#I feel very tempted to say John

[britneyshakespeare]

i finished the merry wives of windsor today btw. 4 shakespeare plays left to go

[gloomwitchwrites]

morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, feelings, oral sex (male & female receiving), sex w/ and w/o condoms, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed.  Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving

@unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower

@sageyxbabey @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

@mudisgranapat @ninman82 @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @daemondoll @iloveslasher @yawning-grave81

@sammysinger04 @jackrabbitem @statixx-x @xxkay15xx @lxblm

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @azkza @ash-tarte @certainlygay

@hantheconqueror @dakotakazansky @jaggersinclair @suhmie @kidd3ath

@lovely-ateez @thewulf @coffeecaketornado @glassgulls @beebeechaos

[storiesforallfandoms]

the bad room ~ homelander;the boys

word count: 2654

request?: no

description: in which a ghost from his past returns when he needs her the most

pairing: homelander x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, lil bit of angsty angst, mentions of death and violence, mentions of threatened suicide, mentions of what homelander and reader went through in "the bad room", the boys typical stuff, spoilers for 4x04, reader was also raised in "the bad room" but is not homelander's sister we'll say she created using another supe's dna

masterlist (one, two, three)

"John?"

The name that just moments ago made him so angry he saw the brightest of reds, brought him to a halt. It wasn't the name, but rather the voice. When he turned and saw her there, he was almost certain it was a hallucination.

"(Y/N)?"

He hadn't seen her in years. Since she somehow escaped The Bad Room before he was set free of it. Before he became Homelander. But it felt like she hadn't changed at all. Not her eyes, watching him with care and concern. Not her face, just as beautiful as he remembered. Not the fuzzy feeling in his stomach just being in her presence.

He was tempted to take her in his arms and never let her go, but then he remembered the blood soaked super suit and the thick liquid still dripping from his face and hair; the blood of the people who tortured them both.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

A wry smile twisted on Homelander's face. "Visiting home."

Her eyes flickered to the building behind them. "Did you leave anyone alive?"

"Barbara."

(Y/N)'s face darkened. "Should've killed her first, very slowly and painfully."

Homelander chuckled, humorlessly. "That's quite the thing to say about your mother."

"That woman was never a mother to me."

"She raised you."

"If that's all it takes, then Vogelbaum was your dad, right?"

Homelander scowled at her. "Point taken."

(Y/N) looked him up and down. He suddenly felt very self conscious and small, even though he stood a few inches over her. They were emotions he thought he wouldn't feel anymore; human emotions. He was supposed to have left those behind in The Bad Room. That was the whole reason he had come back to this nightmare.

But he realized he wasn't feeling this way in a negative way. Well, he definitely felt ashamed that (Y/N) had to see him like this. But he realized he felt small because he was remembering every moment he and (Y/N) had in The Bad Room. She was the only good thing about that place. They kept each other going; they kept each other sane. When she suddenly disappeared, he thought the worse. He wanted to escape himself, to burn the whole place down, to burn himself with it. But he was still young, not yet The Homelander.

He later found out she was alive and had just managed to escape. He would've been angry that she didn't take him if he wasn't so heartbroken by it.

"I live nearby," (Y/N) said, breaking the silence. "You can come over and get cleaned up."

It took him a moment, but he finally registered what she had said. "Yeah. Okay. Lead the way."

(Y/N) seemed confused. "Um...I drove here."

Now it was Homelander's turn to look confused. When he realized she was being serious, he said, "Oh...okay. Well...you drive and I'll follow your car."

"You think it's a good idea to risk people seeing Homelander flying around covered in blood?"

He knew she wasn't wrong, but he hadn't driven in a car since...well, maybe ever.

"I'll clean the seats later, and it'll be less risk for your image," she said. "John...please?"

She wanted him to come over. She wanted to spend time with him. In her space. How could he say no?

That's how Homelander found himself stood under a stream of hot water in an unfamiliar bathroom. The blood ran from his face and hair, staining the water red as it ran down the drain. He found himself looking at the products she had there - her body washes and shampoo. He tried not to think too much about the fact that there were no men's products there. Although, he would've appreciated some men's body wash at the very least. He wasn't sure if he could handle using her body wash and smelling so much like her.

Eventually the water went from red to clear, so he shut it off. He wrapped one of the towels (Y/N) had left for him around his waist. He had left his suit on the floor, but now it was gone and any blood that had dripped onto the floor was cleaned. Homelander found himself blushing at the thought of (Y/N) coming into the bathroom while he was showering without him knowing, but then the blood moved from his face to a lower area.

He walked out of the bathroom and into (Y/N)'s living room. She was sat on her couch with a glass of wine in hand. He could smell bleach trying to be masked by the smell of hand lotion, which told him that she had cleaned her car while he was in the shower.

"Does that stuff get you drunk?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Of course not," she responded. "I drink it for the taste at this point."

He noticed her looking him up and down again, and he suddenly became very aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing any clothes.

"My suit..." he started.

"The cape is in my washer, but I wasn't sure how to wash the rest of it. Especially with those shoulder pads you have."

"That's okay. I can get someone back at the tower to dry clean it for me. They won't ask any questions."

(Y/N) winced and took a sip of her wine.

"I have some clothes you can borrow," she said, placing her glass down and standing from the couch.

"I don't think any of your clothes will fit me," Homelander said, a smile tugging at his lips.

She gave him a look, but he could see she was smiling as well. "They're men's clothes."

His smile suddenly fell. "Oh."

"They're my brother's."

He should've been happy for that clarification, but it only made his brow crease more. "Brother?"

"Foster brother, but I see him as an actual brother," she explained. "He stays over whenever he's in New York so he's left some clothes here. They should fit you."

He dressed in the clothes that (Y/N) gave him, but he was filled with more questions. She had a foster brother, did that mean she had a whole foster family? It would make sense, she was still a minor when she had escaped. He guessed she couldn't just live on her own under the age of 18.

But couldn't she? She had powers. She was raised to be a Supe just as powerful as himself. She could've taken care of herself, gotten whatever she wanted.

But maybe what she wanted was a real family.

But they weren't her family. They were just posing as one.

He was still turning these thoughts over in his head as she entered her living room again. She was back on the couch with a second glass of wine. He didn't drink alcohol. He was told he couldn't before. He had an image to uphold. But who cared about that image now? He literally killed a man and got away with it.

He sat next to her. She took a sip of her own wine before looking at him. "You have questions."

That was an understatement.

But she was opening the floor for him to ask everything on his mind, and he had a lot of things he wanted to know.

The first thing out of his mouth was, "Why were you there tonight?"

She seemed almost amused by this being his first question. "Barbara called me. She said there was a breach."

"What are you, their bodyguard?"

"That's what she thinks. Or...thought, I guess."

"I didn't kill her. I left her with the bodies of the people who tortured us."

(Y/N) looked at him, almost in disbelief, before a laugh slipped from her lips. "Jesus, that's worse than death. That's what she deserves."

"Why does she still have your number? You escaped, why would you want any connections to her or-or that place?"

She sighed. "It's...complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it for me."

When (Y/N) looked at him, there was no fear in her eyes. Not like most people who get this close to him, who know what he's done and have to deal with him after the fact. Instead, he saw sadness. And with it, any ounce of anger that was growing in him evaporated.

"I didn't escape, I made a deal with Barbara and Vogulbaum. I told them either they let me go and stop trying to train me and make me into their next Supe princess, or the second they let me leave the facility and put me on camera I would reveal everything those people did to us. And then...and then I'd kill myself on live television so the world knew what Vought did to us."

Homelander watched her as she took a sip of her wine. Well, a gulp more like it. She finished the contents of her glass and reached for the bottle to get herself more. He reached for his own glass and swallowed it all in two gulps. He winced at the taste and suddenly was glad he never drank before.

(Y/N) started to refill his glass when he asked, "Why didn't you take me?"

She paused. He could hear her heart rate picking up, and he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

"They wouldn't - " she started, but choked on her tears. She cleared her throat and tried again. "They wouldn't let me. I tried to negotiate it with Barbara, but she said no, and she said even if she agreed Vogelbaum never would. She said the deal was only me, and if I didn't take it then...then that was it. I had to stay, continue all the training and...experiments. Neither one of us would ever get out if I agreed to that, so...I took their deal. They rushed me out in the middle of the night so that you wouldn't know, blindfolded me so that I wouldn't know where the facility was, and then dropped me in the middle of nowhere to fend for myself. I was hitchhiking for hours when this family drove past and found me."

"What did you tell them?" Homelander asked.

"I lied and said I had no idea what happened to me. I said bad people took me and I couldn't remember who they were or where I came from. Only that I remembered my first name, the only name that Barbara gave me. They looked into missing persons and couldn't find me anywhere here or in any other state. So - "

"They took you in," he finished. "They fostered you."

(Y/N) nodded. "They wanted to adopt me officially, but that's a whole process. They became like my family anyways. Like I said, I'm still in contact with them."

"Do they know you have powers?"

She shook her head. "I haven't used my powers since I got out of there. Not on purpose, anyways. There's always the odd slip up, but that's bound to happen."

Everything she said just resulted in more questions in his head. He wanted to ask her why she never disclosed to her "family" that she had powers, but he figured the answer to that was pretty simple: she wanted to be normal.

But she's not normal. She's never been normal. She was made to be a God, like me.

Instead of saying that, he said, "You never...called. Or came by the tower or...anything. You never tried to contact me."

"I did once, remember? When you asked me to be in The Seven."

Oh, he remembered. It was just after Lamplighter had announced his intention to leave, before they put out a nation wide search for a new member that resulted in Starlight joining the team. He asked Stillwell to wait on putting out word on a search because he had someone he wanted to ask first. Reluctantly, he turned to Vogelbaum, because he knew they must've had an idea of where (Y/N) ended up. Even when he thought she had just escaped, he knew they never would've let her truly be free of them. He asked Vogelbaum to send her a message: "Please come join The Seven. It would mean the world to me if you did."

Almost immediately, Vogelbaum called the tower to let Homelander know she had responded. "She said I'm sorry, but I can't."

He was locked in his room for days after that.

Now, he scoffed at her bringing up that memory. "That's not trying to contact me. That's responded to me trying to contact you, and having to go through Vogelbaum of all people to do it. You basically fell off the face of the Earth to me, but I was readily available to you if you ever gave enough of a fuck to reach out."

"You think I didn't care?!" (Y/N) snapped, standing from the couch. "You think I wasn't thinking of you every second after I got out of that hell hole?! That I wasn't trying for years to figure out where the hell they had you hidden so I could come save you, too? I tried everything John! I looked everywhere that I could, but I was too late. They were already parading you around on TV as the next Soldier Boy! The second they announced you'd be the leader of The Seven, I knew I was too late. They had already corrupted you too much, you were already another Supe pawn in Vought's attempts at global domination. I couldn't handle that. I couldn't try to pry you away from that when I knew you would never leave the spotlight. How could you? You're the world's greatest superhero, you had everyone at your feet. And I was just the girl who ran away from that life and stopped using her powers. How could you ever choose me over that?"

"I would've chosen you every time!" Homelander snapped back, getting to his feet as well to stand over her. "That's why I asked you to join The Seven!"

"But that's not what I wanted, John! I didn't want to be a hero. If I took you up on your offer, I would be letting Barbara and Vogelbaum and all of those other fuckers win. I just wanted to be normal! I wanted me and you to be normal!"

"But we're not fucking normal!"

Tears were running down her face as she backed away from him. He realized then that he was crying, too. So much built up emotion between the two of them was finally coming out. They both needed it, but goddamn, Homelander felt his heart breaking all over again.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

Suddenly, (Y/N) was throwing herself at him. Her arms were around his neck, holding onto him for dear life, and her lips were on his. He was surprised at first, but quickly wrapped his arms around her to hold her to him. He could taste the salt of their tears mixed with the wine they had been drinking. It was messy and far from the perfect kiss, but neither of them cared. It was the cultivation of years of emotions between them.

(Y/N) pulled away first. She rested her forehead against his, looking into his bright blue eyes. "I can't be your perfect Supe counterpart. I can't be a Supe, John, you have to understand that."

"I do," he said. "Whatever you need, I won't push you. I just want you back."

"You can have me," she said, her voice a whisper but he could still hear her plain as day. "You always had me."

He leaned in to kiss her again, picking her up in his arms as he did so. He never wanted to let her go again, so he wouldn't.

