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bangtanshelves · 8 months ago

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JJK Fanfic Recos

Hi. These are some of the fanfics I've read.

I've read A LOT but I'll only be including the ones I really enjoyed reading.

I'm in the process of recollecting them, please bare with me.

I'm also updating this post often, so whenever I end finishing a fic I like I just post it here. hehe

💓 - Fluff ❤‍🩹 - angst 🥵 - smut 🚨 - violence/drugs 🤪 - crack ⭐ - fav 🎣 - latest addition to the list

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. SERIES ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

My Love is Here - @/solemnreads

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (so much angst, I love it), 🥵 summary: "You didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s not like you purposely woke up one day and thought “Hey I’m going to fall in love with my best friend!” No, that is not at all what happened."

Knife's Edge - @/readyplayerhobi

Completed ✅

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵, 🚨 The Jeon Clan is Family, built on blood and loyalty. It’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the Clan, Jeon Jungkook. You would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?

Four Seven Eight - @/jiminrings

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (fic made me cry) ,🥵 you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

Close to you - @/muniimyg

Completed ✅ ⭐

genre: 💓, 🤪 It should've been easier than this, right?In which oc and Jungkook sleep together and he can't get over it.

Falling Skies - @/fortunexkookie

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. Once upon a time, she had called you her sun and him her moon; it was fitting, given the constant push-and-pull between you two. You used to consider him a friend, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.

Please Love Me - @/ahunderedtimesover

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

Lowkey - @/xpeachesncream

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 In order to pass organic chemistry and pay off your car damages from an accident, all you have to do is help the nerd, Jeon Jungkook, with a few things: pretend to be his girlfriend and teach him the way of dating.

Hotter Than Hell - @/chateautae

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Jungkook, Lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he's unsure of. Embarking on his journey for the answers should've been easy, if it weren't for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. Kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover Lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and Jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

An Ode to a Broken Heart - @/smoochkooks

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (bro I've been crying over this fic for days), 🥵 (future smut) you’ve watched jeon jungkook slip out of your reach your entire life. now it’s time for you to finally move on, bury the past and open a new chapter. however, you’re doing it in your own, unconventional way - by publishing anonymously a novel about your miserable relationship.

Mutual Help - @/personasintro

Ongoing... ✍ (this is also posted on AO3)

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 (damn... that's all i can say) in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

Way Back Home - @/solemnreads

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (please i really love angsty fics, fite me), 🥵

"Please tell me this isn't what I think it is" he asks you with tears in his eyes. You look down at the sight of your son with an oxygen mask on his face while your daughter is sleeping on the couch near the wall. You look into his eyes, broken, and sad. You've dreamt of this day for years, wondering how he would react. But here you are, hoping he could've meet the twins under different circumstances. "Yes... they're your children."

Strawberry Kisses - @/pixieknj

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 (Chapter 1 has been posted, but its something else) Jungkook is notoriously known as a f^ckboy who doesn’t eat p^ssy, until he finally gets alone with you…

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. ONE-SHOTS or TWO-SHOTS ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

The Right Choice - @/honeytae

Genre: 💓 for as long as you've known Jungkook, you would think that you're witnessed all sides of him. But when you notice the way he's looking at you right now, you think you may be wrong about that.

Rainy Days - @/rklve

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Your life choices left not only yours, but Jungkook's hear broken in pieces. Now you're back in town, and just like Pluto, even if its cold and dark he tends to orbit around his sun forever.

High Demand - @/bunnyhugs77

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🚨 A modern day Romeo and Juliet

SOJU - @/hoseoksluna

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

Lost & Found - @/kooktrash

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (if you squint), 🥵 your college years have never been something you dwelled on for too long. you didn’t want to think of all the chances you lost and that’s why when the guy you had a crush on moves back to town, you try not to let it affect you again. but then he brings up old memories that didn’t go the way you thought they had and you’re thrown for a loop. you’re stuck between finding something new with him and falling back into old habits of never standing up for yourself. it probably doesn’t help that he dated your best friend, where everything seemed to go wrong.

Bottle Up Old Love - @/wintaerbaer

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

Pink Sapphire - @/jiminrings ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹(please I'm a sucker for this) ,🥵 Having Jungkook as a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he's easy to love. Your relationship's perhaps become so easy that Jungkook doesn't think sometimes— and that's what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

Will it fit? - @/jeonsweetpea

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🤪, ❤‍🩹 (just a little bit) So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can't exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom...

Break up with your Boyfriend - @/spideyjimin

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook, the campus fuckboy, has decided to make you his next victim, but you're far from being like any of his previous hookups. You're not single. You're actually in a very long-term relationship with Baekhyun, the man you consider the love of you life, but it's for sure something that won't stop Jungkook. He wants you, and he's going to do absolutely everything to have you, even falling in love.

Paint me naked - @/gimmethatagustd

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he's not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?

I hate you, I love you - @j/ungblue 🎣

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends... and you're absolutely in love with him; he's in love too—just not with you.

How to Get a Guy - @/taeshobipop 🎣

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He's loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you're absolutely bizarre. But there's a silver lining— Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he'll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungook can continue persuing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn't want to tbe the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?

#jjk x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine

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kikyoupdates · 2 months ago

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Girlfriend-For-Hire ⭑˚🦋⭑ 𝟶𝟷

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Hoping to try something new and earn a bit of money on the side, you join an app that lets people hire you for your dating services. The idea is pretty straightforward — you pose as the client's girlfriend for a brief period of time, and in turn, you receive payment. But you didn't foresee everyone getting so attached to you, and suddenly, they're no longer satisfied with a fabricated relationship.

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“...you can do what now?”

“Hire someone to date you,” your friend, Ava, repeats. She chuckles and waves you off dismissively. “Come on, [Name]. It’s the modern age. People are always coming up with new things these days. I’m willing to bet there’s an app or website out there for practically anything.”

You blink in disbelief. Granted, there is all kinds of crazy shit going on in the world, and you’ve heard of companionship services before—like escorts or sugar baby arrangements—but to hear that something like this is trending nowadays is still undeniably a shock.

“Here, look,” Ava gestures, pulling out her phone. “I was curious, so I downloaded the app the other day just to check out.”

“Uh, don’t you already have a boyfriend?”

“He knows I was just browsing. I showed him too, and we scrolled through some stuff together. A lot of the profiles on here are wild,” she laughs. “It’s crazy what people advertise they’re willing to do. Get a load of this guy. He says he’s down to meet your family and make a total ass out of himself just so that he lowers your parents’ standards and the next real boyfriend you get will look way better by comparison.”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. “I can’t tell if this is actually real, or just some new meme template.”

“Of course it’s real! I think you’re underestimating how lonely people these days are. There’s definitely a lot of money to be made in this industry. Just look at how much people are willing to blow on their favorite streamer, even though they’ve never met them a day in their life. Dating’s gotten a lot more complicated lately, so I guess some people just want to skip past the troublesome parts and experience what it’s like to be with someone.”

You furrow your brows. The whole thing sounds incredibly sad when you think of it that way. People would rather pay for a fabricated relationship than put in the time and effort towards building something real? Loneliness is starting to sound like an actual epidemic nowadays.

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t judge people without understanding where they’re coming from,” you acknowledge. “It’s not like I know what they’ve been through. Times are changing and all. It sounds like this is actually starting to become pretty mainstream.”

Ava nods chipperly. “Yep! I mean, I love my boyfriend, so I’m definitely not the target audience, but maybe it’s what some people need to gain a little boost of confidence and get back into the dating scene. I doubt everyone uses it in a romantic sense too. There are people out there that just want a bit of company every now and then. Isn’t it nice that they have someone to spend time with this way?”

“Yeah… I guess that’s true.”

Honestly, you’re still struggling to fully wrap your head around this. You understand the premise well enough, but you can’t really get past the part about accepting payment just to provide someone with a fabricated experience. Then again, you suppose that’s the case for most things nowadays. People are willing to spend the brunt of their earnings on in-game purchases for video games and other things that aren’t tangible in the real world, because even though they aren’t necessarily organic, it still provides them with some satisfaction.

Long story short, it’s not up to you to decide what does or doesn’t make someone else happy, and you suppose as long as it’s executed in a professional manner, there’s nothing wrong with meeting new people this way.

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” Ava suddenly perks up. “You should join this app! You’re super pretty, smart, and nice. I bet you’d have loads of guys lining up to hire you as their girlfriend!”

“Me?” You blink repeatedly, shuffling backwards the closer she leans in. “I mean, I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job. If it makes people happy, then I support it, but deep down, I worry I’d feel like I’m exploiting someone’s feelings just for a few extra bucks. Morally speaking, I’m not so sure I like the idea…”

“It’s not exploitation,” she insists. “People know what they’re signing up for. At the end of the day, it’s a buyer-seller relationship. Someone pays for the service being advertised, and they receive it. As long as you’re not ambiguous about what you’re willing to do for the amount that you’re charging, people know what to expect. Of course, I’m sure there might be the occasional asshole here and there, but if they do anything inappropriate or violate the terms, you can report them through the app and they’ll be banned from using it.”

