." Sammy just shrugged.

Ari sighed and rubbed his head for a moment before holding his hands out for the keys. "I’ll drive."

****

The car drive back to the resort was distressing to say the least. You could cut the tension inside the car with a knife. Sammy had been sulking on the back seat all the time, refusing to say a single word to either of them. Rachel, on her part, had remained silent as well once she had filled them in properly in all the details of the last twelve hours or so at the resort and how she had gone to ask for Madibo's help after speaking to Ethan, who had told her he was flying to Port Sudan that very same day, but she turned back to check up on Sammy or watch Ari every now and then.

All in all, Ari was anxious and couldn't wait to get out of that suffocating space and hold Hannah in his arms again and check with his own eyes she was well. And he did after a few hours, as the car approached the resort he could see her figure standing behind Ethan, holding onto Jake's arm, squinting as if to check it was really him who was driving the incoming car. Uneasy though he was about Ethan's presence at the resort, Ari tried unsuccessfully to hold back a smile when he stopped the car and Hannah ran past Ethan towards him, jumping onto his arms once he had got out of the jeep, hugging him for dear life.

Ari held her tightly, chuckling before whispering sweet nothings into her hair to assure his girl he was really there and in one piece. But no sooner had he chuckled again and kissed Hannah's cheek and put her down, she slapped him fiercely across his face, causing his head to whip sharply to the right as she started yelling at him.

"It isn't funny, you asshole!"

Ari tried to calm her as he struggled to dodge her blows as she hammered her fists at his chest, his face, anything she could aim at, but it was proving a really difficult task. Hannah had gone into overdrive and was desperately trying to whack him as tears run down her face.

"Hannah!" Sammy called her, in an attempt to stop his raging sister, more as a desire to calm her than preventing her from hitting Ari. And then, as Hannah's brain registered the sound of her brother's voice, she stopped dead and threw herself into his arms, sobbing disconsolately.

Eventually Hannah pulled away and Sammy kissed the top of her head before Rachel took her out of Ari's reach. Ari was confused, he knew deep down that Hannah had all the right to be mad at him but was hoping to make her understand why he had acted like he had before having to deal with Ethan and thus, he made a move to follow her and Rachel but Ethan cleared his throat demanding his attention and compelling him to stay put with only one look.

"You're overdressed." Ari commented, trying to lighten the tension a bit. But Ethan wasn't in any mood whatsoever to entertain his dark humour.

"Let's talk, inside." he ordered, un-phased.

Ari dropped his head and had just started following Ethan who had turned to go inside when Sammy called the older man.

"Ethan!" He paused, giving time for Ethan to turn to look at him. "The soldier that was shot?"

Hannah dropped her head, she already knew the man’s fate as it had been one of the first things she had asked Ethan when he arrived in the resort, and Ethan looked at Sammy sympathetically before answering.

"He lost too much blood."

Sammy's head fell in understanding and Ethan turned again to follow Ari to his and Hannah’s hut.

Ari paused to take off his jacket, before he felt something in the inside left pocket and suddenly remembered the letter he had received on the beach. He pulled it out, taking a look for the first time at the writing on the front and whilst it was addressed in Sarah’s tidy writing, he spotted a small smiley face in the bottom corner drawn in crayon. Taking a deep breath to steady his once more brewing emotions, he tossed the letter onto his nightstand before throwing his jacket over the chair in the corner as Ethan closed the door to the hut behind him.

"How did this happen?" Ethan asked, his voice calm.

"They mistook us for smugglers." Ari explained, his voice lower than usual, as he took off his watch as well and placed it on the bedside table, before picking up a towel that was on his bed.

"This whole thing's a bloody mistake." Ethan stated, visibly angry now, before sighing "It doesn't... It doesn't really matter anymore."

Ari then stilled, realising what he meant. "You shutting us down?" He asked, and Ethan nodded, making him drop the towel he was cleaning himself with and sit on his bed. “You can't, Ethan." he said then, keeping his voice as calmed as possible. This mission's a success, we've got thousands of people out, we have thousands more coming this way."

"That's exactly why we have to stop now. While it's still a success." Ethan offered.

Ari then stood up again. "God, you're thinking about the politics. Nothing's changed." He said, almost pleaded, as he approached Ethan. "The Sudanese don't know the missing..."

"You could have died last night." Ethan cut him off. "We were this close," he said, gesturing with his index finger and thumb, "to having an all-out war between our Navy Seals and the Sudanese military. You were arrested. Again. They have a file on you."

With a groan Ari sat back down on the edge of his and Hannah’s bed.

"My job here isn't finished." He stated stubbornly, his voice soft again, making Ethan sigh and take a seat on a chair in front of where Ari was sat.

“Open your eyes. Look what's happening in Khartoum. They're arresting and executing dissidents. They're beating uncovered women in the street. They're expelling foreigners. Textbook revolution. It's time to get out."

"Please, Ethan, please." Ari pleaded, but Ethan cut his pleads off loudly.

"I want you chaps home." And then he shrugged. "I don't need more bodies on my conscience. Take a few days to organize. And get the hell out of this God forsaken place."

Ari didn't say a word, but then again there wasn't much else he could say, and Ethan sighed as he stood up.

"Now I suggest you go deal with your domestic problems."

Ari shook his head, fully understanding what Ethan was referring to, and as much as he knew that was exactly what he had to do, he wasn't looking forward to Hannah's reaction to him again.

"I've been here for a few hours already and she’s hardly spoken a word. Every so often she would simply get up and walk the dog but that was it." Ethan explained and Ari sighed frustratedly. "Textbook PTSD if you ask me." He added, watching Ari intently.

"PTSD?" Ari frowned, lifting his head to look at Ethan who rolled his eyes and audibly sighed at his team leader's stupidity.

"Shall I remind you she already lost a husband in very similar circumstances?"

"Shit." Ari groaned, suddenly everything clicking in. A night mission, an ambush, them hiding behind rocks trying to find cover from stray shots...

"Penny dropped, Ari?" Ethan asked, before opening the hut's door.

Ari looked at him and swallowed hard as he nodded, his head falling down before whispering. "Yeah, yeah."

"Good. Now go deal with it." Ethan suggested before stepping outside the hut. Once outside he paused, and turned to Ari, a slight twinkle in his eyes. “I have to ask, where did you find the dog?”

“Erm…” Ari frowned at the man’s change of subject before he took a deep breath. “Han found him, in a cave at the end of the cove.”

“Hmmm.” Ethan said, his eyes flashing with a sudden humour. “I like him. He reminds me of someone, can’t think who” And with a final look at Ari he turned and left.

As the door shut behind Ethan, Ari let out a groan and ran his hands down his tender face. His fingers steeped in front of his mouth as he contemplated the fact that Ethan had basically just ended the mission. Ari wasn’t an idiot, he had known for a while this day would come, sooner rather than later, but still he wasn’t ready, not yet.

But then, would he ever be?

His eyes wandered around the hut that he had, for the last two years, called his home and all thoughts of disappointment flew from his mind as he spotted the envelope he’d tossed down five or so minutes ago. He stood up and made his way over, snatching it up before he opened it and pulled out the contents. There was no long letter, simply two folded up pieces of paper. The first one was blank, but inside that one was another that held a crayon drawing and he instantly felt his nose begin to sting and his eyes watered as he glanced down at the sketch of Maya, Sarah and him, complete with his rucksack hanging from his hand and beard on his face. He took a shuddering breath as he saw the words ‘My family’ written over the top of the photo and he wiped his eyes hastily, before he spotted that Maya had written the letters PTO in the bottom corner. He did just that and felt his mouth drop open at the second drawing on the back. It was him, this time depicted on a beach, with a woman next to him with long, dark hair, and at his feet sat a small grey dog. This time, the words ‘My Dad At Work’ were written alongside it and Ari sighed, taking a deep breath as he chuckled a little.

“Oh Munchkin.” He whispered, tracing the lines of the drawing a little before he folded it and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans to show Hannah.

That was if he could find her because, as it stood, she was proving to be quite elusive. She was nowhere to be found in the main building, Max and Jake who were in there both told him they hadn’t seen her in a while. He checked everywhere he could think of, the reception, kitchen, spare rooms, lounge area before be headed out to her little cave and there was no sign of her there either. With a sigh he stood on the beach, hands on his hips as he glanced along the shore line trying to figure out where she could possibly have gone when he heard a little bark in the distance. Turning his head towards it, Ari felt a smile cross his face as his eyes landed in the little boat shed where all the diving equipment was kept.

Bingo.

He hurried towards it and found her, not in the hut, but sat in one of the boats tied to the jetty, looking out over the ocean. Simon gave a little whine as he saw Ari coming and started to wag his tail in greeting.

“Hey.” Ari spoke as he walked down the small wooden jetty towards the diving boat. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”

“Take a hint then.” Hannah sniffed, not bothering to turn to look at him. “When someone hides it usually means they don’t wanna be found.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Ari asked as he gently stepped onto the boat causing it to sway gently, ripples spreading out on the surface of the ocean which was as still as a millpond. Simon jumped up at him and he gently pushed the dog down, giving him a quick pat.

“Leave me alone, Ari.” Her response, although not a direct yes, was affirmative. “I don’t wanna talk to you right now.”

“Come on Firefly, please.” Ari sighed, sitting on the bench opposite her. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what exactly?” Her head snapped up to look at him and Ari took a deep breath as he saw the anger blazing once more in her eyes. “For almost getting us killed? For being a reckless asshole? For fucking leaving me behind?”

By the time she had finished her voice was loud, laced with hurt as much as anger, and Ari swallowed, shaking his head.

“I needed you to stay hidden, Hannah.” He pressed, trying to explain his actions. “If they’d have seen you and taken you do you know what they’d have done to you?”

“You left me, Ari!” Hannah sniffed. “You left me and I was terrified.”

“Because I couldn’t let them find you, Baby!” Ari felt his gut twisting at the expression on Hannah’s face as she glanced away from him, tears in her eyes. “Do you think I wanted to leave you?”

“I doesn’t matter what you wanted!” Hannah screamed at him, making him recoil a little. “You did it! And I didn’t know what had happened to you, or what they were gonna do to you, or if I was ever gonna see you or Sammy ever again. I was going mad there, in the dark, hiding by those rocks and having to listen to everyone yelling and wondering if they were gonna find me, and if they had I’d have been there, alone, no gun, nothing!”

“I had no choice, Han!” Ari replied, his own voice gathering volume and momentum as he tried to make her understand. “If they’d have found you, you know what this place is like for women, shit, I don’t even wanna think about what those bastards would have done to you.” He swallowed, as the mere thought about what she could have gone through was enough to make him feel sick.

Hannah glanced at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as tears coursed down her face. All Ari wanted to do was hold her in his arms, but as he moved towards her she held her hands out and shook her head.

“Firefly…”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.” She spoke softly, and Ari frowned at her sudden change of mind and demeanour. “We all got back safe. You and Sammy are here and okay, well, sort of.” She nodded to the bruises on the left side of his face and Ari took a deep breath as she continued. “But I can’t lose you, Ari. I won’t go through that again, I can’t go through that again, I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying?” Ari whispered, his stomach turned to lead as he contemplated what her words meant. And when she answered, and confirmed his fears, he felt like his entire world was crumbling around him.

“I can’t do this.” She waved her hand between them. “Not anymore.”

“Hannah, no, please.” He gulped, reaching for her hand. ”Don’t do this.”

“What choice do I have?” She sniffed through her tears. “I love you, Ari. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, Mi Lobo, but I can’t lose you, and I can’t lose what I don’t have.”

“Hannah…” Ari felt his own lip beginning to wobble as he trailed off, the lump in his throat felt like a golf ball as the tears pricked his eyes.

“I couldn’t stand you leaving me again or dying…” Hannah’s voice dropped to a whisper and Ari shook his head.

“I’m never gonna leave you, Firefly.” He took a shuddering breath. “Not that way, you know this. I love you so fucking much.”

She turned her blue eyes to his, and he reached up, his hands cupping her face. “Ethan is pulling us out now anyway, so we’re going home.” His thumbs gently brushed over her cheekbones as he held her face steady so he could look at her. “And I’ll find something else to do. A desk job...”

“Will you?” Her tone was disbelieving.

“Yes!” He implored. “I told you almost two years ago that this was going to be my last field mission.”

“And how long until you get bored, or miserable?” Hannah shook her head, pulling her face out of his gently grasp.

“Nothing could make me as miserable as losing you.”

She turned to look out of the boat over at the sun which was sinking below the horizon before she shrugged. “Well, suppose you’d know how that feels, I mean, you walked away from me once after all.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth Ari heard her groan a little and he looked down at his hands, as he felt her turn to face him.

“I’m sorry, that was mean.”

“Maybe.” He looked at her with a sad smile. “But the truth hurts doesn’t it?” He took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes. “I can’t explain how sorry I am for leaving you last night. I can’t apologise enough for being an asshole and I can’t even begin to show you how much I love you, Hannah.” He sniffed a little and looked at her.

“I know.” She shook her head, fresh tears falling from her face.

“Then don’t finish this, please.” Ari’s chest hitched as Hannah looked at him once more, before she let out a huge sob, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, Ari, I don’t want to, I don’t wanna be without you.” She cried. “I was lashing out, you know I lost Andy and yesterday I really thought I’d lost you again, and Sammy, and as per the last time I never got to say goodbye….”

At that she completely broke down, more apologies spilling from her mouth, and Ari hastily moved to sit by her, pulling her to him as she sobbed, her hands fisting in the back of his T-shirt as her arms hugged him. Ari pressed his face into her hair, his own chest hitching with silent sobs as he held her tightly, never wanting to let her go again. He’d been an asshole, he knew that. He also, deep down, knew that Ethan was right. They did need to get out of here. Not simply because of the Authorities, but the team were tied, they were done. And it was certainly better to quit whilst it had been successful than to go out under a dark cloud should anything go wrong.

Plus, he couldn’t lose the woman in his arms. Not again. He wanted a future with her. He saw them building a home, living together in a normal place, doing on normal dates, marriage and maybe even a family of their own.

With a shuddering breath he pulled back and looked down at her, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t wannabe without you, either.” He shook his head. “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Firefly. And I know me and Sarah aren’t legally divorced yet, but as soon as we’re home I’m gonna sort that out and…” he trailed off. “Then it’s a clean slate, for me and you.”

At that Simon jumped up in between them and Ari’s large hand lazily scratched behind his ear, as he took the opportunity to steady his emotions as the relief that she didn’t want to end things between them flooded Ari’s system. As the dog let out a little sigh of satisfaction, Ari was suddenly reminded of the picture in his pocket. He shifted slightly, and reached behind him, pulling it free.

“What’s that?” Hannah asked, wiping her face.

“It’s the letter the Navy Seal gave to me.” He said, holding it out to her. “Maya sent it. Have a look.”

Hannah eyed him for a moment before she took the piece of paper and Ari watched as she studied it, her eyes growing wide. She took a deep breath, tears once more trickled down her cheeks as she gave a little laugh, before she looked back up at him.

“If you wanna know where exactly you sit in my life, then there you have it.” He swallowed. “Maya knows all about you, because I tell her so much, and, fuck, Hannah…I…”

At that he was cut off as she surged forward, pressing her lips to his, her arms round his neck, pulling him down to her. Ari’s hand slipped a little on the bench, causing Simon to grumble in protest as he wriggled free from where he had been unceremoniously squashed as Ari’s strong arms pinned Hannah to his chest. The kiss was frantic, moans and groans slipping from both their mouths as their tongues fought for dominance. Hannah’s hands moved to tangle in the back of Ari’s hair, fisting slightly around the ends of the long strands round his neck and then the pain in Ari’s face suddenly registered and he gave an involuntary hiss and pulled back, his hand reaching up to his face, fingers gently pressing along his jawline.

Hannah studied him in the dim light that was now flooding the boat thanks to the lamps coming on around the resort. She gently reached up and titled his head around so she could see his injuries and for the first time noticed that it wasn’t just around his left eye. That side of his jaw as also peppered with bruises. She swallowed.

“Did they…”

“No.” Ari assured her. “It was Sammy. We err, we had a fight.”

“What?” She frowned, her hands dropping to his shoulders. “Why?”

“Coz I’m an asshole.” He shrugged and Hannah arched her eyebrow.

“Well, yes, that’s a given, you are but…” She sighed. “Next time he beats up your pretty face I’m gonna smash his head against the floor.”