[princessbrunette]

kinktober : oct 17th

captain price x handjob

one thing about price, is that his pants are always gonna fit snug around the crotch.

you’ve giggled about it before, laying half over his thigh in bed after he’d come home late snuggling into you — half asleep asking why he always wears such ‘tempting pants’ only for him to chuckle nonchalantly, saying something along the lines of “gotta give my best girl a show, don’t I?” before shushing you to back to sleep.

it became your favourite sight once he’d arrive home to you, his sweet doting wife, who can only try her very best to keep her eyes on his in conversation when his cock was practically looking at you first, heavy and visible in his pants, tight belt at his hips only accentuating the shape. you wondered if he was always half hard or something, or if he really was just that long and thick.

sometimes you couldn’t control yourself, you’d just wanna touch on him.

there’s no complaints from john as you lean up to kiss him slow and needy in the hallway when he’d arrive home in all his gear, your hand sliding down his stomach and caressing his bulge, a moan torn from your throat at just the shape under your hand. he smirks to himself, thinking you want something from him. “two steps through the door and you’re asking to get dicked down. y’think m’not tired, love?” he smirks against your mouth, fully willing to give you whatever you want regardless.

you whine a little, and as much as you’d love that— you’re just in the mood to take your time and play with him. so, you drag him to the couch and shove a beer into his hand, the full breadwinner treatment as you unzip his pants. “just wanna play with it. want you to relax, john.” you tell him sweetly through your eyelashes, holding that eye contact as you drool into your palm. he exhales, jaw slack as he shakes his head.

“i must be the luckiest man on earth.” he chuckles, low in his chest and you hum with a sweet little hazed out smile, lips still a little wet from drooling on your hand as you begin to tug at his cock.

“y’so big.” you practically mewl as you slowly stroke him up and down, twisting your hand for his pleasure.

“yeah?” he responds, lips against the tip of his beer bottle as he sips, voice slightly muffled into it and brows furrowed as he watches the movement of your hand. “fuck.” he whispers post swallow.

“mhm…” your voice is breathy and moan-y, and he can’t help but sit forward, reaching to pull you closer.

“you want me to fuck you like this, sweetheart?” he gruffs, placing his beer aside. you pant, your free hand pressing at his chest as you shake your head with doe eyes.

“just wanna see you cum like this, please? can have me afterwards…” you beg, not breaking the eye contact once again as you lean forward and drool, letting it hit the tip, your fingertips smoothing over it and massaging it into his cock.

“fuckin’ ell.” he scratches his beard, tipping his head back against the couch and spreading his thighs, the sight making you wish you took up his offer, but also glad you were being patient. “little minx, you are.” he smirks, his eyes still shut.

soon, his stomach is tensing, and he’s reaching out to grab the nearest thing to him, which happened to be a couch cushion, digging his fingers in as he pants. “shit, baby. right fuckin’ there.” he groans before spitting out pearly liquid into your palm, letting it drip down your wrist. you let out whimpers just at the feeling and how good he looked coming undone.

he finally comes down, barely aware of the feeling of the couch shifting beside him. when he finally comes to, reaching out for you and opening his eyes — he’s stopped in his tracks to see you with your panties off, eagerly using his cum as lube as you stroke your fingers hungrily through your own folds, whimpering. he eyes you with a tongue pressed into his cheek before shaking his head, regaining his strength as he pushes himself up to pin you on your back. “little fuckin’ tease, aren’t you?”

[uhohdad]

John Price & CringeFail Reader - One (1) New Message

The text that illuminates your phone screen steals both your attention and your breath. A sharp inhale gets lodged in your throat and triggers a full on coughing fit.

“‘Ight ther’, bonnie?”

You blindly throw a thumb up in Soap’s general direction while your lungs stutter to regain control of its function, both your face and chest burning from embarrassment and overexertion respectively.

You look back to your phone to confirm through tear-blurred eyes, and yes, you read it right.

Captain Price: ‘Get me off please?’

Maybe your Captain really had returned your infatuation. It was just supposed to be a stupid little fantasy in your head, a safe schoolgirl crush on an authoritative man that’s meant to be unobtainable. It wasn’t supposed to -

Had he known all along?

And to be so forward about his return - Was it really as simple as a text message? Was that all it took? Four words. Four. Four words that trample over all the boundaries and put your very livelihoods at stake to give in to that tempting, alluring, forbidden desire.

It’s not unusual for him to be direct and to the point - but this, this is -

Your thigh is bouncing as quick as your thoughts are racing.

It takes you far longer than it normally does for you to respond to an order from your captain. When it’s clear your heart isn’t planning on steadying anytime soon, you make sure you look presentable, and move on shaky legs to his office.

You shuffle from foot to foot outside his door, having to work up the courage to knock. Your heart triples its already dizzying speed when he calls you in.

“I - I got your text,” You point to your phone and give it an unnecessary, awkward little shake.

“Oh?”

His eyes flick to the side and his thumbs toss out from his loosely threaded fingers, a gesture that reads as confusion and annoyance.

“Is there a problem?” He asks.

“No!” You blurt, far too loud and far too fast. You catch yourself with a nervous laugh, “No- no problem.”

“Okay,” He draws.

His lips purse, and his eyes dart to the side. He gives a roll of his wrist that sends a clear message.

Go on, then.

“H-Here?” You squeak, “Now?”

Price’s face pinches, and he gives a scoff. Your eyes follow him as he slowly sits back in his chair - is that what he wants? For you to get under his desk, kneel between his legs, choking yourself on his -

“If it’s not too much trouble,” He adds after a careful pause.

“No! Not at all - I just - Well, I didn’t know - how you wanted me to - ”

“Black is fine,” He says with a tilt of his head, “You knew that, yeah?”

You blink at him.

“What?”

“Black,” His leans forward onto his desk again, his eyes squint as he gives you a fullbody once over, “You alright today?”

“Black?” You repeat.

He raises his shoulders with a slow, patronizing shake of his head, “No cream, no sugar?”

“Coffee!” Your face floods with realization, a weighty breath of understanding on your lips, “You wanted coffee. Not-”

You freeze when you meet his eyes again, a mixture of bewilderment and genuine concern stitched into his features.

You’re not even sure if there is a way to recover from this that doesn’t either make you look like a total idiot or reveal that you were fully ready to pleasure him to completion - no questions asked, any way he wanted, right here right now. If there was the perfect combination of words out there, you certainly wouldn’t be able to string them together with those piercing blue eyes frazzling every thought you try to form.

You give another laugh that bleeds into a groan, shift your weight to one foot, and rub out your brow with your thumb.

Total idiot it is.

“I am, so sorry, Captain. Just- one of those days, yeah? Forget-” You abandon your useless efforts to save face with another nervous laugh and a point over your shoulder, “I’ll be- I’ll be right back. With that coffee.”

You try to slip out as inconspicuously as you can, even though you can feel the burn of his judgmental stare with every move you make to slink out of his office. As soon as the door clicks shut you’re folding in on yourself, an entire body cringe and curses riding every breath.

That could not have gone worse for you. Of course it was a typo. Are you that delusional? To think that -

Ugh.

It’s not even like you can avoid him the rest of the day. You have to be back in his office in minutes with that coffee.

As the first drips crack and sizzle at the bottom of the pot, you’re seriously considering asking one of the boys to deliver Price’s pick-me-up so you don’t have to look him in the eyes anytime soon. On a broader scale, you’re considering quitting and never looking back.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, your eyes darting to the text like second nature.

Captain Price: ‘Ah, I see now. My fault. Good to know how far you’re willing to go for the team, though.’

“Soap!” You squeak, “I need a favor!”

♡ DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

[siilvan]

HELLOOO! I hope your requests are open, if not take this as a (filthy) plot suggestion

you and price were alone in the middle of nowhere for a mission. It went pretty good and it ended quickly. the evac would not come until morning, so you found a safe house to settle for the night. you weren't an official couple yet, but it was obvious that there was something between you two. since there was nothing to do, you began joking around and laugh at stupid jokes, and jokingly you you sat on his lap, to jokingly flirt. he got immediately excited but he didn't want to admit it. so you show him that it was effectively like this 🤭

dusk

characters: john price

summary: you decide to take advantage of being alone with the captain for the night.

genre: general, explicit, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, reader is shorter than price, grinding, fingering, riding, unprotected piv, lotsa praise

word count: 4.2k

note: sorry i didn’t post for a month do you guys still like me

i’m also sososo sorry if the quality isn’t up to par, i wrote this over like 4 weeks— i hope the semi-longer chapter makes up for it <3

"come on, inside." price’s gruff command guides you through the wooden door and into the apartment. while shaking off the grime and lingering adrenaline, you take in the interior. laswell’s description was spot on: modest, discreet, and unfit for long-term usage. as if reading your thoughts, price huffs out a laugh from next to you.

"it’s not much, but it’ll do for the night," he says, stepping further into the space. the slightly rotted floorboards creaked under his heavy boots, as if rejecting your very presence. "we’ve camped out in worse places, haven’t we, lieutenant?"

you hum while considering your response. "suppose we have, this place at least has a bathroom." he follows your eyes as you nod towards the door at the other end of the room, left open to reveal a humble bathroom. "hope it has hot water, i’d murder for a warm shower right now."

price shrugs before motioning in the same direction. "feel free to try it out, then. just be sure to keep your voice down if you’re displeased."

"should i invite you to join if i’m pleased, captain?" you ask, blinking up at him with a small smile on your lips. the question is laced with faux curiosity - you’re already well aware of what his answer will be.

"perhaps a cold shower would be better for now." he responds, stepping closer to you. the distinct scent of cigar smoke and dry wood cologne invades your senses as he holds your chin in a gentle grip, angling your head upwards. "what d'you think, sweetheart?" the rough pad of his thumb runs across your bottom lip, forcing you to part them and effectively wiping the smile off your face.

"i think…" you murmur, lifting your hands up to press them flat against his vest. "…that i’ll try to leave some hot water for you, since i’m so nice."

his eyes narrow as your palms slide upwards to his chest; a sensation he couldn’t quite feel through the thick material separating the two of you, but it sent heat through his veins and pooling in his stomach nonetheless.

you step back and disappear into the bathroom without another word. price’s eyes follow you the whole way, and a low sigh escapes him once the door is closed behind you. he shakes his head and tugs on the front of his vest, right above where your hands had rested just moments before.

"yeah, a fuckin' angel’s what you are." he mutters, sarcasm and fondness equally mixing in his tone.

the water felt like ice on your skin, much to your chagrin. the relaxing shower you had hoped for was instead a quick rinse followed by a grumbled string of curses as you toweled yourself off. despite your disappointment, you were just thankful to be clean.

price’s voice, albeit slightly muffled, was audible through the door. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted to listen in on his conversation, so you do what any curious person would do: crack the door open just enough to hear him clearly.

"everything’ll be fine, kate. you don’t need to worry about us." price says with a short chuckle. he starts to speak again, until a voice in the radio interrupts him. you push the door further open, desperately trying to make out what the other voice - laswell, you presume - says in response, but to no avail. whatever she says pulls a frustrated noise from his lips.

"we’ve never had any problems before, have we?" the distinct sounds of old furniture groaning under unwelcome weight signals that he’s sitting now. "i’ve heard this speech a hundred times already, you don’t need to repeat it. we’re both adults perfectly capable of staying on-task for one night."

thoughts of what price could possibly be talking about swiftly flood your brain, pulling your attention from the ongoing conversation. ever since meeting the captain, it was obvious that there was something between you two; "fast friends" soon turned into a mutual attraction that neither of you were willing to firmly acknowledge or deny. innocent flirting had evolved into an agonizing tension, slowly driving you mad while simultaneously drawing you in deeper.

at this point, you’re ready to follow the man to his quarters and cut the tension yourself because, despite his straightforward nature in all other fields, price refuses to take the first step with you. leaving yourself to speculate on why only leads to more questions, so you choose to focus on ways to make him finally snap instead.

there’s a knock against the doorframe, making you jolt and let out an embarrassing yelp. through the sizable crack in the door, you can see price eyeing you down with a sly smile adorning his face.

"have a good shower, lieutenant?" he asks with a tilt of his head. he knew you were listening, that much you could tell.

you open the door fully, allowing him to lift an arm to lean against the frame, his body cutting off your only escape route. still, you try to avoid his gaze. "it was cold," you concede with a grimace. "you and laswell having problems, captain?"

price chuckles to himself, shaking his head. "i wouldn’t call it 'problems,'" he pulls back and straightens his stance, somehow making himself look even bigger than he did leaning over you. "she thinks we’re not to be trusted overnight."

you would be offended by the claim, if it wasn’t completely true. standing in front of him only serves to flood your mind with things you could do while alone together, completely disregarding your training that commands you to stay on-guard. at this moment, you felt more like a hormonal teenager daydreaming about her crush than a soldier.

"i have no idea why she’d think that." you scoff dramatically, feigning shock. "we’re professionals, we can handle ourselves for one night." you manage to shoulder past him and back into the main living space. with an innocent smile playing on your lips, you settle on one side of the couch.

"proving her wrong, eh? we can do that." price follows your example and takes up the other half. your eyes are practically glued to him as he shifts and gets comfortable, legs spreading while his arms settle on the back and the arm of the couch. the dark fabric of his uniform is slightly strained in his current position, perfectly showcasing his hulking, athletic physique under the layers of clothing.

you really wouldn’t complain about being crushed under him.