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that. Some extra money would be nice. You’re a university student with all sorts of loans, so it’s not like you’ve got excess cash lying around. And it’s also true that you’ve been looking to apply for a new job lately, since your old manager was a total ass and you ended up quitting.

Still. A girlfriend-for-hire? Someone like you? It’s just really difficult to imagine.

“I actually think it’d be a good experience,” Ava goes on. “You’ve never really put yourself out there before. I know everyone dates at their own pace and stuff, but you shouldn’t have to be afraid. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet some cool people and want to date them for real. And even if you don’t end up going for them, you still make some money, so either way, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

You chuckle weakly. “Yeah, I just don’t know. I feel like I’m better suited for traditional jobs. But thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m glad you think people would actually be willing to pay to date me.”

“Girl, you seriously need to believe in yourself more,” Ava sighs. “I’m telling you, you’re a catch. But at the end of the day, it’s your call. You shouldn’t force yourself into anything if you feel uncomfortable.”

You smile and nod in agreement, and sensing your discomfort, Ava decides to change the topic.

But for some reason, you feel a twinge in your chest, and it’s hard to keep your mind from wandering.

Later that same day, you’re lounging on the couch, mouth agape, having just downloaded the app on your own phone.

“What the hell am I doing…?”

You tell yourself that it’s just simple curiosity. Yeah. That’s all it is. Ava piqued your interest earlier, and now you just want to scroll through in more detail to get a better sense of what kind of people use this platform.

The app is called ‘Partner For Hire’. The name isn’t particularly inspired, you have to admit, but you suppose it communicates its point rather effectively and leaves no room for ambiguity. Ultimately, this is a transactional relationship, and it’s probably for the best that clients know what to expect.

You can use the app as either a buyer or seller. Meaning that you can create your profile and advertise your services, or simply list yourself as a prospective client and what your hobbies and interests are. In that sense, it’s kind of similar to most dating apps, since you have to take a flattering photo to go along with whatever blurb you’re providing. Of course, just because you try to solicit someone’s services doesn’t mean there’s any guarantee they’ll accept. This is an app where you can run everything yourself, and of course the company takes a cut of your profits, rather than an agency that matches you with a client regardless of whether you want to accept the job or not.

There’s definitely a lot of flexibility, and you can easily choose who you want to pretend to date. If someone is interested in hiring you, they submit a request to be able to contact you, and once you accept, you can message them directly and establish the terms of the dating contract, such as the length and what particular services will be provided.

You scroll through the list of boyfriends/girlfriends being advertised on the app, and honestly, it seems like there’s a decent amount of money to be made. Of course, a lot of that comes with building a good reputation and improving your ratings and visibility so more people will want to hire you, but it actually seems like a decent amount of people are able to make a living off this sort of thing.

You bite down on your lower lip. Should you really go ahead and just do it? Like Ava said, there’s probably not much to lose. All the transactions are managed on the app, so you can easily report people who try to skip out on paying. Clients have to link their banking and personal info, so they’d be taking on a big risk by trying to scam people. You’re sure it might happen from time to time, but based on the reviews you’ve read, the company is really good at enforcing their policies and making sure everyone gets paid.

The money seems good, and it would definitely help take some pressure off your student loans, but ultimately, the biggest thing you’re struggling with is your moral compass.

People are willing to spend money for this kind of thing, and that’s entirely their choice to make, so it’s not like you’re extorting them or anything. Still… you wonder if it’s actually okay to profit off of someone else’s loneliness. You’ve never worked the kind of job that requires you to cater directly to another person’s emotions, and it kind of freaks you out.

But maybe Ava is right. There are all sorts of people in this world. Maybe some of them are just curious to try the app out. Maybe others just want to get their families off their back by pretending like they’re dating someone for a little while. There’s no way to discern everyone’s motivations, so perhaps there’s really no point in thinking about it at all.

Most importantly, this could be a good thing for you. Life has been stagnant recently, and it’s true that you usually hesitate to put yourself out there. You’ll never learn what you do or don’t like if you keep on avoiding everything. This could be a chance to learn a lot about other people, but also, to learn more about yourself.

Yeah. It’s time to stop overthinking for a change and just try something new.

Thus, feeling unusually determined, you spend the rest of the day setting up your profile (finding nice selfies was the longest part of the whole ordeal), and with a resolved huff, you post it and officially go live on the app.

You’re not really sure what you were expecting, but needless to say, there isn’t any immediate feedback. It probably takes a while for people to stumble across your profile, and even then, there’s no guarantee they’ll want to go out with you.

I guess I was getting worked up for no reason. Certain people might find success with this kind of thing, but it’s probably not as easy as it looks.

You scratch your cheek, suddenly sheepish over how needlessly excited you got earlier. You’re not used to stepping out of your comfort zone, so you must have gotten a bit carried away.

For the rest of the evening, you set your phone aside and come back to reality. You get some homework done, make dinner, and by the time you’re ready for bed, you’ve pretty much forgotten about the whole thing altogether.

That is, until you check and see that you’ve missed a notification.

“Huh? Someone viewed my profile and wants to message me?”

You’re undeniably taken aback. Not just because it’s happening a lot sooner than you expected, but also because it means that contrary to what you first thought, people are interested in you.

Having minimal experience when it comes to dating and romance in general, you have to admit, the thought of being viewed as desirable is immensely flattering.

Curious to see who wants to hire your services, you click on the user’s profile.

His name is Isaac, and he’s twenty-one years old, set to complete his undergraduate studies at the end of the year. He goes to a different university than yours, thankfully, because you can’t help but feel like it would be incredibly awkward to bump into him on campus after pretending to be his girlfriend. He’s studying to become a doctor, which means he’s still got a lot of school ahead of him, but you’ve always had a lot of admiration for people who are willing to commit to their goals and work hard.

Also, even though you don’t want to sound shallow or anything… he’s really, really attractive.

You frown. Granted, there’s more to a person than their appearance, but based on how he comes across in his profile and what his future career is, he doesn’t strike you as the type of person who would struggle to date someone.

But again, you can never know what’s going on in a stranger’s life. And there’s no real way to find out why he decided to join the app.

Apart from speaking to him directly, of course.

[𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

After a momentary delay, the screen loads into a messaging interface, allowing you to see what Isaac sent you and respond to him directly.

You stare at the messages without blinking, just taking it all in. So, there really are people like him out there, who use these apps for reasons other than seeking companionship. It sounds like he’s not too interested in dating for real, but his parents are putting a lot of pressure on him, so he just wants an escape. Honestly, you can’t blame him for it. Your parents were overbearing for the better portion of your life—even now, as an adult—so you can understand just how suffocating it gets at times.

All of a sudden, you don’t feel too bad about accepting the job. It doesn’t feel like exploitation in the slightest. In fact, you’d be helping someone resolve a frustration situation, while getting paid in the process. It actually sounds like it could be rather fulfilling.

More importantly, you decided to be more confident and try something new. You refuse to back out now.

[𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞]:

You’re admittedly a bit nervous, especially since you want to do a good job and avoid letting him down, but mostly, you’re feeling excited. All of this is uncharted territory for you, after all. Never in a million years would you have imagined taking on a job like this.

And you really shouldn’t have.

You don’t know it yet, but this will be the cause of many, many regrets.

Shit. I’m starting to have second thoughts.

Even now, you still can’t believe you’re really going through with this. After talking to Isaac and ironing out the finer details, you agreed to join him for a family gathering and pose as his girlfriend. You expected for him to have quite a few requests, but luckily, he seems pretty laid back about the whole thing. The better portion of your conversation was spent on getting your stories straight so as not to incur any suspicion, and since you’ve always been a good student and a hard worker, you promptly memorized everything there was to know.

And now, it’s finally time to put this plan in motion.

“Hey,” Isaac greets. “[Name], right?”

It’s the evening, since his parents are hosting a dinner party. The event is supposed to be pretty casual, but you still dressed up semi-formal in the hopes of making a good impression. He never explicitly mentioned how strict his parents are, but since they’ve been on his case about getting a girlfriend, it never hurts to go the extra mile.

"Hi, Isaac,” you smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” he nods. He’s considerably taller than you, and every bit as handsome as his picture suggested. Unless his personality is god-awful (which you probably would’ve picked up on after messaging him for so long), you’ve got a good feeling that most girls would be interested in him.

Still, everyone is different. He might have really high standards, or maybe he wants to focus on his studies, or perhaps it’s just a case of having never met the right person. Whatever the reason may be, his parents shouldn’t be pressuring him to date someone, and if you have the means to help him out, you’ll happily do it.

“You look really nice,” Isaac says. He tilts his head to the side. “I hope you didn’t feel like you had to dress up to impress anyone. The most important part is that they believe I’m seeing someone so that they finally ease up a bit.”