“You think my face is pretty, huh?” Are teased, gently placing his hands on her hips and Hannah smiled.

“You’re the most handsome man in the whole world to me, Lobo.”

“Good to know.” Ari smirked.

Hannah studied him for a moment before she sighed. “I love you, I’m so sorry for before.”

“Hey, don’t.” He shook his head. “I understand, I was an asshole. You and Sammy, you’re both right but…” He took a deep breath. “That’s why I get what Ethan’s saying now. We’re done. It’s time we all go home.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Well I need to find Kabede, make sure he’s okay, and break the news to him.” Ari licked his lips. “Then we need to pack up what stuff we need to here and then we go.”

“Cut and run?”

“Most probably.” He nodded.

“Hmmm.” Hannah looked at him. “There is one thing you gotta do before all that.”

“What?”

“Shower. You stink.” She wrinkled her nose and Ari let out sigh.

“Yeah well, it wasn’t exactly the Ritz in there.” He shrugged before he ran one of his hands through his slightly greasy hair, the other flexing on her hip. “Wanna come scrub my back?”

Hannah looked at him for a moment, before she licked her lips and gave a grin. “Only if you repay the favour.”

“Why kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?” Ari grinned and with a little groan he rose to his feet, offering Hannah his hand. She took it and together they made their way down the quiet, moonlit beach heading for their hut, Simon trotting behind them.

**** Chapter 14

#leave no one behind #Ari Levinson #ari levinson x ofc #ari levinson x original female character #red sea diving resort #chris evans #chris evans characters #ari levinson fanfiction

101 notes · View notes

dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years

Text

someone behind me was tracing my steps / maybe you’re better off this way

Fandom: Kamen Rider Ryuki

Characters: Asakura Takeshi, Kido Shinji

Songs: "After the Fall," October Project & "Passive," A Perfect Circle (playlist here)

Takeshi’s sitting against the wall, bleeding out, and the mirror guy—Kanzaki, right—is standing over him, mouth twisted in something he vaguely recognizes as dismay. “I can’t use this, there’s barely any energy left,” he says, not to Takeshi, and there sure as hell isn’t anyone else in the room. “I’ll have to reset.”

“Hang on a second.” Takeshi coughs and feels his mouth fill up with the taste of copper, which isn’t such a bad flavor when you get down to it. “What about my wish?”

Kanzaki doesn’t even look at him, already fucking around with the mirror. “You don’t want anything, there’s no point.”

“Sure I want something.”

“…what on Earth could you want at this point? It’s all going to be reset anyway.”

Takeshi grins up at him, knowing that it’s sure to be an unnerving sight with his teeth all over blood. “Lemme remember.”

“Out of the question. Giving one participant unnecessary foreknowledge would interfere with the procedure.”

“Nah, nah, I’m not gonna interfere with shit. It was just a hell of a time.” Takeshi looks up just as Kanzaki is looking down and grins his bloody grin a little wider. “I like to remember times when I had fun. Looking forward to doing it over again. Let me remember.”

---

It’s not until he graduates university that Shinji realizes that he’s missing something.

Slightly after, really. He graduates, he works some shitty part-time gigs, he does some freelancing, and then Ookubo gets in touch and offers him a job at Ore Journal. That’s all fine, but when he steps through the door of the Ore offices he’s hit with a wave of déjà vu so powerful that he nearly trips and falls face-first into Reiko’s desk. Fortunately he catches himself before anyone notices. It had been bad enough trying to explain to his mother about the girl who lived in his mirror when he was thirteen; he can’t imagine how the people here would react to, “I remember walking into this room for the first time at least eight times over.”

He gets a grip on himself, but the feeling of loss stays. He’s missing something, and he doesn’t know what. Sometimes he’ll get a glimpse of it, he’ll pass someone on the street or overhear a snatch of conversation and a fragment of memory will overwhelm him, but he never gets everything.

From the bits that he sees, he’s not sure that he wants to get everything. It might be better to be missing something than to remember.

---

Takeshi’s known that he’s missing something for a long time now, and whatever it is, he wants it back.

He’s not exactly an educated guy, but he knows himself pretty well, and the idea that there’s a big chunk of him missing is galling. He can feel its absence. He can’t tell what it is, it hasn’t got any kind of useful shape, no edges that he can detect, but it’s his. And since he wouldn’t just go carving out part of himself, that means he’s been robbed.

He doesn’t take kindly to being robbed.

Mostly, though, he can ignore it, the way you ignore a hole in the wall that you don’t feel like repairing yet. He does what he likes, gets what he wants, eats when there’s food, and doesn’t think about it unless he reaches for something in his mind and finds that it isn’t there.

And then he sees the journalist.

Some sweet-faced kid, he is, showing up at a bar that Takeshi likes and bugging the regulars about a local ghost story that Takeshi knows for a fact is bullshit. He doesn’t try coming over to Takeshi’s corner, because the bartender visibly warns him off, but he’s talking to everyone else. That suits Takeshi fine. He can just sit with his drink and watch and remember, in shards and splinters, tantalizing and incomplete.

Kido Shinji is what’s printed on the business card he swipes from the bartender once the journalist leaves, with the address of a tea shop written on the back in pen.

Now there’s a name that rings a bell.

He stares down at the card for a moment, not sure whether he’s pleased or furious, and then heads out. Guy couldn’t have gone far.

---

Shinji gets through the door and is immediately handed an apron and a bandana for his hair. “Dishes.”

“What—Ren, I just got here.”

“Yeah, and there are dirty dishes. I don’t have time to deal with them, there are customers.” Ren squints at him for a moment, frowning. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?”

Shinji pauses in the middle of tying back his hair, uneasy. “I’ll tell you once there aren’t customers. Where’s Miyu—he’s still working, ok.”

Ren rolls his eyes. “Apparently that middle schooler who was here last week told all of her friends about him, he’s been busy all day.”

There are a lot of dishes piled up, and it keeps Shinji busy until Ren’s shooing out the last customers of the day. Atori’s different without the old lady, but it’s not a bad different; hopefully she’s happy in whatever warm place she moved to after she sold the shop to Ren. She’d certainly never seemed happy here.

He’s happy here. In a stable place, with a little bit of stable work apart from Ore, with people who inexplicably love him for reasons that none of them quite remember clearly.

When the last customer is out the door, Ren leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, and says, “So something’s bothering you, spit it out.”

Shinji frowns down into the dishwater. “I think someone was following me again today.”

“What, again? How long’s this been going on now, two weeks?”

“Three and a half. Ever since that thing I was looking into about the ghost, do you remember that one?” One saucer in the dish rack, start washing the next piece. “Maybe I pissed off the ghost.”

“You said there wasn’t a ghost.”

“Well, yeah, but what if there was and now it’s following me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not being chased by a ghost.”

Shinji glances nervously over his shoulder, as if he’ll see his ghost reflected in the tea shop window. “How can we be sure, though?” He picks up another dirty cup and starts to wash it. “Some of the things I remember…”

Ren’s arms wrap around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. “They aren’t here,” more softly and gently than he usually speaks. “No ghosts. Just you, me, and Miyuki.”

“No ghosts.” Shinji takes a deep breath. “You’re right. No ghosts.”

---

The place isn’t tough to break into. Decent locks, but nothing Takeshi can’t get past with a crowbar. He lets himself in and looks around the vaguely-familiar tea shop with interest before heading past the counter and to the back. Stairs lead up to the apartment above, and sure, they creak a little, but that’s nothing to worry about. After all, he’s still got the crowbar if he really needs it.

Upstairs, the place is chaotic in sort of a cute way, decorated as it is by three people with clearly pretty different sensibilities, fragments of three very different lives on display. It smells faintly of frying oil, too. Someone made something good for dinner tonight. On a whim, he checks the fridge, finds a container of leftover gyoza, and eats them absently as he contemplates the shopping list stuck to the freezer door. Eggs, rice, sliced pork belly, in neat handwriting that definitely isn’t Kido’s.

He finishes the gyoza and the tail-end of a carton of milk, leaving the empty containers behind on the counter and picking up his crowbar again as he heads toward the back of the apartment.

There are three bedrooms, and none of them are marked, doors closed against the darkened hallway. Checking each one would be a hassle, and might lead to more trouble than Takeshi feels like getting in right now. Instead he just remembers how jumpy Kido seemed even before Takeshi started following him and lets intuition lead him to the room closest to the fire escape.

The door swings open, and the first thing he sees is a cloth square on the wall. A covered mirror.

There we go.

Kido’s asleep, sprawled across the bed with his head tossed back and his hair spread out on his pillow, throat pale and exposed. Alone, which makes things a little easier. There’s a computer desk set up in the corner of the room; Takeshi grabs the chair from it, drags it over next to the bed, and sits, resting the end of the crowbar on the floor as he’s saying, softly and cheerfully, “Hey, Kido. Wake up.”

A shift, an irritated mumble, “Not time to—” and then one eye opening halfway and the jolt, Kido scrambling upright in the bed, one hand flung out to the side reaching for something that isn’t there.

What isn’t there?

Splinters reform into another regained memory: a deck of cards in an elaborate case, gleaming purple metal smooth and cool in Takeshi’s hands. There’s a name that goes with it, or maybe more than one, faint and still lost but centimeters from the tip of his tongue.

Kido’s gone white as a pan of milk, hand still empty because they’re in a world with no decks, now, no monsters that Takeshi suddenly remembers with fondness, not nearly as much fun, and Takeshi leans forward on his crowbar and smiles, friendly, like, and says, “Come on, Kido, I remember you being more interesting.”

---

Shinji can hear his heart beating over the ringing in his ears. There’s a bit of light coming in from between the mostly-closed curtains, just enough to see by, and with his hand coming up empty and his unwelcome guest illuminated so that only golden hair and white teeth are visible, he is assailed by memory.

He knows this man.

From the corner of the bar where he’d been looking into that ghost story, sure, the one the bartender had told him not to bother, but also from before, from ten befores or more. A killer, vicious and cheerfully so, dangerous to be around, but beneath the adrenaline thrum Shinji can feel another pulse, pity, pity, pity, perhaps misplaced but still there.

He fights to get his breathing under control and says, “Asakura. What are you doing here?”

“You took something of mine.” Asakura’s head tilts slowly to the side, semi-friendly grin still visibly. “I came to get it back.”

“I don’t have anything of yours.”

“Never said you did. I said you took it. Didn’t say I thought you had it.”

“That…you know that doesn’t make sense, right?”

“None of this makes sense, Kido. We live in a world that revolves around a guy like you.” Asakura leans forward, one hand darting out to grab Shinji’s chin, ragged nails digging into his skin. In the dim light his eyes are flat and dark and predatory as their gazes lock, only taking on any gleam as he drinks in…something, whatever he’s getting from looking at Shinji like this. Shinji nearly asks, in fact, but he can’t quite speak, and anyway Asakura’s talking again, still as cheery and conversational as he has been. “Used to be, I got the deck in my hands and I’d remember all of it. That was the deal. Don’t know how the mirror guy finally bit it, but whatever happened, you’re the key to everything now.”

Shinji’s considering shouting for Ren, because even if he did have a dragon at his beck and call, the mirror is covered. Then, of course, he notices the crowbar. And Asakura continues to look at him, searching for something that Shinji is apparently giving him.

“Pathetic.” Abruptly, Asakura lets go again. “You used to be fun, Kido.” He stands, shouldering the crowbar like a baseball bat, and heads for the open bedroom door, only pausing briefly to say, “Call me if you ever decide to get the band back together, yeah?”

Shinji remains frozen for what seems like a long time after he’s gone, dizzy with memory and his heartbeat noisy in his own ears.

He doesn’t remember the end of things. None of the ends of things, actually, and he’s not sure if the others know that it happened more than once, how many times they were put through the same wringer. Whatever it was, though, whatever he or they finally did, it was permanent.

He never would have expected someone to resent him for it.

Finally he finds the focus to move, raising a hand to rub at the sore spots on his jaw before getting out of bed.

Miyuki’s bed is disturbed by unoccupied, and this fills him with a banked and indistinct dread until he comes to Ren’s room and finds them both there, Miyuki sprawled as inelegantly as always and snoring lightly at Ren’s side. Ren is awake, barely. “Bad dreams all around tonight, I guess,” he slurs as Shinji closes the door, and moves over to make space. “Wha’ was yours about?”

Shinji curls up beside him and says, softly, “Just ghosts.”

---

Takeshi strolls down the middle of the empty street, crowbar on his shoulder, in such a good mood now that he’s very nearly whistling. It’s a damp night; the streetlights make shadows in the fog that look like old friends he now remembers, any number of enormous beasts stalking him as he walks. Which makes him want to laugh, and so he laughs, and the sound bounces off the buildings and the fog in an echo that could go on forever.

“Goddamn,” he says to a fog-reflection that shifts and changes with every step he takes, now a vast snake, now a rhino, now a stingray. “That was a good time, wasn’t it.”

The fog makes no reply, but the shadow continues to follow him down the street as the echoes of his laughter die away, and after a moment, feeling almost jaunty, he starts to whistle.

#kido shinji #asakura takeshi #fanfiction #30 day shuffle challenge

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mishasminion360 · 3 years

Text

Crushed (Bonus Chapter)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Warning: Language

Notes: Okay, I just couldn’t resist writing one more chapter from Javi’s POV. Purely because I’m a sucker for pain and love writing sad shit. I hope you’ve enjoyed my little ficlets! If you haven’t already, be sure to check out Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 before reading this one.

He was there when the call came in; one of the first to learn that 220 pounds of TNT inside a car had just turned the downtown Bogotá shopping district into a pile of ash.

He didn’t even wait for the higher ups to finish barking orders before he was running out the door, ahead of the troops. He didn’t need to wait for orders and he didn’t need directions. He knew that district by heart by now. Because he’d been to your apartment enough times to memorize the way there.

***

The mess wasn’t anything like Javi had imagined; had hoped for. It was much worse.

Bodies, and pieces of bodies, had been tossed about haphazardly in the wake of the blast; strewn about as chaotically as the rubble. He realized with a growing sense of dread that one of these corpses could be your own.

Working his way through the destruction, smoke filling his lungs, he dared to glance up at your apartment and his heart dropped to see that it was...gone. There’s nothing but a hole where walls and windows used to be. That home he’d come to know better than his own had been reduced to a fucking crater.

His pulse hammered in his ears and muted the world around him. The screams, the sirens, all far away now. Somewhere in the distance right beside him he could hear Steve yelling at him, trying to pull him back from the ledge before he fell headlong into a chasm of despair.

“She’s fine, Javi. She’s got to be. She might not have even been home. Whatever you’re thinking right now, just stop.”

Javier didn’t even turn to look at him as he responded. “You don’t know what I’m thinking. You couldn’t possibly know.”

He was already off and running before he’d finished the last sentence. Javi didn’t care that part of the building was still in flames, he didn’t care that it could collapse at any moment. All he cared about was you.

Javi took the steps, what was left of them anyway, two at a time on a perilous journey to your floor. There wasn’t much of that left either. Opening the door was another trial, and once he’d finally managed to jimmy his way inside he could see why. And it made his stomach roil.

The blast had blown everything, debris, furniture, to the front half of the apartment and the pile of wreckage had barricaded the door. Javi didn’t waste a single second climbing the mound of detritus, like the Dread Pirate Roberts scaling the Cliffs of Insanity.

He felt his lungs tighten from exertion and the excess inhalation of ash and dust, but he still found enough strength to scream your name as loud as he possibly could. He got only silence in return.

Javi started flipping over smoldering furniture and chunks of scorched rubble, praying softly to himself that he’d find you and that he wouldn’t. He dug and dug until he was soaked in sweat and his fingers were black with soot and red with blood.

He spotted your hand first, sticking out from beneath the splintered remains of your dining room table. The small, delicate extremity was abnormally pale, and not because of the layer of dust that coated it. He frantically removed the rest of the mess until he’d uncovered you, his buried treasure.

One of your arms and legs had each bent at an unnatural angle. Your skin was littered with cuts of different sizes and stained with bruises. Your hair was matted with blood. But it was your eyes that frightened Javi the most. They were wide open, but unseeing.

Javier knew better than to move you until paramedics arrived, but that didn’t stop him from trying to rouse you into the realm of wakefulness.

“Come on, baby, wake up,” he said, voice cracking as he framed your bloodied face in his hands and tried to force those empty eyes to look at him. “Don’t do this to me, baby. Please.”