"tell me a joke," you mutter after clearing your throat, thighs squeezing together as you attempt to get your thoughts back on track. "laswell never said anything about jokes being inappropriate, right?"

price’s head lolls back against the cushion as he pretends to genuinely consider your question. "no, she didn’t. suppose there’s no harm in having a little fun, is there?" he says, sending you a cursory glance and a small smile. his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he shifts again to face you.

"all right, i got one." he chuckles to himself and leans forward. "what do you call a shipment full of military-issued t-rexes?"

you give him a tight-lipped smile and a soft 'hmm?', already slightly regretting your decision. just slightly, though. the smile on his face morphs into a cheeky grin before he continues.

"small arms."

you groan and shake your head in disapproval. "that was awful, price. i think i’d rather listen to ghost’s puns over that." you complain amidst the occasional chuckles leaving your lips. despite the awfulness, he still managed to make you laugh.

"ah, don’t be so quick to defend him. he’s who i stole the joke from." price confesses, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as your shoulders shake softly from subdued laughter.

"i should’ve guessed, that has 'two goldfish in a tank' written all over it." you shake your head once more and look at him again. you blink in surprise when you realize that his gaze is already on you, practically burning against your skin. there was something there, swimming in his pale irises whenever he looked at you. the naivety inside you called it yearning, and the cynicism called it meaningless lust.

still, you wanted him. physically, and perhaps even more. you'd hate yourself for letting an opportunity like this slip by.

"since you're no comedian, sir, why don't we try something else?" you close the short distance between the two of you and toss your leg over his knee, settling yourself on his lap. "we're both professionals, so surely a little... closeness, wouldn't be an issue for us, right?" your hands come up to rest on his broad shoulders as you lean back, keeping a respectable distance despite your current position.

price stares at you wordlessly for a few seconds, his clenched jaw and softly furrowed brow being response enough. you decide to test the waters, shifting forward and back gently, playing it off as an adjustment for comfort. his hand immediately leaves the arm of the couch and lands on your hip, rendering you motionless above him.

"you wanna test me, is that it?" he asks. a shiver racks your spine from the low timbre of his voice, the question practically leaving his lips in a growl. "get yourself a win, so you can brag for a week about beating the captain?" the hand still resting atop the back cushion leaves it to join the other on your hips.

you shrug nonchalantly, fighting the urge to melt under his touch. "your words, not mine. all i want to do is be close to my dearly beloved commander - we are alone in foreign territory, after all." you fight against his hold, trying to move against his thighs.

you'd rather die than admit that you're already soaking through your underwear from just this. you don't need price to gloat about winning, you need him to fuck you stupid. unbeknownst to you, the man was currently fighting every urge to do exactly that. he could feel himself getting hard inside his slacks, his cock straining hard against the material.

he doesn't fight when you bend your upper body forward, hands sliding from his shoulders to his chest, as you speak softly next to his ear. "what if i get scared or cold, sir? won't you take care of me, since you're so kind to me?" your breath brushes against his skin as you whisper, earning a firm squeeze that most definitely leaves crescent-shaped marks on your skin.

it was a losing battle, anyway.

you let out a surprised yelp when he suddenly pulls your bodies flush, your chests pressed together with only your hands to separate them. his hips buck up into you, pulling a shameless moan from your lips. you respond in kind, hands fisting in his uniform as you grind against the imprint on his pants.

"price–"

"you’re a fuckin' tease, y'know that?" price huffs, a low noise escaping him while you rock back and forth. he starts pushing and pulling you along meanwhile, pressing you down harder against him and pulling stuttering breaths from the both of you.

"tell me what you want, love."

"want your cock–"

"you haven’t earned it yet."

you let out a frustrated groan at his response. price merely chuckles and holds you still again, preventing you from even trying to chase the high you’ve been craving for what felt like an eternity.

"i want you to be a good girl, and get yourself off on my thigh." he ducks his head to press a kiss against your jaw, forcing you to tilt your head back to make room for him. "i’ve seen you stare at them before, i know you’ve thought about it, love."

he drags his lips upwards, his coarse beard prickly against your skin, until he reaches your ear. "go on. show me just how badly you’ve been wanting this."

like a good soldier, you take orders well. you waste no time in lifting yourself up to straddle his large thigh, biting back a moan as you rub your clothed core against him. price groans and leans back to watch with hooded eyes as you buck your hips, enraptured with the sight.

"c’mon, wanna hear you– don’t go quiet on me, now."

"fuck, captain–"

"attagirl." his hands move from your hips to drag your shirt up and over your head. he tosses it somewhere across the room, his attention shifting to your newly-exposed skin. he moans, guttural and deep, at the sight, and the sound only adds to the arousal already dripping from your core.

you grind down hard against his thigh, soaking through your underwear onto your uniform pants. you're sure price’s cargos are getting soaked as well, but you're not willing to get off him to check.

price moves with trained precision as he pulls your bra off, leaving your upper half completely bare under his hungry gaze. he draws one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and lets out a satisfied hum against your heated skin. one of your hands tangles in his short hair while the other clutches his shoulder for stability as you desperately rock back and forth, gasps and lewd moans spilling from your lips.

"wanna cum– please, sir–" you whine at the painful ache in your cunt, the layers of fabric only serving to block you from reaching your release. "need you– need you to make me cum."

"i know, pretty girl. i'll take care of ya." he groans softly after releasing your nipple, moving to leave a trail of wet, sloppy kisses from your collarbone to your neck. he reaches for your waistband at the same time, popping the button open and unzipping your pants. his rough thumb pad presses against your clit through your underwear, rubbing small and quick circles around the sensitive bud. your hips stutter and jolt forward into his touch as his name and another whine falls from your lips.

"there you are, just like that– that's my girl, you're doing so good for your captain." price mumbles praise and leaves open-mouthed kisses against your pulse, his cock rock hard and dripping pre-cum that was surely staining his briefs.

you can feel your release building up, months of teasing and agonizing tension spurring you on as you grind into his leg and his touch. your hands tug at the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up as you whimper out complaints. he sucks dark marks into your feverish skin meanwhile, ignoring your complaints and pathetic attempts at removing his shirt yourself.

"off." you whine, successfully untucking his shirt from his slacks but failing to get any further. price bites down hard on your shoulder, laving over the indents with his tongue a few seconds after, before he travels up to your parted lips.

"patience, sweetheart."

you huff and lean in, brushing your lips against his and letting out a soft whimper of his name in an attempt to sway him. a moment passes, the only movement being your hips rocking back and forth, and you silently think that you’ve convinced him.

his radio, which has sat on the table next to the couch silently until now, suddenly goes off and distracts you from your haze. price’s hand squeezes your hip again, forcing you to sit still as he grabs the device. he sends you a quick look of "be quiet" before answering it.

"go for price." he clears his throat immediately after, his voice slightly strained and thick with frustration and lust. you sit as still as you can, willing yourself not to move despite being so fucking close before you were interrupted. you can hear a familiar voice on the other end, but paying attention to it wasn’t even an option with how worked-up you were.

something about tomorrow’s exfil, you manage to piece together despite being wholly uninterested. you couldn’t hope to focus, anyway, with price’s eyes trained on your teary-eyed expression during the entire conversation. you’re so distracted with him that you don’t notice his hand sliding past your waistband and into your underwear, until a finger starts circling your puffy clit.

before you can stop yourself, you gasp from the unexpected sensation. one of your hands flies up to cover your mouth, muffling the breathy moans that pour from your lips as price starts to rub harsh circles around your clit and bounce his thigh under you.

"what was that sound?" the person that he was talking to - laswell, of course - asks after a beat. price shushes you softly before responding.

"just the lieutenant. she got startled by a mouse." he chuckles, sounding completely unbothered whilst sending you to cloud nine. the conversation ends shortly thereafter, and he tosses the radio to the other side of the couch before turning his attention to you again.

"nearly got us caught there, love." price pulls your hand away from your mouth and captures your lips with his own, greedily drinking up your moans. "you want the team to find out about us, yeah? want them to know what you let your captain do to you?"

"'s your fault i made noise–" you pull back just enough to argue, rocking your hips in sync with his leg's movement, panting like a bitch in heat every time your cunt was rubbed just right. price revels in your debauched state, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smile as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

his finger leaves your clit and moves south, easily sliding through your folds before adding another. he groans when you grind against his fingers, coating them in your arousal as his name tumbles from your lips. he teases at your entrance for a bit, until he shoves the two fingers inside you without any warning. your jaw goes slack as he suddenly thrusts his thick fingers knuckle-deep, stretching you out and stopping your hips dead in their tracks.

"thought you needed me to make you cum– changed your mind all of a sudden?" price cocks his head to the side. you try to respond, but can only release another moan as he curls his fingers upward, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"no– need more, need you," you can feel fat tears gathering at your waterline, threatening to spill over. his free hand guides you, forcing you to ride his fingers as they twisted, stretched, and thrusted into you at a brutal pace. "fuck, fuck, fuck– gonna cum–"

you clutch onto his shoulders for stability, holding his uniform tightly as you whine and moan freely. your orgasm hits you like a train, wave after wave of pleasure flooding through your body head to toe. his fingers keep thrusting into you, thumb circling your clit, effectively dragging your pleasure out as long as he could.

when you finally come back to earth, price is carefully pulling his fingers out of you. he brings them to his lips and eagerly sucks on them, cleaning your orgasm off with a pleased hum.

you shift in his lap and feel his cock fighting to escape his slacks, drenched and utterly ruined by you. slowly, your fingers glide down his chest and torso, coming to rest just above his belt. you fiddle with the buckle, the heel of your palm brushing against the sizable tent in his pants.

he immediately responds, a grunt escaping him and only serving to spur you on. you undo his button and zipper before shifting your attention to his hardened cock, massaging it through his layers of clothing.

"fuck, sweetheart," his gravelly moan is like music to your ears. his hips lift upwards, chasing your touch like a moth to a flame. "you gonna let me fill up that pretty little cunt of yours?" he asks, his eyes trained on you despite the pleasure washing over him.

you nod frantically, already reaching into his cargos and pulling his cock out. it comes to rest at your entrance as you line yourself up and start to rub your cunt against his length, dragging it through your dripping, sensitive folds. you moan in tandem, rocking your hips against his length while he drips pre-cum that mixes with your excess arousal. it makes even more of a mess, but you can’t be bothered to care.

with a hoarse growl caught in his throat, price buries himself deep inside you, pulling your hips down to meet his. the air is knocked out of your lungs as you struggle to accommodate his size, feeling a slight burn despite your prep.

"fits like a fuckin' glove. knew you would– my sweet girl, taking me so well. like you were made to take my cock."

you paw at his shoulders and moan when he starts with shallow thrusts, barely pulling out before slamming back in. the burn quickly fades into pure pleasure as he ruts into you, hands roaming all over your body, struggling to find purchase. you cling to him as you lift your hips and drop back down, trying to time your movements with his thrusts.

his shirt came off at some point, but you were too blissed-out to notice when. you happily admire the view as best as you can while bouncing on his cock, panting and moaning his name every time he hits that perfect spot - which, he does. often.

your head falls forward, forehead pressing into his and rapid breaths co-mingling. his hands circle your middle and hook around your thighs, using them as leverage to move you on his cock like a toy. your nails dig into his shoulders and create ugly red marks on his skin, nearly breaking it and making him bleed. his hands are holding your thighs in an iron grip, leaving behind similarly-shaped bruises for you to find in the morning.

all you can focus on is price and his cock bullying its way deeper inside you. you feel so full, stretched out on his length and struggling to catch your breath every time he thrusts up into you. the distinct sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, your cunt drooling around him and making wet noises that sound downright pornographic.

"love– ah, fuck– y'feel so fucking good," he pulls back and drops his head to rest on your shoulder, muffling his throaty moan against it. "so good, so perfect– wanna fuck you like this every day, feel this perfect cunt wrapped around my cock– fucking hell, i want you, need everyone to know that you're mine."

your stomach tightens, burning with the rapid approach of your second orgasm. the noises coming out of price were animalistic, barely coherent after he buries his face in the crook of your neck while frantically fucking up into you.

"none of those boys deserve you, love. they can't– fucking christ– they can't please you, can't satisfy you. y'need a real man, someone who'll keep you nice and full."

"price, fuck–" your head was spinning, dizzy from pleasure. your walls flutter and pulse around his cock, forcing a whine out of the captain. "'m yours, sir. please, i wanna cum– want you to cum inside."

you feel yourself getting close, teetering on the edge. your pelvis aches from the force of price's sloppy thrusts as he loses rhythm, rutting into you like a man starved. despite the countless nights spent fantasizing about him, you never expected him to be so feral. it's like he's an animal trying to breed you, to stake his claim on you.

the thought sends you over the edge, cumming with a debauched moan of his name. price keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his cock hot and heavy inside your cunt. his thrusts were erratic, desperate, as he chased his own release. you try to ride him despite the overstimulation, practically going limp in his arms as he drags you along.