“Oh, I just did this for my own peace of mind,” you reassure. “I made sure to memorize everything you told me in advance, so I’m confident I can convince them that we’re the real deal. Even though this is technically my first day on the job… I promise not to let you down.”

You blush, feeling rather flustered. The idea of being someone’s hired girlfriend is still a lot to wrap your head around, and you certainly don’t want to make empty promises, but you have every intention of giving it your best shot. Isaac is in a stressful situation, and you’re resolved to do whatever you can to fix it.

“Can’t wait to get this over with,” Isaac sighs. He opens the passenger door and gestures for you to step inside the car. “Don’t worry. I know you might be feeling a bit uneasy, but I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that. I won’t hold it against you if you have 911 ready on speed dial until we get to my parents’ house.”

“I trust you,” you insist. “I’ve heard good things about this app, and it sounds like they take safety seriously. They’ve got your information in their system, after all. Plus, I can tell that you’re a nice guy. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“I appreciate it,” he smiles. “Anyways… I guess I’ve stalled for long enough. You can probably tell that I really don’t feel like going. But the sooner I get them off my back, the better.”

“I’ll be the best girlfriend you can ask for,” you beam.

It’s a promise to him, but also to yourself. You are committed to taking this new job seriously, and for the rest of the evening, you will do whatever it takes to blend into the role that’s been thrust upon you. There’s no reason to get worked up. At the end of the day, all of this is pretend. It won’t be anywhere near as complicated as a real relationship.

Right?

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space-mango-company · 7 months ago

Text

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #atreides reader #dune #dune part two #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

Text

5 - Antithesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, slowest burn in history

Summary: The BAU tackles a complex case involving international victims and cryptic messages. Hotch’s growing insecurity intensifies as an agent returns from an undercover operation, revealing his close past with you. At the hotel, you and Hotch have a heated argument, exposing hidden vulnerabilities and unspoken boundaries between you two. Hotch struggles with his feelings of being just a replacement and questions his connection with you. Rossi confronts Hotch, encouraging him to be the partner you truly need.

Warnings: Usual CM case stuff, grooming (it feels to me, at least. To someone wouldn’t but idc), angst

Word Count: 6.1k

Dado's Corner: the dreaded chapter, I've been working on it for a week and still I'm not completely satisfied yet. I had to use another OC character, I'm sorry if you're bothered with that, but even if I hate him with all my heart he will be helpful in the future to narrate Y/N's backstory. If this broke your heart, synthesis might even more

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Hotch’s gaze dropped, the weight of your accusations settling on him. “I thought that’s what was best,” he murmured, the admission almost painful. “I thought… I thought it was enough.”

●

It was yet another early morning at the BAU, and as usual, you walked into the office to find Hotch already at his desk, a cup of black coffee in hand, looking as composed and sharp as ever. No matter how early you tried to get in, Hotch always seemed to be one step ahead and especially today, you couldn’t help but comment on it.

“You know, Hotch, that’s 76 coffees you owe me now,” you said, dropping your bag on your chair and crossing your arms, pretending to be stern. “Maybe it’s time to rethink your strategy. You could try showing up late, just once. Shake things up.”

Hotch glanced up, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I could, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I have to keep beating you just to remind you of your constant failure.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the side of his desk. “Wow, Hotch, who knew you were this petty? I bet you’d stay up all night just to make sure you’d beat me here.”

He chuckled softly, not denying it. “Well, someone has to keep you grounded. Can’t have you thinking you’re invincible, partner.”

In the past couple of months, the term “Partner” had become a running joke between you two. Whether by design or coincidence, Gideon and Rossi kept pairing you together on cases, and even when they didn’t, you’d find yourselves seeking each other’s opinions anyway – you were desk mates after all, it was impossible not to rely on each other’s expertise. Yet the nickname stuck, a testimony that had made working together more natural than either of you could have ever predicted.

Your familiarity with Hotch’s desk arrangement had grown, too. You knew his precise system of organizing case files, the way he stacked them according to urgency, but today, something was different. As you glanced at his desk, your brows furrowed in confusion: the stack of case files was unusually tall, casting an odd shadow that didn’t quite match its usual shape. It looked as if something bulky was hiding underneath.

“Hotch, what’s with the fortress of case files?” you asked, pointing at the strange shadow. “Are you hiding something under there?”

Hotch hesitated for a moment, as if he didn’t expect to be caught in the act. With a slight, amused shrug, he grabbed the files and lifted them off the hidden unknown object – or the unob - revealing a thick book on architecture history.

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “A World History of Architecture?! Didn’t take you for the type, I’m surprised.”

Hotch looked down at the book, his expression a mix of embarrassment and pride. “I picked it up after the Frank Lloyd Wright case,” he admitted, almost shyly. “That night we spent going over his designs at the library, I don’t know why but something about it stuck. I guess I wanted to know more. So I’ve been reading this during my ‘waiting for you to show up’ time.”

You smirked, leaning in to examine the book. “SSA Aaron Hotchner, secretly an architecture buff. Who would’ve thought? Next thing I know, you’ll leave the Bureau and go to architecture school, you would still owe me 76 coffees though.”

He scoffed playfully, closing the book and setting it aside. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to go that far. But it’s been... nice. You know - learning something just because I want to, not because I have to.”

You gave him a teasing nudge. “Hey, don’t underestimate yourself, partner - maybe one day you’ll be the next Frank Lloyd Wright of the FBI. Designing prisons, interrogation rooms, you name it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to profiling, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Just as you were about to tell him your kitchen needed some renovation – so he could start with something easy – an unexpected way-too-familiar voice interrupted from behind.

“Y/N!”

You turned around, and there was SSA Peter Rogers - one of your closest friends you ever had since you were fifteen - standing in the bullpen with his easy smile and that overly confident stance of his, just as you remembered him.

“Pete!” you exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you rushed to hug him, the familiar warmth on your body you missed so much made you hold on to him a little longer. “What are you doing back so soon? I thought you were still overseas.”

Peter shrugged with a modest grin. “Operation wrapped up early. Figured I’d come back and see what kind of trouble you’ve been causing around here.”. That smile of his had the ability not to change one bit since the first time you saw each other, causing you to travel six years back in time.

▪︎

It was the first day of your mother’s Italian Literature class at the university. You were just fifteen, juggling between high school and university courses, your hunger for knowledge insatiable as a shield from what was daily happening between the walls of your own house. You always sat in the front row, scribbling notes furiously, letting your brain disconnect from reality in order to lose yourself in the lyrical beauty of Leopardi’s poetry.

Peter had been sitting a few rows back, finishing his degree in linguistics. He’d noticed you immediately, you were quite easy to spot as you were visibly way too young to sit in that room – and if it wasn’t enough, you made sure to ask at least a question to the professor, at least once in the lesson, always being deeply engaged with the material. Hence why after that particular class, he approached you with curiosity.

“Hey, you’re not the typical student, are you?” Peter asked, leaning against the desk beside you. “You’re taking university classes while still in high school? That’s quite impressive.”

You looked up, a little taken aback by his easy confidence but not put off. “Yeah, I’m kind of…double-booked,” you replied with a shy smile. “I just really love literature. My mom’s a professor here, so she lets me sit in when I can.”

Peter nodded, intrigued. “I’m Peter, by the way. Linguistics major. So you must be some kind of prodigy, huh?”

You laughed. “No, not a prodigy. Just…curious. I love philosophy, languages, psychology, all of it.”

The two of you clicked instantly, and since that encounter both of you would always exchange notes, in order to make sure none of you ever lost a word said in the class. Peter became a sort of unofficial mentor, “Have you ever thought about profiling? It’s all about understanding people, their languages, their motives. With your skills, you’d be amazing at it.” He asked one day after class.

That was the very day you learnt what a profiler was.

▪︎

Peter greeted Hotch with the same familiarity. “Hotch! Good to see you again, man. I missed having my desk buddy around.”

Hotch stood up, shaking Peter’s hand with a polite but reserved smile. “Welcome back, Peter. I heard about the undercover operation. You handled it exceptionally well, no one expected for you to come back so soon.”

Peter shrugged, his usual modesty in place. “Thanks, Hotch. It was a tough one, but we got the job done.” He immediately turned his gaze towards you “Y/N, who knew you would have stolen my desk too”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, glancing at the two of you briefly. That “too” echoed in his mind, the sudden realization just hit that there was more history between you and Peter than he’d previously understood, founding himself feeling like an outsider.

Peter, ever observant, caught the flicker of something in Hotch’s expression. “So you know Y/N? She’s one hell of a smart cookie,” he said, looking between you and Hotch with a teasing smile.

You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing off the compliment. “Oh, please Pete let’s not start with this just yet”

Peter laughed, leaning closer to Hotch as if about to reveal a secret. “Did she ever tell you she can sing? Like, really sing. She’s incredible. I’ve heard her at a few college events back in the day.”

Hotch looked at you, surprised, taking in this new piece of your past. “No, she never mentioned that.

