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brailsthesmolgurl · 20 days ago

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"Did someone got sick?"

Preview: The LnDS boys reacting to you falling ill.

Dividers sourced from @uzmacchiato

RAFAYEL

You are in deep trouble. Falling sick is one of the big trouble, but in your kitchen lies another big trouble. You could smell something light brewing in the air, your sense of smell had slowly regaining its abilities after you had fallen ill for nearly the span of a week. And it is also within the span of the weekend, it earned you the other prized trouble that had stepped himself through the frame of your door, eyes glinted with fire brighter than his evol.

Seeing you being in a weakened state, Rafayel questioned no further; forehead creases ironed out, whines stuck at the back of his throat, frustration dimmed down to understanding and he simply swooped you off of your feet and tucked you safely back into your bed. Not sparing you another glance, the man graciously carried himself out of your bedroom and straight into your kitchen to prepare something for you to replenish your weakened body. Porridge being the first delicacy he could think of.

After 30 minutes, he reappeared by your bedside, with a tray of food and a wet towel draped across his arm. He slowly sat down next to you, by the edge of the bed and spoke, his voice firm but gentle. "How long have you been sick? 2 days?" He assumed from the day you did not reply to his texts, was the day you fell ill. Your nod made him lowered his eyelids, concern overtaking him and he slowly sat you up. "I made you some porridge. Let me feed you."

Rafayel babies you, blowing onto the porridge and muttering how hot it is before he feeds it to you, with a hand under your chin to wipe off any spilled droplets. The wet towel he had prepared now sat on top of your head, cooling your heat down. You did not contact Rafayel when you were sick because you knew that recently he has a painting that is due soon and he was struggling to find inspiration for it. The last thing you wanted was to disturb him. "I'm sorry." Your apology was sincere and it softened the sea god's tide.

He was worried that he was going to lose you again, or maybe you simply do not require him being around you anymore. He had to come over, he had to check for sure that he would not be met with an empty house. And he was glad that he came as seeing you wrapped up in the blanket, with glistening eyes and a lack of your usual volubility, he was only upset that you did not seek for his aid. A small smile found its way onto his thin lips and Rafayel pressed his lip against your heaty cheek, as if he had read through your thoughts. "Don't worry about me. It hurts me when you do not rely on me to be your anchor."

CALEB

"Hey pipsqueak, what's---" Hearing your heavy breathing on the other line, Caleb's brows furrowed, gaze sharpened against the pendulum that sat on his mahogany desk in his office. "Are you okay?" He asked, finger unconsciously tapping against the wooden surface while he waits for your answer. Upon hearing you saying that you had fell ill, the colonel was quick on the discharge from his duties, already applying for leave and off he went in his private ship. From SkyHaven to Linkon.

A one hour trip is only 20 minutes for him as the siren was what helped him to get past traffic with ease. No protocols are bound to him especially when y/n is on the other end waiting for him, not to mention when she is sick and she needs him. Slotting his key into your lock, he walked into your house and headed straight to your bedroom. Seeing you in such a disheveled state, the colonel persona has dissolved. Only Caleb remained.

The man strides over to you in a few steps, taking off his gloves at the meantime and he would touch your forehead, frowning when he realised that your temperature is high. Caleb himself would have insisted on you to go to the hospital to get treatment. He is a colonel and that itself comes with perks, inclusive of VVIP treatment at the best hospitals in SkyHaven and Linkon. But knowing you, you would be too stubborn to leave the comfort of your own home and Caleb respects that. Furthermore, being at home with you allows him to spend some personal time with you. "Hey, come on, let's get you washed up."

He is very gentle with you, like a porcelain in his grip. He would use a warm towel to help you rub your body. Despite being half naked in front of him in your undergarments, he made no attempts to crack any dirty jokes. His focus only on cleaning you up before tucking you back into bed. He takes on the role of a very good caretaker. Fresh bedsheets before you sleep, water and pills constantly on time, and he never disturbs you from your rest. Even when he gets into the bed next to you, he makes sure that the dib in the bed goes unnoticed by you, whom is deep in slumber.

Caleb is the type of man who will take days off just to nurse you back to health. And when you hold onto his hand sometimes while he is either feeding you or checking your temperature, he would catch your gaze and plant a comforting kiss onto your forehead. A smile would be present on his face when he sees you slowly getting better under his nursing. "I'll always be here to take care of you, even if you don't want me to. Remember that." The last words he muttered to you before you drifted back into your sleep after taking your medicine.

SYLUS

Sylus is not the one to loiter around Linkon unless necessary and one of those times would include you being sick. The scary mafia boss of the N109 zone would be stuck in your one bedroom apartment, maneuvering around tight corners of your house just to make sure that you are taken care of. How about his work? He would have everyone gather at your house. Luke, Kieran and of course Mephisto. Having Sylus care for you while you're sick is like having the whole village on his tail. "Can you all be silent for once?" He would hang this sentence by the side of his mouth to warn the rowdy bunch, afraid that they might wake you up from your recuperation.

"Sweetie, you have to eat this." Pills are what you hate and seeing your flagrant expression despite you being half alive in bed makes the Onychinus leader bow to you. "Alright, suit yourself if you do not wish to consume such medication." He would not press you into eating it, but he waits. He knows that until a certain extent, when your fever gets to high and your toes get too chilly, you would have to flush the pills down your throat.

Honestly, having Sylus around when you are trying to rest in your own humble abode is probably the worst idea. Your walls are thin and that explains the subtle ting clink ping noises you may hear throughout the night hailing from your living room. A bathroom trip would be a game of preventing yourself from tripping because he would have his machinery boxes stacked at your already narrow hallway sometimes. He could not leave you alone, all vulnerable and sick so he may as well 'move in' to your place.

"My sweetie is finally ready to stay with me?" His head tilted, amused at the way you stood at the hallway, with frustration brimming at the edge of your tired eyes. The blanket draped over your small body, pairing with your bedraggled hair made you looked like you had a good sleep. Or moreso that is what the Onychinus leader wants to believe. Seeing you yawning and refusing to budge nor to say a word, he would push himself off of your small couch and go over to you, slowly wrapping his arms around you and guiding you back to bed.

Sylus would lull you to sleep in his arms, yet again, not going to force you to move in with him. But this does not mean he would not try to buy you a bigger house next time, favouring the excuse that if you were to fall sick next time he can simply move in and not cause any disturbances to you. To him, it shall be a win-win situation.

XAVIER

Being your neighbour and your colleague, the day you are missing a mission is the day he would already be on his toes asking Captain Jenna regarding your absence. Knowing that you had taken a sick leave, Xavier would be the type to prep himself prior to meeting you. Running errands to pick up food, medications, cooling pads and anything he can possibly think of for a patient. Being your boyfriend, it is only natural for him to have a spare key to your apartment.

Waltzing in just like his own home, he would set everything he had bought onto the table before meeting you in your bed. "Hey, y/n." His smile would be gentle, concerning even as he goes over to you, thermometer in his hand and another bag filled with medications in his other hand. "I'll check onto your temperature alright?" He will put the thermometer under your tongue and analyse the temperature. His phone would also have a checklist opened for each of the symptoms suitable for each of the medicines he has.

"So, you have a runny nose, minor coughs and your throat feels itchy. And your temperature is around 39 degrees." he would check the list accordingly and prepare the medications for you accordingly. Surprisingly, although Xavier is not a doctor, but he takes the pharmacist's words seriously as he would wish for you to get better as soon as possible so you may join him on the field again. "That would indicate that you have a cold. I believe paracetamol would do the trick."

Cooking is not his strongest suit that is for sure, but that does not mean he does not lose out on any other efforts. He does not take offs because most of the cases that he is working on would be related to you and he would not want to miss out on it. But, this would directly make him try harder when he goes for the missions alone and to collect information so he may come back earlier to you and brief you about it in case you are energetic enough to hear about work from him.

He does not particularly enjoy talking about work to you while you were sick but seeing you listening in on the mission details beats you lying in bed whining about not wanting to be sick so he would gladly tell it to you. "Y/n, I think that is enough mission talk for a day. You should rest up so when tomorrow comes, you can feel better and hopefully, you can fight by my side."

ZAYNE

It comes with the territory of being a doctor. Zayne is a natural caregiver and when you did not reach out to him for a couple of days, he had to call in short for his business trip and rush back to Linkon and drive directly to your place. He has a spare key but he does not bother using it. There is always a reason to you not responding to him but this time when you went radio silent on him without a valid reason, he wanted you to give him the verbal comfort. Or more like a visual comfort. You stood at the doorway, with tissues stuck up both of your nostrils and your eyebags heavier than ever. You had fallen ill. "Zayne." You sounded surprised of course, your voice laced with guilt.

"I got worried." He is straightforward but gently turns you around and guides you into the house, sitting you down onto the couch and urging you to lie down. Shedding his coat to hang it by the door and he walks over to you to take your temperature, presence immediately taking place to be your primary caregiver just like in the hospital whenever you visit but now only adorning casual clothes. "You did not ring me up for the past few days. I had to make sure you were alright. Why did you not tell me that you had fallen ill?"

After hearing you stating that it was accidental, where it came in a form of a heatwave at night and you were too weak to grab your phone to charge it and it had died and you were stuck in bed the past few days just trying to heat yourself up to the best of your might. Zayne does not judge, he never does. But he could have wished that he was here sooner. A part of him felt guilty for not being here but seeing you being able to at least crawl out of bed now gives him the solace that the past few days was worse than this moment now. "Wait here."

Of course the doctor has a medical kit in his car. It is equipped with all of the medications he need for a scenario like this. He was somewhat proud of himself for preparing this kit because he finally got to use it today, and what is more special than to being able to use it on his beloved. "Take this medication. It will help in reducing your runny nose and your headache." When it comes to taking medicine, there is no option for you to say no to the doctor in front of you because you know he would find a lot of ways to sneak it into your food or drink. So, to save him the trouble, you might as well just take it in front of him.

"If you are sick again next time," Zayne would lay a comforting hand onto your cheek, lightly cradling your face as you had your head against his shoulder. "Just reach out to me. No matter how hard it is. At least try to get to me." His thumb draws mindless circles against your face, a reminder to you that he is physically there. "No matter how busy I am, I will always make time to be there for you y/n."

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anika-ann · 1 year ago

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The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8k

Summary:

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and lending a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body as water and snow and icy wind would, regret for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons. With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to than one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as your uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head. “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down?