"gonna cum, love– inside? y'gonna let me fill you up like a good girl?"

you nod your head, sniffling and blinking back hot tears. "yes–! want it inside, please, i've been so good–"

"agh, fuck–" price grunts and presses his hips flush to yours. he cums a second later, burning liquid spilling into your fluttering cunt. he shallowly thrusts into you, making some spill out onto your glistening thighs and his ruined cargos. after a couple more thrusts, he falls back against the cushion, hands sliding up to rest on your hips.

you two sit in silence for a few moments, catching your breath. price presses chaste kisses to your shoulder and the side of your throat while his thumbs rub gentle circles into your sweaty skin. you lazily play with his short hair, dragging your fingers through it and massaging his scalp. he groans softly and shifts under you, making you whimper from the ache between your legs.

"guess we can't be trusted alone," you mumble and sigh, a satisfied smile playing on your lips.

price hums and chuckles softly. "i think we handled ourselves just fine. i had an eye on the door."

"i''ll take your word on it," you huff and lean against him, your heart skipping a beat when his arms wrap around you. "i won, by the way."

"sure you did, love."

taglist: @sofasoap , @rohansregret

[soap-ify]

hold on i got this idea randomly and its like past midnight so yeah... bear with me.

thinking about reader who works at a local cafe, and might be just a little crazy about price who's new to the area, slowly becoming a regular customer of this cafe.

it wasn't as if you weren’t freakily obsessed with him or anything. you were just too infatuated with him, having memorised his order by heart, memorised the way his eyes would crinkle in delight whenever he’d find out that you already had his tea all prepared, nice and warm — just the way he likes it. wait, how did you know he was going to come at this exact same time?

you couldn’t help it. he was a walking distraction — always sitting at the far edge table in the cafe, absorbed in some paperwork or just simply staring out of the window, looking so unreal. you needed to read him, learn everything about him, learn all of his schedule and stuff.

you’d accidentally forget to add a thing or two in his orders sometimes. he ordered a cookie? oops, you forgot it. but it’s okay, you wanted him to approach you and start a conversation, even if it's over some missed cookie.

sometimes he’d have a woman next to him, discussing some stuff very quietly, making it quite obvious that it was over whatever their job was given how he always handed her those papers.

you had to be rational, you had to. but how could you when he was always smiling so brightly at her? especially when she herself was so pretty. were you really getting insecure during your shift? yeah.

you couldn’t start a ruckus here by doing something impulsive, but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t tempted to.

you were too nervous to start a conversation on your own too. not even a proper “how’s your day going?”

your obsession stuck with you staring at him throughout your work shift as long as he was there, carefully looking at the watch on his wrist and the case of his phone, figuring out all the brands in your head.

you had even figured out what perfume he wore during one encounter when you caught a whiff of his cologne — not strong and quite masculine. it suited him so much. you remember spending an hour in the male perfume section in a local store that day.

and oh, price knew all of it. he wasn’t stupid. he was too smart in fact, always feeling your scrutinising and curious gaze on him, filled with an odd longing. he had noticed the way your hands would accidentally brush against his sometimes when giving him his order, the way you would shyly hand him some extra stuff for free sometimes.

heck, he even noticed the way you gave him one of your napkins once, saying that he might need it. what were you even trying to do, claim him? yeah, that was your little way of leaving something of yours to him.

you’d feel sick sometimes, all head over heels over just a regular customer, writing letters and letters over him, simply rambling about how nice his voice was and how warm he seemed, just wanting those strong hairy arms of his to cradle you against him. sometimes you’d also just write about all the interactions you had with him. your favourite memory was when he first told you his name, resulting in you squealing into your pillow the whole night happily. john.

of course, you were never going to send these letters to him.

unbeknownst to you, price was always staring at you too whenever you were distracted by some other customers, his fingers lightly rubbing against his beard. who knew a sweet thing like you could be so... eager? you were like some desperate starved puppy to needy for something, anything.

and maybe he needed to do something about it. he might even dig some information of you through some people, who knows? maybe keep you all to himself.

[samofmine]

"de, can i do yours next time?" sam says, big smile on his face, wiggling his feet excitedly as he watches dean painting his nails with a light shade of pink.

"no way, sammy" dean says, "stop moving or i'm gonna screw it up."

he gives sam a stern look, holding his leg still.

sam sighs, "you'd look good with it, though. i could paint yours green! to match your eyes."

dean shakes his head.

no way in hell he'd ever do that. what would dad think?

sam came up with this idea and dean agreed to do it, because there's very little dean won't agree to when sam asks, but only while dad was away and as long as he'd take it off before he came back.

the next day, dean took him to the mall and bought a set of nail polish of different colors. sam was happier than he'd been in a long time and dean felt proud of himself. he was an awesome big brother.

one day, though, john caught them. sam was wearing a red nail polish. he didn't say anything, just gave dean one of those looks that got him sweaty and nervous.

after that, sam doesn't feel the need to hide it from dad anymore.

"see? i told you he wouldn't even notice!"

but yeah, he noticed. dean is glad sam didn't realize it.

but there's no way dad would be cool if dean were to do it.

he finishes the last nail and applies some oil.

"you know the trick. careful with your hands."

sam holds his palms in the air, admiring dean's work.

"i think this one's my favorite." he smiles, showing it to dean.

sam has nice hands.

dean misses when they would hold hands all the time, sam demanding to be by his side wherever they went.

the pale pink color contrasts with his pale skin. he looks softer, prettier even. something in dean's mind makes him want to lock sam up and stop people from seeing him. he knows how to deal with this feeling now, ignoring it until it fades almost completely. almost.

"yeah, pink is definitely your color, baby brother." he messes with sam's hair as he teases, but sam doesn't get dean's tone and just smiles as if he just heard the best compliment ever.

"thanks, de." sam leans in and kisses his cheek, like he always does after dean finishes painting his nails, and dean can't help but melt every time.

"any time." he says softly. he means it.

sam needs to get ready for school and he complains that he should have dressed and brushed his hair first because now he can't use his hands. and dean just pretends he didn't think about that.

"stop whining." he says, dressing sam up in fresh clothes.

sam watches while he brushes his hair. it's getting too long again, but dean won't let him know. he likes it like this.

dean pats his knee when he's done, "alright, i'll start the car, go get your stuff."

dean drives him to school and watches sam talking with his friends, showing off his painted nails, and his chest fills with pride from being the one who did it.

(something in him wants to mark sammy in other ways, have him showing off more things he can leave on his body. he ignores that as well.)

maybe he should get the damn green nail polish. sammy holding his hand carefully, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tries to do a good job, his attention fully on dean the entire time... yeah, that's too tempting.

he drives to the store right away.

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

No Nut November challenge~Pope Heyward

Warning: +18, smut, english is not my first language.

It was a November afternoon and the air was cold and pungent. You and Pope were lying together on the old couch of John B, with a blanket that held you tight, looking for warmth in silence. Pope, usually always calm and measured, could not hide his frustration. It had only been a week but the "No Nut November" challenge seemed to put him to the test.

His dark eyes were resting on you, trying to keep control, but you could see very well how much more intense than usual was her gaze, how her hands trembled every time they touched you.

"Pope, are you all right?" you asked, pretending innocence as a provocative smile lit up on your lips.

"Yes... yes, all right," he replied, though his eyes said otherwise. You knew he wanted to win the challenge, maybe to prove something to himself or just to see how far he could go.

As you approached him, you bit your lip, letting your eyes touch it from above to below. "Are you sure?" Whispering to him, bringing a hand to his chest and slowly sliding fingers along his shirt, until they touch his waist. His breath became deeper and you felt that he was struggling to not give in.

"Don’t... don’t do it," he managed to say in a hoarse voice, without taking his eyes off your own. But you kept playing, drawing little circles with your fingers on her skin, under the cloth.

With a mischievous smirk, you whisper in his ear, "What if you don’t win this challenge? What happens?" You heard him tremble, trying to keep control, but his eyes revealed the growing desire he was desperately trying to contain.

With your gaze fixed on him, you drew even closer, letting your lips touch his ear. You felt his breath held, the beat accelerated under your hand resting on his chest.

"Come on, Pope..." you mumbled in a sweet, provocative voice. "You know you’re just making it harder for yourself." You left a soft kiss on his neck, feeling a shiver through his body. He was clearly on the edge, struggling between the desire to resist and the desire to surrender completely.

Pope closed his eyes, a barely perceptible moan escaped from his lips. "No... You can’t do this to me," she whispered, but her voice sounded less convinced than before.

You looked at him with that provocative smile, biting your lip as your hands slid lower, drawing imaginary lines along his hips. You felt how his muscles were tensed under your touch, his will to resist crumbled little by little.

"Tell me you don’t want..." you whisper to him, your fingers playing carelessly with the hem of his shirt. "Tell me you don’t think about it every time we’re alone."

Pope’s eyes opened again and in his gaze you found all the inner struggle he was trying to win. "No... I don’t want..." He answered with a broken voice, his hand raised uncertainly towards your face, touching your cheek. "But if I give... All this time will have been in vain..."

With a smile, you brought your face closer to his, until it touched your brows. "Do you really think that another kiss can ruin everything?" whispers, as your lips touched his, tempting him in every way possible.

By now he seemed desperate, his hand slowly moved from your face, passing behind your neck and pulling you closer, albeit with a last, weak attempt at control. "You’re driving me crazy..." he finally admitted, letting his voice betray the total surrender you had been longing to see.

And when your lips joined, you knew you had won.

The kiss became deeper and deeper, more intense, as if Pope had finally decided to abandon all resistance. His hands were running down your back, holding you as if he was afraid that you might be gone from one moment to the next. His voice was a mixture of desire and relief, and every touch spoke of the frustration he had held back for so long.

Without thinking twice, you moved, riding on him, your bodies close together in a single, impatient proximity. You felt the heat that passed through him, the tension in his muscles, and the way he stiffened under you. With a mischievous smile, I began to move slightly, sliding your body against his, feeling how it was getting harder and harder. It was impossible to ignore his erection, and when a moan escaped from his lips, you realized how little self-control he had left.

Pope clung to your hips, closing his eyes and biting his lip to stifle another groan. "You... Incredible," he managed to say, in a roaring and trembling voice.

Every move was designed to drive him even more crazy. Your hands slid down her jaw, then sank into her hair, while your lips rested on her with pure ardor. It was as if the world around you no longer existed, just you two, lost in that passion that neither of us could hold back.

Your hands were running firmly on his chest, grasping the hem of his shirt to lift it gently. Pope looked at you with a mixture of desire and total surrender, unable to oppose while you deprived him of that last layer of protection. The shirt ended up somewhere on the couch, leaving the warm and tense skin of his muscles exposed in front of you.

He wasted no time in shaking his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him as you began to leave a kiss trail along his neck. Each touch of your lips was slow and provocative, and you could hear him groan quietly, unable to hide how much every gesture made him go crazy. Your kisses moved from his jaw to his shoulder, as you moved slightly against him, making it even harder for him to hold back.

"You... you’re terrible..." whispered with a desperate smile, as he sank his fingers into your hips, holding you as if it were the only thing that would keep him in balance. You felt the heat between you two, the tension now untenable. Pope let another moan slip, and that sweet despair in his eyes made you smile even more.

"You can’t resist me, can you?" whisper in his ear, knowing that you have now completely conquered his resistance.

He looked at you, almost challenging you, with a tired but hungry smile. "Not even a little... and you know it."

You approached her lips again, touching them just before biting her lower lip. Pope groans, the deep, longing sound as he tried to squeeze you even closer to him. You felt his resistance now completely dissolved, every breath irregular and hungry.

With a mischievous smile, you slightly detached yourself, looking into his eyes for a moment, almost as if to tempt him even more. Then you stood up, your hands slid slowly down his body, lowering themselves to the point where the last garment separated him from your touch. You looked at him once more, letting your smile tell him about the desire to drive him mad.

Pope’s gaze was now filled with pure adoration and desire, and the way he looked at you was enough to make you realize how close to the limit it was. Without turning your eyes away, you slowly lowered the tissue, completely releasing it. You felt his breath held, and when your eyes met his again, it was clear that his will to resist was now only a memory.

A smug smile painted on your lips. "Do you like it that way, Pope?" Whispering with provocative tone, letting each movement make him want more and more.

He could not hold back a groan, and with his voice broken by desire replied: "You... you drive me crazy..."

Your lips joined again, this time with a passion that left no room for hesitation. You were clinging to him, sinking into that kiss that seemed never to end, as you felt his hands gliding down your back, looking for you with a sweetness mixed with the frenzy of the moment.

You started to sink your pussy on his cock making both groan. "I missed you as much as your pussy squeezes my dick" he said sighing as he squeezed your hips.