He refused to leave your side for an instant, not even to spare a second to cross over to the gaping hole where your wall once was and shout down for help. So he just screamed again.

“Ayúdame!!” he roars. “I need help! Someone, please!!” He didn’t know if anyone was coming. He didn’t know if it’d make a difference. “AHORA!!!”

His throat was too raw to try again. Javi collapsed at your side clutching your hand in both of his, as if he could heal all your wounds himself the tighter he squeezed. If only life, or love worked liked that.

“Please....”

***

He’d always hated hospitals. There was something so unnatural about the sterility, and the fact that it served as a haven for healing felt like nothing more than an illusion. Javier knew what it really was. A place where people came to die. A place where you were currently bedded.

At first the nurses refused to let him in, not being a direct family member and all, but they quickly learned in frightening ways that nothing was going to keep Javier Peña from your side. If Steve hadn’t been there to watch his back, Javi was fairly certain he would have been arrested for assaulting a doctor. More than once.

Steve was the sensible, level headed one. He asked the docs all the questions, got all the answers. All Javi could do was stare at you. You looked almost alien to him wrapped in plaster and sprouting too many tubes and wires, but it was still you and he couldn’t look away. His deep brown eyes willed you to wake up.

From time to time he caught words from the doctor’s mouth, words like “skull fracture,” “extensive hemorrhaging,” and “cerebral and internal bleeding.”

“Can you fix it?” he thought he heard Steve ask.

“The damage she’s suffered is severe,” said a doctor who’s name Javier did not know and did not give a fuck to know. “We’ve stopped the bleeding for now, but until the swelling on her brain goes down she’ll more than likely remain comatose.”

The only thing Javier hated more than hearing the doctor spout his medical jargon was hearing his lame attempts to be comforting.

“These attacks are getting worse and worse in terms of casualties. It’s always a shame to see someone so young this badly broken,” said doc what’s-his-name. “Poor woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Will she be okay?” The words left his mouth so softly that Javier wasn’t even sure he’d said them.

“As I said, the surgery was a complete success,” the doctor responded. “The rest is up to her.”

The doc had other patients, so he didn’t stick around. Steve offered to stay, but Javi told him to beat it. All Javi wanted was to be alone. Alone with his grief. Alone with his shame. Alone with his love.

His fingers stroked tender circles up and down your arm; he wondered if you could feel it.

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

***

Days turned to a week, and that week became two. Javi had taken up a steadfast vigil at your bedside. He’d become a permanent fixture in the room and no one could convince him to leave or, at the very least, sleep. He’d sleep when you woke.

The nurses tried to offer positive affirmations here and there and their saccharine sweetness almost made him sick.

“It won’t be long now, I’m sure of it,” one offered. “Just a matter of time until we see those pretty eyes of hers.”

“Her vitals are stabilizing. That’s a good sign,” said another.

They all reminded him to keep talking to you; that, even though you couldn’t respond, you could hear his every word. It wasn’t long ago that he would have killed to get you to stand still and listen to him. Now he finally had you all to himself, but it wasn’t in the way that he wanted. This was an awful way.

“Come back, corazón,” he pleaded silently. “Please.”

***

Soon the doctor was able to deliver a spot of good news: the swelling in your brain was gone and you were likely to regain consciousness soon. Javi tried to take the news for what it was, but knew he wouldn’t be able to officially breath a sigh of relief until you truly were awake and responsive.

“She’s going to have a long road ahead of her, though.” Ah, the good ol’ doc. Never one to sugarcoat shit. “Recovery will be difficult.”

“I’ll be there,” Javi said flatly. “Every step of the way.”

***

It was going on three weeks and you were still fast asleep. According to the doctor you were pretty much healed, internally anyway, but you just refused to come around. Stubborn as always.

Javi couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept himself. The last time he’d moved. He’d missed a shit ton of work, but he didn’t give a fuck. The world had stopped turning and it wouldn’t budge again until you returned to him.

Javier Peña was not a patient man. He’d never waited this long for anything in his life. But for you, he’d wait a lifetime. It felt like he already had. He’d spent so much of his life searching for something that he’d never been able to find. He wasn’t even sure what it was. Until he met you.

The second you walked into the office something shifted. You were like a breath of fresh air; an answer to all of his most burning questions. You awoke in him a feeling he’d long ago forgotten. He didn’t know yet if it was love or just desire, but he knew well enough that you were going to change everything.

But now, in that very moment, gazing longingly at your silent, slumbering form, he recalled the name of that feeling. In that moment he realized that you had made him whole. And it was at that moment he finally broke.

The tears came out of nowhere. His exhausted body was consumed by great, heaving sobs. Javi felt his throat constrict around a string of words that came unraveling from the very depths of his aching heart.

“Wake up, baby,” he begged. “Come back to me.”

He wept openly and loudly and didn’t give a fuck who heard or saw.

“Please, come back to me, please.”

He collapsed atop your supine body and cried the tears of a man shattered beyond repair.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

He repeated those words until, at long last, sleep overtook him.

***

“J-Javier...”

He was floating in a sea of darkness, blissfully lost in it when he heard the call. That very sound was enough to cause the inky blackness to evaporate and the world was suffused with light; a sunrise over the retreating black waves. And something inside Javier began to steer him toward wakefulness. Because he knew that sound. He’d heard it countless times in the waking world, and in his dreams. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. The voice of the woman he loved.

“Javi?”

The pull of the ocean receded, and he turned his face toward the sun.

@mamacitapascal @obsessivelysearching @grimeylady

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ FOUR DAYS ❜

with Nestor Oceteva.

Request: Nestor x Reader smut???? Any scenario just have smut

BY @firebenderwolf

Warnings: Nsfw, smut and that's all.

Word count: about 1.5k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: to the author, I found it on Google.

Masterlist.

Slowly, you start to feel somewhat awake, because of the feeling of two arms pushing you closer to a warm body. Slightly opening your eyelids, you find a forearm surrounding your neck, while the other is wrapping your waist. And as always, a leg over yours to avoid that you move too much. You're a little surprised to find Nestor lying on the sofa, behind you, when it's still daytime. Stretching a hand to the side table to check the hour on your phone. It's almost half past four. Too early for him to be at home. You can't help but smile sleepy, turning under his grip to watch him rest peacefully. He's wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, with his curly hair loose and a little wet. Sliding an arm under his neck, you stroke his left cheek with the fingertips of your free hand. Because of a light sight coming out from his mouth, you know he's already waking up. Gently touching his lips with yours, you kiss him in an ephemeral and fleeting gesture. This time, his throat utters a disappointed growl, tangling his fingers in your hair to pull you closer to his face making you laugh with a low tone. Caressing his lips again, Nestor leans a little to finally catch them.

Releasing your legs from his, you toss one over his waist, shortening the distance left. His left hand toures down your body until reaching your ass, squeezing it with his ringed fingers, as you begin to move your hips slowly and unconsciously looking for more friction against your husband. His lips are teasing you, whenever you try to find his tongue, making you sob a little desperate. Nestor loves to play, when it's been more than two days without any pleasant touch because of his work and how tired he comes back home. This time it's been almost four days. He knows you're totally hooked to him, being a nuisance any time he has the opportunity.

“If you continue… I'm gonna put all your shit in a suitcase, to kick it to Mikey's house��.

The mexican laughs loudly, covering his mouth with a hand, taking the advantage to sink your face into his neck. Your teeth quickly find his skin, warmly biting it until making him groan, sideways seeing Adam's apple in his throat going up and down. His fingers tighten your hair, at the same time that your tongue wets his skin, scrubbing his body against yours.

“Don' play, baby…” You plead with a honeyed voice.

“I'm done with this game, princesa”.

Creasing the folds of your shirt to lift it up over your ass, Nestor pulls your panties down by your legs, throwing them to the other extreme of the sofa, before doing the same with your shirt. At another time, he would tease you a little more with his fingers or his mouth, but almost four days is too much waiting. Helping him with his pants and his boxers, coming undone them with his own legs to push them away, he guides his erection to your center; perfectly positioned for him. Slamming you without hesitating, he presses his pelvis against it as much as he can, making you cry out on his lips. Your tightness is already suffocating him in pleasure with every thrust, and every move he does.

“Fuck, baby… I missed you”. He whispers with a broken tone of voice because of the gasps borning in his throat.

Turning you on your back over the sofa, Nestor settles himself between your legs, running your neck with his lips to kiss it, whilst your hand roams his muscled back all around. Ending up placing one of them on his ass, you push him deeper every time his cock digs into your wetness. You can't describe how good it feels, or how desperate you were for feeling him completely filling you up. Traveling down his mouth to catch one of your nipples, he pinches the other with two ringed digits, moving his tongue over it with the tip making some perfect circles. Your moans flood the living room, as he goes faster hitting your g-spot without mercy.

Sometimes, his job is too much for you to handle it, finding him some nights coming back home with open wounds waiting for you to be fixed up, or not seeing him for more hours than expected. But finally, it's worth it when he shows you how much he has needed you, in many ways. This is your favorite one, pleasing you as much as he can. Tangling your legs on his, you give him a better angle to deeping his thick cock to your limits.

“Fuck, Nestor…” You babble with both eyes closed and your back slightly arched, looking for more, needed for more.

“I love how… tight you are after some days, baby”. He groans nailing his hands on your hips, pounding you harder against the sofa. “You like't, baby? You missed my dick, ah?”

“Yes…”

“How much, baby? Tell me”.

“Too much, Nestor… My fingers aren't the same”. You confess to your husband, totally submerged in a bubble of pleasure.

“Fuck, princesa… Were you that anxious for me?” You just nod, feeling his lips touching yours, drowning there your moans. “I'm going to make it up… to you for the rest of the day”.

Putting a hand around your throat, his free arm almost covers your waist. His pelvis crashes your pussy, soaking him and part of the sofa because of the wet he produces in you in moments like these. The rude dance of his body against yours is pushing you to your limits, tucking his tongue among your lips looking for yours in a dirty and desperate kiss. Nestor knows exactly how close you are, just needing his cock to take you to the orgasm, making him feel proud just like every time he fucks you; slow and gentle, or hard and fast. No matter how.

The heat begins to wrap your whole anatomy, from your tiptoes to the roots of your mane, slightly scratching his back with your nails.

“Oh, god, Nestor… Fuck… Please, don't stop”. You beg him, moving your hips keeping in steps with his.

“Cum all over my cock, princesa… I wanna feel it”. He demands speeding up, making you squirm under his grip.

And you can't hold it for much long, falling into the edge when a warm lash runs down your backbone, flowing into your center like an explosion of pleasure. You can't help but scream out his name, with your eyes highly closed.

“That's it, princesa… Fucking cum for me”. He grunts squeezing your body under his grip.

“Fill me up, cariño”. You mutter totally out of control, desperate to feel himself emptying inside you.

Nestor just needs some deeper thrusts to please you one more time, pushing and holding his cock inside you, almost out of air barely breathing and his lips anchored on yours. Your hands nailed on his ass, pressing him against your throbbing pussy while he spills his seed completely.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, princesa”. He tries to say as much as he can. “You like't, ah? Fully soaked by my cream?”

“Yes, baby”. You groan nodding, biting his bottom lip, not wanting to move a single inch of your anatomy. “I missed it too much, Nestor…”

“Hold it a little more, mi amor… You feel so fucking good suffocating my cock”. Your husband begs you, collapsing on your chest but tightly clinged to your back with both arms.

Traveling your hands to tangle them in his black curly hair, you surround his waist with your legs, making him gasp when he discovers he can be a little more buried deep inside your wet and warm pussy, narrowing his sensible skin. Kissing you so filthy that he could make you cum again just like that, his phone starts to ring. Snorting he stretches a hand over the table, palming it until finding it, sinking his face into your neck reluctantly. You know that if Miguel calls him, he has to answer. And you hate him right now more than ever.

“Hey, brother, are you busy?”

“Fucking much”. He can't help but moan softly when you tease him, closing your legs somewhat more around his body.

“Are y—”

“Yes, Mikey, I'm between my future ex-wife legs, if she doesn't stop of fucking move”.

“Traumatizing”. The other man whispers horrified. “Just calling you to give you a day off. Don't answer my calls wh—”.

“'key, hermano, bye”. Quickly hanging up and throwing the phone somewhere over the carpet, Nestor pulls out himself after freeing himself from your legs, to slam you harder.

“Holy fuck!” You cry out between some laughs.

“I'm gonna… punish you in three minutes”.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry @firebenderwolf @itsanofrommesir @noz4a2 @peaches007 @edonaspanca @irenne-stans @skyofficialxx @emoengelfurleben

If you want to be tagged, send me a message!

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva imagine #nestor oceteva

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scabopolis · 3 years

Text

the gift of gab, the gift of you

Here it is @thisonesatellite! your 2020 CS Secret Santa gift. It was a complete and total delight to get to be your gift giver this year. That is not hyperbole - you are a gosh dang delight! Each of your message responses left me in stitches and while I will NEVER try and convince you a movie you think is bunk is good, I am delighted at the opportunity to recommend rom coms that don’t make you want to gouge your eyes out.

This fic is heavily inspired by your love of coffee shops AUs (except...you know, a pub), your travel stories (which I shamelessly incorporated into the fic) and I believe rates about a 4 on the reindeer scale of Christmas cheer. You’re a total eagle eye, so I just need to say I am well aware that Colin O’Donoghue’s accent in no way resembles an accent from Cork, but I just need that to be ignored, please and thank you.

Also, I’ve decided we’re fandom friends now. Okay? Okay! Finally, thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this exchange and being the actual best and most patient fandom soul.

*** Title: the gift of gab, the gift of you

Summary: Emma needs an Irish man. Wait! No! It’s not what it sounds like. And then the universe just has to go and provide her with the world’s chattiest, flirtiest, blue-eyesiest Irish man in existence.

Available on AO3. ***

Emma is in no position to complain. From where she sits both literally – (perched upon a comfy barstool in the world’s coziest pub) – as well as existentially – (traveling abroad for the first time in her life) — she is fortunate and blessed.

It’s just –

It’s just it would be easier to enjoy it all if she didn’t have to deal with a rather annoying request from her rather annoyingly persistent mother.

Her headphones are in but Emma still takes great care to speak in hushed tones over video chat. There’s nothing she wants less than to be the loud American who shares her private conversation with an entire establishment. The pub she found is at the end of a quiet lane off of Cork’s high street. The customers within the pub appear to be locals well known by the staff who tend the pub. In truth, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it wasn’t for —

“Who have you talked to today?” her mother asks.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I thanked the barista who made my coffee. And I ordered a pint in this pub.”

“That’s not talking.”

“It is by definition talking.”

“That’s not what I meant. How else are you going to get to know the city?” Her mom interrupts before Emma can properly formulate a snarky reply. “And don’t you dare say ‘guidebooks.’ Your father and I raised you better than that.”

“Mom, please don’t make me do this.”

“You said I could have anything I wanted as a souvenir.”

“What about a mug? I bought Grandma Ruth one with a big fat sheep on it.”

“Sounds lovely, sweetie, but no.”

“Mom.” Emma realizes that as a twenty-six year old woman it is probably unbecoming to whine, but her mother is being absolutely ridiculous. Where is her dad when she needs him to rescue her? All he requested was a bottle of whiskey. What a sensible person!

“No. It’s fine. If you don’t want to get your mother the one thing she asked for on this trip that’s okay. I won’t say one word about paying for this celebration trip, or paying for graduate school, or —”

“Shit, mom. Did you take a Guilt Trip 101 class or just Google how to?”

“Oh, this is natural talent. My present, please.”

“Fine.” There’s a group of bearded men, the ones she pegged as locals, tucked into one corner of the pub. They’re probably her best bet, but she just arrived last night, and the combination of jet lag and travel nerves make her feel not yet up for that. Which leaves the staff working the bar.

One of the two men she’s seen pouring pints and serving up food has gone missing. Besides, Emma wouldn’t trust herself in her sleep-deprived state to not say something utterly absurd to the blue-eyed, dark-haired, scruffy bartender. Probably a good thing he’s gone. Much safer is the other man working the bar – the one who refused to serve her Guinness but was very kind about it. While arguably attractive, he is a decidedly less intimidating sort of handsome. Unfortunately, he is in the midst of a heated discussion with one of the patrons, the two of them gesticulating to something happening with a football match on the screen. Which leaves the blonde haired woman currently polishing glasses.