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien invasion he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

#CT 2024 raffle entry #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #soulmate au #soulmate steve rogers #the unexpected #anika ann

2K notes · View notes

jigglyjeon · 11 days ago

Text

all the things she said -> jjk (three)

summary: no matter how much you want to completely disappear, you still have a bachelor’s to complete and life to uphold— you try to reach out to your friends as an attempt to piece the relationships you have with them back together, taehyung is the only one that’s willingly to meet with you.

rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact

genre: roommate au, angst, fluff, eventual smut

word count: 4.7k +

warnings/tags: taehyung is a FLURT, titty playyy, tickle attackkk, like this is just a lot of touching and jk literally blue balling himself bye, literally oh my god just kiss already!!!! things are getting hot in here aurrr

notes: i'd like to know if you guys like seeing the physical texts or if you prefer me to keep it strictly writing? does it make things confusing? would love to know cause lowkey i'm just doing it to fuck around with using smau apps LOL. thanks for all the love so far bbys <3

soundtrack: your best american girl - mitski

⋆ ࣪. masterlist ˖ ࣪⭑

<- prev | next ->

Were you that much of a drag last week?

You think you made things worse by going to that dinner, because the group chat you had with Jia and Hanna has been drier than it ever had, typically being the source of reason behind why your phone blew up with messages. But your notifications have decreased, most of your messages coming from Jungkook or your mother, but even today you don’t get the usual morning text that he usually sends you.

With your cheek pressed against the desk, you drown out the voice of your lecturer, he talked too slow for your attention span anyway and scrolled on your phone waiting for someone to reply to you. You drag your empty home screen down, waiting for something— anything.

You puff in disappointment, lock your phone and roll your head into the crook of your shoulder. A few minutes go by before your phone buzzes to life. Your head snaps up, bringing the screen to your face with hopeful eyes. Taehyung?

Unusual, but you weren’t going to be picky. You and Taehyung weren’t that close; you’ve interacted with him a lot less than you have Jimin. You only knew them through Jungkook; all his friends were older than you by a few years and there would have been no reason for you to befriend if not for him. Still, when you open up the chat you wince; you forgot that your first text comes off completely desperate for someone to validate you.

You were beginning to wonder why your actions were so painful to everyone, especially when it was your reputation that was being squandered with, not theirs. Truthfully you thought you were going to be showered with support from them, you still refused to be mad at them. You just wanted them back in your life. Maybe you were desperate.

Was it so bad to want a friend to rely upon?

You spend the rest of the lecture chewing on the back of your pen, twisting the rings around your fingers and braiding small strands of your hair. You’re one of the last people to leave the lecture hall because you hate the traffic that ensues the moment the room is dismissed; you absolutely hate pushing past people, knocking shoulders with someone who’s subconsciously fighting to get out the door before you do. You never understood why people did it, but all you knew was that it was something you hated. Patience came easy to you, but it was a foreign concept in the eyes of most, you’d noticed.

You don’t expect Taehyung to be waiting in the courtyard, cigarette between his lips as he sits on one of the benches. He nods and grins politely when someone gives him a dirty look and mutters something under their breath. He salutes, “Have a fantastic day, darling.” And she carries on by him with the same judgemental looks on her face.

He finds you soon after, coming toward him with your arms folded shyly against your chest. He raises his brows in greeting, tossing the cigarette to the concrete and putting it out with his shoe. “Hey doll, how you holdin’ up?”

You lift your arms, returning them in their crossed position. Taehyung motions you over with an outstretched arm, his other sitting cooly in the pocket of his jacket as you turn into the side hug he offers. “I feel like I’m being punished, probably.” You shrug, “Jungkook told me last night that he has feelings for me, and this morning he was gone before I even woke up, which is weird because he doesn’t start work until nine-thirty in the morning and I woke up at seven for my morning lecture.”

Taehyung lets out a low whistle, he turns, walking slow alongside your small steps. “Must’ve been some confession.”

“It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant moment.”

“How did it make you feel? Y’know, like…what did he say?”

You suck in a breath when you think back to that moment. How with each word spoken, hidden feelings and truths revealing themselves, the volume climbed, and the tone of the moment had intensified. You’ve fought with Jungkook more in the past week and a half than you have in almost two years of knowing him.

“He just–“ Your hand slithers to the back of your neck, you don’t know where to put them; your cold fingers rubbing against the warmth of your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “We were sort of arguing, and he sort just… I have feelings for you Y/N!”

Taehyung pinches the bridge of his nose, “That man has absolutely no game when it comes to you.” He mutters to himself before he looks back up at you. “I’m sure he’s just avoiding you because he’s embarrassed, too.”

You hum, “Perhaps.”

He shuffles in front of you to stop you in your tracks. “You look like you need coffee.” He says after a best of silence, “We can sit, and you can vent, and we can figure it all out together.” He removes a hand from his pocket to tap your arm, letting it swing back by his side. “Wanna?”

You look up at Taehyung curiously, searching his features that are hard, yet the gentle smile he offers you softens them subtly. There are parts of him that remind you an awful lot of Jungkook when you first met him. Jungkook was a little more sensitive, had a shorter fuse for lack of better words; it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, to feel so much— it was one of the things about him that you appreciated.

Here’s what you knew about Taehyung: He and Jungkook worked out together, like a lot. You know so not only because you’ve watched his build change from slim and fit to lean and bulky. Not only that, but Jungkook would return from the gym boasting about how much more weight he bench-pressed than Taehyung that day. Competitive— Taehyung was competitive, and you think that’s why he and Jungkook had so much fun together; because Taehyung didn’t give up and he’d put up a good fight. Taehyung was a silent observer. He spent a lot of time watching interactions between other people, his group of friends included, rather than involving himself in the interaction. He dissected body language, could read others like a book. That was slightly intimidating.

He did it now; sitting across from you, as he watched you sip on the iced coffee that he’d offered to pay for. Another thing about Taehyung was actually quite a gentleman, you never thought anything of it though. He pulls out your chair whenever you’re around to let you sit down before him, he had done so just moments prior when he handed you your drink and ushered you toward a nearby table. You’ve seen the way he offers up his spot in line for the elderly, children or women. You’d never seen anything quite like it, in all honesty. He’s nonchalant about it, too. Like it was normal. You’re starting to think that he’s a time traveller. Your eyes widen at the prospect.

“What?” He kinks a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You flash him a cheesy grin, “I sometimes just think you’re not even real.”

“…What?”

It’s not kind to compare people, is the thought you have following the one you have the moment he glares at you like you’re strange— Jungkook would have indulged you in a moment like this. He would’ve barred that charming half grin of his, lean in closer like you’re about to tell him the most interesting secret. He would’ve laughed with you, not at you.

You set down your coffee, releasing a defeated puff through your lips. “I want you to be straight with me, Tae.” You cut right to the chase. “Was what I did really that bad?”

“The way I see it, it’s been the ultimate test of friendship and loyalty.” He shrugs like it wasn’t the most hard-hitting thing he’s said to you all day. “Weeds out the fake ones.”

“I honestly think you’re the victim in all of this, it was your body and your picture after all.”

You look down, slowly nodding as you take in the weight of his words. A part of you already knew he was right, but the people-pleasing part of you wanted to see things from another point of view. “I don’t know, I think I still wish I made different decisions.”

“I get it, shits hard. Feelings suck; people suck— life’s unfair.” His fingers tap against the table, pulling his back off the chair. You whine, your face falling into your hands. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

The moment he stops the car; he’s already getting out and rushing over to the passenger’s side before you can even reach for the door handle. You snort, slump back into the seat, when he opens the door, he offers a boxy grin that makes you roll your eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of opening a car door, you know?”

“Sure you are, doll. But look at it this way; why do anything if someone else can do it for you?”

With that you climb out of the car, inhaling deeply when the air hits your face again, there was nothing quite like it; when you’re starting to feel a little too warm, and the freshness of the air is crispy and clean against your hot cheeks. It makes you smile, and you take slow steps toward the front door to the complex, Taehyung stops just below the few steps, holding onto the railing.

“I know we don’t know eachother that well, but” He moves up the steps, inching closer, stopping just below where you stood. “–I’m here if you ever need me.”

His scent was soft; aldehydic and comforting in a way a storm was on a Sunday night, curling up in bed with your window cracked open just slightly. You take a step back, but he fills the space you leave the moment you move. You blink up at him as his eyes flicker over your features.

A car door slamming shut makes you jump, pulling you both from the moment. Strange.

Taehyung turns with a furrowed brow, but it relaxes the moment he sees who comes toward them, satchel slung over his shoulder, the sleeves of his dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows. He shakes his hair with his hand, stops in his tracks when looks up at the two people blocking his way inside.

He blinks, first at Taehyung and then at you. He deflates, looking like a kicked puppy when you look down the moment his eyes meet yours. “What are you doing here?” Is the first thought that slips out.

“Y/N needed a friend.” He shrugs cooly, moving past Jungkook with a pat to the shoulder. He flinches at the contact, a hand coming up to rub at his shoulder.

“That hurt…” He mumbles. Jungkook back at his friend with a frustrated expression.

“Catch ya.”

Taehyung is already walking over to the driver’s side, halfway into his car when Jungkook replies, “Yeah, see you…” He shakes his head, squeezing his shoulder. “Weird.” He mumbles.

You’re leaning against the railing with a red tinge on your cheeks. You only look up at him when he brushes your arm, opening the door for you to walk through. He had no choice but to look at you when you don’t move from your place. He regrets it the moment he sees you gleaming up at him.

“It’s getting cold,” He breathes out. “Let’s get inside.”

With that you obey, beelining for the stairs instead of the elevator. Jungkook sighs and clambers after you.

He turns to face his steps when he catches himself watching the way your hair swayed effortlessly behind you, the way your hips followed in unison. When he notices that your dress is quite mini and how smooth your legs look, and–

Jungkook’s had a long day.

It starts when he rushes out of his bed, throwing on clothes and heading out the door ten minutes before seven in the morning to pound on Jimin’s door.

Jimin never answered his call last night, or his texts. He left a hefty number of messages only for them to go unread. He already knew his night would be a sleepless one, but Jimin’s message only weighed on him even more. He rushed out the door that morning, his socks mismatched, his hair unruly and he throws a vest over a t-shirt, and he just looks awful.