Each movement was a declaration of desire, and as you moved on him, you both couldn’t hold back the moans that were mixing between your breathless breaths. Pope was laying his hands on your bottom, guiding your movements with a delicacy that he punched at the intensity of the moment, as if he wanted to imprint every moment in his memory.

His breath was breaking against your lips, while your bodies moved in unison, driven by the passion and intimacy that only you two could share. You felt the heat grow more and more, as if nothing could break that perfect moment.

Pope moaned loudly as he began to increase his thrusts while you bounced faster on his cock. He started playing with your boobs; sucking and biting, while you were clinging to his hair.

"fuck this challenge, I feel so good inside this pussy" she said moaning as she banged her stronger cock into your walls hitting your G-spot.

"Pope..." you said, moaning and not being able to say another word. He looked at you and pushed himself inside of you faster. "I know baby, I know, cum for me," he said sighing as if your walls were squeezing his cock.

Normally Pope would have lasted longer+ but had to have a release at the earliest, it was terrible to always have his hard cock pulsing and hurting him and not having a release. Especially when you were there too and kissed him and made innocent touches, you finished to light that fire of desire that wanted so much to relieve.

You came on his dick while he with a last strong push that made you scream for how you were dstruggendo your pussy came inside you and he groans loud, smiling that he finally had his revelation.

You smiled at him with a gentle kiss, seeing how your Pope looked now again, calm and quiet. You were about to get on his dick but he stopped you.

"Don’t think I’m done with you baby, I just started," she said and placed you on the couch while he was now above you pushing hard.

It’s going to be a long night.

[aidansloth]

Slow Dancing

Summary: JJ and you slow dance <33 (short but sweet)

Warnings: dirty jokes (i mean, it’s JJ), swearing and nothing else really

Words: 1k

Posted this on AO3 too! You can find it here.

Your head was laying against JJ’s chest, the two of you comfortably spread out on the Chateau's couch. It was just the two of you, late as it was everyone had gone home (but John B, obviously, who was already snoring in his room). JJ considered this place his home therefore making it kind of yours too. 

Air filled and emptied your lungs with no hurry. The world seemed to slow down at times like these, the only people to exist were you two. His fingers traced your arm gently up and down while your figure basically engulfed him. Softly playing in the background was the radio, whatever station it was set on didn’t really cross your mind, nor the song that was playing. That was until a specific song came up. With no hesitation, you pulled your top half up, looking at him.

His eyes twinkled as they followed your figure sprung up with a bubble of joy stuck to you; standing in front of him you put your hands in front, waiting. His eyebrows scrunched up while looking at them before his gaze lifted to your eyes, his mouth opened a couple of times but no words were uttered at first. 

Your eyes lit up, a painfully big smile popped up on your face and JJ swore he fell a little bit more in love with you.

"I love this song!” 

“What… what are you doing?” A giggle came out of your mouth as if he said the funniest thing in the world.

“Asking you for a dance, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” He repeated with a couple of nods and a half-convinced smile. His hands that were previously toying with each other came up to fix his hat: a nervous habit of his at which you smiled at.

“Sorry to disappoint babe, but I don’t know how to dance.” JJ had never had the need or want to learn how to dance but in that moment it was his biggest regret. Now, he clearly wasn’t unfamiliar with party dancing, with dancing that took place in bars or nightclubs; that dancing you could say he was very intimate with. But this dancing? Dancing that accompanied sincere feelings and longing stares? No. Nothing prepared him for the sugar-y rotten feeling in his gut that your request brought him. How could his movements ever compare to the gentleness of you?

 For reasons to him unknown but to which he was greatly thankful for, your smile grew wider. With a shrug you responded.

“Me neither,” your hands still sweetly tempting him, “But that’s what makes it fun.” 

And how could he ever deny you?

So that’s what he did. His hands rested on yours and you pulled him up with haste, as if you simply couldn’t wait to have him against you. His feet and hands had never moved so clumsily and he was suddenly grateful he took his combat boots off earlier. The only thing keeping him grounded was the feel of your hands on his. Such a soft touch so unfamiliar on him. 

“So, ehm- how, how do we do this?” His long eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he tried to move with you without stepping on your feet. Lips slightly agape, hair messy and his goddam nose sitting so fucking adorably on his face. God he was so fucking pretty was the only thought circulating your mind right now, so much you nearly got lost in it.

“Just- you just gotta feel it, you know?”

“Don’t mean to be rude here sweetheart but unfortunately I don’t feel it.” Your chuckle was heaven to his ears.

“Okay okay, just follow me then, alright?”

“Always sweetcheeks.”

Your arms moved in unison, as one was brought towards you the other one shifted towards him, along with your bodies adjusting to the rhythm. Simple enough. Light giggles filled the dim room and JJ’s muscles finally relaxed. 

“See ‘J? You’re a natural.” As your pretty (very very pretty according to the boy) eyes look up at him so dearly he can’t resist a joke.

“Yeah, guess you just took my slow-dancing-virginity.” His eyebrows wiggle and a shit-eating grin appears on his face. A laugh raptured from you.

“Your what?”

“My slow-dancing-virginity.” He stated with much conviction.

“Okay- are you enjoying this new experience then?” Your smile and eyebrow wiggle mimicked his.

“Oh,” he scoffed, "Don’t even have to ask babe. You've been an excellent teacher.” JJ couldn’t resist a wink. “Wouldn’t mind you teaching me some other things.” Was he saying all of this just to get your pretty laugh out? Maybe, but it didn’t make it any less true. Another snort left you.

"Forward much?”

He shrugged, another suppressed grin. “You know me. Straight to the point kind of guy.” 

With new found confidence he left one of your hands and lifted the other one above your head; quickly getting the signal you twirled for him. He bit his lip: you looked ethereal. He must have done some damn good deed in his past life to deserve this.

Nothing matched the giggle-leaking smile that adorned your face. Your lonely hand met his again. Normally you’d make a silly remark regarding his surprise cheesiness but the silence embracing you two felt too comfortable to break.

At this point the initial song had finished and already switched to some other lovesick tune. Your eyes were still drowning in each other’s, soft smiles the same. Gradually your hands came up around his neck and his rested on your waist, thumb caressing your skin. His head came to rest against yours, his breath just taking you in. 

“Careful there JJ, you might go soft on me.” You left out a giggle that slowly died down as he watched you oh so tenderly. 

His thumb still stroking your waist, eyes grinning with glee. “Yeah, just might.”

Thank you for reading!! Constructive criticism/advice is welcomed.

[good-to-drive]

how much of john and paul's relationship would you say was "two deeply traumatized guys who became codependent on each other" vs genuine/healthy chemistry, respect, and love for one another?

This is a really good question, and something I've definitely thought about a lot! Obviously it's difficult to know precisely what's in a person's heart, but I do think that -- while they certainly loved each other very much -- the intensity of their relationship also had a lot to do with mutual pain and need.

I've talked about this a little bit before, but I think Paul's need for external validation may have dovetailed nicely with John's need to put a relationship/person on a pedestal. Being "chosen" by John could have theoretically provided Paul with a very powerful feeling of worthiness and that might partially explain the sheer intensity of their relationship. When the feelings between you represent something larger, believing in the importance and uniqueness of your relationship and leaning into the intensity/power of those feelings can become almost obsessive.

There's also this performance piece to being inside of that kind of bond, like you really, deeply need to perform the specialness of it to other people -- to self-soothe by witnessing other people witnessing how close and powerful and important your relationship is. Not just that it's the most important relationship in your life, but that it's the most important relationship, period. And I feel one of the most interesting things about Paul and John is just how many people they could perform the specialness of their relationship to, and how widespread and meaningful the understanding of that specialness became. To the point where it's basically a being unto itself.

(That sort of thing is also more effective when you're one of the most successful creative partnerships of all time).

But obviously they also genuinely liked and loved each other very much, and the degree to which their relationship was about mutual pain/soothing and the degree to which it was about sincere, healthy affection is basically impossible to say. And what's probably even harder to say is the degree to which the widespread understanding of the specialness of that relationship is about their mutual pain/soothing or their actual underlying love and affection.

(There's also some larger questions here about whether performative love is still a kind of love, which for some people I think it absolutely can be, and whether loving someone from a place of pain isn't still love as well.)

I think it's very tempting to say "John switched his hyperidealized connection to Yoko so easily, it must mean his bond with Paul was never about Paul as a person but just about using him as a prop in a narrative that brought them comfort." But those two things are not mutually exclusive, and I think sometimes the hardest thing about these kinds of intense, hyperidealized bonds is looking back on them after they explode and not assuming that if they weren't perfect, peerless, eternal, or whatever else you used to tell yourself, then they weren't anything at all.

That assessment is in some ways an extension of the obsessive specialness that you're trying to discard. It ignores the genuine affection that existed between them, which wasn't peerless or perfect or eternal, but it absolutely was real. It was of value. And in a way that's even harder to accept. But it does both of them a disservice to only reckon with what their relationship wasn't. Rather, I think it's equally difficult and equally important to reckon with what their relationship was.

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10

MDNI----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: implied smut, evelyn annoying the fuck out of hotch pt 2

Chapter Nine:

The morning light filtered in Evelyn's bedroom, casting a lazy glow across the room as Spencer's kiss melted into Evelyn's lips. She stretched languidly across the bed, the soft fabric of her lounge set--a cozy ensemble chosen for the day's travels--wrinkling beneath her. The scent of mint lingered in the air, a fresh reminder of her morning routine now complete. Spencer stood, the sheets sifting, his departure slow and reluctant.

"You're not leaving me already, are you?" Evelyn's words were a playful whimper, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal a hint of feigned distress. Her hand lazily patted the empty space beside her as if to say there was no good reason for him to get up just yet.

"I'm going to engage in a necessary biological process commonly referred to as 'using the restroom'," Spencer said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. "You're very needy in the morning,"

"'M not," Evelyn protested with a drawn-out whine, but she puckered her lips in a pout that begged contradiction, her hands pulling on his sleeve. "Round two?"

Spencer's laughter was a soft rumble, his lips grazing the delicate spot beneath her chin, causing a ripple of giggles to escape her. "Tempting as it is, I should get out of here before Hotch shows up. I'm not sure 'we were just analyzing sleep patterns' would fly as an excuse."

"Yeah, I doubt he'd buy that."

As the bathroom door closed behind Spencer, Evelyn sank back into the pillows. Casual was a term she had never associated with sex before--yet here she was in a no-strings attached arrangement. The simplicity of it all was good and so was the sex--god the sex was good. Evelyn never knew it was possible to want to have it all the time, yet here she was feeling like she could jump his bones at every minute of the day.

Spencer re-entered the room, his eyes sweeping over the space with an inquisitive glint. The room was a reflection of Evelyn herself--unapologetically girly, with walls adorned with soft pastel shades and shelves lined with an array of romance novels. He paused at the collection, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Evelyn shot him a look, her arms crossing defensively. "Listen, not everyone finds the dictionary to be a page-turner."

"I didn't say anything," Spencer replied, his hands raised in surrender, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

"You didn't have to," Evelyn retorted, "I could hear you thinking it."

Spencer's fingers grazed the spine of particularly worn novel. "May I?"

"Hands off, pretty boy!" Evelyn's protest was cut short as she bounded from the bed, trying to intercept Spencer's reach for the book.

Spencer's chuckles echoed in the room, the book just out of Evelyn's reach as she hopped in vain. With a quick, fluid motion, he captured her wrists with one hand, and with a gentle firmness, her pressed her against the wall. She stood on her tiptoes, the top of her head barely reaching his chin.

"Spencer Reid, if you don't put that book down this instant, I'll--" Evelyn demanded.

"Patience," he replied, the pages flipping rapidly under his gaze. "I'm conducting research."

"Research, huh? In that case let me assist," she trailed off, her hands catching the hem of his shirt, coaxing him back to the bed.

With a laugh, Spencer closed the book. "Evelyn, Hotch will be here any minute. Are you even packed?"

"Of course, I am," she replied, "I'm just gonna miss our nights together while I'm gone, Dr. Reid."

"I'll miss you too," Reid admitted. "Did you know that the heart doesn't actually 'miss' in a literal sense? It's a brain colloquialism for the activation of the brain's reward system, particularly the anterior cingulate cortex and insula, which respond to emotional stimuli..."

Spencer's lecture on the heart was cut short by a sudden, firm knock on the door. Evelyn's eyes widened as she darted a glance through the window, spotting the familiar black SUV outside.

"It's Hotch," she hissed, a note of urgency in her voice. "Please tell me you parked in the garage."

"I did," Spencer assured her, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Okay you stay here," Evelyn directed, her gaze flickering from Spencer to the door as she snatched up her suitcase. "Make sure you wait until we're gone to leave, mkay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Spencer replied, a soft chuckle in his voice, punctuating his words with a gentle tap on her ass as she made her way out.