Emma lightly clears her throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?” When the woman turns to look at her, Emma smiles, and signals her over. She sets aside the pint glasses and tucks the polishing rag into her apron. Her mother, on the other end of the video call, is not satisfied.

“Did you say ma’am?”

“Mom,” Emma whispers.

“I said an Irish man, Emma Blanchard Nolan. Man.”

“No. You said person.”

“The man was implied.”

“Then you should have been more specific.”

“Ready for another?” the woman at the bar asks.

Emma looks down at her half-full pint. “Not quite.” She frowns. “And, uh, you’re not Irish, are you?”

“No. Canadian.”

“Ah. Okay.” Emma lowers her voice again and looks at her phone screen. Her mother remains unimpressed. “That’s foreign. Technically she’s a foreigner.”

The sternness of Mary-Margaret’s expression is evident even over the video call. “Emmaline —”

“Not my name, mother.”

“Emmaline Blanchard Nolan, you promised me.”

“I’ll find an Irish person tomorrow.” It’s about this time Emma realizes she’s rudely ignoring the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender. The one she asked to speak with. What’s more, the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender has been joined by the curly haired bartender. Both of whom peer at her with matching expressions of amused befuddlement. Emma removes her headphones and addresses the man. “You’re Irish, right?”

“Well, miss,” and the gentle brogue of his accent, even with those two short words, is quite evident, “you are in Ireland.”

“Excellent! Can you talk to my mom?” She detaches the headphones from her phone and turns the camera around to face the man and woman. “My mom wants to have a conversation with an Irish person.”

“Irish man,” her mother corrects.

“An Irish man. Out in the wild.” The bartenders stare at her, nonplussed. “It’s her souvenir.”

The woman presses her lips together – an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Well, uh, aye.” The man tugs at his ear. “I guess I could —” He’s interrupted from his stuttering by the return of the blue-eyed, stubbly bartender, hauling a new keg into the back of the bar.

“Actually,” the woman cuts in. “My husband,” she hip checks the curly-haired man, “needs to replace the keg.”

“I do?” he asks.

“He does?” This from tall, dark, and holy hell! also possesses an Irish accent.

“But Killian is in the middle—”

“Shh,” the blonde woman interrupts her husband.

“Yeah. Killian is—”

She goes on to shush the man Emma now knows to be Killian.

“Oh no,” Mary Margaret whispers over the video call, “there’s two of them.”

“What is happening?” Emma’s not sure which of the two men asked, this whole interaction spinning rather absurdly out of control.

“I don’t know,” Emma says.

The woman ignores all of them. “I’m Elsa, this is Liam, and that,” she points to Killian, frozen with a hand on the keg like he’s uncertain what to do, “is my very single, very Irish brother-in-law.” And all at once it becomes clear what Elsa’s intentions are. “Killian, can you come over here and help our lovely patron and her lovely mother?”

“Oh, Emma, Killian even sounds like an Irish name.”

“Mom!” Originally she found her mother’s request to be silly but harmless. The more people who become involved, however, the quicker it approaches mortifying. Emma watches as Elsa whispers something to her brother-in-law, likely explaining the unconventional request.

“I’m very friendly,” Mary-Margaret reassures anyone who might be listening.

“You are a flirt, is what you are,” Emma scolds. “And what would dad say if he found out about this?”

“He asked for whiskey. I asked for this.”

“Come on, lass. Don’t deprive me of a dashing rescue.” Killian leans across the bar, his hand reaching out for her phone. All that stubble and the blue-eyes and the accent are worse when directed directly at her. “Besides, your mum sounds like a woman after my own heart.”

“If you’re sure—?”

“Absolutely.”

To her abject horror, the moment she hands Killian the phone, he walks away with it in hand.

“As requested, milady,” he says to the screen, “one genuine Irish man.”

Her mother’s delighted giggle is embarrassing for all Americans everywhere but it seems to delight Killian. She can just makeout her mother’s question about where he grew up when he rounds the corner, out of her hearing.

“Where is he going?” Emma asks, craning her neck. “Where is he taking my phone?”

“If I know Killian, your mum is probably about to get the most thorough oral history of Irish pubs she could have asked for,” Liam says, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

“Oh. Okay.” She drums her fingertips on her glass. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.”

“Nonsense,” he waves her off. “This is the most exciting thing to happen in our pub since Seamus and Willy hosted their wedding reception here.” He jerks his chin towards the group of bearded men she noticed earlier, though which one is Seamus and which is Willy she can’t be certain.

After another fifteen minutes, Emma has finished her pint and Killian still has possession of her phone. He crossed through the room once, merrily chatting with her mother as he regaled her with the story of how he got the scar on his cheek.

Elsa is filling a series of pint glasses for a group of women standing at the bar, and Emma feels the need to apologize again. “This isn’t what I expected,” she explains.

“What’s that?” Elsa asks.

“I was kind of thinking, best case scenario, there’d be an exchange of hellos and that would be that.”

Elsa nods, hands the pints off to the women, and then fills one more. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Blarney stone?”

Emma nods. She has absolutely no intention of kissing the dang thing (her research indicates local teens do all manner of ungodly things to the stone, knowing that tourists intend to kiss it), but it’s on her list to go see.

“Well, Jones family legend —”

“I take it your husband and his brother are Jones’?”

“And me by marriage. Jones family legend has it that Killian must have been birthed upon the stone because never has there been a man more endowed with the gift of gab.” Elsa finishes pouring the pint and sets it in front of her.

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” Right at that moment, Liam returns to the bar and sets a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Or this,” Emma says.

“Knowing my brother, you might be here a while,” Liam explains.

“Gift of gab?”

He nods, pleased that the Jones family lore has reached her. “Gift of gab.”

Liam proves to be correct, which means Emma has ample time to get to know both Elsa and Liam. The two of them are freakishly adept at juggling bartending, interacting with their customers, and keeping up a steady flow of conversation with her. The highlight is hearing the full story of Seamus and Willy (she is able to identify them by their matching navy sweaters – sweaters which Willy apparently handknits for the both of them), two men who worked on the same fishing boat for decades before realizing they were in love.

“Once they sorted that bit out, they got married three weeks later,” Elsa says.

“So which one of them is the designated driver?” Emma asks.

“That whole lot lives down the street.” Liam raises his voice so the group can hear them. “And they do nothing but hassle me every day of my life!” The group all raise their pint glasses and cheer, indicating this kind of teasing is something central to the pub’s dynamic.

Killian returns from wherever it was he was busy flirting with her mother and sets her phone on the bartop. She looks down at the display only to find it blank.

“Uh, your mum had to run to the market, but she indicated she’ll call you later.”

“She didn’t even say goodbye? Unbelievable.” As Emma gears herself up for peak mom-annoyance, she gets a text message. “Speak of the devil.”

4:38 PM - Mom to Emma hubba hubba

“Ah, geez, mom,” she grumbles.

“What’d she say about me?” Killian asks.

“What makes you think that text was about you?”

“Because you have roses in your cheeks.” Emma frowns. She what? “You’re blushing,” Killian says.

“No I’m not.”

“It’s getting deeper, I’m afraid.” He takes away her empty pint glass. “Another?”

“Yes, please.”

He sets another pint of Murphy’s in front of her (Liam was the one to inform her that one drinks Murphy’s when one is in Cork). “Your mother is lovely.”

“Yeah, she’s something alright.” She sips the beer and licks the foam off her lip. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”

“Oh, just having a chat. She wanted to know about the pub and how Elsa and Liam met.”

“The gift of gab.”

“Ah,” he says, “Elsa told you of that, then?”

“Like my mom didn’t tell you anything about me?”

“It was all good, Emma.”

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Why a conversation with an Irish man?” Emma frowns at Killian, not quite certain of what he’s asking. “For a souvenir. That’s truly all your mum wanted?”

“Oh, that. In between flirting, did she tell you anything about her and my dad?” Killian shakes his head. “It’s kind of a long story.”

As if waiting for his cue, Liam comes up behind Killian and slings an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “My dear little brother has time.”

“Younger brother,” Killian corrects.

“Shorter brother.” Liam bumps Killian towards the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you keep Emma company?”

“I have another three hours on my shift.”

“I think Elsa and I can handle it until Will arrives.”

“Liam.”

“Don’t make me fire you.”

“You can’t fire me. We’re co-owners.”

“Fine. Don’t make me quit.”

Killian rolls his eyes but slides out from under Liam’s arm. He crosses to the other side of the bar and sits beside Emma. “I’ll take a pint, then.” He raps his knuckles on the bartop. “And make it quick.”

Emma hides her smile in her pint glass. Both Liam and Elsa have been so lovely. There’s no reason to switch allegiances at this point. Regardless of how much she might be tempted by the stubbly-faced, blue-eyed flirty Irish man sitting beside her.

“Between the two of them and my mother,” Emma says.

“Yeah, not the most subtle lot.” Liam shoots Killian a glare as he sets the pint down to which Killian responds with the cheekiest grin Emma has ever seen. The interaction has older and baby brother written all over it. “So, your mom and Irishmen. Go.”

“Oh, that.” Unlike her mother, and even her father, Emma holds the details of her life close to her chest. She’s made the mistake in the past of sharing too much too fast. When people leave her, either by choice or circumstance, it physically pains her to know there are people out in the world with knowledge of her worries, fears and dreams. But maybe it’s the sandwich sitting warm in her stomach, or the jet lag, or simply the buzz of international travel, because she feels inclined to share at least a few details of her life with Killian.

“My mom and dad both took a gap year after high school and met while backpacking across Europe. They met at the Roman Colosseum, decided to match up their itineraries, and by the time they arrived in Budapest five months later they were in love and my mom was pregnant.”

“And they’ve been together ever since?”

“Almost 27 years.”

“That’s quite the story.”

She nods. “They cut their year of travel short, and went to live with my Grandma Ruth, my dad’s mom. They always talked about returning to Europe, finishing their trip at some point, but by the time I was old enough to leave behind with my grandma, dad was in vet school, mom was teaching, and they were running a wildlife rescue from the family farm. They kept making new plans to travel but they just kept getting pushed back and back and back. Until, one day, they decided to put all that money towards sending me on my first trip instead. So, as much as I fight every silly request she has of me, I would do anything if it made her smile.”

“Your mum and dad never made it to Ireland?”

“Nope.”

“Thus the strange request.”

“Well, it gave me a reason to chat with the lovely lass at the bar, so for that I’ll be forever grateful.”

Her Grandma Ruth, Aunt Ruby, and frankly everyone who knows her parents well, routinely comment on the resemblance between Emma and her dad. Apparently in temperament and affectation they are almost identical. But maybe she’s more like her mom than anyone knows because the conversation between her and Killian flows fast and easy. Easy enough that she barely notices when she and Killian finish their pints and Elsa slides new glasses in front of them. Emma’s head is feeling a little buzzy, and that turkey sandwich was more than a couple hours ago. Maybe she can hint at Killian that she wants to go to the Christmas market. Hint even more specifically that she wouldn’t hate if he went with her.

No, she can’t do that. To even think such a thing would be ridiculous.

She can’t possibly ask a practical stranger to walk up and down the stalls of the festive market with her. She can’t expect him to want to sample all the baked goods and food they can handle. Or to hold her hand while they drink spiked apple cider. That kind of thinking is romantic, and hopeful, and not at all her brand.

“This is really your first trip out of the states?” Killian asks.

“I mean, Canada, but that’s so close to home it doesn’t count.” Emma catches herself, eyes darting to Elsa. “Don’t tell your sister.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Killian angles his body on the stool to face her more directly. Without Emma realizing it, they’ve drifted close enough together over the past hour or so that the move makes it so their knees knock together. Emma could move away, put some distance between them, but everything is foggy and hazy in that delicious way, and she can’t bring herself to move. “What does that make me, then? The ruggedly handsome foreigner you intend to seduce as a notch on your bedpost?”

“Who said anything about seduction?”

“You’re giving me bedroom eyes.”

“I do not make eyes of any kind. Especially bedroom eyes.”

Elsa jumps in, setting glasses of water down for each of them. “Yeah, but Killian does. And he needs to put them away.”

Emma tries to react quickly enough to Elsa’s teasing to evade Killian’s detection, to turn away and hide her smile in her shoulder so he can’t see, but the gentle tug on the end of her braid indicates he caught her.

“Think that’s funny, do you?”

“You and my mom ganged up against me. I deserve to join with your family against you.”

“Your mum is great.” He shrugs. “Well, based on the little I know.”

“I know she can be a little intense. I hope she didn’t—”

“She was as lovely as her daughter.” Before his words can fully sink in, perhaps bringing that blush back to her cheeks, he’s moved on. “You’ll have to bring her with you when you return.”

She rests her chin on palm, blinking up at him. Okay, maybe she sometimes makes eyes. “What makes you think I have any plans to come back?”

“Ireland gets in your blood. You’ll be back.”

This time they’re interrupted by Liam. He swipes away the pint glasses in front of them, remaining beer and all. “That’s about all I can stomach of that.”

“What do you mean?” Killian asks.

“You’ve been flirting with the kind tourist long enough. Time to go.”

Oh. Emma looks down at her boots. A surge of deep embarrassment heating her cheeks and causing her stomach to churn. “Sorry,” she says quietly, her eyes turned down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” The twin cries from both Liam and Killian startle her. She’s not sure which one appears more stricken by her announcement she intended to leave.

“Apologies, Emma, I wasn’t clear,” Liam says. He extends his hand to Killian. “Apron.” It takes Killian a moment to react but when Liam stays in his place, his hand extended, Killian removes his apron and hands it to him. “See you tomorrow, little brother.”

“Younger.”

“Dumber.”

“Stubborner.”

“Not a word.” Liam stalks back over to Elsa who is shaking her head at the whole display. “They’re both idiots,” Liam says, and Emma is just going to pretend she didn’t hear that, thank you very much.

“Have you been to the Christmas market yet, Emma?” Killian’s voice brings her back to the pub, and this particular bar stool, with this particular man. This particular man who has somehow intuited the secret desire of her heart to go to the town’s Christmas market with him.

“No. No. Not yet.”

Killian jumps down from his seat and extends a hand to Emma to help her down. “Come on, love. Let’s sail away.”

There’s 100 ways Emma could respond to that. She could tell Killian she isn’t his love. She could jump down from the stool on her own. She could insist she’s fine going to the market by herself. But she tries to channel a little magic, that particular magic which for her mom and dad turned one day in Rome into a lifetime, and chooses differently.

(Not that she’s saying she expects—)

She takes Killian’s offered hand and his answering grin is all the confirmation she needs she made the right decision.

And so they go to the Christmas market, and at Killian’s insistence she tries mulled wine but quickly trades it in for a cup of boozy cider. They ride the ferris wheel, the cold stinging her cheeks from the top, the lights of Cork spread out before her, and that thrum of love for this place beats loudly in her veins. Suddenly every travel story her parents have ever told her makes sense and maybe Killian is right – maybe Ireland is in her blood.

They walk together side-by-side and at a point Emma can’t remember – somewhere between sampling whiskey, buying several bottles for her dad, and licking salt and malt vinegar from hot chips off her fingers – they transition to walking hand-in-hand. The heat of Killian’s skin, even through two layers of gloves, is what she blames for the fact that she actually starts humming along to Christmas carols. Where’s that deep cynicism she has been committed to for her life when she needs it?

“Told you,” Killian says after the two of them step away from a stall with handmade ornaments. She must have been channeling her mom because she couldn’t stop herself from striking up a conversation with the vendor. Somehow by the end of the interaction she’d agreed to join him and his wife for their annual holiday pub crawl the following night.

“Told me what?”

“That you would fall for Ireland.”

“You get the honor and privilege of keeping me company on my first full night on my first real trip out of the country and all you can say is ‘I told you so’?”

“I believe what I am trying to say, love, is you appear very much at home here.”

The sentiment makes everything in Emma buzz, but she does what she does best and works to diffuse it. “Well, uh, I don’t know. Does it ever snow here?”

“Eh, we get about 50 mm every year?” At her look of confusion Killian smiles. “Not much.”

“Have you ever had a white Christmas?”

“Can’t say I have. They’re pretty rare in Ireland.”

“In that case, I think this means you should come to Maine. We do a great white Christmas.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Great. Next year sound good?”

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand. “Sounds great.”