Of course he looks lively, refreshed and put together at seven in the morning. Jimin grimaces at the poor sight of his friend, ushering him inside claiming it’d be a social nightmare if his cute neighbour were to see him at his door looking like that.

“You weren’t answering me, why?” He cuts right to the chase, propping himself down at the stool by the kitchen island. “You can’t just say you know who it was and then just… vanish?”

“I believe they call that ghosting, Jungkookie.” He doesn’t appreciate the joke; he blinks at him boredly. Jimin sighs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, so no light humour before ten in the morning–“

“Hyung. This isn’t just some lighthearted thing?” His eyes follow his older friend as he scurries through the kitchen, grabbing a tea towel and wiping down the spot in front of Jungkook. He tosses the towel aside with a huff.

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s all fucked up and ironic and honestly, I enjoy holding such a valuable piece of information.” He shrugs.

“Are you about to blackmail me?”

“No, no–“ He shakes his head and hands with brief upside-down smile. “I just think it’ll cause more harm than good for you to know right now.”

“Don’t tell me we know this person?” Jungkook leans forward against the tabletop, a stern look on his face. “How do you even know who did it in the first place?”

Jimin looks away, anywhere else really, besides Jungkook. He scratches the back of his neck as he peers at the ceiling fan.

Jungkook sighs, rubbing harshly at his tired eyes. “I told Y/N how I felt last night, after we got home.”

“Wait,” He’s moving again, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet above the sink, the clink against the marble an unpleasant sound. “You mean to tell me that you dropped your feelings on her, after she committed social suicide by showing up when it was way too soon for her to face her friends?” Jimin raises his brow.

“Hyung.” He runs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Shit, I– yeah, I did.”

“You haven’t changed one bit, Jungkookie.” He laughs dryly. “How did she take it?”

“She sort of dodged it all, to be honest. I still don’t know how she feels, just said she doesn’t know.”

“Yeah dummy, how can she figure how she feels about you when everyone she loves thinks she’s a desperate slut?”

“Can you watch your mouth, Jimin?” He scowls at the blond, who just clicks his tongue in return. He turns his back to make the both of them coffee.

He returns in front of him with a black coffee, the way Jungkook liked it, sipping on his own. “Do you want my advice, or what?”

“Please.” Jungkook snorts, bringing the steaming liquid past his lips.

“Just keep showing her you love her, stop hooking up with that Yuri chick and show her you mean what you said. I promise you won’t die if you don’t have sex.”

He’s right, and he knows that already. How can he expect you to love him when he’s running around with other girls, one you know from college no less. “I guess you’re right.”

Jimin nods, petting the top of his head “Let’s do better, Kook-ah.”

He clicks his tongue, slapping at Jimin’s wrist. “Alright, alright. Cut that shit out, though.”

The breath you let out is heavy with content the moment you walk through the door, toeing off your shoes beside the mat. You shuffle your way into the kitchen, humming to yourself softly as you scan the place for food. You hadn’t been to the store since Jungkook had gotten sick so there wasn’t much left.

Jungkook’s still near the door after he closes it behind him. He watched the way you jut out your bottom lip, murmuring curses under your breath that aren’t directed at him.

“Hey,” He calls out to you. You straighten, look over at him with your eyes all big and hopeful. “Sorry about last night, I didn’t mean to make it about me.”

You offer him a curt smile. “It’s okay,” your voice comes out as a whisper, not completely trusting what was going to come out the moment you realise he’s speaking to you. Not avoiding you

like you thought he was.

“I feel like I haven’t been a very good friend to you lately.” He throws the strap of his bag over her head and plops it onto the couch, himself following shortly after. You lift a hand, shaking your head.

“I just want to go back to the way life was before this all happened.”

Jungkook bites his lip and nods, his boba eyes don’t hide that your words feel personal, and that sting when he thinks about the fact that you want to forget about everything. Do you mean you want to forget his confession, too? Was it selfish that he didn’t want you to forget that part?

“Wanna get takeout and watch Sleepy Hollow?” You beam at him, as if you didn’t just chew up his chances and spit them back out. But it wasn’t like Jungkook to give up. So, he doesn’t.

“Can we get pizza?” He counters with a cheesy grin.

And it feels nice, snuggled up beside him beneath a warm blanket and a belly full of cheesy carbs. It does however make you sleepy. Jungkook doesn’t want to ask you to move so he can grab another slice, and besides, when he looks down at you and you yawn softly, he forgets all about the pizza. He drapes his arm over you, pulls you closer, and you drop your head into his lap, turning to face the screen in hopes he would think you’re watching.

His hands do that thing that drives you crazy. They soothe up and down your arm, touch feather light yet magnetic, leaving a tingle on your skin beneath his fingertips. You feel him, as his fingers graze over the goosebumps, when he reaches your wrist, he’s sly in the way he transfers his hand onto your hip instead and squeezes tenderly. You shift, peaking up at him but he’s looking straight ahead, biting on his thumb like he’s not paying attention to you, but he is. You move onto your back, and he slides his hand beneath your shirt and stops on your tummy. You let out the smallest whimper, and the deep chuckle he lets out vibrates through you, as well.

“What is it, dove?” His eyes are heavy, dark when they peer down at you. “You wanna play?”

You moan at his words, hips bucking up just the slightest, but it’s more than enough to answer his question. His hand continues up your torso, his other pushing back your hair as he admires your pretty face. He tugs your bralette up, revealing your breasts not to his eyes but for his hands to touch, his thumb swiping over your already hardened nipples. “Jungkook…” You whine.

“Yeah, baby?” He keens when you push your cheek against his hardening cock, hidden beneath his sweats. He hisses, licking his lips as he watches your features contort in pleasure. “Wanna get you nice and wet...” He drags your shirt over your chest to reveal them, cursing under his breath when you arch your back when the air hits you. Your chest feels tight, your nipples are stiff, and he joins his other hand to squeezes and touch on you, adding to the sensation.

He looks so deeply at your tits, his lips parting. “So pretty. You my pretty girl?” He drags out, dipping his head forward, the tip of his tongue flicking at one of the stiffened peaks to garner a reaction from you. He gets it, your hand comes up to the back of his neck, carding through his hair and he hums at the feeling. He wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks, squeezing your other breast as his other hand trails down your stomach again.

“Yeah…m’your girl…”

“Y/N…” Your eyes are screwed shut,

“Hm?” You tense your brow, too focused on the pleasure he gave to you— too focused on the way his mouth felt on you, how his fingers played with the drawstring on your shorts.

“Y/N?”

“What?” You ask impatiently.

“Hey,” He shakes on your shoulder and your eyes shoot open, blinking up at him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“You knocked out there for a little.” He smirks with amusement, light but knowing. Your cheeks begin to burn when your mind falls back to the moment you had with him prior— a moment you thought was real. You push yourself up from his lap so fast it makes your head spin. “You good?”

“Yep!” The pitch in your voice is a little too high for it to sound normal. The movie’s been paused since the moment you dozed off, you notice. You tilt your head, wondering what Jungkook has been doing if the movie was paused. Your eyes dart towards his lap, one hand grasping onto his phone. When you look up at his face, he’s biting on his lips to try and hide the smirk on his face. “So, you have a nice dream or what?”

You look like a deer in the headlights, the bellowing laugh he lets out is comical, but you’re too horrified to tease him about it, you don’t even have the time to react when he leans over to poke into your side. You yelp, but he’s too fast and he catches your waist to tickle you.

“Oh, Jungkook~” He teases you, and you slide onto your back, trying to wriggle out of his grips but you’re out of breath and laughing like crazy.

“Stop,” You nearly scream at how sensitive you are as he wiggles his fingers into your waist, “Stop that! I ca–can’t breathe!”

You knee him in the stomach by accident, he winces, curling in on himself and grabs at his stomach. You think he doesn’t notice that his head is far too close to your breasts than you’d like. Or maybe you’d like. Shit, you don’t know.

Fuck.

You’re panicking. Your eyes widen again, chest heaving. You feel the throb in your panties. You gasp, pushing on his shoulders, so that you’re sitting up, but you lean too far forward as he’s trying to recover from the hit. His face is inches from yours, your hands gripping onto his shoulders because you think you’re going to fall. Jungkook’s eyes are blown out, you get lost in them; deep depths where his thoughts swim in the circles of internal battles on what to say— what to do.

His fingers twitch when he raises his hand, his movements are unsure, but he knows he’s itching to touch you. He tucks your hair behind your ear, lets his fingers graze your warm cheeks. You blink at him, the tilt in your head makes it known that that there’s cogs turning in your head. You don’t move; you don’t react at all when his hands begin exploring you in a way he never had before.

He moves down, lifting the pendant of your necklace between his fingers, letting it fall back against your heaving chest. He only lets his eyes linger on the swell of your breast for a second, but he notices the way you shift, tucking your legs gingerly beneath where you sat, propped up on your knees. The apartment is silent, bar the sound of his breaths melding with yours, the way your let your eyes drop, following his wandering hand.

Now yours move, too. From his shoulders, up his neck and to cup his face. He doesn’t look at you though, even when you move his head to face you. He just watches the way his hands drag down your arms. Relishing in how soft you feel against his slightly rough hands.

“Kook,” you whisper. “You never pursued me.” It’s more a realisation than a question. He looks up at you now. Your eyes are asking him why he chose to sleep with Yuri, pursue Yuri in such a surface level way.

Jungkook was always respectful, a nice guy— but he wasn’t impartial to casual sex. It was clear in the late nights you’d accidentally run into Yuri in the kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt. It wasn’t like there was a new girl in his bed all the time, but if he claimed to like you, why sleep with her when you were in the room next door? But alas, you settle for a simple. “Why?”

He leans into your palm, shutting his eyes for a moment as he inhales sharply through his mouth. “It’s complicated, Y/N.”

Your hands slip from his face, sliding down to his chest. “Is it?” You wonder, “Is it really that complicated?”

Jungkook licks his lips, but he lifts one of your hands from his chest just to intertwine your fingers.

“You’re not just another girl to me.” He admits, “I’ve had girlfriends, situationships, hell I’ve had plenty of friends, even.” You snort at the way he flexes that, and he chuckles shyly. You know he didn’t mean for it to sound like some sort of boastful thing. “None of them have seen me the way you’ve seen me. The way you listen, you retain, and you remember. You comfort and you nurture and you’re so full of love.”