You felt your cheeks heat up, flustered by Peter’s unexpected praise – especially because you were both standing in your workplace. “That’s because it’s not important,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Besides, Peter’s just exaggerating. I’ve only been in the field twice with Hotch anyway, so there’s not that much to tell, most of my work has been here at the office.”

▪︎

A year ago, you attended a conference at the FBI Academy, and Peter was there as a speaker, discussing linguistic analysis in criminal profiling. It was the first time you’d seen each other in years, and the connection was immediate, even stronger than your days together at the university.

‘’Y/N is that really you?! You’ve grown so much you’re making me feel kind of old” Little did you knew that you would spend the entire evening catching up, sharing stories of your separate journeys still having in common your mutual love for the complexities of language and behavior.

“You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” Peter told you as the two of you sat at a table, away from the noise of the main event. “I knew it from the moment I met you. You’ve got the mind for this work.”

You’d been touched by his confidence in you, feeling like the teenage girl he’d mentored all over again. “Thanks, Pete. But you’ve always been the one pushing me forward, I don’t know if I’d have chosen this path without your nudging.”

Peter’s smile was genuine, warm. “You would’ve found your way, Y/N. You always do.”

▪︎

The more Hotch listened to the two of you catching up, the more he felt that gap, as if Peter was pulling you back into a shared history that he hadn’t been part of.

Peter grinned, nudging you playfully. “Always aiming for perfection, huh?

You tried to brush it off, cheeks warming under their combined scrutiny. “Oh, please. That was a long time ago.”

Peter shrugged, turning back to Hotch. “But she hasn’t changed. I can see it in your eyes, you know?! Same drive, same brilliance. So, how’s she been doing? What cases has she solved?”

Hotch took a moment, his expression unreadable as he considered Peter’s question. “She’s been doing great,” Hotch said finally, his voice measured. “We’ve worked on a few tough cases together, a few high-profile cases. She’s brilliant, as you know, we’ve had our hands full. But it’s good to have you back - we can always use the extra help”

Peter nodded, his enthusiasm palpable. “Looking forward to jumping back in”

Before anyone could say more, Rossi approached, cutting through the atmosphere with his usual flair. “Well, looks like we’ve got our team for the day. Gideon’s out, so Peter, you’re coming with us. We’ve got a complicated case ahead, and I’d rather have all hands-on deck, we might be in desperate be of two linguists on this one”

Peter’s eyes flicked to you, then to Hotch, his smile never wavering. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The team’s arrival at the police station was met with a wave of unease that hung heavy in the air. The case they were stepping into was far from simple. Multiple international tourists had been brutally murdered, each crime scene marked by cryptic messages in different languages. This was a killer who thrived on complexity, and with every new clue, the puzzle seemed to grow more intricate.

Rossi led the team inside with his usual calm authority, his eyes scanning the room with the practiced ease of someone who had seen too many crime scenes in his career. Peter and Hotch moved in tandem, flanking him on either side as they entered the station. The moment they stepped inside, the chaos enveloped them like a wave crashing on the shore.

The police station was a flurry of frantic movement and tension. Officers darted between desks, paperwork scattered in their wake, and phones rang incessantly, demanding attention that no one seemed able to fully give. The space, clearly not designed to handle the intensity of a high-profile investigation, felt claustrophobic and stifling, the walls closing in under the pressure of a case spiraling beyond control.

The air was thick, not just with the stress that permeated the station but with the unmistakable grit of dust being churned by the old, neglected air conditioning unit overhead, blowing more dirt than relief, only adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Everyone was on edge, their nerves stretched thin by the weight of a situation they were ill-equipped to handle. Rossi could almost taste the desperation in the room, a palpable sense of urgency that clung to every officer as they hustled to keep up with demands they were never trained to meet.

Rossi exchanged a knowing look with Hotch, both of them wordlessly acknowledging the uphill battle they were about to face - not just against the unsub but against the limitations of a team clearly overwhelmed.

The lead detective, a grizzled man with a permanent scowl, approached Rossi, barely acknowledging the rest of the team. “Agent Rossi, we appreciate the Bureau’s help, but I hope you realize this is a time-sensitive situation. We’ve got international press breathing down our necks, and the mayor’s about ready to pull his hair out.”

Rossi nodded calmly, his authoritative presence immediately establishing control. “We’re here to provide a profile and assist in any way we can. What can you tell us about the latest victim?”

The detective began briefing but his eyes kept darting towards you, flickering with something between doubt and annoyance. Finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m sorry, but are you sure you brought the right team? She looks like she should be at a college lecture, not a crime scene.”

The comment hit like a slap, and you felt the familiar burn of frustration flare up. You’d been here before, countless times, actually. You were used to your youthful appearance and academic background drawing skepticism, but that still didn’t make it any easier to swallow, especially in that particular case. Before you could respond, Peter jumped in, his voice carrying a mix of defense and pride.

“Detective, she’s not just some college student. Y/N’s one of the best linguists you’ll ever meet, and she’s cracked more complex cases than most agents twice her age. I’d trust her instincts over anyone else’s, any day.”

There was a quiet confidence in Peter’s words that seemed to force the detective to take a second look, though his skepticism remained stubbornly in place. Hotch, noticing the tension, stepped forward, his expression firm. “Agent Y/L/N’s skills are exactly what we need for this case. If anyone can figure out what the unsub is communicating, it’s her.”

The detective hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, but we don’t have time for trial and error. Every minute we waste is another chance for him to strike again.”

“We’re all already aware of this, Detective. I’m sure you know that making my work any more difficult than it already is isn’t going to benefit any of us.” You finally had the courage to bite back.

As you settled into the briefing room, you felt Peter’s hand gently squeeze your shoulder, a silent but reassuring gesture as he said, “Don’t let it get to you.” You glanced at him, grateful for his unwavering support, and gave a small, determined smile in return. You were here to do a job, and you weren’t going to let some old-school cop’s doubts throw you off your game.

Once inside, the team gathered around the evidence board, covered in photos, maps, and printed copies of the unsub’s cryptic messages. Hotch and Rossi started dissecting the behavioral aspects, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the linguistic patterns.

Peter set up next to you, and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, just like old times. “This one’s in German,” Peter pointed out, highlighting one of the messages. “It’s a proverb that loosely translates to ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ but it’s the context that’s strange. He’s placing blame close to home.”

You nodded, your mind already racing through the implications. “And this one in French, ‘Nul n’est prophète en son pays’ - ‘No one is a prophet in their own land.’ He’s building a narrative where he’s the misunderstood hero, vilifying his victims in the process.”

Hotch watched from the corner of his eye, noting the seamless back-and-forth between you and Peter. It was clear that you two shared a deep understanding of each other’s thought processes, effortlessly piecing together the unsub’s motives and the cultural implications behind each message.

Rossi leaned over to Hotch, his voice low. “They’ve got something, don’t they?”

Hotch nodded, keeping his expression neutral even as a flicker of something uncomfortably familiar passed through him. “Yeah. They do.”

As you and Peter continued to dissect the messages, the detective returned with another dose of skepticism. “So, what’s the point of all this? We know he’s targeting tourists, but what’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his judgment holding yourself to punch him in the face, but Peter jumped in, his confidence never wavering. “The messages aren’t just random: they’re statements about identity, belonging, and betrayal. He’s targeting people who represent something he feels threatened by, probably linked to his own experiences.”

The detective was confused by the complexity of the message Peter was trying to communicate but at least he seemed less doubtful. Hotch and Rossi exchanged another look, Peter’s ability to not only support but elevate you was undeniable, and it left a lingering question in Hotch’s mind that he couldn’t quite shake, an unresolved history between you and Peter that was palpable to everyone in the room, even if no one dared to say it aloud. As the team continued to piece together the unsub’s twisted narrative, it became increasingly clear that the linguistic clues were the key to unlocking his motive.

“Here’s the first message,” Peter said, pointing at a wall covered in scrawled Italian text. “‘Chi semina vento, raccoglie tempesta.’ He’s quoting an old Italian proverb. It translates to ‘He who sows the wind shall reap the storm.’ Classic justification tactic. He’s blaming his victims for their own deaths.”

You nodded, running your fingers along the paper. “He’s using cultural proverbs to deflect responsibility. It’s not just about justifying his actions; he’s making a statement that he’s in the right, that the victims somehow deserved this.”

Peter smirked, recalling your sharpness from years ago. “You know, you’ve always had this annoying habit of being right. Remember that time back in your mom’s class? You corrected Professor Ricci about Dante’s theological influences.”

You laughed, half-embarrassed. “Oh, God, don’t remind me. I just couldn’t let it go.”

Peter turned to the others, Rossi didn't throw away his shot. "Remind us, Peter. I'm not going to let an opportunity like this slip from my fingers"

Peter jokingly cleared his throat. “Y/N stopped the guest professor right in the middle of the lecture and said,”

He made sure to pitch his tone up in order to mimic yours “While Dante’s work is often linked to the influence of Saint Augustine, we also need to remember that his beliefs were also shaped by the dominant philosophy of his time: Platonism, especially the Neoplatonists and Plotinus.’ The whole room was stunned, and Professor Ricci just stood there.”