Evelyn moved to the door with a fluid grace, pulling it open to find Hotch in an uncharacteristically casual stance. He was dressed down for the flight in a soft, gray henley that accentuated his build, paired with jeans that were a far cry from his usual suits. She found the sight disarmingly attractive. Hotch, in turn, was struck by how Evelyn's casual outfit clung just right, only seeming to enhance her natural elegance.

"Morning, sunshine," she chimed, her smile sharp and gleaming as she tore her gaze from his body.

Hotch's gaze fell to the overstuffed suitcase at her feet, one brow arching higher than the other. "Planning to move in, or is that all for three days?"

"Oh, Hotch, you wouldn't last a day with me as a roommate. I'm a handful and then some," Evelyn teased. "And this," she gestured to herself, "takes a suitcase full of effort. It's not sorcery, but it's close."

Hotch watched her with a measured gaze, finding himself momentarily lost in thought. Inwardly, he doubted the necessity of her suitcase's contents. She hardly needed meticulous preparation to look the way she did. It was a thought, he chastised himself for having, he was her boss, and such considerations were definitely beyond the scope of the role.

Evelyn made a move for the suitcase, but Hotch was already one step ahead, effortlessly hoisting the luggage before she could. Side by side, they walked to the car, their footsteps in quiet accord. With a swift motion, Hotch stowed the luggage in the car, and they both climbed into the car.

Evelyn settled in and her gaze fell to a coffee cup awaiting her. "Hotch, is that for me?"

Hotch started the engine, feigning indifference. "Let's just say I prefer my mornings peaceful, and a caffeine-deprived Evelyn is anything but."

She grinned, noting the vanilla scent wafting from the cup. "And you got my favorite?"

"I make it a point to remember the important details--unlike like someone."

"You know, I had a feeling you'd bring that up," Evelyn said with a roll of her eyes. "A girl's entitled to one coffee mishap, isn't she?"

The early morning drive to the airport was a quiet affair, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional melody that Evelyn couldn't resist singing along to. It seemed that every song on the radio was her 'favorite,' and she serenaded Hotch with a gusto that was inversely proportional to her musical accuracy. Hotch's expression might have read as mildly pained, but in truth, he found her off-key notes unexpectedly charming.

Evelyn navigated the narrow plane aisle with a practiced grace, sliding into the middle seat. On the window side, Hotch had already claimed his spot, his gaze fixed on the world outside. The aisle seat remained vacant but not for long. A man, older and with a certain disheveled charm that bordered on sleazy, soon occupied it.

His suit was a tad too shiny, the kind that tried too hard to impress, and his hair was slicked back in way that seemed to defy both age and gravity. Evelyn, ever the person she was, didn't seem to mind as she offered him a polite smile, the kind that was courteous yet distant. The man returned the gesture, revealing a gold tooth that glinted in the cabin light.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" the man started, "I must say, you make our cramped quarters seem rather pleasant."

Evelyn flashed a polite smile. "That's very kind."

Hotch sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the exchanged with an intensity that betrayed his calm exterior. His protective instincts were fully engaged, a subtle tension visible only in the slight clench in his jaw. He watched as Evelyn navigated half the flight with her usual poise, responding to the main's veiled advances with nothing more than polite nods and neutral smiles.

Oblivious to any underlying intentions, she carried on with an air of kindness, her attention occasionally drifting to the window. Hotch, ever watchful, noted the subtle cues--the way the main leaned in, the too-warm chuckles, the searching glances. Yet, Evelyn seemed unaware.

"Your choice of material is quite... enlightening," the man remarked, his knee brushing against Evelyn's for the umpteenth time.

"Oh this?" Evelyn remarked casually, holding up the romance book. "Just a little light reading for the flight."

The man chuckled, his tone dripping with innuendo. "Careful, those can set quite the mood. Might be more than you bargained for."

Confusion flickered across Evelyn's features, failing to grasp the full intent behind the man's comment. Hotch, however, was all too aware, his patience wearing thin with each 'accidental' contact between the man's knee and Evelyn's.

In a moment of quiet resolve, he leaned towards her, his voice a soft murmur meant only for her ears. "You said you prefer the window seat, correct?"

Evelyn's eyes widened, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile of genuine surprise. "Are you offering it to me?"

He confirmed with a simple nod, his eyes holding hers with a gentle firmness.

She lowered her voice, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "You're just full of surprises today, aren't you? I better start taking notes; the team's never going to believe this."

Evelyn stood up, her movements betraying a slight reluctance as she moved to switch seats. Meanwhile, Hotch stood from his seat, his stature filling up the limited space between them. As Evelyn edged by, the proximity caught her off guard, sending a surge of warmth through her, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

"Oh, sorry," she breathed out, barely audible, as a wave of crimson flooded her cheeks, her mind chastising her for the clumsy encounter.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his own heartbeat imperceptibly faster.

Time stretched on and as the drone of the engines filled the cabin, Evelyn rose yet again, her movements fluid yet mindful in the confined space. The narrow space forced Evelyn to turn her back as she edged by, her focus solely on the beckoning call of the restroom. Hotch, his composure momentarily slipping, masked his distraction with a cough that sounded almost strained against the quiet chatter.

Hotch was a man of control, yet as Evelyn moved past him, her presence was undeniable and quite literally right at eye level just like her ass. The fabric of her attire accentuating her every move, leaving an imprint on his watchful eyes that lingered longer than necessary. Hotch's gaze followed her every move, tracking her discreetly until she merged with the aisle.

The man beside Hotch, leaned in closer than necessary. "Quite the view, huh?" he commented in a hushed tone, a sleazy grin spreading across his features.

Hotch's expression hardened, his jaw setting a firm line. Facing the man, his eyes were steely, his voice a low rumble of warning, "I'd suggest you keep your observations to yourself. It's a long flight, and I'd hate for it to become any longer for you."

The remainder of the flight passed without incident, the earlier tension dissolving into the cabin's recycled air. Evelyn, none the wiser to the exchange between Hotch and the man, mused to herself about the sudden peace.

As they disembarked in Miami, Evelyn and Hotch were greeted by the warm air that wrapped around them like a welcoming shawl. The hotel loomed around them, a sprawling resort nestled amidst lush gardens and shimmering waters.

"Hotch, look at this place! I think the Bureau's expense department got their wires crossed," Evelyn gushed as they entered the lobby, where her attention was swiftly stolen by the sight of the pool through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "I half expect to see a celebrity or two lounging by that pool. Speaking of which, how strict do you think they are about conference attendees taking a 'research break' in the water? Asking for a friend, of course."

"Evelyn," he began, "what you do in your free time is at your discretion. However," he continued, his gaze locking onto hers, "we have a dinner engagement this evening with some key figures from the conference. It's an informal setting, but impressions matter. I trust you'll bring your usual insight and professionalism to the table."

"Professionalism? Oh, you've got it, boss man. I'll be the picture of professionalism--so much so, they might just mistake me for you," she teased, her grin suggesting she was only half-joking. "As long as you keep me on the guest list for these conferences."

Hotch's gaze lingered on Evelyn for a moment, a silent warning conveyed in the briefest of looks. "I need to meet with some representatives from the BSU," he said, "Here's your room key," he added, handing her a small envelope with a practiced hand. "Remember, 'be good' isn't just a suggestion, it's an expectation."

"Oh, Hotch, when have I ever been anything but good?" Evelyn asked, batting her lashes with an exaggerated innocence.

Hotch offered nothing but a deadpan look in response to Evelyn's words, the unamused mask firmly in place as he turned and walked away with measured steps.

Evelyn's delight was unmistakable as she made it to her room. The space was more than nice--it felt luxurious. From the plush bed to the breathtaking view that beckoned from the window. But the room couldn't contain her restless energy for long. She swiftly changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and tank top.

Evelyn's casual stroll through the hotel brought her to a halt outside a bustling conference room where Hotch stood, surrounded by a circle of professionals. One woman in particular caught her eye--a vibrant figure with a small tattoo adorning her exposed shoulder, her proximity to Hotch just shy of intimate. Her laughter rang out, a decibel too high, piercing the hum of conversation. The sound seemed to echo in Evelyn's ears, stirring an unfamiliar jealously as she watched, a sense of possessiveness she hadn't anticipated washing over her.

"What am I doing?" Evelyn questioned herself, a frown marring her usually carefree expression. She shook her head, trying to scatter the unexpected feeling that clouded her thoughts. She was already with one coworker. With one last look at Hotch and the woman, she turned, her footsteps echoing through the hall.

The evening had settled over the resort, casting a soft glow of the evening lights. In her room, Evelyn stood before the mirror, draped in a black dress that embraced her form with an almost immoral familiarity. The neckline offered a glimpse of the swell of her breasts that made her second-guess the appropriateness for dinner. She pondered if the dress crossed the line from chic to scandalous, especially since Hotch had left the dress code to her imagination.

As she reached for her lipstick, a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

Opening the door, she was greeted by the sight of Hotch. His dark suit was crisp, the lines clean and authoritative, setting off the steely look in his eyes. For a fleeting second, Evelyn found herself at a loss for words, her usual quick-witted banter deserting her. She marveled at the sharpness of his jawline, the intensity of his gaze.

She blinked, a rush of warmth flooding her cheeks as she took a moment to appreciate the man before her. Regaining her composure, she greeted him. "Well, if it isn't Agent Hotchner, looking sharp enough to cut through red tape."

His eyes softened as his gaze dragged up her figure. It was rare when words, typically his steadfast ally, seemed insufficient. Clearing his throat, he allowed a genuine smile to touch his lips. "Evelyn, you look beautiful."

The unexpected warmth in Hotch's voice sent a flutter through Evelyn's stomach. A blush crept up her cheeks as she stammered. "Oh--uh, thank you, hotch," she managed, her voice a notch higher than usual. She stepped aside, gesturing him in. "Just give me one sec, I need to... uh, apply my lipstick," she said, her hands fumbling for the cosmetic.

As Evelyn carefully twisted the tube of lipstick, she began to speak. "So, who exactly is going to be at this dinner...?" She trailed off, focusing on the precision of the crimson shade as it glided over her lips, forming an 'o' shape. "And the seating arrangements, I hope they're not too formal. It's always so awkward to make conversation when--"

Hotch found himself unexpectedly transfixed, leaning casually against the doorframe yet entirely absorbed by the scene before him. Evelyn's lips, parting and pressing as she spoke, were all he could see. She was speaking--something about the dinner, the guests--but the words seemed to drift away. All of it was drowned out by the delicate precision with which she painted her lips, the occasional catch of her teeth against the plush red, the way he could imagine those same lips wrapped around his cock. The mundane task, one he had never given much thought to before, suddenly seemed the most fascinating thing in the world.

Evelyn caught the distant look in Hotch's eyes and paused, her lipstick hovering mid-air. "Hotch?" she probed, a note of curiosity in her voice.

He snapped back to the present with a slight start. "Huh? Oh, yeah, sounds great," he mumbled, almost as if on autopilot.

Evelyn eyed him quizzically for a moment but then shrugged it off with a smile. "Well, I'm all set," she said, slipping her lipstick into her purse. "Shall we?"

The restaurant was a cocoon of warmth and subtle elegance, its walls adorned with tasteful art and tables set with crystal and fine china that caught the glimmers of the chandeliers overhead. As Evelyn and Hotch made their way through the hushed conversations and the soft clinking of cutlery, she felt a flutter of anticipation mixed with the slightest edge of nerves.

As Evelyn neared the table, a sharp pang of recognition coursed through her--the woman from before was there. The woman who had flirted with Hotch, her casual elegance now a sharp thorn in Evelyn's side. The closer they got to the table, the more Evelyn felt the bitter vine of jealously winding its way up, tightening around her voice. It made it all worse as she realized the same woman that was flirting with hotch was the infamous Lillian Lewis, best-selling author and behavioral analyst. She was a legend in their work.

Hotch, ever composed, acknowledged the table with a subtle nod. "Professor, gentlemen," he began, "this is Special Agent Evelyn Gideon."

The men at the table, both influential benefactors of the BAU, received her with a warmth that melted away some of her stiffness. "Agent Gideon, a pleasure," the man, Thomas Weller, remarked, his handshake warm and reassuring.

Dr. Reeves greeted her with a thoughtful nod and a smile. "Welcome, Evelyn. It's always good to see new faces in the field."

Evelyn mirrored their greetings, her smile unfurling effortlessly, softening the formality of the moment. Her voice turned to one of admiration as she tried to push aside the knot of discomfort in her stomach. Despite her confusing feelings to Hotch, game recognizes game. And Professor Lewis was one of the best.

"Professor Lewis, it's an honor. Your work on micro expressions has been a game-changer in high-stakes negotiations."

Professor Lewis gave a curt nod, her 'Thank you' slicing through the air, sharp and devoid of the earlier warmth. Her eyes, a steely grey, seemed to appraise Evelyn with a scholar's critical gaze, flickering over her with an air of polite disinterest.