You chew on your bottom lip, not anticipating how much his words would hit you straight through the heart. “No one else does it for me, dove. That’s why I’d do anything to keep you in my life. Even if that meant I never got to have you that way I want.”

“What if you can?” You rise from your knees slightly, shuffle closer to him.

“I can what?” You’ve never seen his pupils get so big, but to be fair, you’ve never really allowed yourself to look so deeply into them. Even though you knew they were beautiful, knew how welcoming and full of warmth they were.

“What if you can have me the way that you want?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, you don’t think he’s going to as you lean closer, dip your head at an angle as your lips brush his. But the moment you send it, think you’re going to feel his lips for the first time, he pulls back, only a little but enough to create space. “Then I’d want you to be sure.” He whispers, looking down.

You must admit that it hurts to be rejected this way. You wonder if this is how Jungkook has felt with you for so long. “If you really mean that, then you can have me. Hell, you already do—always have.”

“I just…you’re too important to me. I wouldn’t want to rush anything and risk losing you altogether.” His expression is sorrowful when he looks at you again. You try to hide the way your face naturally expresses itself and replace your pout with a smile instead.

“Don’t be sad, dove.” He huffs an amused breath, tilting your chin up when you look down. You feel embarrassed.

“I want to kiss you, so bad it hurts.” He assures you, he leans in, and you close your eyes. Wince when his lips touch your cheek. “So, let’s make a deal. If you still want to kiss me by the end of next week, then I’ll know you meant what you said.” Because was two weeks more? That felt like mere moments to him.

But to you…

“Okay.” you fall back, plopping down onto the couch begrudgingly.

“What happened to patience is a virtue, hm?” He bops you on the nose and you roll your eyes.

“Can we just finish the movie?” You grumble, "I'm tired." He hums softly as he scoots closer to you, even when you lean away from him, pretending that you don’t melt when he pulls you back into his side.

It was the most normal you had felt in days, even if you were venturing into new territory with your roommate.

taglist: @bhonbhon, @rikifever, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim @ttanniett, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim, @busanbby-jjk, @justsomoneliving, @supercoolchem, @jeeykey, @toosweetforyall, @nikkinikj, @prxdajeon, @whoa-jo, @kelsyx33, @bugbxte, @army7-013, @jmsrealgf, @elimelbe, @yunhoswrldddd

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fan fiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jigglyjeon #attss

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starburstsamo · 14 days ago

Text

think we're alone now; beating of our heart is the only sound

pairing: sammy bryant x f!reader

warnings: ben's little sister!reader, so like... brother's best friend!au vibe, but it's brother's partner!au... you know what i mean?; smut - oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, soft dom!sammy, unprotected sex, a little bit of choking, praise kink i guess, cum eating; secret relationship, a pinch of angst, and fluffffff

summary: for certain reasons, you have always avoided dating cops. but one time, you make an exception, and this exception so happens to be your brother's partner.

w/c: around 11k

a/n: another love letter from: me, to: sammy bryant.

You moved back to Los Angeles after you got tired of the cool and wet city of Seattle. Not only did you miss the weather, you also missed the things that came with it – the beach, the surfer community, the colors and fewer depressing days, chilling in the car when you were stuck in traffic… And you would never admit it to him, but you missed your brother too. Just a little.

You also loved this. Standing in the middle of a coffee shop and studying the new promo drinks, even though you knew you were going to end up getting your usual. Well, you supposed you could do that in Seattle too, but it didn’t make you so giddy there.

“I hear their white chocolate mocha is pretty good.”

You jumped a little at the voice before you turned to the source. Your eyes were met with a dark-haired man sporting a police uniform and a drink of his own.

“Is that what you got?” you asked, pointing at the to-go cup.

“No way,” he said, waving the cup in the air as he chuckled, “I’m too boring for that. I’m a regular, black coffee kinda guy.”

You nodded with a smile, turning your head back to the menu board. “You and me both.”

The officer’s brows furrowed, one of his fingers lifting from the surface of his cup and pointing it at you. “You must be the prettiest regular, black coffee kinda guy, then.”

You bit your cheek, side-eyeing him as you tried to stifle the smile that was creeping up on you. There was no way this guy was making your cheeks flush.

“I’m Sammy,” he introduced himself, passing his coffee from his right hand to the left, offering his palm to you. You shook it and told him your name. “Are you new to the area?”

“No. Well, yeah.” Sammy’s brows shot up at the contrasting words. “Kinda both. I just moved here from Seattle, but I grew up in LA,” you explained and Sammy gave you a nod.

“So, would it be too bold to ask for your number?”

You bounced on your feet, considering it. He was cute. And he was funny. But he was a police officer, for God’s sake. You only trusted a handful of those.

“I’m sorry,” you said apologetically, scrunching your face, “I don’t date cops. No offence.”

Sammy’s confident smile was replaced by a defeated one, the wrinkles around his eyes staying in place, although the spark disappeared.

“Okay, that’s fair. May I ask why? If it’s the uniform, I promise I never bring it on a date. Or home. Unless I need to wash it, of course.”

You chuckled, tipping your head down for a split second and Sammy followed your eyes with a tilt of his head.

“My brother is a cop. So it’s just… You know.”

Sammy didn’t know, not really, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t have any right to pry. You surely had your reasons. But…

“Well,” Sammy took out his notepad and scribbled down his number, “if there’s any type of emergency,” he tore the paper out and handed it to you, “or if you change your mind about dating cops, this is where you can reach me. One cop is enough, actually.”

Shit. He was charming. You took the paper and folded it in half, stuffing it in your pocket and thanking him.

“Enjoy your coffee,” he said and then he was on his way.

“No, I’m telling you, she liked me,” Sammy attempted to convince Ben, bouncing his thumb against the steering wheel.

“Sammy. 'I don’t date cops, because my brother’s one of them'? That’s the lamest excuse I have ever heard. She probably just wanted to let you down easily.”

The corner of Sammy’s mouth quirked upwards, frowning as he tried not to let Ben get to him.

“Whatever, man. She took my number, alright? I’m keeping my hopes up.”

As much as it pained you, you honestly couldn’t stop thinking about the police officer you met at the coffee shop.

You hated it when people made you reconsider your values, especially men. You felt like a hypocrite. But Sammy didn’t seem cocky, didn’t really use his rank to pick you up. Didn’t push when you told him no. And he was handsome. The truth is, you'd probably say yes right away if he wasn't wearing the uniform. So maybe you shouldn’t be so uptight and pigeonhole him.

You searched your pants for the piece of paper he gave you, taking your phone into your other hand as you held the items side by side, typing in the number. Then you pressed dial.

Beep.

“Bryant,” sounded from the other side, the voice deeper than you remembered.

“Um, hi. Is this Sammy? We met at the coffee shop the other day,” you said, reminding him of your name.

“Oh, yeah! Hi. Did something happen?”

“Well, yes. I’m in the middle of changing my mind about dating cops. You think you can help with that?”

You heard a soft laugh over the line.

“I don’t know. What does it entail?”

“I’m about to go for a stroll along the beach. Maybe get something to drink from one of those beach bars. So, I thought you could join me if you’d like and tell me about the pros and cons.”

Sammy agreed and one and a half hour later, you were walking on the pier with slushies in your hands. To be honest, your preconceptions were building up anticipation inside of you that made you tense almost throughout the whole date. You were just waiting for the moment he’d say something that would repulse you. And with your bias, just a small slip would be enough. But it never really came, or you just missed it and didn't care, because Sammy seemed genuine, confident but humble, and respectful.

He told you about all about him voluntarily stepping down as a detective after his partner had been killed. He didn’t try to hide that it still made him sad to this day, and it tugged at your heart.

The conversation felt natural, and you didn’t even realize it was so late when you circled back to the spot where you met up.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Sammy offered, figuring that you were parked somewhere close.

“Oh, I walked.”

Sammy paused, his eyes meeting yours. “You live nearby?”

“Yeah, like thirty minutes by foot.”

He huffed, his eyes went comically wide as he put a hand on the small of your back and steered you in the direction of his car. “Yeah, okay. I’m driving you home, then.”

“Thank you, but that’s not really necessary.”

“I’m not letting you walk fifteen blocks all by yourself,” Sammy said incredulously.

“Don’t worry, I have my pepper spray. I’m not an amateur.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “I’m not even gonna tell you how well those things work. Please, let me do this. You don’t really have a choice, because even if you do talk me into letting you walk, I’m just gonna drive next to you until you decide to get your butt inside the car.”

“Is that a threat, Officer? I smell some elements of stalking too.”

“Yeah, well, we should have that nose checked because it seems to miss the real danger,” he said as he opened the passenger door of his car, rising his eyebrows expectantly.

With a roll of your eyes, you got in the car and Sammy carefully closed the door once you were seated.

The ride was short at this time of night. You caught yourself shamefully admiring Sammy’s face a few times, making him rotate his head in your direction when he felt your gaze. He didn’t say anything, though, sparing you any further embarrassment. But you felt the heat in your cheeks, and the butterflies in your stomach were restless too.

“Yeah, this is me.”

Sammy put the car in park and unbuckled his seat belt, leaning his head against the headrest.

“Thanks. I actually enjoyed spending time with you,” you smiled.

“Well, don’t sound too surprised,” he said sarcastically. “So, did you change your mind?”

Sammy’s head was tilted towards you, enough to be inviting, but not enough to invade your space. You glanced out of the passenger window, smiling to yourself before you turned back to him. His eyes flickered to your lips, so quick you’d almost miss it

God, he made you fuzzy for no apparent reason. You wanted to kiss him, to let yourself be pulled in. His front teeth were poking out of his mouth, and it made him look so imperfectly perfect.

“I’m getting there…” you said, thanking him again before getting out of the car.

God. You were actually killing him. But Sammy is nothing if not patient, and he definitely wasn’t counting on getting this far. But you did make his heart beat a bit faster when you glanced at his lips and bit your lip.

As much as you wanted him, this wasn’t you. You didn’t want to act impulsively and make any rash decisions. The date felt good, and you chose to leave it at that for the time being.

“You’re in a good mood today. D’you get laid or something?” Ben smirked at Sammy as they entered the briefing room.

“Or something,” Sammy said with a puffed up chest, sending a smile full of pride in Ben's direction.

“Yeah? Sooo, did the chick from the coffee shop text you?”

Sammy shot him a glance, his cheeks dimpling as his smile grew wider.

“Oh, man,” Ben laughed, patting his partner on the back. “Alright, I stand corrected. Congrats, bro. So, you takin' her out on a date?”