Hotch couldn’t help but smile, picturing a younger version of you challenging a university professor with such confidence. Yet there was something more bubbling up in his blood, this was another glimpse into a part of your life he hadn’t seen, hadn’t known. It made him feel strangely out of the loop, like an outsider looking in.

Peter continued, still caught up in the memory. “You finished him when you also provided proof to support your thesis”

“Of course, how else was I supposed to-“

He immediately cut you off. “Early Christian thinkers adapted Greek philosophical ideas, particularly Plato’s concept of eternal forms from which the material world originated. This was quite convenient for the Christian theologians of that time, indeed this philosophical influence is evident in the biblical phrase - and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.' You had everyone in the room, including the professor, rethinking what they knew about Dante.”

You shrugged modestly, glancing at Hotch, who seemed both amused and thoughtful. “I wasn’t trying to show off. It just… bothered me that no one pointed it out – and because of that my mom forbid me to attend her class for two weeks straight. Pete, I’m still thankful for your notes.”

Hotch chuckled softly, meeting your eyes. “Some things never change.”

The team continued working for hours straight, but the frustration began to mount. Despite your and Peter’s best efforts, the linguistic puzzles refused to crack completely. The police officers were growing visibly impatient, and you could feel their skeptical glances as they hovered around the room.

One officer, who had been particularly dismissive, sneered as he walked by. “So, this is the genius team the FBI sent us? Still no answers?”

The comment hit harder than it should have, and for a moment, you felt the sting of self-doubt. Peter, noticing your silence, shot the officer a glare. “We’re not here to waste time, Detective. We’re here to solve this.”

Peter leaned closer to you, his hands grabbing your shoulders, speaking softly so only you could hear. “Don’t listen to them. We’ll get it, like we always do.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his words rather than the creeping sense of inadequacy. Hotch watched the exchange, noting the way Peter seemed to know exactly how to lift you up when you needed it most. He wanted to say something reassuring himself, but the moment passed, leaving him feeling strangely sidelined.

The hours dragged on, and eventually, the team left the station to get some rest. At the hotel, Rossi and Hotch were assigned to share a room, while you and Peter were given the one next door. As you walked down the hallway, Rossi turned to Hotch with a pointed look.

“You know, Aaron,” Rossi said with a grin, “if I catch you working tonight, we’re gonna have words. You need sleep just as much as the rest of us. I’m serious when I say I’m a light sleeper, so I swear, if you keep me up with that damned desk light, you’re a dead man.”

Hotch gave a tight-lipped smile, appreciating Rossi’s concern – even if he expressed it in his own unique way - although he knew he’d never be able to turn his mind off. “Don’t worry, Dave. I’ll try my best.”

On the other hand, in your room, you and Peter settled in, and immediately surrounded yourselves by case files and coffee cups. You tried to solely focus on the work, but as the night wore on, the conversation drifted, after all it had been over six months since you’d seen each other, and there was a lot to catch up on. Peter leaned back, studying you with an easy smile.

“You’ve changed, Y/N,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “You’re still that perfectionist who can’t let a puzzle go unsolved, but… there’s something different.”

You glanced at him, surprised. “I don’t know about that. I’m just… trying to keep up, I guess.”

Peter reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear in a gesture that was both familiar and affectionate. “You’ve always been better than just keeping up. Don’t forget that.”

You found yourself caught between the comfort of Peter’s presence and the tug of unresolved emotions that you hadn’t quite figured out.

“Let’s go to sleep, shall we? I think we’ve done enough work for today” He winked at you as he placed his hand on the small of your back guiding you towards the bed.

“Oh don’t worry, you should sleep though. I think I might go down the lobby to clear my head for a bit.” You lied to him, but you couldn’t ignore your gut feeling telling you that there was something else you hadn’t considered yet.

Similarly, just across the corridor, the case weighed heavily on Hotch’s mind, and despite Rossi’s threat, he knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d figured out what was missing. Hours passed with Hotch lying in the dark, the puzzle pieces of the case refusing to align, finally, at nearly two in the morning, he couldn’t take it any longer. Careful not to wake Rossi, he grabbed his files and slipped quietly out of the room, making his way to the lobby to continue working.

To his surprise, he found you there too, hunched over a table with notes sprawled out, lost in concentration. You looked up when you heard him approach, unable to hide your surprise.

“Partner,” you said with a grin, noting his rare appearance in his white t-shirt, checkered blue pants pajamas, with the slippers provided by the hotel at his feet. “I’ve got to admit, this is new. Did Rossi finally threaten you into losing the suit?”

Hotch smirked, taking the seat across from you. “He did, actually. But desperate times, right? I didn’t think anyone else would be up.”

You chuckled, enjoying the casualness of the moment despite the late hour. Hotch spread out his files, his brow furrowing as he glanced over them. “I think there’s something we’ve been missing, there’s a pattern in the language choices. It’s not random. He’s escalating with each message.”

You leaned closer, your fingers tracing the messages. “You’re right. It’s chronological. He’s building something: a timeline, like each phrase is a step toward his endgame. It’s not just blame; it’s justification.”

Hotch nodded, grateful for the way your mind seemed to work so fluidly alongside his, especially in the late hours of the night. But as you continued to dissect the sequence, Hotch’s thoughts drifted back to earlier, watching you and Peter work so seamlessly together. The old familiarity, the easy way you bounced ideas off each other, it had been hard to ignore. And now, in the quiet of the night every sensation was amplified, especially the ones he’s been trying to brush off for the entire day, they stung a little more than he wanted to admit.

The ease of the moment was shattered when Hotch suddenly broke the flow of your thoughts with a wry comment. “You know, I’m surprised you’re even here working. I figured you’d be busy... catching up with Peter. He’s been flirting with you nonstop since he came back.”

You froze, your jaw tightening as his words sank in. The casual, almost careless tone hit a nerve, and you could feel a flicker of anger flare up inside you. “What’s that supposed to mean, Hotch?”

Hotch leaned back, crossing his arms, trying to mask the hint of frustration that was seeping through. “Nothing. Just an observation. It’s not like you haven’t been a little distracted since he got back.”

You stared at him, incredulous. The casual arrogance in his words struck a nerve, and before you could stop yourself, the frustration that had been building all day came spilling out. “You really think you know everything about me, don’t you? Just because we work together, you think you’ve got me all figured out.”

Hotch’s expression tightened, caught off guard by the sudden burst of anger. “That’s not—”

“No, let me finish,” you said sharply, your voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “You don’t know me, Hotch. You have no idea what I’ve been through or what I’m dealing with. You’ve worked beside me for months, calling me partner, acting like you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t. You don’t know the first thing about who I am or what’s going on beneath the surface.”

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the sting of your words left him speechless. You were relentless, every word cutting through his composure. “You think just because we’ve been working together constantly, you’re entitled to know me? To judge me? But you know what, Hotch? You’re wrong. You don’t know a damn thing.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched, the carefully maintained façade he wore slipping for just a moment. “I’m not judging you,” he said, his voice low but strained. “I’m just trying to figure this out, okay?”

“Figure what out?” you shot back, your frustration boiling over. “The fact that you’ve been constantly analyzing everyone around you while keeping yourself locked away? You think that you’re the only one capable of reading people like an open book? You act like you’re open and honest, but you’re not. You insist on wanting to be called ‘Hotch’ on the job by everyone, and you think I wouldn’t catch onto that? You do that because ‘Aaron’ is too personal and ‘Hotchner’ is too formal. You straddle the line because you’re scared to be either. You’re terrified of being too close to anyone, yet you don’t want to seem too distant. It’s like you don’t even know who you are.”

Hotch stared at you, your words hitting deeper than you knew. You had seen right through him, through the carefully constructed barriers he put up to keep everyone at a manageable distance. He didn’t know how to respond because, for once, someone had called him out on the one thing he feared the most: his own inability to truly connect.

“I keep things professional because it’s easier,” Hotch admitted, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of vulnerability. “Because it’s safe.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Safe? You call this safe? You’re so busy keeping people out that you don’t even realize how much you’re missing. We’ve been partners at work, sure, but that’s all it’s ever been, right? Professional, compartmentalized, no mess, no feelings. That’s how you want it.”

Hotch’s gaze dropped, the weight of your accusations settling on him. “I thought that’s what was best,” he murmured, the admission almost painful. “I thought… I thought it was enough.”

You sighed, your anger waning but the hurt still fresh. “You don’t have to figure out anything, you said that yourself – I thought - It’s not enough for you Hotch, and not even for me.”

There was a long, heavy silence between you, both of you staring at the scattered papers on the table, as if the answers you sought could be found in the scrawled handwriting and cryptic messages. But this wasn’t something that could be solved with profiling or deduction. It was messier, more personal, and neither of you were sure how to navigate it.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “For making you feel like you’re just another piece of the job.”

You nodded, the tension easing but not entirely gone. “I appreciate your apologies but if you really want to change things up all you have to do is to agree to be vulnerable with me, that’s all.”