She hears the faint echo of advice her dad once gave her. It was right when she was fresh off her heartbreak with Neal and wasn’t sure she had it in her to apply for grad school. He said something to her about moments. About the need to notice good moments even in the midst of bad ones.

Standing here hand-in-hand with a man she met only five hours ago, the glow of Christmas lights dancing in technicolor hues against his cheeks and hair, Emma is absolutely certain this is a good moment.

“Emma?”

She answers Killian’s question by rising up on her toes and kissing him. It’s quick and fleeting, barely a brush of her lips against his, but the look on his face as she pulls away, all bright eyed-wonder, deserves to be classified as a good moment all on its own.

It takes self-control Emma wasn’t aware she possessed to not drop their shopping bags to the ground, grip him by the lapels of his jacket, and kiss the crap out of him. Instead she loops her arm in his.

“It’s getting late,” she says. “Want to walk me back to my hotel?”

He swallows, that poleaxed expression still on his face. “Aye.”

The next morning, Emma is woken up by the sound of her video call alert and boy it was a mistake to not extend her do not disturb until noon. She reaches out and blindly bats at the bedside table until she makes contact with her phone. As soon as she swipes up on her mom’s call, she squeezes her eyes shut again.

“Hello?”

“Oh, sweetie. Are you still jet lagged?”

“And a little hungover.”

“Sounds like you had a very eventful night.”

Killian grumbles from somewhere behind her. “What time is it?” he asks.

It’s right about this moment Emma realizes her error. Her mom goes quiet and Emma considers taking the opportunity to end the call. And then maybe ignore every call thereafter for the next five days.

“Emma Nolan. Is there a man in bed with you?”

“No,” Emma answers, though it’s perfunctory and not at all convincing.

Killian presses closer to her, and shifts so his chin rests on her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Nolan. And this must be Mr. Nolan.”

That gets Emma’s attention and she opens her eyes enough to see her mom and dad sitting beside one another on the couch. While her mom is positively gleeful, her dad looks as though he wishes he could melt into the couch cushions and disappear.

“There are certain things I don’t care to see,” her dad says. “Certain things I don’t care to know.”

Emma rotates in bed and onto her back, holding the phone above her head so both she and Killian are still in view of the camera. “Oh hush, Dad, you and mom did it the first night you met.”

“You told her that?”

In response, her mom shrugs. “She asked.”

“And not that it matters, but Killian and I didn’t have sex.”

Though it didn’t stop them from trading long, slow kisses that left her dizzy and wanting more, more, and more. Killian must have felt the same because it took little to no convincing to get him to stay the night. Perhaps most remarkably, after extending the invitation, Emma had no desire to retract it or pretend it didn’t mean anything.

“Your daughter was far too drunk to have sex.” Emma turns her head so fast in Killian’s direction she hears something crack.

“That, for instance, is one of the things I don't want to know about,” her dad says.

Killian cheerfully waves at the camera, ignoring both her father’s indignation and her glare. “I’m Killian, by the way. Happy to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Nolan.”

Emma elbows Killian. The man is a total menace. “I’ll call you guys back when I’ve had coffee,”

“I want details,” her mom says.

“And I want no details.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma hangs up the phone and tosses it in the direction of the foot of the bed. She flips over onto her side and Killian mirrors her, reaching out to trace the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “So that was my dad.”

“He seems a charming fellow.”

“Don’t let the responsible tough guy act fool you,” she says, and snuggles closer to Killian. He responds just as she hoped, by wrapping his arms tight around her. “He once spent all his money on a cross country train ride and stole oyster crackers from the dining car for food. And during a California road trip, my mom almost froze to death sleeping in her wet bathing suit on the side of the road.”

Killian chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh making her feel even warmer. “You’re saying they can deal with a half naked man in their daughter’s hotel room?”

“Yeah, they can deal.” After a moment’s hesitation, Emma slips her hands up and under Killian’s shirt. It’s the one he wore to work, and she can still smell the faint aromas of beer and fried food that linger. She presses her palms against his back and bunches the shirt up, up, and then over his head.

“Emma?”

A girl could get used to the way his voice moves over the syllables of her name. “They might have a problem with a fully naked one, though.” She kisses his bare shoulder.

Killian’s hands move under her shirt to span her waist. Goosebumps breakout across her skin. By the slight twist of his lips, Killian notices. “So you’re saying—?”

“I’m saying you should quit gabbing and kiss me before they call again.”

“As you wish.”

And a week later, when she is back in Maine celebrating Christmas with her family and Killian is in Ireland with his, Emma convinces herself she imagined it. She must have. She must have imagined how safe she felt in the presence of another person. Imagined the comfort she felt as he joined her for a quick road trip to Dublin. Imagined that it could feel like your heart was split in two, half residing in the chest of a person you just met.

But the week of New Year’s Eve, when he arrives in Maine to celebrate with her, she’s startled to find it was all real.

The morning after Killian arrives, she sits with her mom in her parents’ breakfast nook, the two of them sipping coffee as Killian and her dad make waffles.

“Not such a dumb souvenir after all, huh?” her mom whispers.

Emma shakes her head, too happy to even react to her mom’s shameless gloating. “No. Not so dumb.”

#csss2020 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #ouat ff #killian jones #emma swan #cs secret santa 2020 #p: emma x killian #thisonesatellite

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sinfulshelbys · 4 years

Text

Euphoria | shelby! reader

Isaiah Jesus x Shelby! Reader

summary: in which Isaiah Jesus and Y/N Shelby pretend to be nothing more than friends with benefits, leading to complications and tense feelings

warnings: smut, swearing, jealous! isaiah, jealous! reader, idiots in love

word count: 3k

Nothing goes on within the walls of Polly Gray’s house without her knowledge.

This saying has held true for years, all the Shelby siblings often using it as a way of teasing their aunt – yourself included. From the time that she somehow knew that it was you and John who had taken all Tommy’s left shoe’s and right socks to the moment that Finn and you had hidden a stray kitten in a box under your bed – she knew it all.

Which is why you were surprised that Polly hadn’t noticed what was going on between you and your best friend, Isaiah. In fact, it had been your brother Finn who was the first one to find out about the thing going on with the pair of you.

He had caught the boy trying to sneak out of your window when he opened his to let the smoke from his cigarette out; instantly rushing into your room.

“Isaiah, what the fuck are you doing?” Finn whisper-yelled, swinging your door open – your eyes widening when you turned to see your brother.

With one leg out of the window and his hands hastily buttoning up his shirt, Isaiah looked equally as shocked as you as he tried to form a satisfying response, for the youngest Shelby as to why he was in his sisters room.

“Finn, funny you joined us,” his smooth voice wavered as Finn rolled his eyes, before pointing between the two of you.

“Are you guys fucking?”

Wrapping your robe tighter around your naked frame, you ran a hand hastily through your matted hair – Finn’s jaw dropping at the sight of the markings that littered your collar bone from where your robe slipped.

“Jesus christ,” he snickered, trying to stop his laughter. “Why hasn’t aunt Pol told us?”

Shrugging, you let out a sigh before pinching your brothers bicep.

“Because aunt Pol surprisingly doesn’t know,” you rolled your eyes, before gesturing for Finn to leave. “Don’t you dare fucking tell her either Finn or I’ll dob you in for stealing all her scones.”

From that moment on, Finn had helped you and Isaiah hide your hookups.

If Isaiah stayed over, he would tell everybody that they had a boys night or if the pair of you accidentally slipped up and let your hands linger a bit too long on one another, Finn would take one for the team and embarrass himself.

However, every time he asked if you were together you would immediately deny it – it’s complicated, was all you said.

Because it was complicated after all, you and Isaiah weren’t in a doting relationship; you fucked and that was it. And while there are numerous things wrong with having your best friends head between your thighs, you couldn’t find yourself to care.

Isaiah ate you out like you were the last meal he was ever going to taste, his head covered by your skirt as you were perched upon your desk – papers thrown carelessly across the floor in your haste to have each other like this. Sensually.

“Isaiah,” you gasped – his name barely leaving your lips. You were close, oh so close, and he knew it. Suddenly his fingers were in you, adding to the feeling of his tongue swirling on your clit and you exploded – hands barely being able to keep your body upright.

Trying to even out your breathing as Isaiah pulled himself up off his knees, you finally came face-to-face with the smug boy. You watched as he sucked on his fingers that were covered in your juices – a soft whine leaving your throat at the erotic sight.

“I‘m going to fuck you over this desk one day,” his voice was deep, filled with lust as he caged you between his arms on either side of you. “Bend you over and just completely ruin you.”

“Shit,” was all you could say to his words, eyes fluttering shut as his hands made their way under your skirt to run up and down your thighs – he lowly chuckled at the pathetic state you were in.

Before things could become heated again, a knock at your door startled you both – Isaiah quickly pulling away to round the other side of your desk as you hopped down, straightening yourself out as best as you could.

“Who is it?” You called, only to hear John’s voice yell back asking if he could enter; which you agreed to.

“Hey, we’re about to leave for the Garrison, you coming?” Your brother beamed, before looking at Isaiah who was sitting on the chair opposite you. “Isaiah, what the bloody hell are you doing in here?”

Before Isaiah could respond, you interjected, “asking me the same thing you were Johnny boy,” – you were becoming too comfortable with lying.

“Alright,” John pretended to not notice that your panties that were in a heap on the floor next to Isaiah’s coat that he had forgotten to put back on, or the disastrous state the office was in. “We’ll c’mon you two, let’s go.”

Nodding, you told John to give you both a minute, the boy shaking his head fondly before shutting the door. Staring at Isaiah, you quickly reached to the floor; grabbing his coat and tossing it at him before hastily pulling on your panties.

Walking towards the door, you turned towards Isaiah who was still sitting with his coat on his lap.

“Well,” you trailed, causing the boy to look at you. “You coming or not?”

~~~~~~~~~

Jealousy was a funny thing to Isaiah.

He loved to make fun of John Shelby when the boy would drop everything to stop some daft man who thought it was a good idea to flirt with Esme or relentlessly teased Arthur for being “whipped,” every time the eldest Shelby stormed over to his wife, Linda, who was being sent one too many drinks from the grimy men at the bar.

He just never thought he would feel that way – especially, because the two of you agreed that what you were doing was purely for fun and nothing else.

Swallowing the bitter whiskey on the tip of his tongue, Isaiah watched as you chatted to the man who sat on the stall next to you at the bar. The Garrison was loud and full of life, but Isaiah swore that all he could hear was the sound of his racing heart as his eyes locked on you.

His jaw tensed as you put your dainty hand on the business mans arm, laughing at something he had said. He was good for you, Isaiah told himself – you needed someone who wasn’t rough around the edges and the brown haired man beside you seemed to be just that.

Pouring himself another drink, Isaiah turned his attention back to Michael who was explaining some drunken theory to his cousins, pretending to laugh along with whatever drunken words that were spilling from his best friends lips. But he soon felt his attention slipping towards where he last saw you; only to find you and the man gone.

Perking his head up to see past the multitude of bodies in the Garrison, Isaiah couldn’t find you anywhere and he felt his head leap with the realisation that you must’ve left with Mr. Goody-two-shoes.

So with a scoff he grabbed the bottle of whiskey, pouring himself another glass and downing it in one go before slumping back in his seat.

He shouldn’t care about what, or who, you did – you guys weren’t together, but he couldn’t fucking help the way his stomach was doing flips at the idea of another mans hands touching you places that only his touched hours before, or the idea that he wasn’t the only one to hear your moans, or see the way your face glowed when you reached bliss.

He couldn’t help that he was pathetically in love with you – or that you didn’t feel the same. So he did the only thing that seemed sensible in the moment, but he would regret once it was over.

She was pretty, but she wasn’t you.

~~~~~~~~~

You hated to admit when your brothers were right – especially Finn.

In fact, the only sibling that you would ever allow to be right was Ada; the girl always being full of wisdom and advice to provide you when she was.

But here you were, sitting across the coffee table in the living room – Finn and you in a heated game of chess when he hit you with the question that you were trying to ignore.

“Do you love him?”

It should’ve been a simple question with a simple answer, instead your hand dropped your chess piece, head darting up to your brother who was watching your struggle with amusement.

“Love who?” You recovered, picking your piece up before moving it across the board. Finn only let out an annoyed groan, pushing the game aside to get your full attention.

“You fucking know who,” his response was short and snappy. “Do you love Isaiah?”

Pinching the bridge of you nose – an action that you had been told one too many times by your aunt that it reminded her of Tommy – you leaned back against the couch behind you, arms raising in the air in frustration.

“No, maybe – I don’t fucking know Finn, it’s–.”

“Complicated.” He rolled his eyes, picking up a pawn from the board before tossed it at you. “It’s only complicated because you’re both making it that way.”

Remaining quiet, you fiddled with the piece that landed in your lap before throwing it back at your brother who quickly dodged it before it hit his cheek.

Finn sighed, he wasn’t one to get involved in your business – it was just the way you two worked since you were younger – but he couldn’t help himself in this instance, knowing that if he didn’t give you a push both you and Isaiah were going to end up hating each other and he wasn’t ever going to let that happen.

“Look, Isaiah loves you. Don’t ask how I know or deny it – because he fucking does. He couldn’t take his eyes off you last night, it was like he was hypnotised by you; couldn’t get his fucking attention. But he saw you with the man you were talking to and was obviously jealous, and when you both disappeared – let’s just say he made a stupid mistake.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked towards the freckled boy in-front of you. “What kind of mistake?”

“The kind that involves a whole bottle of whiskey and a pretty brunette.”

“Shit.”

Another girl. Isaiah was with another girl last night while you were wide awake in bed waiting for him. His hands were on her, lips kissing hers instead of yours – touched her like he had touched you a thousand times. It hit you like a ton of bricks as you felt your heart break at the idea.