Sammy didn’t tell him that you’d already been on a date, because Ben would be busting his chops about not getting you into bed and he was in a too good of a mood to discuss that with him.

He did tell him that you were going to get some coffee later today and then head to the beach again, because apparently, you preferred spending time outside, which he respected.

Sammy liked spending time with you and didn't care where it was, he liked talking to you. You were sweet, but you didn’t suck up to him, didn’t try to act like you were perfect, didn't hold back, sometimes making his eyes go wide at whatever you said. But in those wide eyes of his, you were kind of flawless.

Actually, he loved going to the beach with you, because your hair shone under the beams and your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him.

Sammy didn’t know that you admired his eyes and his freckles just as much.

He made it a habit to drop you off at your apartment at the end of every date, and he let you set the pace. He was down bad and you must have known that he was dying to kiss you, because he felt like his eyes transformed into beating hearts when he looked at you. And he looked at you a lot.

And one night, when he parked his car in front if your building, you finally let yourself be pulled by them.

Reaching for his face, you leaned over the console and pressed your lips against his, your hand sliding to the nape of his neck and pulling him closer to you so you didn’t have to lean so far.

Sammy kissed you back immediately, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair and angling your head, his seatbelt digging into his chest.

When you scraped your fingernails against his scalp, he groaned, disconnecting your lips while keeping his forehead pressed against yours.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You pressed him against the door as soon as it closed, pulling his jacket off with you following it, sliding down his body and to your knees, impishly putting the jacket under your shins.

Your hands reached for his belt, clinking sounds echoing through the hallway as you unbuckled it before yanking both his pants and boxers down his legs.

Sammy’s hand reached down to your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek when you took his cock into your hands, his thickness stopping your fingers from creating a full circle.

And when you gave the first tug, his head fell against the door with a thud as he exhaled, relishing in the feeling of your soft hands pumping his cock while you let your thumb slide against his slit occasionally.

A moan escaped him when he felt the flat of your tongue drag itself from the base of his cock to the head where you wrapped your lips around him and slid back down as far as you could.

“Shit, you’re such a good girl,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he looked down, and then he felt his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag, all teary-eyed.

The praise made you moan around him, sending vibrations through his body as you slid off of him, and when you freed his cock from the warmth of your mouth, strings of mixed saliva and precum connected you to his cock. He bent over and grabbed you under your chin, the need to kiss the fluids away overtaking him.

Sammy kissed you hard, manoeuvring your head as he pleased before he pulled you up, grunting out a deep come here.

He stepped out of the clothes that pooled around his feet and picked you up, his arms flexing with the added weight. Sammy didn’t break the kiss, not once, carrying you to your bedroom according to your instructions.

He put you down on your feet in front of your bed, breaking the kiss only to pull his shirt over his head. He smiled at you then, biting his lip when he reached for the hem of your dress and tugged upwards, leaving you in nothing but your black panties.

“So fucking beautiful,” he praised, cupping your breasts with his hands as he kissed you again, his lips traveling over your jaw, down your neck, until he was bent in an uncomfortable position just to latch his lips around your nipple.

He closed his teeth around you, nipping at the stiffened bud and forcing an abrupt moan from your throat, your fingers pulling on his hair and elicitng a groan from him, too.

Sammy stood to his full height again, one arm wrapping around your waist just to pick you up and lay you on the bed. Falling right over you, his hand reached down blindly, tugging on the band of your underwear for too long as he realized that it was impossible to rid you off it from this position, so he knelt up.

Once your panties were successfully discarded, he stayed on his knees and spread yours gently, his chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Already out of breath, Officer?” You had the audacity to tease. “I thought stamina was kind of a requirement in your field of work.”

Sammy scoffed, a smug smile playing on his lips as tugged you by your ankles closer to him, the undersides of your thighs pressed against his strong quads. Pressing his body against your front, he slipped an arm between the small of your back and the mattress and you let your hands fall to his wide shoulders, tracing the freckles there as his eyes raked over your face.

“Don’t poke the bear, sweetheart.”

Before you could retort, you were being flipped over onto your stomach, a gasp escaping your lungs. Sammy removed the pillows that were clearly in his way and instructed you to hold onto the bars of the headboard, situating you into a kneeling position, your back arched.

“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered as he knelt at your side, and you did as he asked. He shuffled on his knees closer to your body, dragging his fingertips down your spine until he reached your tailbone, goosebumps sizzling all over your skin. Then his fingers detoured to the globe of your ass and gave it a firm squeeze.

Your hips tilted on their own, chasing his hand as it ghosted over your skin. Sammy brought his other hand to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing his thumb against your artery. His nose brushed your temple before he kissed over your cheek, angling your face towards him and kissing your pout away.

He released your lips with a soft smack and shifted on his knees an inch, straightening his posture and adjusting the hold he had on your neck.

Sammy’s other set of fingers finally touched you, lightly brushing over the wetness of your cunt. A shuddering breath released from your mouth when you felt his thumb being pressed into your hole while the rest of his fingers laid flat against your clit, cupping your whole cunt.

“Jesus, how long have you been this wet, hm?”

You whimpered at his words and you were glad that Sammy didn’t wait for an answer. He slipped his thumb out, circling the pond of slickness that was your entrance before he pushed back in and wiggled the finger against your walls.

The pressure was euphoric, the pad of his finger pushing all the right buttons inside of you to make your whole body buzz. His meaty thumb alone was stretching you out so good, and it made you wonder how you were going to take his cock.

You moaned out loud at the thought and let go of one of the bars, bringing your palm to the wrist at your neck, needing to touch him. To feel him. But Sammy, wasn’t having it and as soon as he felt your hand cover his, his movements stopped, his gaze switching from your ass to your face, eyes squinting.

“Put your hand back onto the headboard, or I’ll stop, and you bet your sweet ass that I won’t touch you again.”

Your whole body trembled and you did as he said. He turned your head to him before continuing.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice becoming softer which only made you wetter.

“Yes.”

Sammy gave you a nod and then he shifted again, the hold on your neck disappearing. You felt his palm splayed on your lower back as he pressed down until the back of his other hand hit the softness of your sheets and you were basically sitting on it.

“Fuck yourself on my finger.”

Your head snapped to him. Was he serious?

“What?”

“What? What’s not to understand, sweetheart? Ride my hand. Make yourself cum.”

You blinked, swallowing and returning your gaze to the wall in front of you as you started lifting your hips.

“Thaat’s it. Fuck, you’re swallowing my finger so fucking good.”

You felt awkward in this position, your hips faltering as you tried to pick up the pace. It didn’t help that all that Sammy did was curl his thumb every time you slid all the way down, before lifting your hips again, repeating the motion over and over again.

The next time his thumb was fully sheathed inside of you, you circled your hips, grinding against his fingers and creating a delicious stimulation against your throbbing clit.

“Yeaah, just like that. Look at you, a fucking natural.”

His praises spurred you on, but your movements weren’t enough to make you come. You didn’t have the strength, the speed, nor the leverage to fuck yourself on him, to use him like you really wanted to. You needed more.

“Sammy, please,” you whimpered, stopping your hips. Giving up.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need to cum,” you mewled, wiggling against his hand to relieve some of the ache from your clit.

“Then why did you stop?”

You were speechless. This was the first time your sexual partner was this communicative during sex. This controlling. You didn’t know how to act, and Sammy must have figured it out.

“Aww, does my babygirl need some help? Hm?” Sammy cooed, cupping your face with his free hand, his thumb soothing over your flushed skin as you looked at him with wide eyes. “Is that it? Do you want me to make you cum instead?”

“Mhm.” You nodded and Sammy smiled, all entitled and condescending.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

Your heart beat faster as you tried not to feel humiliated.

“I want you to make me cum.”

“Good girl.” He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, pinching your chin before he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear and sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll let it slide this time, but next time you have some smart-ass comments, I won’t be so nice. Understood?”

Jesus Christ. You actually wondered for a split second what he was capable of doing. You got the urge to test it, but you chose to fight it down.

“Yes.”

And with that, Sammy manhandled you into a position with your ass up, snaking his arm over your back and under your stomach, holding your hips up as he started ramming into your pussy with his thumb, while simultaneously rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the four of his fingers.

You still kept your hold on the bars, only now your face was squished against the mattress. Your moans got louder with every glide of his thumb, occasionally slipping it down to your clit and flicking over it before he buried his finger back into your pussy.

Your walls fluttered around him, each stroke against that spongy spot was making your toes curl and soon, you started bucking your hips against his palm.

Sammy worked you up, and with a few more bumps and wiggles against your G-spot, you fell over the edge, orgasm rippling through you as he fingered you until you were reaching behind you and clasping your hand around his wrist with small no more’s.

Sammy took mercy on you, pulling his hand away from your sensitive pussy as he admired your shivering body. He dragged his nails softly against your skin, his cock twitching at the purrs leaving your mouth.

You brought your hips down, lying on your stomach, while Sammy positioned his body on his side, using his forearm to prop himself up. He traced his fingers over your back, drawing random patterns on your skin.

“I’m glad I changed my mind.”

Sammy laughed, his smile forming dimples in his cheeks making him look younger than he was.

“Yeah. Me too.”

When you finally caught your breath, you lifted yourself up, smashing your lips against Sammy’s and crawling over him. You forced him on his back as you threw your leg over his hips, straddling him and rubbing yourself over his hard cock. His hands ran up your thighs, thumbs creating temporary dents from how they dug into the softness of your skin.

He drew in a sharp breath as you kissed him, his eyes half open because he simply couldn’t stop looking at you. You snuck your tongue into his mouth, your fingers grasping his hair when he deepened the kiss by lifting his head from the pillow, trying to assert dominance. But then you angled your lips just right, the head of his cock barely slipping into the warmth of your cunt, but still causing him to moan and throw his head back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” he cursed and then you reached down, straightening your back and positioning him against your entrance properly. Sammy couldn’t tear his eyes off you as you struggled to take him all at once, hissing at the way your tight walls squeezed the shit out of the head of his cock. “Shit, I should have stretched you out first. You’re so fucking tight.” Yeah, his thumb definitely wasn’t enough.

You didn’t respond, too focused on sliding down his cock as painlessly as possible. You were so sexy like this, all desperate to fuck him, with that small crease between your brows and bitten lip. And as much as he was enjoying the view, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Lie on your back, sweetheart,” he said, ready to flip you over, but you stopped him.