You turned your attention back to the case, pushing through the lingering discomfort to focus on what you could control. You worked in silence, each of you lost in thought, both aware that this argument had pulled something to the surface that couldn’t be ignored.

By the time you finally cracked the pattern in the unsub’s messages, the sun was beginning to rise.

As Hotch made his way back to the room at nearly 4 a.m., he was trying to be as quiet as possible, mindful not to wake Rossi. But as he slipped inside, he was met with the sight of Rossi already awake, leaning against the edge of his bed, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of amusement and disapproval.

“Couldn’t resist, could you?” Rossi’s voice was low but carried a playful edge, tinged with the knowing tone of someone who had seen this behavior from Hotch too many times before.

Hotch tried to hide his fatigue, rubbing a hand over his face as he set the files down on the desk. “It was important. I found something we missed. Had to double-check.”

Rossi’s smirk didn’t waver. “You found something, huh? Or did you just need an excuse to get out of this room and clear your head?”

Hotch stiffened, but he knew there was no point in denying it. “We figured out the sequence, the messages weren’t just random. They were chronological, like a timeline leading to his next target. We were close, but we couldn’t afford to miss it.”

Rossi nodded, his expression softening just a little. He knew Hotch was right; they were on a tight timeline with no room for errors. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing his friend. “You could have figured that out in the morning, Aaron. You can’t solve every problem by burning the candle at both ends.”

Hotch sat down on his bed, glancing at the clock, Rossi’s words lingered, cutting through the tension Hotch had been carrying all day. “I know. But you said it yourself—we can’t miss anything.

Rossi studied Hotch for a moment, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “You’ve been different since Peter came back,” Rossi said, watching Hotch’s reaction closely. “It’s like you’re working twice as hard, pushing yourself even more than usual. What’s going on?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his usual stoic demeanor wavering under Rossi’s probing gaze. He knew exactly Rossi could read from his face what had just happened between the two of you. “I just… wanted to make sure we didn’t miss anything,” he repeated, his tone defensive.

Rossi wasn’t buying it. He moved closer, sitting on the edge of his own bed, facing Hotch directly. “You’re not fooling me, Aaron. I’ve seen this before. You’re not just worried about the case. This is about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Hotch looked away, pretending to be preoccupied with the files on his lap. But Rossi’s words hit too close to home, and he couldn’t ignore the knot of emotions that had been building inside him since Peter’s return. “It’s not what you think,” Hotch said quietly, though even to him, it sounded unconvincing.

Rossi leaned back, giving Hotch a knowing look. “Look, it’s natural. You and Y/N have been working closely, you’ve got this rhythm. Peter comes back, and suddenly you’re reminded that you’re not the only one who clicks with her. But it’s not a competition, Aaron. You’re more to this team, and I’m sure you are to her as well, than a stand-in.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. He had spent the last few months building a partnership with you, appreciating your insights and the way you challenged him. But Peter’s return had stirred up insecurities he hadn’t even realized he had.

“It’s not that,” Hotch said finally, though the weight in his voice suggested otherwise. “I just want to make sure we get this right. Peter’s good at what he does. It’s just… different.”

Rossi gave him a pointed look. “Different isn’t bad, Hotch. And you’re still you. You don’t have to prove anything: to her, to Peter, or to anyone else.”

Hotch nodded, though Rossi’s words did little to ease the knot in his chest. “Thanks, Dave. I know.”

Rossi watched him for another moment before standing up, his tone lightening as he made his way back to his bed. “Just remember, she was never looking for a replacement for him while he was gone. She’s looking for a partner. And you’ve already proven you can be that.”

Hotch lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Rossi’s words echoed in his mind, he knew he needed to get some sleep, but his thoughts were restless. It wasn’t just about the case anymore, it was about finding his place, about understanding what you truly meant to him beyond the walls of the BAU. As he finally drifted off, he promised himself that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t let his insecurities cloud his judgment. He’d be the partner you needed, and maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to fit into your life outside of work, too. If you ever let him after today.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds x reader

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soft-mafia · 1 year ago

Text

Take Me With You [Buggy x Reader] [Part 2]

warnings: fem reader, oc insert, age gap(reader is 19), smut, oral(fem receiving), cream pie

a/n: here’s part 2!! Hope you guys enjoy I made this one a little extra spicy🤭 I listened to Norman Fucking Rockwell while writing this is that means anything to you guys.

part 1

Once Buggy had hauled Y/n onto his ship, his crew began to gawk at her, thinking that their captain had taken something for himself while he was away.

Y/n felt the eyes on her, feeling a lot of the men eying her up.

Buggy rolled his eyes and put his hand on top of Y/n’s head, “Ok, ok everybody shut up!” Buggy shouted, “Here’s how this is gonna go, if I see any of you touching her, looking at her, or speaking to her, you’re getting thrown overboard. Does that sound good?” His crew had become even more silent, and Y/n could feel the lustful stares leaving her body, which gave her some relief.

“Ok. Great, everybody get back to work and let’s get out of this damn place.” Buggy sighed and grabbed Y/n’s forearm, dragging her in the direction of his quarters.

“Wait so I’m not allowed to talk to anybody on your crew?!” Y/n huffed at Buggy, expecting him to be protective but not overprotective. “Listen cupcake, you don’t know my crew, if those guys talk to you it’s safe to assume they’d wanna get in your pants.” He replied, shoving her into his room and closing the door behind himself, “Maybe after a while once they get used to seeing you, but not now.”

Y/n nearly toppled over due to how roughly he shoved her, but she quickly regained balance and looked around his room.

It wasn’t exactly how she pictured it would look like in her head.. it was, messy. Not a collected, organized mess, but literally messy.

She noted the empty and half empty bottles of booze on one of the tables, that probably been there for who knows how long. The bed wasn’t made, tins of grease paint scattered over a vanity along with dirty makeup brushes. She walked over to it, picking up one of the brushes, “You really need to clean these.”

Buggy walked over to her and took it out of her hand, setting it back where it was, “It’s fine, it’s just face paint.”

“Yeah, but like- bacteria build up.”

Buggy ignored her, jerking his coat off and then pulling his bandana off, letting his long blue hair fall gracefully down his back. He sighed as he raked his fingers through his scalp. Y/n couldn’t help but watch him— the way his muscles moved, his long hair that she actually never seen before until now. How did he get it all tucked in that bandana?

She set her backpack filled with all of her stuff down on his vanity chair, thankfully her bag was big enough to fit all of her clothes and other shit she got from the Going Merry.

“Ok princess, it’s been a while since I had a good nap, so I’m gonna crash for a while.. uh, don’t leave the room. Just.. I dunno keep yourself entertained.” Buggy grumbled, beginning to take his vest off; he didn’t know if he should strip completely down to his underwear like he usually did since Y/n was here.. so he decided to just keep his pants on.

“What- you’re just gonna sleep?” Y/n scoffed and crossed her arms.

Buggy looked at her as he tossed his vest to the ground, “Yeah, my head was in a— wet, sandy bag for the past few days, I think I deserve a nap.” He huffed, “You should’ve brought stuff to keep you busy, it’s not like I have any coloring books or fucking.. dolls or anything.”

“I did bring stuff, I brought all of my stuff.” Y/n said as she looked through her bag.

“Damn, you were prepared huh?” Buggy said as he walked over to her, looking down into her bag; he got interested upon seeing a sliver of what looked to be a a lacy bra.. but he didn’t bring it up.

He looked at Y/n, his eyes slowly drifting down to her cleavage, “What were you gonna do if I said no? You would’ve packed all this shit for nothing.” He began to imagine a sad looking Y/n, back on that straw hat’s ship putting all of her stuff back where it was if Buggy rejected her..

“I would’ve just begged you until you said yes.” Y/n looked up at Buggy, god he was so handsome with his hair down, the way he looked down at her with those gorgeous eyes were making her swoon all over again.

She could look at him and admire him all day if she could.

Buggy however, didn’t want her looking at him for more than 2 seconds, he slowly turned his gaze away once his eyes met hers; Buggy knew if she looked at him for longer than that, seeing all of his flaws, ragged stubble, his damn nose. He knew whatever little “fantasy” she had of him would quickly fade upon seeing how repulsive and hideous he was. He already felt a bit uneasy being shirtless, seeing her look at his hairy chest; did she not like what she saw?! I mean she was the one who decided to run off with a grown ass man she should know what a man’s body looks like, why was she staring so much?!

Why couldn’t she be happy with that blonde waiter boy? Or that fit looking swordsman? Or that kid making the bomb.. whatever that kid’s name was.

Why him of all people? A bitter, hideous clown with an equally hideous nose.

“Begged me? Am I that worth it, hot stuff?” Buggy scoffed and laughed before going over to his bed and flopping down, sighing as he rested his arms behind his head.

“I think you’re more than worth it.” Y/n giggled and walked over to sit beside his laying body, looking down at his abs, her eyes drifted towards his happy trail. Having his body here was much better than just having his head. There was so much more to look at and admire she felt like she was about to explode. She laid down beside of Buggy, snuggling into his side.