“Holy shit, Finn,” you let out a shaky breath, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I’m in love with Isaiah fucking Jesus.”

~~~~~~~~~

No strings. That was the one rule you had both agreed upon when you started sleeping together. No fucking strings.

“Don’t fall in love with me, Isaiah Jesus,” you had specifically told him, Isaiah instantly agreeing; sarcastically replying as he undressed you.

“As long as you don’t fall in love with me, Y/N Shelby.”

But here you were, pacing back and forth in your room as you waited for Isaiah to let himself in after his meeting with Tommy. Your hands clenched and unclenched about a hundred times in the last forty-seconds, nerves rattling through every cell in your body at what you were about to admit to Isaiah.

Hearing a soft knock at your door, you instantly knew it was him – the timid boy pushing your door open, looking behind him to make sure none of your family were around before walking in.

Before he could say anything, your words fell from your mouth – everything you wanted to ask coming out all at once. “You were with another girl?”

“I- fucking what?” He spluttered, slightly stunned at your question that sounded more like a statement.

“Were you with another girl?” You repeated.

Still slightly stunned, Isaiah watched as you ran a shaky hand through your hair, his eyes noticing the small crescent moons on your palms from your nails, it was obvious that the idea of him with someone else made you stressed.

Instead of denying it, Isaiah only became defensive. “Well, you were with another guy!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Groaning, Isaiah walked over to you bed – taking a seat on the edge before patting the space beside him as a signal for you to join him. He waited until you were comfortable before facing you – figuring that there was no point in this resulting in an argument that would definitely gain your families attention.

“That guy at the bar that you were talking to,” Isaiah began, vulnerability creeping into his tone. “You left together and I-”

“Whoah hold on,” you cut him off, turning you body towards him. “I didn’t leave with Mr. Hughes. I took him to the back room to do business with Tommy and then went home because I was exhausted.”

“So you didn’t sleep with him?”

“No sia, I was actually waiting here for you while you were off with some girl that Finn told me about.”

Huffing, Isaiah shook his head as he looked towards the wall – muttering about how Finn told you everything, before turning back towards you.

“I couldn’t go through with it,” he admitted, eyes turning soft as he reached up to brush a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “I got to the front door of her house and she leaned up to kiss me and I pulled away because she wasn’t who I wanted to be kissing. She wasn’t who I wanted to be going home with.”

“And who did you want to be kissing?” You voice was barely above a whisper as Isaiah moved closer to you; his soft breath fanning across your face. “Who did you want to go home with?”

“You, and only you.”

With those simple words Isaiah’s lips were on yours, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you onto his lap, while he shifted up against the headboard. Your hands held tightly onto his vest, as if you were scared that if you let go he would disappear from your grasp.

Pulling away, both of you were breathless as Isaiah pulled off his shirt – your hands lifting your dress up and over your head. Isaiah lunged forward to connect his lips to the skin just above your breasts – pressing light kisses upon it, as soft moans passed your lips.

“Isaiah,” you whispered, pulling a hum from the boy as you ran your hands through his hair. Your heart practically bursting from your chest as you finally said those three little words. “I love you.”

Isaiah’s head seemed to shoot up at your words, the moonlight filtering into your room from the gap in your curtains hitting his skin perfectly, adding an angelic glow to him.

Your hand remains on his chest, just above his heart and you feel it skip a beat, maybe two, as he looks intently at your face as if searching for a reason of doubt behind your words. He came up empty.

Warm fingers curved around the nape of your neck, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. His words as soft as velvet – desperate and hopeful.

“Say it again.”

You do.

You’d say it over a thousand times without him needing to ask.

“I love you, Isaiah Jesus.”

The kiss is softer but more urgent to show just how much he appreciated the words. He swears he could stay here, in this moment, forever. Just him and you – he would if he could. He wishes he could commit the feeling to memory.

Instead, he says the words back as he flips you over, kisses as light as feathers as they are peppered over your bare chest.

“I love you, Y/N Shelby.” The words are sweet, like the honey that Polly spends more money than necessary on. A groan barely audible emitting from the back of his throat as you unbuckle his belt. “So fucking much.”

Your hands roam each others skin – your fingers lightly running over the scars that litter his chest before you kiss them. Intimate. Yours.

Your movements are fluid – knowing each others bodies better than your own. Only this time it isn’t fucking. It’s love making, and my God, did you love each other.

Your legs were wrapped around his hips – your head flies back against your pillow as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust in-between his rhythmic ones. Perfect. Sweet.

The bed-frame is lightly banging against the plaster wall and you’re certain that it will leave a dent – or wake up your family. But you didn’t care, not when it felt this good. Not when it was this right.

One of his hand creeps up to grab yours that’s above gripping your sheet, his other making its way between your legs – thumb finding your bundle of nerves that sets your body alight. It’s all you needed to push you there, the feeling causing Isaiah to crumble, white ribbons spilling inside you.

Collapsing beside you, Isaiah doesn’t let go of your hand – he’d hold it tighter if he could. Jagged breaths leaving both of your parted lips as you stared at each other. Your hearts beating as one. It’s beautiful. Delightful.

“Do you mean it?” He asks, a little too scared of rejection.

You roll over, your lips tasting his again. You repeat the words, whispering them to him, the moon and all the stars.

“I love you, Isaiah Jesus.”

He watches as the glow settles upon your body – only one word filling Isaiah’s mind as her takes in your angelic appearance. Lips swollen, his marks littered upon your body, hair a tussled mess that’s cascaded around your head forming your own personal halo.

This is what euphoria feels like, he thinks – and he utterly believes it.

“I love you, Y/N Shelby.”

Yeah, this is euphoria.

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

The Monogamy Monologues (Preview)

Status: Currently writing

Posting Date: February 7th (tentative)

Creative Contributor: @underthejoon for this lovely banner!

Genre: Rom-Com / Humor / Smut

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: The year? Some point after college. The occasion? Namjoon is getting married and the Rich Man’s Crochet Club has convened once again. Somewhere between the drinks and the laughter, everyone has the same realization: Jungkook has never been in a serious relationship. In the name of all that is holy (Overwatch and booze), the club’s mission is revived. Now though, their goal is much more perilous. Now, they aim to find Jeon Jungkook a girlfriend. (Part of The Rich Man’s Crochet Club series)

Estimated WC: 40K

Rating: 18+

Preview: 2,088

“JIMIN!”

“JEON!” Waving wildly, Jimin flags Jungkook down as he steps off the escalator.

There are still several people between them, but none of them prove to be a match for Jungkook. Dodging them easily – spinning, at one point around a family of five – Jungkook dramatically runs towards the exit.

“JIMIN-SSI!” he yells. “I’M COMING!”

Jimin rolls his eyes at the display. “Get your ass over here, Jeon! Sorry,” he apologizes to the same family of five.

Although the mother shoots them both a dirty look, she hurries her kids towards the Taxi stand and does not look back. Jimin opens his arms just as Jungkook crashes into his chest.

Lowering his cheek to Jimin’s hair, Jungkook closes his eyes to whisper, “I think you got shorter.”

“Fuck off,” Jimin grunts, shoving him away before laughing.

Jungkook grins. “Anyways,” he says, slinging an arm about Jimin’s neck. “Are you ready for the best weekend of our lives?”

With a good-natured shake of his head, Jimin leads Jungkook out of the terminal. Always the excellent host, Jimin actually parked his car at the airport and walked inside to greet him. Jungkook cannot remember the last time his family did that for him, let alone a friend.

“Ready to assist Namjoon, you mean?” Jimin gives Jungkook a look. “You know – on his wedding day?”

“Yeah, yeah. That.” The moment they step outside, Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Ahh,” he groans, slowly exhaling. “You smell that, Jimin?”

“Car exhaust?”

“No. Lack of humidity.”

Jimin snorts, striding forward when the crosswalk turns green. “Still not sold on Miami?”

Jungkook opens one eye. “Miami’s fine,” he says automatically, following Jimin as they enter the garage.

Over his shoulder, the garment bag keeps banging his ass. As much as Jungkook hoped this would keep his suit from wrinkling, it is looking more and more like he will need an iron.

Not believing a word Jungkook says, Jimin raises a brow. “If you say so.”

As they reach the next aisle, Jungkook takes in deep gulps of air. Jimin shakes his head at his antics, but Jungkook could not care less. This city always smells like home to him. When they reach Jimin’s car, though – a sensible, gray Subaru – Jungkook’s feet falter.

“What happened to Liz?” he blurts, taken aback by the trade.

Liz was their college nickname for Jimin’s car, stemming from the infamous Liz Lemon of 30 Rock. So dubbed because Jimin’s old car was a complete piece of crap – a lemon, from the time he drove it off the lot.

Jimin pauses, flipping the keys in one hand. “Traded it in,” he says stiffly, pulling open the door. “Too many memories.”

Realizing what Jimin means, Jungkook winces. He had nearly forgotten about the break-up. Granted, it has been almost four months since Jimin and Olivia called it quits, but the two had been dating since college. Slightly longer than Namjoon and his fiancée.

Whereas Namjoon and his fiancée grew closer after University though, Jimin and Olivia were the opposite. Jimin graduated summa cum laude with an acceptance to one of the top medical schools in the country. His painful notetaking really paid off, as Namjoon was wont to say. When he moved to Chicago and began med school in earnest, Olivia left for New York to join a consulting company.

With their busy schedules and early twenties lives, the two drifted apart. Jimin was the one who held on, not wanting to end things with the first girl he loved. It was only when he surprised Olivia in New York over Valentine’s Day he realized it was over. Not that Olivia was cheating on him, or anything – maybe it would have been easier if she were. At least then, there would be somebody to blame.

No, Jimin merely realized they did not fit anymore. Olivia had her friends and interests; he had his and the two no longer meshed. Without realizing it, they had both reached a fork in the woods and turned down different paths.

Ever since their break-up, the chat has been wary of even mentioning her name.

Jungkook glances hesitantly at his profile. “You okay, man?” he asks as they enter the car. Tossing his duffle bag over the backseat, he prays it does not land on his suit.

“Okay?” Jimin places the car in reverse. “Could be better, I guess. Could be worse.”

Jungkook nods as they pull from the spot. Slouched in his seat, he stares out the window because in times like this, he is useless. When it comes to matters of the heart, Jungkook considers himself to be woefully inept.

“Sorry man,” he says quietly. A car honks in response as they get on the highway. “Wish I could say we always hated her, but you know that’s not true.”

Jimin snorts from the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I know. I can’t really bring myself to say that, either.”

“Well, maybe you two will –”

“No. We won’t.”

Seeing Jimin’s face, Jungkook shrugs and resumes looking out the window.

After a minute, Jimin exhales. “So, how’s Miami really going?”

Jungkook’s head whips sideways to face him.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth lifts. “Thought you hid it well, huh?”

“Better than five minutes into the car ride, yeah.”

“Well, you don’t.”

Jungkook snorts. “Miami is… fine. I don’t know. It’s not really Miami I have a problem with.”

“Your job, then?”

“Yeah, and… I don’t know. Everything.”

“Be a little more vague.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “I just…” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “It was so much simpler in college, you know? Things were difficult, but it all had an end date. Right? Get through four years, and you’re done. I’m starting to realize… this doesn’t have an end date.”

Jimin’s lips purse at the road. “The end date is whenever you want it to be, JK.”

“I guess,” Jungkook grumbles, slouching lower in the seat. Any further, and he might slip off the edge. “But then I’d have to admit that I failed. That I spent eight fucking years of my life either in this job, or working towards it. What was the point if I quit?”

“What’s the point of spending another eight years doing something you hate?”

Jungkook stubbornly chews the inside of his cheek, knowing Jimin is right. The problem is, though – even if he quits, Jungkook has no idea what to do. Sure, he likes photography, but the field is competitive as hell. Jungkook wants to do something he loves, but he also wants to succeed. Taking such a massive leap terrifies him.

“Let’s talk about something else,” he mumbles, turning to Jimin.

Although Jimin arches a brow, he reluctantly lets the subject go. “Sure. Let’s talk instead about how Seokjin is bringing a date to the wedding.”

“Seokjin?” Jungkook’s brows shoot so far up, they near-disappear. “Who?”

“Some girl from LA.”

“No shit,” Jungkook exhales, slowly shaking his head. “Wow. We’re all settling down, huh? Soon, it’ll just be you and me, Jimin,” he grins, leaning over to punch Jimin in the arm.

The wheel jerks at the action, swerving them towards the next lane. “Hey!” Jimin blurts, straightening them out with a scowl. “At least I dated someone during the past five years, Jeon. Who’ve you been seeing?”

“No comment.”

“Huh. I don’t remember her. Was she the blonde?”

“Shut up,” Jungkook laughs, reaching out for the stereo. As the latest pop song fills the car, he pointedly stares out the window.

Jimin smiles, shaking his head. Namjoon’s wedding is being held in the city. His fiancée’s father is some big shot at a downtown law firm. From what Jungkook has gathered, the ceremony spiraled from a small, romantic affair into one of the biggest events of the season.

Jungkook’s lip quirks. That is how you know Namjoon’s fiancée’s family is rich. They use phrases like event of the season and christen their yachts with only the most expensive champagne. Having been to several yacht-christenings in Miami, Jungkook has never understood the event. What is the point of buying something expensive, only to ruin it?

Actually, maybe that is the point.

Pushing Miami from mind, Jungkook stares at the highway as they drive towards the city. The wedding has taken on a mind of its own, according to Namjoon. So detailed, so elaborate, they were forced to hire a wedding planner. Jungkook can only imagine Namjoon, micro-manager to the extreme, being forced to trust someone else with his life.

It has been a while since Jungkook last visited Chicago. Namjoon’s family is from here, and whenever they visited in college, they always had a great time. His mom sent them off each morning with fresh fruit and eggs – it was sweet; reminded Jungkook of home.

The familiar skyline arching above brings a smile to his lips. All in all, Jimin and Hoseok do not realize how lucky they are. If Jungkook lived here, he would – cutting the thought off, Jungkook sits up in his seat. Jungkook does not live here, so there is no point pretending.

Glancing down at his phone, Jungkook feels a modicum of guilt. After placing himself in airplane mode, he has not turned the device back on since he landed. Jungkook knows there will be a fresh wave of texts from his boss and for now, wishes to delay the inevitable.

“Where’s the wedding again?” Jungkook asks, turning his head.

Jimin shrugs as he rolls down his window. The night wind ruffles his hair, sending strands flying all over the place. “Some hotel by the river. Hear it has a great view.”

“And what’s the plan for the weekend?”

“Jungkook!” Jimin scolds, turning down the radio. “Did you even read the agenda Seokjin sent?”

Jungkook glances at him guiltily. “Um, I looked at it.”

Seokjin’s is Namjoon’s best man for the wedding. It makes sense – the two of them have been roommates since sophomore year of college, not to mention they both live in LA. Jungkook knows Jimin has also helped Namjoon with wedding details, since he lives in Chicago.

The look Jimin gives says he knows Jungkook is full of bullshit. “There’s a copy of the itinerary in my glove compartment,” he says with a nod. “I printed out a few just in case.”

“Why the fuck,” Jungkook grumbles as he opens the clasp. “Alright, here we go. Wednesday.”

“That’s today,” Jimin prompts.

“I know what day it is.” Jungkook clears his throat. “Alright, Wednesday. Bridesmaids and groomsmen arrive.”

“That’s us,” Jimin adds, shooting Jungkook a look.

“Yep, yep. Thursday – booze cruise. Woo! Seriously?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You really didn’t read this, did you?”

Ignoring him, Jungkook continues. “Friday – rehearsal ceremony and dinner. Be at the church by 4:00 PM.”

“Dressed.”

“Doesn’t seem like a necessary clarification,” Jungkook says, flipping over the paper. “Saturday, ceremony starts at 2:00 PM. Photos and reception following. Sunday, brunch.”

Jimin nods. “Don’t be late.”

“Jimin.” Jungkook lowers the sheet. “It’s Wednesday. How can you seriously tell me not to be late to brunch on Sunday?”

“Because I know you.”

“Touché.” Jungkook grins, crumpling the paper despite Jimin’s groans.

There are not many people heading into the city on a Wednesday night – turning on his blinker, Jimin switches lanes to pull off on an exit. As they slow, the buildings around them seem to stretch towards the night sky. Craning his head out the window, Jungkook exhales. When he pulls back, he finds Jimin watching.

“What?” Jungkook asks, somewhat defensive.

Jimin’s upper lip curls. “Nothing. You know, Hoseok and I’s roommate leaves at the end of the month. If you ever wanted to come to Chicago…”

Jungkook glances away. “C’mon, man. I can’t quit my job.”

“Can’t… won’t…” Jimin trails off at Jungkook’s expression in the mirror. “Anyways, the offer stands. Think about it, okay?”

Slowly, Jungkook nods. “Alright, I’ll think about.”

Jimin smiles, appeased and returns to the road. His hands stay firmly at the ten and two ‘o’clock position, which is so Jimin, it makes Jungkook smile. As they wind through the streets, Jungkook cannot help but think about what it would be like to live here.

He would probably be miserable if he simply transferred to Chicago. Maybe a little less so, since Hoseok and Jimin would be here – but nothing would really change in the long run. If he quit his job, though. Jungkook sighs. For now, that type of change remains firmly in the abstract.

“There!” Jimin squints at the building ahead. “That’s the hotel.”

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

#preview #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

418 notes · View notes

whatwashernameagain · 4 years

Text

Keep him safe - Chapter 34

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, Ch 30, previous chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you, The Dreamer

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 9.007

Warnings: Roman and Virgil’s horny thoughts (not explicit), slight mention of cross dressing, scratches, political criticism, cursing – let me know if I forgot one!