“No! I can do it. I just need a second.”

God, he would slam right up into you if he weren’t scared that he’d break you.

“Christ, you’re being such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Sammy at least brought his thumb to your clit, massaging it in small circles.

“Yeah,” you agreed mindlessly, making Sammy’s eyes snap to your face. You were so gone already. Only air in your head.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and sucked in his lips as you slid down another inch down, splitting yourself on his cock.

Sammy swore he couldn’t control it when his hips lifted themselves off the bed, just about a millimetre, but it made you mewl anyway.

Your palms braced themselves against his chest, your nails digging into his muscles. He had to remind you to breathe, and the stinging pressure only amplified when you finally slid all the way down, seating yourself against his hips.

Sammy moaned at the feeling, his eyes rolling back as he suppressed the need to buck up into you.

“Good job,” he commended and it was enough for you to lift your hips up, albeit painfully slow. It was easier for you to slide back down this time, your arousal combining with Sammy’s precum and creating a sticky mixture at the base of his cock. “You feel so fucking good. So hot.”

You finally looked away from where you were joined, locking eyes with Sammy’s. They were dark, blown out and full of lust. You lowered your upper body, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kissed him. You circled your hips, and this time, Sammy didn’t hold back, squeezing your hips before gently pressing upwards.

It made you hum into the kiss and he took it as a permission to do it again. Grabbing the flesh of your ass, he bent his knees and planted his feet against the mattress to give himself some leverage. Then he bucked up more forcefully, your body jolting against his and causing your lips to disconnect as you moaned.

He watched your face as he did it again, biting his lip when he saw your eyes roll back. He set a gradual pace, each thrust of his hips sharper than the last, your clit bumping against his pubic bone and applying dizzying pressure against the nub.

The lewd sounds of the slapping skin echoed through the room, combined with the gasps escaping your mouth. Sammy wrapped his arms around the small of your back, keeping you in place as he sped up his movements.

Your cheeks bounced against his snapping hips, and you had to brace yourself on your hands next to his ear, your fingers clutching the sheets.

This position left your breasts hanging close to his face and Sammy took the opportunity to lift his head, catching your nipple into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled as he drove into you, the bedsprings creaking under your bouncing bodies. He felt you spasm around him, your pussy sucking him in with every drag of his cock against your walls. Your cries got louder and his name was falling from your lips like prayer. It almost made him feel like a god.

You arched your back, your belly pressing against the firm muscles of his stomach and with three more thrusts, the coil in your stomach snapped, sending you over the edge.

Sammy started chasing his own orgasm as you shattered around him, riding you through your high with stammering hips. Once he was close, he flipped you on your back and let his cock slip out of your sensitive center, kneeling between your thighs while he pumped himself until he spilled over your stomach. He could’t hold in the moans that escaped him as he watched you getting covered in his cum.

Once his breaths went from shallow to deep again and his cock softened, he lowered himself on his heels.

“Shit, sorry.”

His words made you giggle, partly because of the oxytocin running through your body. A lazy grin appeared on your face. “What are you apologizing for?”

He jerked his head to the side, a knowing look on his face, because it was kind of obvious.

“Where’s your bathroom? Do you have something I can clean you up with?”

“Out the door to the left, there’s a washcloth hanging in the shower.”

Nodding, Sammy got to his feet with an exaggerated groan and it made you giggle again. He glanced at you over his shoulder with a what are you laughing at? look. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face when you watched him trot butt-naked to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of the birthmark on his cheek.

When he came back, he was already in his boxers, washcloth in one hand and his pants in the other which he threw on the armchair you had in your bedroom. He also returned the pillows to where they belonged under your head, before he wiped away his spent, warmth spreading through you at the gentle touch.

When he came back again, after returning the towel into the bathroom, he threw himself on the bed, his body bouncing next to you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bringing his hand to cup your face, his fingers playing with the hair by your ear and thumb swiping over your nose.

“Better than,” you smiled and he returned it, looking down in almost a bashful way, before he pecked your lips, releasing them with a gentle pop.

Gazing at each other then, you admired the color of his eyes and the small nose adorned by freckles. He truly was beautiful.

“I gotta go,” he said in a low voice, slurring the words out.

“You gotta?”

“Well…,” he began, the teasing tone returning, but still soft and a little high-pitched. “It really depends on the woman of the house. She has this rule about cops…” he rasped out with a playful roll of his eyes.

“I think she can make an exception.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, moving his face closer to yours and you nodded, repeating the word before he kissed you again. Sammy just couldn’t get enough of you.

Your dates became more frequent and eventually, you started seeing each other on daily basis. Sometimes you went to your place, sometimes you ended up at his. You started going on runs together and planned other activities if you both had free weekends.

Sammy was great, sweet and good-hearted, funny and sometimes fucking annoying. But you ate it all up.

Not to mention that the sex was amazing.

One morning, he had to borrow your brother’s old shirt, because he used his to wipe his cum off your ass and didn’t bring any change of clothes. It was a little tight, but it would suffice for the drive to work.

“I see you finally got style. Your coffee shop girl have something to do with it?” Ben teased when Sammy met him in the locker room, confusion flooding his face. “The shirt, bro. I think I even had the same one. A little out of fashion, but for you–“ Ben clicked his tongue and winked, making an OK sign with his fingers. “Kudos for the tighter fit, too. What’s next? Your hair?”

Normally, Sammy would come up with his own remarks, but all he could do this time was to watch Ben with careful eyes as he put on the white Underarmor shirt, wheels turning in Sammy’s head.

There’s no way.

Sammy changed quickly, throwing the borrowed shirt into his locker with more force than he intended. They did their usual routine, equipping the car with firearms and ammunition and searching for any leftover items from previous shift.

As they rolled out into the streets, Sammy couldn’t stop thinking about it. He should probably text you as soon as he had some time, otherwise his mind wouldn’t give him any rest. On the other hand, what if he found something he didn’t really wish to find out? Would that really help his case? Fuck.

Well, Sammy was restless, too impatient to wait as they cruised through the neighbourhood after responding to a help call.

“So… My sister is still on my ass about basically demoting myself from detective to patrol. It’s been years, and she’s driving me nuts,” Sammy set the bait, and Ben took it immediately.

“Yeah, sisters, man. As if managing their own life wasn’t enough.”

“You have a sister?”

Ben snorted.

“Yeah, man. Three,” he specified. And before Sammy could prod any further, Ben continued. “Actually, one of them just moved back from Seattle. Getting to re-know the city as we speak.”

Sammy’s head snapped to Ben, something close to a scowl pulling the muscles of his face as he stared at his partner over his shades

He forgot he was driving for a second– well, for more than a second, because the next thing he knew, Ben was yelling out his name and reaching for the wheel, steering the car around a cyclist.

“What the fuck, man? You alright?”

Sammy recovered quickly then.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Ben made a note to keep a close eye on his partner for the rest of the shift, but brushed it off for now, going on a rant about wanting to become a detective too and asking Sammy for advice.

Sammy could not wait for the shift to be over. He was panicking and he needed someone to panic with. Except, he doubted that his partner would provide that service since Sammy was sleeping with his little sister. Oh, he was going to dramatically storm into your apartment, he knew it. He should probably give you a heads up.

Well, he didn’t have to.

You were perched on the bench in front of the police station, and when you saw Ben, followed by Sammy, your epiglottis closed up. No way.

When Sammy spotted you, you saw him tip his head back and roll his eyes towards the sky, as if asking some higher power to give him the strength, before he met your gaze again and shook his head subtly.

You didn’t even know what he meant by that, but instead of dwelling on that, you smiled at your brother as he greeted you with a half-hug.

“Alright, Ben, see you tomorrow,” Sammy said, trying to make his escape, but Ben stopped him.

“Sammy, wait.”

Sammy stopped reluctantly, the tip of his tongue prodding at his molars as his eyes flickered to you for a split second. “This is my sister I was telling you about. And this is Sammy Bryant, my partner.”

Sammy stuck out his hand and you took it, his lips quirked up and brows pinched together at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Officer Bryant.”

“Likewise.”

Sammy had to give it to you, you definitely looked calmer than he felt. His hand lingered on yours, and Ben was the one to break you up with a nervous laugh.

Sammy was quick to say goodbye, desperate to get out of there, and while you went out for a coffee with your brother, Sammy decided to drive to your place, parking far enough so Ben wouldn’t see his car in case he was taking you home.

With Ben living in Castaic now, too, Sammy didn’t want to risk the chance of him appearing at his doorstep with you on his couch. He was proven today that fate had funny plans for him. Or for you, he wasn’t sure.

He sent you a text of course, informing you he was waiting for you near your apartment. And while stakeouts weren’t his favorite thing about his job, this made them seem like a piece of cake.

“So, now you see why I don’t date cops?” you asked him when you finally arrived home, and all Sammy could do was shrug.

“So, what do we do?”

“Well… We should tell him. I mean, the sooner the better. Like ripping off a band-aid,” you said, studying his face as Sammy chewed on his lips, seemingly on the fence about it. “Unless you want to end it…?”

Sammy met your eyes then, scowling at the idea.

“No, of course not." You felt relief wash over you. "It’s just… God, how did we not figure it out sooner? Where did my detective skills go?”

“Maybe the sex had something to do with it.”

Well, it was all easier said than done. It had been weeks since you discussed the ways of how to tell your brother. Should you speak to him together? Probably. But then it would seem like you were ganging up on him. Maybe you should tell him, you could calm him down in case he freaked. But that would seem like Sammy was just purposefully going behind his back, like he was’t even willing to face him. So maybe Sammy should tell him. He knew how to communicate worse things than this, so he could sit Ben down in his favorite restaurant, butter him up a bit and just get it out.

Shit. There was no good way to go about this.

You mentioned to Ben that you were seeing someone but didn’t give him any more details. And that was it, the conversation kind of ended there. You knew then that you weren’t able to tell him on your own. So, together it was.

However, both you and Sammy were stalling, and you often forgot about this whole mess of a situation when you were together, losing yourselves in each other’s presence. It was probably also because it was kind of exciting. To have this kind of secret, to be in this shared bubble with Sammy.

But it was harder on him, because he had to look Ben in the eye every single day and lie. Well, not lie per se, because the topic never really came up, but he still wasn’t truthful.