Y/n brushed some strands of his hair away so she could rest her head on his chest. Buggy’s eyes widened a little bit, “You gonna sleep with me?” He chuckled, then mentally cringed at the phrasing he used.

“I mean there’s nothing else to do.. you don’t want your crew flirting with me so I can’t really leave.” She giggled, then traced Buggy’s collar bone with the tip of her finger, she then noticed his necklace; it wasn’t anything fancy but it looked like a silver coin, “Where’d you get this from?” Y/n asked with curiosity, gently holding the silver pendent between her fingers.

“I saw it on some old geezer one day and thought it looked flashy.” Buggy looked down at Y/n, eyeing her up once more; not with lust but genuinely trying to examine her. This was.. way too suspicious for him. Why was this attractive, young woman clinging onto him? She wanted to beg to come with him, she said she felt safe with him.

This couldn’t just be due to the fact he was a bit of a sweet talker while she took care of his severed head. Y/n had to have an ulterior motive.. this had to be some kind of.. scheme!

A scheme from that damn straw hat!! They wanted to use one of the pretty girls on their crew to catch him off guard? Give him a false sense of security? Yeah right. Buggy wasn’t going to be so trusting with this girl.

Y/n let go of the necklace and rested her arm over his chest, her eyes moved up towards the window, watching the bright blue sky and the clouds. She looked like a puppy, like a small, helpless animal. There was no way this wasn’t a trap of some sort.

Buggy furrowed his brows and sat up suddenly, making Y/n sit up as well, “Ok, enough with the damn puppy dog eyes.. what the fuck are you playing at here?!” Buggy growled, grabbing Y/n’s neck, holding under her jaw.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Y/n gasped slightly, looking up at Buggy with wide eyes.

“You can’t possibly be serious?!” Buggy huffed, “Why did you come here? I had every intention to kill you and the rest of those kids, and now you’re just.. rubbing up on me and looking at me with those damn eyes— STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT, GAH!!” Buggy growled and pulled away, standing up from the bed. He put his hands over his face.

Those puppy dog eyes, they’re really going to kill him.

“You’re planning something. You and Shanks’ kid, you guys are trying to punk me, aren’t you?” Buggy looked back at Y/n, rage in his eyes.

Y/n felt a shiver go down her spine, she shook her head, “N-No?? Who’s Shanks? I’m not planning anything, I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

Buggy stared at Y/n for another moment, glaring angrily, examining her but he just couldn’t understand why.

“I mean, yeah you were going to kill me but.. I thought that, when we spent time together and I took care of you, we kind of..” Y/n looked down, trying to find the right words to say, “Forgot about all of that, I guess.”

“I don’t get it.” Buggy looked away, shaking his head, he put a hand over his eyes before grumbling and looking back at her, “It doesn’t make sense, why me? I’m old enough to be your father!! And I’m not that easy on the eyes-”

“What are you talking about?! You’re gorgeous!” Y/n interrupted, taking Buggy off guard, “You’re the handsomest guy I’ve ever seen!”

“And promised you’d take care of me.” Y/n whispered, looking down at her lap. Buggy’s eyes widened slightly.

Y/n had Buggy’s head sitting on her shelf while she got changed out of his view. “-I mean, what makes a pretty girl like you want to be a pirate.”

Occasionally Buggy would turn around to get a peek; quickly turning away when Y/n would check to see if he was looking, “Because trust me sweetheart, it’s not that glamorous.”

“It’s not the whole pirate thing I’m thrilled about,” Y/n said, finally changed into her sleeping clothes which was just a silk tank top and black micro shorts, “I just wanna go out and see the world.” She fixed her hair in the mirror, making sure it was ok for her to sleep on it.

Buggy couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but it was more of a playful eye roll. As generic as that sounded, and as much as he wanted to be bored.. there was a charm to this little girl. It was also cute how she pranced around, prettifying herself for sleep of all things.

“You know how many people say that but then chicken out once they get out on sea? I got kids wanting to run off and join the circus thinking it’s all sea shanties and shit, but then panic and throw themselves overboard after one rogue wave.” Buggy laughed, it was morbid but.. a guy like him found it hilarious.

“Well, I’m not a kid.” Y/n turned around to look at Buggy, her hands on her hips, “And I’m not afraid of waves, I can take care of myself just fine.”

Buggy eyed Y/n up and down, smirking a bit, “Oh yeah? I can take care of you even better, cupcake.” He grinned, telling himself he was just buttering her up, but damn if he had his body he’d probably already plowed her by now. Y/n’s eyes widened, noticeably getting flustered over his shift in tone; it was deep, gruff, the way he looked at her wasn’t helping either.

“If you want.. you can put me between your legs and we can have some fun.” Buggy snickered, “I know I’m just a head but my mouth can work wonders, baby.”

Buggy sucked in an inhale, then smacked his lips together as he looked so the side, “I did say that didn’t I..” his teeth clenched before he looked back at her, “I mean I didn’t promise it, but I did say that.”

“Well I took it as a promise.” Y/n huffed, looking off to the side with a pout.

“Just because you took something as a promise, doesn’t mean it’s a promise, sweetheart. You’re gonna get your heart broken if you keep doing that.” Buggy sighed and walked back over to her, standing at the edge of the bed in front of her.

There was a good silence before Y/n spoke up again.

“So.. everything you said back there, was a lie?” Y/n whispered. Buggy sighed and held the side of her face, then turned it so she could look up at him, “I mean, not all of it.” He said, in that same deep, rough voice that drove her wild.

“You’re really a pretty girl Y/n. You shouldn’t be with someone like me. I don’t know why you want to, but the fact that I got you so whipped over me because of one interaction is kind of weird.”

“You were literally talking about how you wanted to fuck me!! What did you expect?!” Y/n frowned at him.

“Ok look, the first couple of times I was just trying to tick you off!! It’s not like I planned to have you falling for me.” It was the truth, as soon as Sanji handed his head off to Y/n, he knew he could take advantage of the situation. Saying creepy shit to the pretty girl on the crew, making her uncomfortable.. he never expected her to imprint on him like a fucking duckling.

Maybe he did a bit too much when Y/n accepted those advances but.. she was cute and it turned him on, he couldn’t help himself.

“Then you should know better than to flirt with people!” Y/n crossed her arms.

Buggy rolled his head back as he rolled his eyes, he groaned before looking back down at her, “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” He said, albeit in a sort of mocking tone, but he was sorry, “Anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Y/n looked down, eyeing at Buggy’s belt area for a moment before looking back up at him, “Um..” she felt heat rise to her cheeks; back on the boat she did think about putting Buggy’s head between her legs.. but she was way too nervous too. Even now that the man had his body, it made her even more nervous.

“Hm?” Buggy hummed quietly, his thumb rubbing back and forth gently across her cheek. He knew she wanted something.. he wanted her to spit it out.

“I can take you up on that offer.. putting your head between my legs.” Y/n looked down, her thighs pressing together as she spoke quietly, like she was embarrassed to say those words— which she was. Embarrassed and so nervous.

Buggy smirked widely, he rubbed Y/n’s cheek before patting it gently, “You want that? Alright. Lay down, princess.”

Y/n was laying flat on the bed now, Buggy loomed over her, he tilted his head and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her, sucking on her top lip before moving down, his hands traveling down with him until he got between her legs. He pulled off her shorts, then her panties and tossed them off the bed.

He spread her thighs wide, his large hands gripping them. Buggy admired Y/n’s pussy, how it was already dripping wet, those pretty little folds and that nice clit.. his boner pressed into his pants and made him groan under his breath.

Buggy leaned down, his nose pressed to her clit as he reached his tongue out and began to lick long stripes into her pussy. Y/n shivered, legs trembling which made Buggy’s grip on them tighten.

Y/n turned her head to the side to bury them into the pillows, muffling her moans and whimpers into them. Buggy grunted softly and moved his hand up to jerk Y/n’s face away from the pillows, “Let me hear you, baby.” Buggy grumbled into her pussy, moving his lips upward to suck and lap at her clit. Y/n trembled, whimpering and moaning loudly as Buggy held her face right up.

Buggy’s hands slowly slid to Y/n’s sides, thumbs gently placed under her breasts as he sucked on her pussy. Damn this was good. Truth be told he hadn’t gotten any action since he was.. I don’t know, 21? And it was only one time on his birthday with a drunk hooker.. he barely even remembered it, he was too busy being a captain now to even focus on sex, just jacking himself off into a rag whenever he needed that kind of relief.

He began to feel more grateful for having Y/n here now, he wouldn’t have to waste hand towels anymore when he could just shoot his load into her.

The thought of Y/n being his personal fuck doll made him harder, he was practically humping his boxers at this point, her pussy tasted amazing; the perfect combo of sweet and salty, nice and juicy like he wanted it.