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however, feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: Thanks to @sebthesnipe for proof reading even though she is the busiest person in the world and to @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 for being amazing and running the KHS Discord server for two amazing years now.

Chapter 34

“Hey asshole, pick your shit up! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Virgil screeched at the unsuspecting dog walker from his spot at the front door of their apartment building, already seething with anger. He’d just gotten back from his early morning training at Talyn’s place and had been looking forward to finishing it with Logan, who was currently on his run. And now this dirtbag was getting all up in this shit – or… Virgil was getting up in the dude’s shit. Well sue him!

The man startled, looking down at the cigarette butt he’d tossed to the ground carelessly.

“What’s wrong with me? You can’t just call me an asshole over nothing! Who do you think you are? Where I throw my fags is none of your business.”

Oh, that had been a mistake.

Virgil abandoned his attempt to unlock the door and got right into the man’s face, ignoring the bulldog happily yaping around his heels. He was so ready for this.

“Over NoThInG? Listen up, you hollow walnut!”

Before he could start ranting properly, a familiar tall man wearing a band tee with a ripped collar, no shoes and wild eyes materialized next to him.

“Oohh yay, are we throwing away our stuff???” He cheered, immediately emptying his pockets and throwing everything on the ground with glee. Bloody tissues, clothespins, a folding knife, crumbling dog treats (immediately slobbered away by enthusiastic dog) and a worn, tiny bible. Papers immediately started spilling out of it – some filled with scribbled thoughts or to do lists, others with faded printouts. In his back pockets he found a bunch of candy wrappers he immediately threw up to rain around himself, unintentionally tossing a pocket Quran along with it which he hastily fumbled with so not to drop it.

Virgil ducked out of the radius of his debris, as usual weirded out and awed in equal parts by professor Duke. The dog-walker looked at him like he’d just bitten off his own foot.

“The hell? Fags aren’t the same as your garbage, you crazy freak!” The man exclaimed, thoroughly disturbed.

“No, dude. They’re much worse!” Virgil growled, ignoring Remus trying to free his fingers from a distressed looking worm on a string he’d gotten tangled in. Quite a few people had stopped to watch them, yet with the professor cheerfully making a scene next to him, Virgil managed to keep his head high despite the heat and anxiety making his heart race.

“Cigarette butts contain over 4000 toxic substances and are virtually indestructible.” The young delinquent hissed. “The filters are made of a plastic called cellulose acetate and they take 10 years to decompose completely- just one of those fucks poisons one cubic meter of water and kills all the fucking fish in it.”

“You should pick it up, friend. Before I get ideas about where to put it out.” Remus cooed sweetly, before ruining the elegant subtly of his threat by becoming way too graphic.

“In your face!” He screeched, flailing grandly and wiggling his fingers, the bulldog distracting him by nosing at his pockets, hoping for more treats. Its owner used the chance to sullenly grab his cigarette stub and get away.

“You shouldn’t have a doggy-dog if you can’t handle being a clean boy!” Remus hollered after him, way too loud and shameless. “Do you not wipe your ass after you take a shit either? You naughty, dirty boy? Is it a sex thing? That is the one sex thing you keep in your bedroom!”

Virgil was blushing thoroughly, not enjoying the attention despite the righteous fire still fueling his anger. What the fuck was wrong with people throwing their garbage on the ground? What were they thinking? Not only did somebody else have to pick it up, it also fell apart to become microplastic and the nicotine, tar and heavy metals – all 4.5 trillion of them that were thrown away each year. Fuck smokers who did that! They were what was wrong with the word! Seriously, could you be any more of a useless human if they were not even able to throw their trash away properly? Full offense, Virgil wanted to kick them in the face.

People were staring and murmuring around them and though he didn’t feel bad about his reaction, his heart was still in his throat at all the attention.

“What? Are you not entertained enough, you mindless sheep?” Remus roared brightly, spreading his arms and bouncing up and down on his toes, placing himself in front of the younger man. “Would you like me to sing you a song about the misfortunes of little Jimmy who doesn’t pick up his litter? Spoilers – he gets eaten by an octoshaaaark!”

He struck a dramatic pose and drew a deep breath. People started fleeing.

“Aw dang.” Remus pouted.

Virgil chuckled, feeling surprising affection well up in him. Remus was scary, yeah, definitely, but he was also an ally to his cause, and that meant a lot to him.

Crouching down and using the opportunity to let his hair fall over his face, he started picking up the non-bloody articles Logan’s neighbor had scattered on the ground.

“Why do you have a bible and a copy of the constitution?” He asked, trying to shake the paper from his fingers and finding it disconcertingly sticky. Was that a cough drop? Ugh, he’d have to disinfect his whole body.

“For arguments with conservatives!” Remus answered happily. “I like slapping them in the face with the dick that is my arguments every time they go all bibly-christiany on me! They don’t love the fact that Jesus was a sandal wearing liberal that much – a lot like I am, actually! Not that facts work well with them – I found that barking and bending over backwards with your tongue lolling out works best. Makes an impression!”

He’d settled down next to Virgil cross-legged, bouncing his knees, and started munching on the dry little cookie thingies the bulldog had missed. “Dog treat?” He asked generously, holding one out.

“Why?” Virgil asked, completely bewildered. They were, indeed, little bone shaped dog treats.

“I like the way they crunch!”

“…okay.”

Virgil still tried to make sense of the interaction he was currently having and found that using facts was indeed a lost cause with many republicans – which in this case was a generous euphemism for racists and Nazis, so one could just as well try what the crazy man did. Not everyone deserved to have a stage, after all.

Quietly, he examined the other. The ripped T-shirt made the wide collar slip down one of his skinny shoulders and the jeans he wore had definitely seen better days. His dark skin didn’t do much to hide the bluish shadows under his eyes. And also his naked, dirty feet were disgusting.

Dumping the stuff he’d picked up into the professor’s lap, he stood up. “Take a shower and come up at twelve, I’m making veggie burgers.”

There would be so much complaining once Roman found out he’d invited Remus.

***

Logan ran a hand through his sweaty hair, pulling the damp, raven locks out of his face. His muscles were burning pleasantly from his run and he was looking forward to his post workout stretch with Virgil. It would be illogical not to use the knowledge of an experienced gymnast for advice, after all. Though his little delinquent was still shy about it, the detective found he appeared to enjoy exercising together, as long as they were doing it in the safety of Virgil’s room where he could comfortably hide in his oversized sweaters.

His thoughts amusedly circled back to the way Virgil had to shake his hands free from his overly long sleeves whenever he reached for his feet while he fumbled his keys free from the little pocket sewn into his close-fitting trousers. As usual, Logan fetched the mail on his way up, sighing as a stack of colorful envelopes fell into his hands. Glitter rained down from one of them. With more gentleness than he felt inclined to, he beat the stack of bulging papers against the side of the building to loosen the shimmering plastic particles. Did this action constitute a case of littering, he wondered. He resolved to bring down his vacuum cleaner to deal with the mess after his shower.

On his way up, the detective separated the pile into his and Roman’s mail, ending up with sensibly sized, white envelopes in one hand, and a bunch of offensively colored, suspiciously rattling, sticker covered, perfumed fan mail his partner was greedily waiting for. He kicked the professor’s apartment door closed as he passed it, satisfied to hear him mumbling over the running shower in the also open bathroom.

Roman was already lurking in the opened door to Logan’s own apartment like a silk-clad dragon looking to expand his hoard, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. Logan rolled his eyes. Despite having received letters for a week already, he was still overly enthusiastic about them every day. And he still refused to get them himself, instead he let Logan hand them to him exasperatedly like some strange ceremony.

The young detective snatched the pile eagerly, pouting as Logan held back two of them, not liking the powdery, sandy sound they were making when he tilted them. It was likely more beads or glitter, yet they still went into the box by the door to be checked in the lab (as they all should). He had ordered the post office whose address the fan-mail was sent to, to be extra vigilant before delivering the mail to his apartment, but he would most certainly not put the safety of his family at risk. He wondered, once again, whether he ought to borrow a service dog to check the mail for – preferably the rest of their lives actually.

“Look, Patton fairest, what the wind has blown in!” Roman sang cheerfully, twirling around the baker gracefully and then taking him for a spin and dip.

Patton giggled, stumbling and holding on to the tall detective, getting his lovely curls all tangled up in the frame of his glasses.

Smiling contently, Logan slunk into Virgil’s room to engage in what he hoped to turn into a routine. The young man was already waiting for him – playing on his phone curled up on the dresser between the planet lights he had kept, hair curling slightly with dampness from his private routine in Talyn’s gym he was slowly taking up again.

Meanwhile, Roman flopped onto the couch and yanked Patton into his arms enthusiastically, wanting to share his happiness and also maybe trying to distract him a little bit from his preparations for his return to the café. He wanted to support his friend, he really did, but he couldn’t help trying to put off unpleasant tasks for as long as possible instead of facing them. It was an issue he’d always had – one that had driven Logan half-crazy before he’d started to deal with many of those tasks himself and handed over others to Roman instead. They were making it work.

Roman didn’t actually have to do anything for the café, but the plan to reopen it, no matter how much Patton needed it, still made him antsy. Trevor-the-villainous-fiend could be lurking there. Who knew what could happen? After all, they had neatly avoided any contact, despite how often he had secretly talked the little baker out of calling him in the night when he’d been frightened and guilty. Which had been a lot of times. Better not tell Logan about that.

Well, distracting himself until the problem went away or got horribly unavoidable was a strategy that had gotten him through life just fine (now that he had Logan to read his paperworky-mail which he had an almost insurmountable aversion against dealing with), so he cuddled the baker close and settled in for some pleasant distractions.

Patton probably knew what he was doing, considering the way he pushed their cheeks together and hummed sweetly. Ugh, Roman felt so loved, it was too much for words. He squeezed Patton’s little body at his side closer to himself, just needing to hold on so suddenly. He loved him so much his heart was pounding with it. Feeling giddy with it, Roman jiggled and rocked them happily, delighting in the laugh he elicited.

“Alrighty, my most precious Patton, shall we discover the adoration of my beloved fans together?” The young man cheered, bright with eagerness.

“Yes! Now that I’m enveloped in a hug letters begin!”

Pulling his legs close to curl comfortably into Roman’s hug, and lean against his warm, broad chest, Patton selected the first envelope – a loudly patterned lilac one. Roman ripped it open with childish pleasure.

“Ohhhhhhhh!” He cooed, the sound almost too high for a man this large. “Isn’t this the most delightful thing you have ever seen, my fairest friend?!”

He was unfolding a drawing of himself in full superhero regalia, cape and sash and all, clearly drawn by a little child. Picture Roman was holding hands with a little kid each – a dark skinned girl in a princess dress and a blonde child of indeterminable gender due to the quality of the drawing. They were wearing a knight’s armor with a lightsaber as much as he could tell. It was adorable and Patton was putting it on the fridge. His eyes were watering at how cute it was.

“Oh.my.god. Virgil, my starry night, come here and see this!” Roman howled, very close to Patton’s ear.

The grumbling from next door indicated the delinquent’s feeling about the nickname as well as the interruption.

Roman waved the letter around with so much enthusiasm it nearly dislodged Patton. With a squeak, the baker held on to the tall man’s neck, even though the strong arm around his waist held him safely where he was almost pulled into Roman’s lap entirely.

Virgil, dressed in a mix of his old gymnastics’ clothes and his newer, oversized hoodie that hid as much as possible and fell all the way over his hips, didn’t really feel like being seen by the attractive detective right now. He didn’t mind Logan seeing him in his pants that fit his toned, long legs like a second skin, but with Roman, he felt a little more self-conscious. Especially about the combination with the ratty, overly long hoodie.

He used to wear tight fitting shirts that he now knew could look quite enticing when they slipped up his middle as he stretched or exposed his shoulders, but he didn’t feel confident enough to pick them out himself anymore. He wanted to look pretty for Roman more with every day, but considering the way the man had seen him in the past, he didn’t know if he could pull it off. Maybe Roman would feel like he was dressing up like a whore again - wearing a costume to seduce him. He didn’t know what made him so reluctant to dress better, it was just – such a big step and he didn’t know how to go about it anymore. So he wrapped his arms around his middle and hoped not to look too annoyed and uncomfortable. Especially considering how happy Roman appeared. So bright and innocent.

He was radiant.

And he was reading fan mail.

Virgil didn’t love the fan mail. Not at all. Remy had been forced to listen about it for a long time. He just hated the thought of those dirty minded, thirsty bitches getting to tell his man about all of the horny things they came up with while they drooled over his pictures. The fuck was wrong with them, trying to steal his- his- argh Virgil hated them with a passion, okay?! Who knew what ideas they were putting into that beautiful idiot’s head?

Remy was still patient with him thought, however the fuck he managed to do it. Virgil had the feeling he was being indulgently laughed at when he raged about the letters over the phone. So what if he hadn’t actually read any of them?! Roman kept singing their praise to anyone who would listen, why would he need to look at them himself? He was sure they were every bit as awful as he imagined.

Roman looked too happy with them. Fuck that.

He really looked quite happy, actually.

Virgil slowed his steps suspiciously.

Giggling, Roman flattened the paper before his eyes to read to Virgil. He even tried to do the voice. A voice Virgil immediately recognized.

‘Tell my anxious doll to, like, not to be such a moody diva and come look at some cute fan mail with his eye-candy detective.’ Roman took a break to preen. ‘I promise you don’t have to be scared, babe. Y’all are just making tasks bigger and scarier by avoiding confrontation with unpleasant chores and then they, like, build up in your messy little minds and that is not cool cause it makes me work for my not-money. So have a letter written by my precious little baby girl angels as a treat, okay girlfriend?’

“Awwwww so sweet!” Patton sighed.

Roman looked thoughtful for a moment as he pulled out the third sheet of paper written with a rainbow pencil, probably by Emile since the girls were too little to write themselves. The words were all enthusiastic little girl, though.

“How would you feel about looking at just one or two letters with us before returning to my dearest partner?” Roman asked sweetly. “They truly are quite entertaining. Just yesterday I received one from the utterly ravishing miss Van der Beek. All her other friends promised to write as well. It turns out I am quite popular with distinguished ladies with more experience enjoying the finer things in life!”

“What he means to say, kiddo, is that old ladies just love our dashing prince. Most of those are sent by the cutest grannies from retirement homes.” Patton explained with a warm smile that was just a little mischievous. “That doesn’t mean they’re all innocent, though.” He added cheerfully. Truthfully, he was already itching to get his hands on the hilarious letters. Those ladies really weren’t shy and Patton secretly wanted to be just like them someday. Enjoying the good life and making the best puns about butts.

Roman didn’t mind the fact that most of his paper-mail was written by children and elderly women (and grandpas, sometimes). He received emails and even digital art from younger fans as well, and he adored them, so, so much, but since he couldn’t keep them in a box with the pictures and drawings and ribbons and whatnot he enjoyed the letters even more. He just loved how creative they were. They really made him feel special. He should have known they’d make his dearest raven anxious, though. He really hoped to put him at ease with this gentle introduction Remy had created for him. And it worked! Of course it did – Remy’s children were the most precious things in the world! He could barely wait for their play date next weekend!

He was a little relieved to find the other letters they opened to be just as fun and cute. They usually were. Patton had a talent for selecting the nice ones from looking at the envelope alone. Not all letters were super sweet of course, but that was why he rarely opened his fan-mail alone. Both Patton and Logan made the creepy ones disappear quite quickly. Virgil could handle those, Roman was sure, but there was one person whose letters would just upset his dear wildcat.

They’d come in fine, yellow envelopes with pressed yellow roses inside and were written in the most beautiful calligraphy he’d ever seen. Recognizing the handwriting on the outside, Roman had squirrelled them away quietly. He hadn’t been able to stop running his fingers over the gracefully curved ink and flowing, tender words for a long time. Guiltily, Roman kept them in a separate box. He didn’t know how to contact his nemesis/admirer and wanted to let them down gently, after all. Before he caught them to lock them away, of course. He just wasn’t entirely ready to give up this feeling. He’d never been courted this way before and it had softened him towards his nemesis.

Virgil returned to Logan more relieved than he had been before, especially since Miss Van der Beek’s friends had come through and had written the most outrageous fan-mail. Roman huddled up comfortably, opening one last letter with Patton before lunch. It was a square, heavy envelope made from cream colored thick, expensive paper. The card inside was heavy and decorated with ornate, delicate gold finishing on the curved corners. It opened in the middle and admitted a view of a beautifully printed card. It read

Invitation

to the Morgan’s annual charity ball 2020

at the Ritz Carlton

All the air seemed to have left the room. The paper tilted in front of Roman’s eyes and slipped from his numb fingers.

“I just don’t understand – after all those years…” Roman stared at the invitation, almost vibrating with nervous energy. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his father’s face turn to stone as he refused to change his ways after nana’s burial. Even after such a long time, it was still crystal clear in his mind.