“My sister is actually seeing some guy. Wouldn’t even tell me his name or what he does,” Ben said one day, and it instantly made Sammy squirm in his seat, paranoia taking over him and making him think that Ben had found out somehow. I mean, he wasn’t stupid.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I mean, it’s her life, she knows what she’s doing. But I’m a little worried for her,” Ben said, causing Sammy to frown. “She never really had a serious relationship, you know. No doubt our deadbeat father had something to do with that, but...”

“So, you mean she’s like you? Changing her men like she changes her socks? Runs in the family?” Sammy tried to sound nonchalant, but Ben only put him on edge.

Ben chuckled at that.

“No, not like that. I think she just got so used to being on her own that she doesn’t want to put the energy into a relationship. To share her space. Or, she gets bored. I don’t know, man.” The car was now quiet, with Ben still pondering on his sister’s life choices while Sammy felt a lump in his throat. And to make it worse, Ben continued. “I mean, look at her, she couldn’t even settle down in a city for once. I’m just waiting for her to move back to Seattle or wherever the hell she chooses.”

Sammy was going to be sick.

“Right.”

Ben managed to numb Sammy’s head with all the crap he'd said and it made him feel scared all of a sudden. Was that what he was to you? Just a toy you’d throw away once you'd had your fill? After Tammi, he didn’t know what to think. He trusted her so many times and she let him down over and over again, and he wasn’t going to let you do the same.

“So, Ben told me an interesting thing today,” Sammy said, seated in your kitchen chair.

“Yeah? What’s that?” you asked, munching on a cookie as you came over to him and sat yourself sideways on his thigh, hooking your arm around his neck.

“He told me you’d never had a serious relationship,” Sammy said bluntly, watching your expression change to confusion.

“And? I never would’ve thought that would be a problem for you.” You took another bite, fully believing that Sammy wasn't going to make a scene about you never having a serious relationship.

“Well, he said that you either get bored or you don’t want to put up with the guys. Eventually. So I would like to know which group I’ll fall into.”

You clenched your jaw, studying his face with squinted eyes, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“Right now, you’re falling into a group of jerks, Sam. Are you serious?”

He chewed on his cheek, lifting an eyebrow as he shrugged. That expression finally made you get off his lap, turning away from him as you crossed your arms over your chest, thinking about what to say. Should you explain yourself? Wouldn’t that come across as defensive? What exactly would you be explaining anyway? Should you yell at him and kick him out? What were you supposed to do?

“I’ve never had a serious relationship, because the guys were either assholes or we just didn’t click.”

“And how do you decide that exactly?” Sammy stood up, stepping towards you in a swift motion. “Is every guy an asshole when it comes to you, then? You think you're too good for them?”

Your body span around, scoffing as you faced him. Unbelievable.

“Apparently, yeah. Look at yourself. Sammy, what the fuck did Ben tell you?” You tried to stop the tears from welling up in the corners of your eyes. “We’ve been seeing each other for months, because I actually like you. And what– would you expect me to settle for the first guy that throws me a smile and calls me kitten?” The tears slipped down, tickling your cheeks and it made you press the heels of your palms against your eye sockets. “Fuck!” you cursed through clenched teeth, frustrated. You seriously had no idea what he wanted from you.

Shaking your head, you turned away, wiping at your face on your walk to the bathroom. Once there, you sat down on the plush rug and leaned your back against the shower door, letting yourself weep.

In the kitchen, Sammy closed his eyes and let himself breathe. He needed to chill out. Needed to relax his fists.

All he wanted to do was to settle down, to finally meet the love of his life and spend the rest of his life with her. He had thought Tammi was it. And maybe you were right when you said that he expected you to settle for the first guy you’d dated, because that’s exactly what Sammy did with Tammi. And it was the stupidest thing he could have done, he had realized that a while ago, so he didn’t really know why his perspective changed back all of a sudden. You just made him fucking crazy.

A few minutes passed and Sammy headed to the bathroom, hoping you didn't lock yourself. He was greeted by the sight of you chewing on your lip and your jaw clenching, probably holding yourself from punching the fuck out of him. Your foot jumped up and down and your eyes rolled when you saw him. Yeah. You definitely wanted to deck him.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy said as he kneeled in front of you, but you avoided his gaze. “Can you look at me? Please?"

You only shook your head, another wave of tears rolling out. Sammy sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to make you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I screwed up. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. But Ben said you couldn’t settle down, because of your father. That you’d move away again. And my ego just plummeted, while my insecurities skyrocketed.” Sammy watched another tear escape your eye, and his hand itched to swipe it away, but you were faster. “Because I want to be enough for you. I want to make you happy and I don’t want you to leave.”

Your eyes finally darted towards him and you sniffled, pinching the collar of your shirt and using the material to wipe your eyes.

“Next time, don’t listen to my fucking brother. Especially when he mentions our father,” you said, your tone weak as you still fought the lump in your throat, but it still had a warning bite to it. “And don’t you come fucking accusing me like that ever again. I know you’re not an asshole, but you sure were acting like one.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, closing your eyes as you huffed. Swallowing, you shifted to your knees and extended your arms, wrapping them around his neck. He welcomed your hug with a relieved sigh, burying his nose into your neck and taking in your smell. Your cheek was squished against his shoulder, creating a wet spot on the soft material of his tactical, long-sleeve shirt, soaking it through. He rocked your body back and forth as he kissed the skin of your neck before pulling away and taking in your puffy face.

Sammy wiped the remaining wetness from your cheeks with his sleeve, even getting the snot under your nose which made you jerk away and a smile creep up on your face. “You’re disgusting.”

“What?” he watched you get up and stop in front of the mirror. “Just cleaning my mess.”

“You don’t have to kiss my ass. I forgave you.” You splashed your face with cold water before wiping it with your towel.

Normally, Sammy would make a lewd comment about kissing your ass, but now was really not the time. So he just settled for, “Can I stay?”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile still playing on your lips as they breathed out a quiet of course. You turned away from him then and exited the bathroom without another word.

Sammy knew you were trying to act indifferent. Pretending like this hadn’t somehow altered your relationship, and to be fair, you probably did want to sweep it under the rug. But he knew he’d hurt you, and just because you’d forgiven him didn’t mean he would act like nothing happened.

So, he cooked you dinner. Put on your favorite show with that actor that made you giggle and kick your feet. Let you think that the the attack you made with your piece during a chess game wasn’t against the rules. Traced shapes on your back for you to guess until you fell asleep. And the next morning, he made your favorite breakfast for you. Right after he made love to you.

Sammy realized soon that he shouldn’t have gotten pissed at what Ben said. He should have gotten selfishly proud about the fact that he was in your life unlike the assholes that couldn’t keep you, but instead, he almost fucked it up like them, letting his failed marriage with Tammi get the better of him.

But he couldn’t even compare his previous relationship to this one. Tammi had more than one screw loose, making their relationship doomed from the start. He just hadn’t realized it then, since his mind had been fogged by all the weed they smoked together.

Either way, Sammy was sure his mom would smack his head for the way he’d acted. She taught him better than this, not to mention she would’ve been pissed if he’d screwed it up before she got to meet the girl her son was always gushing about.

“We need to tell him,” you said after you cleaned the kitchen, your tone definitive, making Sammy pause as he rinsed his mouth with the mouthwash. He saw your reflection in the mirror, your arms crossed over your chest. He spat out the liquid and you continued, “I’m not really interested in letting any more misunderstandings ruin this relationship.”

“Okay,” Sammy agreed, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he turned towards you, studying your face. “Are we good?”

Rolling your eyes, you came closer to him as he leaned against the sink, bracing himself with his palms against the edge. You circled both of his wrists with your fingers before sliding them up his forerarms, feeling the veins through his skin. You stood on your tiptoes to peck his lip. “No. We’re not good. That’s why I want to tell Ben, so he can kick your ass.”

“Ha. You’re so fucking funny,” Sammy mumbled, a teasing smile spreading on his face as he bobbed his head, catching your wrists and tugging, making you crash against his chest. “You know that? Know how hilarious you are? I should sell you to a fucking circus.”

You grinned at him and before you knew it, he was pinching your sides, making you cackle as you tried to escape his hold, but his forearm against your stomach trapped you to his body, and you fell victim to his torture.

Later that morning, you headed to work, leaving Sammy in your apartment since he had the day off anyway. You gave him your spare key and told him to lock the door once he left.

You agreed to drive to his place right after work, because you planned to spend the rest of the week at his house since Sammy actually had the whole weekend off, and you didn’t want to cramp up at your apartment.

Besides that, it was a great hiking area, and you already mapped out some trails which you were looking forward to, as well as getting some fresh air and spending time with Sammy.

You were balancing a bowl of ice-cream topped by a few M&M’s in your lap, your legs stretched over Sammy’s thighs as you lounged on his couch.

“Maybe we should like… pretend that we all bumped into each other at some café. That way it won’t feel like an intervention or something,” you proposed but before Sammy could reply, you interrupted by a knock on the door.

You both frowned, Sammy's tongue poking into his cheek as he lifted your legs off his lap before gently putting them down on the cushions. He headed to the door and when he opened it, he immediately braced his arm against the doorframe to block the view inside as he saw Ben standing on his porch.

“Hey, man. What are you doing here?” Sammy laughed nervously.

“Well, you were supposed to help with the detective exam questions, right?”

…

Shit. He was right. Sammy promised Ben to go over it with him and he totally fucking forgot.

“But seeing my sister’s car in your driveway, I’m here to ask, what the fuck is she doing here?”

Ben didn’t wait for an answer, shoving past Sammy and storming right into the living room.

“Ben, wait,” Sammy tried to stop him, but he wasn’t hearing it. You were, though, your eyes widening at the sound of your brother’s name followed by heavy stomps, and it made you straighten up as you prepared for the worst. Ben only scoffed when he came into view, pacing behind the couch.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, dragging his hands down his face before extending them in front of him with palms up. “I mean, what the fuck, Sammy?”

“Ben, calm down,” you said, standing up and coming closer to him.

“Are you screwing my sister?”

“Ben!” you tried to get him to talk to you instead, but his focus was solely on Sammy.

“We’re dating,” Sammy corrected, but that really didn’t help anything.

“Oh! Oh, you’re dating. Well then, that explains everything, doesn’t it?” Ben fake-laughed, his hands on his hips now as he faced Sammy. “How long have you been dating?”

“A few months.”