As they took their places at the table, Hotch smoothly slid Evelyn's chair out for her. As she eased into it, she shot him a teasing smile. "Such attentiveness, Agent Hotchner. I wasn't kidding about taking notes, the team will need a full briefing when we get back."

Hotch leaned in, his breath a whisper against her ear. "Remember how I said being good wasn't a suggestion?"

The warmth of his breath left her momentarily dazed, a tingling sensation lingering where his words had landed. She shrugged softly at his words, shooting him a quick wink.

As the dinner conversation ebbed and flowed around them, Dr. Reeves leaned forward, drawn by the familiar ring of her last name. "So, your father is Jason Gideon?"

Evelyn affirmed with a modest tilt of her head. "The one and only."

With a scrutinizing look, Professor Lewis cut into the conversation, injecting dryly. "Must've been nice having that as your golden ticket."

The comment hung in the air, and Evelyn felt a momentary discomfort. She recovered quickly, though, with a light-hearted retort. "Well, it certainly wasn't a Wonka bar, but it did come with its own set challenges," she said, hoping to deflect the tension with humor.

Without missing a beat, Hotch offered a measured nod in Evelyn's direction. "Evelyn has earned her place on the team. Her record stands on its own."

Evelyn managed to navigate the rest of the dinner with grace, her laughter blending seamlessly into the restaurant's hum. It was easy for her to charm the benefactors just like Hotch assumed she would: the way she remembered personal details, the easy way she joked about the appetizers, or how she gracefully deflected any praise to her team, specifically her unit chief.

As the clinking of glasses subsided, Mr. Weller nudged Hotch with a knowing look. "The bureau's lucky to have someone like her," before shooting a wink to Evelyn, he added, "And hey, if you ever get tired of this guy, give me a ring, huh?"

As they prepared to leave, Hotch's hand found its way to the small of Evelyn's back, guiding her through the crowd. The warmth of touch sparked a cascade of tingles down her spine, and she couldn't help but press back against his palm, a subtle gesture not lost on the observant eyes of the professor.

"Did you hear that, Hotchner?" Evelyn teased as she pressed closer to him. "The bureau is lucky to have me."

Hotch's fingers gave a gentle squeeze on her back, his voice low and teasing. "I knew that would go to your head."

The hotel's quiet corridors echoed with the soft tread of their steps as Hotch accompanied Evelyn to her door. The distant hum of the air conditioning lent a subtle rhythm, while the floorboards yielded a soft protest against their weight.

Evelyn paused at her door, her palm grazing the cool metal of the doorknob. Her gaze flickered up to Hotch. "Guess I'm not high on Professor Blake's list, huh?"

A smile of quiet assurance played on Hotch's lips, his gaze steady. "I wouldn't quite put it that way," he murmured, his voice low. "That's just her way."

Evelyn exhaled a breath tinged with mock amusement, her gaze honing in with accusation. "Well, she sure seemed to have a different way with you earlier," she insinuated, her words just loud enough for him to catch.

"What was that?" Hotch asked, an eyebrow raised in silent invitation for her to elaborate.

"Nothing," Evelyn retorted with a swift dismissal.

Hotch shook his head, a silent chuckle in his throat.

He lingered, his eyes savoring her--the contours of her face, the curve of her beck, the line of her shoulders. Hotch found himself captivated, unable to divert his attention. As the hallway seemed to condense around them, Hotch found his gaze on the delicate bow of her lips, the color seeming to tempt him in more ways than one.

"Goodnight, Evelyn," he finally managed.

"Goodnight, Hotch," she voiced evenly, her words smooth and controlled, a veil over the wild drumming of her heart.

With a final nod, Hotch turned and walked away. Evelyn retreated into her room, the door's click sealing her inside, its sound a faint punctuation in the quiet. She exhaled a deep, satisfied breath, a serene smile playing on her lips. She moved with a soft deliberateness, preparing for bed, her slow and purposeful movements discarding the dress.

She pulled out her pajamas, the fabric soft and familiar between her fingers. A shade of blush with tiny hearts, the material hugged her just right. Dimming the lights, she climbed into the plush bed, the sheets cool against her skin. 

next

taglist: @nonamevenus @aceofspades190

[raina-at]

Empty

Bakers, again.

----

Hospital tea is awful. Hospital food is worse. Sometimes Sherlock thinks hospitals provide awful food on purpose, to keep patients motivated to get well as soon as possible just to escape the food.

He knows it’s not true, of course. Hospital kitchens cook for the lowest common denominator, and more often than not, sick people don’t have the most refined palette anyway.

Still, there is no excuse for this croissant. It’s dry, tasteless, hard as a rock, and the jam inside is present on a molecular level at best. This pastry could be qualified as a hate crime against the French, or a human rights violation.

Or, Sherlock is angry and trying to take it out on the croissant instead of yelling at the person lying in the hospital bed he’s currently sitting next to. 

Or maybe both.

It’s fuck o’clock in the morning, as John would say, and quite honestly, Sherlock would rather be anywhere else. If he has to be here, the least this hospital could do for him is a decent cup of tea and a mediocre pastry, instead of distilled bathwater and this abomination. 

There’s an audible groan from the bed. Blue eyes blink open and look blearily at Sherlock.

“What the actual fuck…” 

“Good bloody morning to you too, I hope you feel like shit,” Sherlock says, his voice as brittle as his smile.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harry groans, closing her eyes against the dim light. “And where the fuck is here?”

“Glad you asked,” Sherlock says in a mockingly cheerful tone. “We just had a thoroughly delightful night together, you, me, and your brother, who’s just stepped out to phone your work and make up some bullshit excuse why you can’t be in today. See, it all started at one on the bloody morning, when your neighbour phoned John to inform him that he heard a loud bump and crash from your flat. Your brother decided he couldn’t just wait until morning to see whether you’d actually managed to off yourself this time, and so we went to check on you. We found you delightfully unconscious, lying in a pool of your own blood from a nasty head wound.”

“I must have tripped and fallen,” Harry mutters rebelliously. 

“We found this next to you.” Sherlock holds up an empty vodka bottle. “Coincidence? Probably not.”

Harry looks away, turns her head towards the window. “Fuck off,” she mutters, quietly defiant like always. 

“Oh, believe me, I would love to. But as long as you insist on dragging your brother through hell, I’m along for the ride, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t phone him! I never asked for his help! Why does he always have to stick his fucking nose into my business? Who asked him?” Harry’s voice is raspy and raw from the alcohol and emotion, and she’s glaring daggers at Sherlock.

“Would you rather he let you die?” Sherlock asks acerbically. “Is that how selfish you are? Don’t you realise what that would do to him?”

“Yes, and who the fuck cares what it does to me,” she mutters.

“You are an adult,” Sherlock says, leaning closer and holding Harry’s angry gaze. “And furthermore, you are not my responsibility. But your brother damned well is, and it’s my job to protect and support him to the best of my ability. And quite frankly, he’s at the end of his tether, Harriet. I’m not sure how much more of this he can take.”

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite, you know that, right?” she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes. “You act all high and mighty, like you’re so much better than me, when you’re one fucking weak moment away from ending up right down here next to me.”

Sherlock rubs a tired hand over his face. She’s right, of course. He’s a junkie. A sober junkie, but there is no cure for addiction. He will always be tempted. He will always be one needle prick away from the abyss. But that is very much not the point.

“You’re right, of course. I understand the rock bottom you’re hitting every time you disappear into that bottle better than most people. And I’ve been where you are. I’ve bitten the hand that tried to help me up, again and again. I regarded it as entirely my brother’s problem that he didn’t just wash his hands of me when I was at my lowest. But if he’d done that, I would be dead. And he would have to carry that guilt for the rest of his life. I don’t want that for John. Do you?”

She looks away, tears now streaming freely down her face. He has little sympathy, because he suspects she mainly feels sorry for herself, not for anyone else. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she mutters. 

Sherlock sighs, feeling his anger slowly drain out of him. This is pointless. Addiction is complicated, nobody knows this better than him. No rousing speech will change the grip the bottle has on her. And all the love she has for her brother—and she does love him, as much as she resents him at times—won’t make her get sober. He can’t articulate, to this day, why he managed to drag himself out of that black hole. Resources helped, sure. But he doesn’t know what changed, what shifted within himself, to make it possible for him to accept the help that was offered to him. 

And nothing will keep John from extending a hand, again and again, until she’s ready to take it.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I…” he looks down at his hands, then admits quietly, “I can’t fix this for him. I want to, and I can’t.” 

“I’m trying, Sherlock. I’ll keep trying. I’ll probably fail again, but believe me, I am trying,” she says quietly. 

Sherlock doesn’t answer, but he gives her a short nod as acknowledgement, because he believes her. It doesn’t necessarily make a difference, and he hates how much she keeps hurting John, but he does believe her. 

She’s trying. She’ll keep trying. They all will keep trying.

And maybe someday, they can break this vicious circle. Maybe someday, she’ll stop hurting John and Sherlock can forgive her. 

Until then, he’s here, because John needs him to be. And as much as he would like to fight and slay all of John’s dragons for him, that’s never going to happen. Life doesn’t work that way. But what he can do is fight alongside him. And that’s what they’ll do. They’ll fight this dragon together until they slay it. 

“Don’t eat the croissants,” he tells her, as close to forgiveness as he will get as long as she keeps hurting John. “I’ll make you some topfengloatschen later.”

“Five years in, and you still can’t fucking pronounce golatsche,” Harry says, but she’s smiling at him in silent gratitude. 

“Shut up,” he says, returning the smile.

Truce restored, he thinks. I wonder when we will finally have peace.

----

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[princessbrunette]

I feel like if one of the twins is having a tantrum and jj is like so overwhelmed, would he call reader to calm them down or would he not? - 🤙🏼

before i dive into this i want to say i decided on the twins names. going off my own headcanon (i don’t wanna hear it) that jj stands for jesse james, im gonna say the twins have names taking inspiration from other figures too. jj’s little brother is called billy, named after another cowboy billy the kid (much like jesse james.) jj usually calls him bill for short, depending on his mood. jj’s little sister is called liv, or olivia — based on olivia newton john. her mother loved grease when it came out so it felt right. jj often nicknames her olive ‘cos it makes her laugh.

˖⁺‧₊🐭𝜗𝜚

but yes, sometimes it does just get too much for jj. as soon as you pick up the phone, you hear the wailing of two children in the distance— and before you even greet your boyfriend he’s rambling down the phone at you.

“hey, hi — you picked up, okay so— y’know i really hate to ask this of you i mean really, you’re not a babysitter by any means n’i don’t want you to think i just keep you around for — whatever, the issue is— i’m goin’ insane. both of these kids are screamin’ and i’ve tried everything man i just can’t do it—”

“jj, slow down. do you want me to come over?”

“please? i mean i’m not one to beg but i will literally get on my knees right now dude i can’t do it.”

“okay! i’m coming, just hold tight okay?”

they were both in hysterics when you arrived. there were toys all over the floor, a pair of pants, some food too. you step through the mess and find them, rolling about — screaming the house down whilst jj tries to intervene.

it turns out, billy was the first to get upset— and billy being upset and loud made liv get all overstimulated which caused a whole kerfuffle. you separated them, taking a child each and calmed them before putting them down to have an afternoon nap— knowing jj would need the peace and quiet for a little. once you’ve entered their shared bedroom and checked on them, you tip toe out to find jj sat on the couch amongst the mess with his head in his hands.

“theyre out cold, exhausted themselves i think.” you smile softly, easing yourself down next to jj. he jolts, like he didn’t know you were there and sits up suddenly, trying to be subtle about the way he wipes his eyes and sniffs, huffing out a bashful laugh.

“yeah.” he chuckles, cheeks splotchy and pink. you exhale out your nose, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you rub his back. “sorry it’s just, ah— one of those days or whatever. m’not cut out for this, man.”

“s’okay, jayj. it’s hard raising two kids that aren’t even yours. i think you’re doing good.” you muse and he shakes himself off, not wanting to get too vulnerable as he stands up— surveying the mess.

“yeah, it’s whatever. i should probably clean up around here, looks like a bomb went off at the lego store.” he sniffs, averting his eyes as he twists his body to look around. you stand, moving infront of him and placing both hands on his chest.

“or… i clean up, and you also take a nap.” you grin, tilting your head sweetly in a way you knew would help convince him.

“tempting, buuuuut i can’t let you do that, young lady. this is my very humble abode n’i gotta take care of it. so if i could just—” he goes to move you aside but you dodge him, standing your ground with a grin.

“well, you’re my boyfriend and i gotta take care of you. so now what?” you challenge and he huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head as he whips his hat off his head— slightly vulnerable still.

“i’ll have you know, i’m meant to be taking care of you, girlie.” he pokes your waist and you giggle, trying to force him back on the couch.