He wanted to jump up and pace frantically, yet he couldn’t bear to lose the grounding touch of the men gathered around him. Patton had pressed himself against his side as tightly as possible while Logan stood over him, tall and solid, keeping a firm hand on the back of his neck. Only Virgil was sitting with some distance between them since he was clearly too upset to soothe anyone. The golden embossed paper seemed to cause his fury to boil over almost entirely by itself. He looked pale and angry and… he snatched Roman’s sleeve with a thin hand, holding on tightly. His eyes were dark and so hurt on Roman’s behalf.

“They chased me away. Why would they want me there now?” He asked softy, looking at his family with a lost, helpless gaze.

The young detective agonized over the invitation for most of the day, carrying it around and reading it over and over again. Even the presence of Remus during lunch didn’t manage to get a rise out of him in this distraction, which clearly made the professor sulk. Especially since he had a few words to say about those republicans! Thankfully, Virgil and Logan made him some calming herbal tea after lunch (leaf piss, in his opinion but okay), and spent some time debating the advantages of actually murdering and eating the rich while nesting on Logan’s cozy balcony. Patton took Roman’s hand to go on a walk to help him clear his head. It helped.

“A Prince doesn’t shy away from a challenge. I owe it to my pride to go. I can and will do this with my head held high!” He proclaimed proudly at the dinner table the same night. Patton squeezed his hand in support, smiling at him warmly.

“I can’t do this! What was I thinking???” Roman wheezed, trying to calm his racing heart the next morning. “This is the height of hubris – I have fallen victim to the folly of man! There is no way I’m going!” He howled, pulling on his hair and staring at the letter like it would explode. What had he been thinking???

By midday, Roman proudly projected his voice through the entire flat from his perch on the coffee table. “I will be proud and gallant and dazzle everyone with my charming compliments and dashing appearance and my family shall be devastated to see what they missed when they threw away their most glittery offspring!”

His figure was bathed in the brightest sunlight. His fears forgotten, Roman was ready to take on anything!

“What if it was a mistake? Is this a mistake?” Roman wailed, flailing around with the mangled invitation in hand only an hour later. His eyes were wild. He’d been carrying the expensive paper everywhere with him, swinging erratically between nervous episodes of self-doubt and fear of his father and loud and boisterous assertions of confidence. His hair had become an utter mess from running his hands through it during dramatic monologues and moments of insecurity alike. The others were trying to allow him to come to a decision himself, but the lovely detective appeared to be coping poorly with the freedom.

Half an hour later, he was once again standing on the couch, posing heroically.

“Finally they shall see what a marvelous protector their son has become! A shining knight! A handsome hero dressed in blue!” He boasted, wide eyed and clearly trying to convince himself of his own worth – even as he was asserting his superiority, he was slipping into a pit of self-hate.

Virgil wanted to kill someone.

Seeing this beautiful, confident man spiral so deeply into mental instability because of a letter was ripping him open inside with nowhere for the blood and fear to go but the boiling maelstrom that was his protective fury.

That wasn’t what Roman needed now, though. Taking a deep breath, the barista reached for his man.

Virgil grabbed a hold of Roman’s surprisingly trim waist and pulled his heavy body down next to him. His mood swings between elation and terror were wearing the young man thin. Resigned and too tired to overthink, he yanked the already slightly worn invitation from the tan hands, chucked it on the coffee table, and folded his body onto the large detective’s lap in the wild, desperate hope to pin him down finally. He seemed to love when Patton did it.

The bold move made him sweat with anxiety, yet it was a much more comfortable form of comfort than talking about the issue and ending up insulting Roman’s family as he so desperately wanted. Physical contact had helped calm Roman down most so far, but Logan wasn’t here to grab his partner in a silent, firm hug that squished him against his chest until he grew quiet and Patton was on the phone with his staff, so no tangling his soft limbs with Roman’s now either.

Virgil had tried to keep his distance from the issue after Remy had explained that Roman needed to make his own decision. He probably hadn’t meant brooding in silent fury (while telling Patton what he was angry about and awkwardly reminding him that he loved him all the time).

He couldn’t help hating that republican trash that was Roman’s parents even more than before, though. He wasn’t confused about their motivations for a second. Those filthy pieces of shit were sensing an opportunity to improve their reputation with millennials who were rallying against billionaires who exploited the world – the environment as much as their workers – without even paying fucking taxes. Seriously, fuck Trump, fuck Jeff Bezos, fuck the Morgans! They would try to use Roman’s fame and honesty to claim him as a token to show off to liberals, to make themselves look tolerant and likeable with their beautiful, gay hero son. He was acceptable when it was useful to have a diversity card they could pull in debates, now that their homophobia and racism wasn’t as accepted as it used to be. Fuck them with a broken chair.

He couldn’t say all that, though. He’d just make Roman defensive in this terrible way that left Virgil nothing to work with. The taller man was never aggressive with him. Instead he grew quiet and sad and tried to make Virgil feel safe by being submissive and gentle and letting him have his way as he swallowed all of his pain and fear for everyone else’s sake. Roman didn’t need his anger. Logan had already gently told him about all of the fears he and Virgil shared and had offered his support, he didn’t need a reality check Virgil was desperately holding back. Roman knew they were using him – intellectually at least. Yet, his heart was probably hoping they were finally willing to love him.

So Virgil pulled himself together and silently leaned his lithe body against Roman’s broad chest and tried to gather the courage to say yes to the lovely man’s unspoken question.

The invitation contained a plus one.

Virgil had seen the way Roman’s gaze had sought him out hopefully. He wanted him there, which was astonishingly sweet, since Virgil was… well. Virgil. The fact that Roman, who was beautiful and elegant and charming to a dazzling degree wanted to show Virgil on his arm when he knew how judgmental this fucking crowd was, when he knew what they would think…

Yes, it was also completely and utterly terrifying.

Seriously. A charity ball. At the fucking Ritz? Even young and not so messed up Virgil would have hated the thought with the passion of any idealistic, liberal activist. Fucking corrupt money bags trying to look like they cared while they marinated in their arrogance and wealth while kids in America couldn’t pay for their school lunch and went hungry. While they supported putting fricking kids in actual fucking cages seriously what the fuck this really was the cursed time-line.

Also was there a person alive on this planet who fit the aesthetic of the fucking Ritz less than he did? He didn’t think so. Fuck he needed Remy now. He’d promised to help, thank Tesla. Virgil was clinging to that voice in his memory that had told him to ‘breathe, doll. Daddy has fixed lots of tiny girl hair and fashion disasters in his time. We’ve got this, okay, babe?’

Sure. Dressing a feral bat like Virgil for a FUCKING BALL was a piece of cake.

Well, first he needed to see if Roman actually wanted him to come or if that had all been in his head and Virgil was about to humiliate himself so badly, he would have to move out and change his name. Maybe Roman hadn’t asked yet because he wanted to avoid pressuring him with something he knew he was anxious about. OR he had recognized how badly Virgil would look on his arm.

Virgil felt like he couldn’t breathe for a terrifying moment. He used his position in Roman’s lap he’d chosen in a moment of courage to hide his face against the tan, smooth skin of the detective’s neck.

A deep breath left the taller man as Virgil curled close. He wrapped his arms around the thin body and sunk against him gratefully. The purple mane was so soft against his cheek. All thoughts drifted away – invitations as much as sunflower-yellow letters – leaving only the sensation of warm breaths against his skin and a gracefully curved back under his palms. Everything seemed to quiet, to slow down.

Virgil’s body moved slightly with every breath. He was so warm and alive, such a grounding weight in his lap. He arched against his chest willingly to press himself closer, letting Roman feel the way his ribs expanded on every inhale. The darkness behind the young detective’s closed eyes felt soft and safe. He gently moved his palm over the prominent spine, between wing-like shoulder blades. Stress flowed from his body like water. Slowly, their embrace lost its purpose and became lazy and comfortable, a hug for no other purpose than allowing them to exist so close to each other.

After what felt like a long time of soft tenderness, Roman felt Virgil tense again, knowing he had to get it over with. He couldn’t keep hiding in a cute cop’s arms for the rest of his life because he was embarrassed.

“Listen, man…” He murmured quietly, pulling back slightly. Despite Roman’s hands still resting loosely on his hips, now that he wasn’t curled up and hidden anymore, he felt silly and out of place, suddenly. He really had just sat down in Roman’s lap, huh? What the fuck, Virgil? Heat rose to his cheeks and that just made things a lot worse. He pushed his head down and braced his palms on that hard chest and barreled on.

“Uhm, about- about that invitation. I know you’re anxious about it, and I’m really not good with that shit – I mean – that’s obvious, considering-” He gestured to – all of himself self consciously. “I really don’t know anything about your, eh, your social class and those fancy parties and shit. We’re from pretty, pretty extremely different backgrounds after all, and-”

Roman’s large hand rose to tip Virgil’s blushing face up in order to reassure him (and because it made him feel like a chivalrous knight). His fingers found the pale delinquent’s throat instead. Feeling the racing pulse, he curled his hand around the slender neck right under the jawbone with utter gentleness and brushed it upwards, pushing his chin up slowly.

Virgil’s breath hitched upon feeling the intimate hold he was captured in. It would be easy for the grip to turn punishing, yet he only brushed his thumb over the edge of his jaw and that felt very, very good. Vulnerable in all the right ways.

“What are you trying to say, dearest?” Roman rumbled softly, catching the younger man’s attention from where it had wandered to inappropriate places.

“Uh…” Virgil needed a moment. Roman’s eyes were so vividly green, like sunlight filtered through freshly grown, thin leaves. His mascara made his lashes so long and dramatic and so pretty.

I, uh…” He stuttered again. Roman was biting his lip in amusement, so pleased to have muddled Virgil’s brilliant mind and the barista felt like a useless, horny teenager for the first time in too many years.

A chuckle escaped the detective that was deep and rumbled under Virgil’s palms. He looked at the young man in his lap like he was the sweetest thing.

Feeling his blush flare up, Virgil ducked his head, allowing Roman’s palm to slip onto his cheek. He didn’t force his chin up as he was composing himself. Instead, the manicured hand moved across pale skin and scratched lightly across his scalp. A shiver broke out and raced over the delinquent’s entire back. His mouth fell open in a pleased sigh as he leaned into the caress.

Hell yeah, he could just keep doing that forever, please and thank you. His large palm rested on the pronounced bones of his hip, gripping gently, safely. Virgil could feel the detective’s intense gaze on him like a physical touch. He felt very warm as he leaned closer to that powerful hand in his hair that gave him so much pleasure.

His flush was still hot on his cheeks, yet the heat rising under his clothes wasn’t caused by embarrassment despite the intimacy of the moment. He’d never thought he would be able to let his guard down and be looked at this intimately when Roman made him feel this way. The detective’s other hand moved slowly, brushing up and down his back in the lightest of touches.

Virgil couldn’t help the breathy moan that escaped him. It was totally justified, okay? He felt those muscular thighs shift underneath him, adjusting their positions just a bit, so he was brought more securely into the hold of those strong arms and felt a warm breath on the side of his face.

Suddenly, Roman yanked his hand back as if Virgil had electrocuted him, yelping like a frightened dog. His whole body jumped, jostling Virgil.

“The fuck- Cat, what the actual fuck?” The younger man screeched at the ball of gray fur that had wedged itself between them and was furiously hissing and biting at Roman’s hand. The detective flailed and squirmed, unbucking Virgil in the process and dumping him on the cushions as he tried to escape over the back of the couch from the vicious raccoon. He landed face first with a ‘thump’ and an unmanly whimper.

Patton peeked in from the kitchen, phone between his cheek and shoulder, kitten purring in his big cardigan pocket and mixing bowl in hand. Finding Roman trying to twist into a sitting position while his legs were still sticking over the back of the couch and Virgil being slobbered over by an overly affectionate, possessive raccoon, he shrugged and closed the door behind himself. He and Nugget were not getting involved in that particular jealousy triangle. His kiddos would just need to make do.

“Oh shit, Roman, are you okay, dude?” Virgil asked and he knew, he knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help the laugh bubbling up his chest.

Cat was squishing her fat butt all over his lap, pawing at his shirt and lovingly gnawing on his fingers, looking fucking pleased, fricking narcissistic levels of proud and awed at her prowess, like she’d owned the biggest, baddest villain of the kingdom, like she’d saved the princess and gotten the whole cake. While Roman – well…

The young detective/tragic victim heaved himself up on the backrest and was immediately hissed at fiercely. He snatched his hands to his chest to protect them from more scratches. Peeking over the couch just enough to look over it, his precious hair a mess and his lovely hands badly wounded, donning his best, hurt puppy dog eyes, he found no sympathy from his beautiful wildcat.

Virgil snorted helplessly.

“I’m sorry-” The barista gasped, really, seriously feeling sorry and knowing he shouldn’t be rewarding Cat, he was creating a monster here, but Roman looked so messed up. All of that magnificent hair that usually made him look like a prince falling over his face in messy, fluffy tufts – that betrayed, gorgeous, hilarious face-

He doubled over, snickering turning to wheezing laughter the more he tried to suppress it, and felt Cat purring up a storm from where she was throned on his lap, Queen of the couch, breaker of horny cuddle sessions, bane of Roman’s existence.

Since the purring somehow seamlessly turned to spitting, frothing hissing whenever Roman got too close, the poor, beaten hero had to settle into the armchair facing the love of his life (stolen by a villainous adversary), where he tried not to mope too much. He felt a very justifiable pout coming up.

However, tears were now streaming down Virgil’s face while he made himself lightheaded trying to scold Cat and repress his laughter. He only succeeded in making himself hiccup and devolve into a new peal of giggles.

Roman melted into the armchair.

They were quietly folding blankets and putting away pillows, comfortable with each other even though Cat was still sitting in Virgil’s hoody, occasionally touching the back of his head and neck and gurgling threateningly.

It was alright.

Roman wasn’t a malicious man.

And he would get her back for this…

Glaring secretly at the bristly beast whenever Virgil wasn’t looking, the young detective finally remembered that they had started a conversation before their mutual attraction had overwhelmed them like swooning lovers in a romantic novel.

Giddy at the memory, he briefly amused himself with imagining them on a paperback cover – his own shirt open halfway over his gleaming, muscular chest, even longer hair flying in the breeze, Virgil fainting in his arms, pale and lovely in a Victorian dress – oh my lord. A flush rose hotly to his cheeks, especially as he imagined that trim waist encased in lace and possibly even a corset.

This time, he felt Cat was justified in hissing at him while she reached for him with sharp little paws, trying to take a swipe, craving destruction.

Thankfully, Virgil took his blush as a sigh of anger as he twisted around and saved the enthusiastically violent racoon from tumbling out of his hood in its quest for blood.

“Sorry, Dude. I’ll figure something out.” He promised.

Roman thought he didn’t look nearly alarmed enough. However… his little bird deserved all the valiant defenders he could get. The beast might make him feel safe while Roman wasn’t there to watch over him like the tireless defender he was. In principle, the young detective would not mind prospective rivals to be scared off. Just not himself, did this beast not have any taste?

Perhaps he’d just have to invest more effort in his quest to win over the scraggly protector of his dashing not-damsel’s honor! That he could surely do!

Filled with a new sense of determination, he maturely stuck his tongue out to the raccoon.

Virgil snorted. He was happy.

Roman liked that a lot.

“Before I forget…” He started casually, remembering how important the question had seemed to Virgil. “You wanted to ask me something before we were torn apart so viciously?”

The barista startled, his heart missing a beat with nervousness. Right. That.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I was just- you don’t have to say yes – obviously! It’s just if you don’t want to go alone- though you probably have plenty of people to go with- I know you have friends and coworkers and… fans… and Logan could go too so you really don’t need me to be in the way but if you want, I – uh…”

“Virgil,” Roman interrupted him gently, hoping with a fluttering heart he wasn’t misinterpreting the stuttering proposition. “Are you offering to go to the ball with me?” He asked gently, quickly adding for his lovely raven’s nerves benefit, “Because while I don’t want to pressure you in any way, going with you on my arm would make me the bravest and happiest man in the world.”

His words were very, very honest. Having Virgil there, as his date, as his to hold in his arm and show off, showing that the gay failure of the family had captured the most beautiful, smartest and strongest creature in the whole word – he would feel like the king in his castle. Nothing could make him feel like he’d succeeded despite being ashamed of his sexuality for so long than to show Virgil as his beautiful prize. Having him would validate all his struggles and make all the suffering worth it.

So no pressure to say yes. Roman was cool with whatever.

Virgil flushed brightly, ducking his head in a familiar gesture to hide under his hair. His heart beat a mile a minute, filling him with awed elation.

And a little bit of terror.

Looks like he was going to the ball after all.

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

AAAAnd it looks like Virgil will finally need an outfit for the ball. I wonder who will help him???

As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated! If you want to support me, here is my Ko-fi page. Love you guys! Take care and treat yourself to something nice <3

Next Chapter

#Keep him safe #Detective AU #Sanders Sides #my writing #Prinxiety #Logicality #Roman Sanders #Logan Sander #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Remus Sanders

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