Ben shook his head, sneering at his supposed friend. “So, you’ve been lying to my face for a few months?” Ben closed up on Sammy, their noses inches apart as if they were having a face-off. “You’re so full of shit, Sammy. All that bullshit about trusting your partner? You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

“Ben, we didn’t know that–” you tried to reason, but Ben just hissed a save it at you. And you did.

“Listen to her, man,” Sammy continued, as calmly as possible. “I didn’t know you were her brother until recently.”

Ben shook his head again, snorting at the poor explanation, the sound followed by a painful silence. It was when Sammy met your gaze over Ben’s shoulder that your borther’s fingers grasped the front of Sammy’s shirt, and his fist connected with Sammy’s face, making him groan at the impact and his body twist away as his hand shot up to his face.

“What the fuck, Ben?” you screamed, but your brother was already storming out of the house. You didn’t follow him. Letting him cool off was the best choice for now.

Your feet carried you to Sammy, your hand coming to his back as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one arm.

“Let me see,” you said gently, willing his hand away with yours. You already saw his palm stained with blood, some of it even dripping on the floor. “Wait, you know what, let’s go to the bathroom, come on.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped out.

“Yeah, well, your couch won’t be if you stay here, and it’s not gonna be easy to get the bloody stains out. But you know that, don’t you? So, come on.”

Sammy groaned again, and you let him go ahead, getting some tissues first because you weren’t sure if he had any in the first-aid kit right now.

Meanwhile, Sammy washed his face only to have it covered in blood again as it trickled out of his nose. As soon as you brought the tissues, he used one to give his nose a good pinch, squeezing his eyes shut as he bent over the sink.

You were frowning next to him, gently petting his hair and tracing your fingers along his ear.

“Should I bring you an ice-pack?”

Sammy shook his head, his voice congested when he spoke. “Nah, I’m good.”

After a while, he sniffled, removing the bloody tissues before looking at his reflection. It seemed that the bleeding had stopped, but his nose was a dark shade of pink, a little swollen. Not broken though, hopefully. Some of the discoloration reached the skin under his eye too. He splashed some water on his face once again, cleaning himself up.

“I’m sorry,” you said from your place next to him, guilt washing over you. “I never thought he would react like this.”

“Yeah, well,” Sammy stood to his full height, facing you. “I deserved it. And it’s not your fault. He was right, anyway. I’m always saying that your partner is supposed to have your back, not go behind.”

“But you do have his back. He was never going to get killed because we were seeing each other.”

“It’s not just about getting killed… I just shouldn’t have lied,” Sammy bit his cheek, his eyes darting sideways.

You wrapped your arms around his ribcage, slotting yourself against him. You were relieved when you felt his arms wrap around you, his cheek landing itself on the crown of your head. You felt his chest expand as he took in a deep inhale.

You explained that it was probably Ben’s general overprotectiveness of women that made him lash out. That it wasn’t just them hiding their relationship. Several things came together at once.

“He’ll get over it. He looks up to you, Sam. He knows you’re a good man and this was just a lapse in judgement. From both of us.”

“Yeah. I think we’ll have to change our Sunday plans, though. I should pay him a visit before we go to work on Monday.”

“Of course. I’ll come with you.”

“Okay.”

Sammy proved to you again and again that he truly had his heart in the right place. And while he had his flaws, he was always trying to do good by people.

Ben was still angry when you arrived at his place. Or maybe more like annoyed. But he did let you both in, which you supposed was a good sign.

He was still throwing daggers in Sammy’s direction, but as you explained the whole situation, swearing that you had never meant to lie, Ben’s stares softened and his fists eventually unclenched. He even asked Sammy about his nose.

When you got up to leave, the two men shook hands, patting each other on their shoulders before Ben walked you out.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Sammy said, pushing you softly with his fingers as he handed you the keys to his car.

Once you were out of earshot, Sammy faced Ben.

“I’m sorry you found out this way, Ben. But I promise you that I’m not going to hurt her. You can… shoot me in the leg if I do,” Sammy said, only half-joking.

Ben huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I know. Now, get out of my face. Don’t keep my sister waiting.”

Sammy gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “See ya tomorrow.”

Ben watched your smile grow when Sammy got inside the car. The only reason he got over it so soon was because he knew Sammy was a good guy and if anyone could treat you right, it was him.

“So, now we’re like.. official.”

Sammy caged you against his kitchen counter, pressing himself to your front while you clasped your wrist with your hand behind his neck.

“I guess so.”

“Like, girlfriend-boyfriend official.”

You snorted at how ridiculous he sounded, but nodded anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at.”

“You sound like a thirteen-year-old.”

Sammy leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a slow kiss, sucking on your lower lip before giving it a small nip, pulling a soft moan out of you.

“That felt like a thirteen-year-old to you?”

“Are you trying to get me to incriminate myself?”

Sammy tipped his head back, inhaling with an open mouth as he pretended to think about it, his eyes darting between random objects.

“Maybe I should bring the cuffs home sometime. See if you’re still runnin' your mouth when I have you tied to the bed. All helpless. Nowhere to run.”

“Or, I should tie you up. Torture you until you’re screaming for mercy.”

Sammy nearly burst out laughing, wrinkles appearing around his eyes, and you bit your cheek as he laughed at you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He flicked at your chin with his index finger, still smiling from ear to ear. “It’s just cute when you say it like that. I almost called my lawyer.”

“You’re an asshole,” you said, ready to pass around him, but he stopped by grabbing your hands and pressing you back into the counter with his hips, the edge digging into your ass.

“Wait, wait. I’ll let you cuff me up. Whatever you want.”

He brought your hands back behind his head and you played with the hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed you again.

He snaked his tongue between your lips, and without breaking the kiss, Sammy bent in his knees, grabbing you by the undersides of your thighs and lifting you up on the counter.

He spread your legs, situating himself between them as he leaned into you, your head gently thudding against the kitchen cabinet behind you.

Sammy’s fingers skimmed against your bare knees and up your thighs, teasingly slipping under the hem of your shorts until they reached for the band and started tugging.

“Wait.” You broke the kiss and his hands paused. “I don’t want to make a mess in your kitchen.”

“Why?”

“Well… I don’t know. You’re okay with it?”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he yanked on your shorts with all the strength he had, making your body jerk forward a little. “I want to fuck you right here, so I have something to reminisce about every time I make us dinner.” He tugged again and this time your shorts came free along with your panties.

Sammy got down on his knees, and as soon as his face was in front of your center, he inhaled, taking in your scent. You still couldn’t get used to how shameless he was about it. And not only that, but sex in general.

He kissed along your thigh first, opening his mouth wide and sinking his teeth into the flesh. It made you yelp, and all he could do was unlatch himself from you and admire the dents in your skin. He brought his head closer to your center then, letting his forehead rest against your abdomen and his curls tickle your skin as he stuck his tongue out, licking you from your hole all the way up to your clit.

Your legs snapped close around his head, but he was quick to spread them apart with his hands circling your ankles and keeping you from closing them again, all while sucking on your throbbing clit.

Your hand came down to the back of his head, grasping his hairr and trying not to tug too hard as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive nub.

Sammy was watching you as you threw your head back, revelling in the was his tongue massaged your slit, kissing and slurping sloppily at your cunt. You moaned above him and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

Your nails scraped against the nape of his neck when his tongue plunged into you, and he had to flex his arms as your legs threatened to close once again.

He fucked you with the wet muscle, and when he felt you spasm around him, he withdrew it, returning his focus to your puffy clit. He sucked on you while drawing figure eights against the bundle, making your hips twitch against him as you neared the end.

It all came crashing down when he freed one of your legs and pushed two of his fingers into your cunt, hooking them inside and massaging the spongy spot.

Your hand tightened behind his neck, nails digging into his skin and creating small crescents, while your other arm shot up, palm slamming against the cupboard as your orgasm rippled through you.

He fingered you through it, and usually, he would stop once you started shoving at his head or his hand, but this time, he was glued to you, sucking on you like a leech.

You cried out a few stop's, and no more's, but to no avail.

You felt like you were on a roller coaster, coming down the railway track only to ascend again.

You were panting above him, and he quickened the pace of his fingers, slamming them into you as he kept his lips clasped around your sensitive clit, shaking his head from side to side, making you scream his name.

You hit him with your free knee as you came for the second time, trying to escape his working mouth and fingers in any way you could, but Sammy didn’t care. He let your heel dig into his back, to scrunch up his shirt as your thigh slapped itself against his ear.

When Sammy finally removed himself, he grabbed your leg again and you felt your wetness against your calf. He stayed on his knees watching your stomach move up and down, before his eyes drifted to your twitching cunt.

Sammy watched your cum dribble down onto the countertop, and he could’t help but ghost his fingers over the length of your pussy, making your hips jerk, before dipping them in the pool of your wetness decorating the marble surface. He brought his fingers to your mouth, and you licked at them, cleaning them with your tongue as you tasted yourself.

Sammy took you off the counter then, turning you around and bending you over as he unbuckled the belt of his jeans.

The clasps bit into your skin as he fucked you against the counter, your brains dissolving to the extent that you didn’t even think twice when he asked you to clean the mess you made. You licked it off with your tongue, some of it getting onto your nose before he grabbed you by your neck and yanked you upwards, your body arching against him. He kissed your cum-covered lips, tasting you one last time, before he made you cum around in cock, with Sammy following shortly after.

Your legs almost gave up on you, and if it wasn’t for Sammy holding you up, you would have probably toppled to the ground.

When you were able to stand on your own, you went to take a shower while Sammy really cleaned the countertop, only because you shot him a look when he half-joked that he wouldn’t mind to let it get dry and you know… 'leave it like that'.

He took a shower right after you before joining you on the couch only in his shorts. You snuggled into his bare chest, your cheek against his collar bone as you looked up at him, letting yourself admire him again, his cheeks still a little pink, his lips curled into a soft smile while his eyes looked so warm and loving.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you glanced down before looking back up.

“I love you,” you said, and Sammy leaned down to kiss your nose.

“Are you saying that because of the sex?”

You knew he was teasing, your cheeks cramping from the widened smile as you slowly swung your from side to side.

“You’re horrible. You can’t be serious for even just one second.”

“Yeah, because you wouldn’t even like me if I tried to play out a rom-com scene with you.”

And he was right. It was his loud, annoying ass that you loved about him. Among other things.

“But,” he said as he pinched your chin between his thumb and index, making you look at him, “I love you, too.”

fin.