“you’re difficult.”

“rude, you’re sexy.”

you bust into quiet laughter, careful not to wake the kids as you finally manage to wrestle him back down on the couch, straddling his lap to make sure he stays down. “hm, i like where this is going.” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“its nap time. go to sleep.” you cover his eyes with your hands and he smirks, his lashes tickling your palms.

“effective method babe.”

˖⁺‧₊🐭𝜗𝜚

[lunarw0rks]

Through The Ashes | Chapter One

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): none for this chapter. just canon-typical activities.

A/N: This is my first post! I hope this is a decent first chapter. Lightly edited, so I apologize for typos/grammar errors. | Word Count: 2.7k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒦꒷ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ next chapter | requests | ao3 ver. | playlist

He's a Good Soldier

The situation at hand was all very cryptic. A mysterious phone call offering you a job, and a location to meet. Everything about it was abnormal. What type of job were you sinking yourself into?

The faint R&B music rang through the bar you were seated in. You wondered if the unknown caller was going to show up at all. Maybe this was all a waste of your time. Anxiously, you glanced around, seeing only a few tables filled with patrons, and their conversations were only muffled clatters by this point.

You looked down at the glass in your hands, using the swirl of the ice as a distraction from your fried nerves.

A faint ding snaps you out of your thoughts, the bell above the entrance. Before you could look at the door, there he was. The contact. He was older than you expected, but well kept. Everything about him screamed that he was polished. Perhaps this wasn’t a fool's errand afterall.

He takes a brief glance around the bar before he speaks. The gruff voice catches you off guard at first, and so does the accent.

“John Price,” you expect him to extend his hand for a shake, but he doesn’t. “I’m the one who called about the job. I think my Task Force could use your skills for our high-profile operations.” He says, almost in a mutter, as if he was speaking through his beard.

You nod and examine the file he slides across the wooden table, opening it. 

Inside, the military files of his Task Force are inside, giving you a brief idea of who you’d be working with. None of them ring a bell to you, but why not keep an open mind?

It’s tempting to ask what the jobs will be, but you notice how cagey he’s being with his information already. 

You were given the offer, they obviously think your training and skills are useful, so why not give it a shot?

“When do I report, Sir?” You ask, finishing off your drink.

—

You were never one to let your nerves overcome you, but today they were. As you stood outside the base, you had to force yourself to push open the doors and walk inside. No one seems to bat an eye at first. You figured your best bet was to meet the contact from the bar, him being the only person you knew within this odd situation.

After a few minutes of wandering, your bag was beginning to strain your shoulder. Finally, you found what you were looking for. A room with the plaque, “Cpt. Price” on the front. You gave three quick knocks.

“Come in,” the voice from the bar calls, only this time muffled through a thick door.

You open the door slowly. His gaze shifts from the paperwork in front of him and then to you.

“You made it.” He attempts a warm smile and stands up to shake your hand, something he didn’t do during the secretive meeting in the bar.

“This place feels like a maze, Sir. But yes, I did make it.” You comment, trying your best to lighten the mood in the room. He was your superior now, and you needed to get a feel of the way things ran around here. He looked like a strict man, but it wasn’t obnoxious.

He walks around his large oak desk and motions you to follow. “I’ll take you to meet the rest of the team. Better do it now before they all scatter to God knows where.” He lets out a dry chuckle as he leads you through the corridors. Finally, after following for a few moments, he opened the double doors into the “Briefing Room”, or so the chalk label on the front stated. Upon the doors opening, you were greeted by a multitude of personalities all sitting together, all their eyes glued to their own paperwork, or a laptop or tablet.

Their eyes lifted, but only for a few moments. They were very intense when working, you could already tell.

“Attention everyone,” Price clears his throat, before moving his frame to reveal you to the group. “This is our newest addition. She’s going to assist us on our mission tomorrow, and possibly more in the future. Make her feel welcome.” Before you can speak, the Captain has left the room, assuming he went back to being nose deep into his paperwork.

You shuffled in your stance, feeling exposed. Now you are on your own. You hoped that you made a good first impression, or maybe they would forget you were there and carry on, either way would be more favorable than making enemies on the first day.

You set your bags down next to an empty chair at the end of the table, purposely seating yourself in an isolated spot. You looked around at the members of this Task Force, examining each of their bearings.

A voice snapped you out of your examination.

“You can sit over here, Lass.” A Scottish accent. Based on the files you examined in the bar, this must be MacTavish, if you were to go off their surnames. Your gaze shot up, seeing the man with a mohawk gesturing toward the chair next to him. Flashing a meek smile, you grabbed your bag and sat next to him.

“So… this is the whole Task Force?” You asked curiously, taking another glance at all of them.

He gives a nod and purses his lips, beginning to point at each of them as he named them off. If you were to pick the friendliest based on appearance alone, probably Garrick, or “Gaz”, as Soap told you to refer to him. 

Least friendly… Probably the burly man at the other end of the table, who’d been giving you an icy glare since you arrived. “Ghost”, they called him. What a strange codename, you thought to yourself. However, you weren’t about to tell him that to his face.

“We’re all pretty friendly here.” Soap continues, looking around with you. “Just don’t touch anyone’s things without permission, not talking from experience or anything.” He lets out a chuckle, and you could tell he was only trying to make you feel comfortable.

“I will take your word for it, Soap.” You state, giving a slow nod. He offers to show you your dorm, and you gladly follow, just wanting to get settled in as quickly as possible.

Soap takes your bag for you, carrying it the whole way there, though you felt like protesting it at first.

The room is smaller than you expected, but not awful to look at. There’s a simple bed, nightstand, and desk. Not having to share a bathroom is a plus, too. Soap nodded when he saw the tension in your shoulders reduce when the room was less distasteful than you expected.

“If you need help finding anything, I’m down the hall.” He sets your duffel bag on the bed and starts towards the door.

You stop him, having only one thing on your mind. “One question.” He stops in his tracks, raising his brow curiously. “That man in the mask… Is he always so…?” Before you can even finish, a grin spreads on Soap’s face, as if it wasn’t his first time answering this question.

“Yes. Ghost is always that way. But he’s a good soldier, and he won’t let you die out there.” Soap replies, before he closes the door behind him, leaving you to get settled into your new living situation. 

—

After unpacking your things into the small dresser, and setting out the minimal decor you brought along. You figured it was time to learn about this “operation” that brought you here in the first place.

When you reached the main workspace, some desks had computers, others didn’t. You sat at an empty one and scrubbed through the files Price gave you at the bar once more. You hadn’t looked at them since the plane ride, and that was many-hours-jetlagged-ago.

The intel describes Task Force 141’s known information on “El Sin Nombre”,  who is the end target. You furrowed your brows as you skimmed the intelligence. Las Almas? A cartel? What exactly were you getting yourself into? This wasn’t the military operation you were expecting, especially working with this specific team.

—

You sat in the mission briefing room, surrounded by your new team. This was the day, your first operation with the 141. You turn your attention to the projector screen in front of the table, where Captain Price is standing, preparing for today’s assignments.

“We’ve received a tip off from a reliable source about the whereabouts of one of El Sin Nombre’s warehouses.” Price begins, taking a coarse sip from his coffee thermos. “We are going to stealthily infiltrate the facility and place a bug devices on El Sin Nombre’s escort vehicles. You will not have execute authority, so stay undetected.” Price says it like it’s nothing, like that’s not a terrifying instruction. And of course, the stealth mission had to be your first with this team.

He scoops up the paperwork he had sitting on the table. “We’re heading out in an hour. Prepare yourself accordingly, soldiers.”

Price’s footsteps grow quieter as he leaves the room, forcing you to make an attempt to plan something with your squadmates. You turn to Soap, but he’s already made plans to work with Gaz. Fuck. Only one more option.

You curse yourself in your head and take a deep breath, before turning to Ghost, who hasn’t uttered a word to you yet at all. “So, I take it we’ll be partners out there…” You want to punch yourself for being so stiff with him. You’re a soldier, he’s a soldier, you’re working together. Get it together. 

He offers a grunt in response, his brown eyes scanning all the way to your bones, before he shifts his gaze back to the folder in front of him, as if he can’t bear to look at you any longer. You almost scoff. All that effort and overthinking for a grunt.

You begin to doubt what Soap told you about him. 

Maybe he’ll intentionally get you killed out there, since you’re clearly so unbearable to have a decent conversation with. At least that’s how Ghost was making it seem.

—

“Ghost, how copy?” Price’s voice rang through the radio attached to Ghost’s vest. You looked over, waiting for your cue to infiltrate the warehouse.

“All clear. Ready to breach.” His rough voice replied into the mic, before he advanced toward the perimeter, sneaking around the side of the building. He barely looked your way, unless to make sure you were keeping up with him.

Sweat formed on your fingertips, daring you to drop the rifle in your hands, but you were determined to get through this without mistakes.

“Two hostiles at the entrance,” you speak in a low tone as you peak around the corner you’re posted at. Ghost has no reaction, and waits for the hostiles to pass. Then, without a word, he slips around the corner, moving toward the entrance.

“The vehicles are down the dirt path. Stay with me.” He says plainly, sprinting down the hill, following the path. 

You use every ounce of energy to stay with his pace, placing your backs against a fence and waiting for the lot with the vehicles to clear. When the enemies disperse, you both split off, pulling the bug devices from your gear. You give a signal nod as you place them discreetly on the vehicles. In seconds, you’re both ready to move on.

Unexpectedly, you hear the footsteps of a hostile approaching the very spot you’re standing. If he sees you, this mission is over, and so are your lives. You contemplate taking him out silently, but you remember Price’s words during the briefing; You will not have execute authority, so stay undetected.

The enemy’s treads are getting closer. The gravel under his boots crunches louder as he’s approaching the car you’re standing beside. You feel a rush of dread course through you.

Just when you think you’re dead meat, Ghost’s gloved hand clamps down on your forearm, dragging you underneath the van he was beside. He gives a cold glare as you’re both sandwiched in your hiding spot, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg. He’s watching the enemy’s feet pass you by as walks along. When it’s clear, you scoot out from under by your belly, feeling the gravel dig through the fabric of your shirt.

Ghost must’ve noticed the look of panic still written on your face. “Keep your head on, we’re not out of here yet.” His monotone voice yanks the overthinking away quickly.

You continue to follow him, making your way to the fence along the perimeter. Lucky for you, this location didn’t have very strong security. Not even a patrolman going along the fence. Ghost pulled out bolt cutters and cut his way through the chainlink, making a hole big enough for each of you to slip out.

Ghost reaches for his radio once more, not skipping a beat as the both of you jogged from the compound. 

“Mission success. Meeting you at the evac location now.”

—

One part of you wanted to celebrate a successful mission, but the other knew this was beginners luck. It’s a rarity for missions to go that smoothly. If Ghost hadn’t been there, and you were performing that stealth mission alone, you would’ve gotten caught, and that was weighing on you. 

Luckily, Ghost didn’t seem like much of a talker. For once that was going to be in your favor.

“Good job out there everyone. As long as the devices aren’t destroyed, we’ll be able to have surveillance on El Sin Nombre’s shipments and convoys.” Price states in a boastful fashion, giving everyone a supportive grin.

There was no point in dwelling on your mistakes out there. Everyone was content with the outcome, even if some didn’t show it much. Or at least one of them didn’t.

As you're seated on the sofa in the lounge, a beer bottle is handed to you from over your shoulder. “How do you think you did out there?” The accent hits your ears again, making you give a nod as you open the bottle.

“I think everything went… well?” You were unsure. 

Ghost almost looked as if he had a cheeky smirk under his mask as he watched the conversation from afar, but you couldn’t be too sure. His eyes didn’t give much away either. At least you knew it wasn’t just you he stared at. Each time you looked over, his eyes were glued onto something or someone else, as if he was examining everything around him, but not interacting. Like a phantom in the room, which you see move past the corner of your eye.

“Oh, come on. You did well. Nobody’s had any complaints about you yet.” Soap reassures you, maintaining the same friendly tone he had when he first offered you to sit next to him. 

At least you had one person who made an effort to talk with you each day. Price was your boss, so he had to. Gaz was welcoming too, but introverted. And Ghost was… living up to his name. A ghost. At least socially, he was.

You chuckled at Soap’s comment, because it was true. You were overthinking your decisions in the field, and there was no reason to.

The celebration didn’t last long. Some had a few beers and went off to bed, others stayed awake but went back to working. You were exhausted from your first day. New experiences, new people you were still getting used to.

As you laid in your bed, you thought about the moment you almost compromised the mission again. Ghost grabbing you without a second thought, saving your ass. Perhaps, it was as awkward for him as it was for you - the way you two were shoved against one another beneath the van. Or, it was instinct for him to save you, because he’s so experienced in his field.

You nearly physically shook the thoughts away as you rolled over, forcing yourself to get the rest your fatigued body was begging for.