He squeezed her sides lightly and made Y/n let out a loud mewl. Buggy groaned and grunted as he humped the blankets while sucking her pussy. “A-Aaahh~!! Aahh!” Y/n threw her head back, her pussy clenched and fluttered, she never realized how sensitive she was until Buggy started eating her out. She was trembling all over, already about to cum.

Buggy was groaning and huffing like a dog into her pussy, licking up all of her juices, sucking on her clit. He growled deeply, wanting to pound her into his mattress until the ship sank.

Y/n let out a loud yelp and came hard on Buggy’s tongue, squirting a bit and getting her juices on him. “A-Ahh~ s-sorry..” Y/n looked down at Buggy, seeing the lower half of his face was soaking wet, dripping off of his stubble.

He wiped it off with his hand after licking some off of his lips before chuckling, “What are you sorry for, sweetheart?” He smirked, sitting up on his knees and nestling himself between her legs, beginning to unbuckle his belt.

Y/n blinked slightly, “What are you doing? I already came..” She asked breathlessly. “Yeah? Well I haven’t even gotten my dick wet, sweetheart.” Buggy mumbled, his words made Y/n’s belly tingle with that aroused feeling again, “So just lay back and let daddy take care of you.” He winked at her before freeing his dick from his pants. Y/n eyes widened slightly as she looked down at it, it was huge; bigger than expected. Oh god.. “Is that gonna fit?”

Buggy paused for a moment, looking at Y/n before laughing loudly, gently slapping her inner thigh as he laughed, “Of course it’s gonna fit. Aww, that’s cute.” Buggy chuckled, breathing out before slapping his cock against her wet pussy, “And if it doesn’t, I’ll make it fit.” His voice went deep and husky again, the sudden change of tone made Y/n shiver in arousal.

Buggy groaned deeply when he pushed his cock deep into Y/n. Her back arched as she let out a loud yelp; it was so huge, he was filling her up so well, stretching her out, tip kissing her cervix. “Mmmm-!!” Y/n whimpered, her hips trembled. Buggy let out another groan and rocked his hips back and forth, holding Y/n’s legs up as he did so, “That’s a good girl, see? Fits like a glove.” Buggy laughed through a grunt, his voice gravelly as he began to thrust.

She was so tight, damn it felt good cramming his dick in there. Buggy’s abs clenched as he plowed into her, making the bed creak underneath them. Y/n was moaning so loudly; his crew could probably hear but that’s exactly what Buggy wanted. Just a little kink of his.

Y/n gripped the pillows beside her head and whined, twitching, whimpering and moaning. Buggy squeezed Y/n’s legs, “Yeah that’s it, let it all out, tell everyone who owns you.” Buggy growled, thrusting faster into her. Y/n looked up at Buggy; his body casted a shadow over hers from the light shining in from the window.

“B-Bugggyyy!!” Y/n moaned out, legs trembling in his grip as burning pleasure took over her body. “Don’t you dare cum yet, I just stuck my dick in you, you little shit.” Buggy growled, sending a mix of both fear and arousal through Y/n. His tone was so demanding and dominant— and he was so handsome looming over her, she was going nuts.

Y/n squirmed, trying to hold it in, but she was so sensitive and he was stretching her out so much. Buggy tilted his head back and thrusted rougher into her. “B-Buggy.. B-Buggy please..!”

“Wait.” Buggy growled, looking down at Y/n’s tits, the way they bounced as he fucked her; she was probably the hottest girl he’d ever seen. “You wanted this cock, baby.. You were gonna beg me for this cock.” Buggy grunted, “Don’t be going ‘pleaseeee’ at me. Lay there and take my fucking dick like a good girl.”

Y/n moaned at his words, she was trembling all over, so close to spilling over and cumming. “Aa-Aahhh~!” She couldn’t hold it in anymore, she gasped loudly as she came around his cock, her pussy clenching and fluttering. The sudden tightness made Buggy hunch forward and groan deeply in pleasure.

He let out a guttural, primal sound as he plunged harder into her, “We’ll work on that.” Buggy huffed out, his words almost drowned out from the wet sounds of skin slapping skin and the loud squeaks coming from the bed.

It wasn’t long before Buggy was grunting louder, teeth bared and eyes screwed shut, every muscle in his body twitching as he came into Y/n, cumming deep inside of her pussy and filling her up. Y/n was whimpering, moaning and panting heavily, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Buggy groaned and flipped his long hair to the side to keep it from falling over his face. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling with every breath. “Fuck..” he groaned and pulled out, watching his cum leak from her pussy, he glanced at Y/n, spreading her thighs a bit, “You ok?” He asked breathlessly.

Y/n looked up at Buggy and nodded, “Mhm..”

Buggy smirked and gently patted her thigh, “Good girl.” He flopped down on the bed beside of her, sighing heavily, “Right.. about that nap.” He sighed, then turned over with his back facing Y/n. He was exhausted to say the least.

Y/n whined and wrapped her arm around him, “You’re not gonna at least cuddle with me?! This is horrible aftercare!!”

“Jeez alright!!” Buggy chuckled and turned to face Y/n, suddenly encasing her in his strong arms, holding her close to his chest and pressing his lips against the top of her head, giving her kissing and lightly scratching her with his stubble. “Are you gonna be this needy when you’re with me?” Buggy joked.

Y/n snuggled against Buggy’s hairy chest, her arm still wrapped around him as his scent invaded her nose, “Mmm, maybe.” She giggled up at him, “If you don’t take care of me like you promised.”

#one piece #one piece buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #one piece x reader #buggy x y/n #buggy x you #buggy smut #one piece live action #opla buggy #opla

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genrockstar · 2 months ago

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Cold Fronts & Warm Hearts | 2

summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin never expected to find himself captivated by anyone, much less the daughter of the legendary Admiral Tom "Iceman" Kazansky. But when an unexpected encounter with her challenges everything he thought he knew about love and loyalty, Hangman finds himself in a situation more complex than any dogfight.

warnings: none

pairing: jake seresin x oc

authors note: just imagine rooster and jake are actually besties...

@djs8891

The next morning, Jake "Hangman" Seresin stood on the tarmac, squinting against the bright San Diego sun. The roar of jet engines and the organized chaos of the naval base surrounded him, but his mind was still on last night. Kate Kazansky had walked into his life like a storm, unsettling the calm, collected persona he had so carefully cultivated. He was used to challenges in the sky, but this—whatever was happening between them—was something different altogether.

"Seresin, you coming?" Rooster called, motioning toward the jets lined up for the day's exercises.

Jake nodded, pulling himself back to the present. "Yeah, just thinking about my next win," he shot back with a grin, masking any sign of distraction.

As they prepped for the day's flight drills, Jake found himself scanning the crowd, searching for any sign of Kate. It was foolish, he knew. This wasn't some romantic getaway—it was the Navy, and she had her own career, her own responsibilities. But even as he strapped into the cockpit of his F/A-18, her words from the night before echoed in his head.

You hide behind that cocky grin of yours because it's easier than letting people in.

He keyed the comms as his jet roared to life. "All right, boys and girls, let's get this show on the road."

Up in the air, the familiar rush of adrenaline and the pull of gravity pushed every other thought out of his head. Here, in the sky, was where he was in control. Here, he didn’t have to worry about emotions or vulnerabilities. Up here, it was all about instinct, skill, and focus.

But even with his usual sharp focus, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Kate had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had.

Later that afternoon, Jake was heading toward the officer’s locker room when he caught sight of Kate walking out of the command center. She was dressed in crisp Navy fatigues, her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, and even though she wasn’t in flight gear, she exuded the same confidence that had intrigued him the night before.

Their eyes met, and for a split second, Jake considered turning away—walking the other direction and keeping things simple. But simplicity had never been his style.

“Kate,” he called, jogging over to her. “Fancy seeing you here.”

She smiled, but there was a touch of amusement in her eyes. “I work here, Jake. It’s not that surprising.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Right. Still, didn’t expect to see you outside the officer’s club so soon.”

Kate crossed her arms, her expression playful. “Why? Afraid of a rematch?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Rematch? I wasn’t aware we had a competition going.”

She took a step closer, her voice dropping just a little. “Everything’s a competition with you, isn’t it?”

The challenge in her voice sparked something in Jake. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about last night’s conversation or something deeper, but either way, he was ready to play along.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But you should know, I don’t lose.”

Kate’s eyes gleamed, and she gave a small laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

Before he could respond, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her expression shifting slightly as she read the message.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, slipping the phone back into her pocket. “Duty calls.”

“Right,” Jake nodded, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment. “Catch you later?”

Kate gave him a smile that was as much of a promise as it was a challenge. “You know where to find me.”

As she walked away, Jake stood there for a moment, watching her go. He wasn’t used to being the one left hanging, but something about Kate Kazansky kept pulling him back. She was more than just Iceman’s daughter—she was his equal in every sense, and that terrified him as much as it excited him.

That evening, Jake found himself back at the officer’s club, nursing a beer and replaying his last conversation with Kate in his head. Rooster and Phoenix were nearby, laughing about something from the day’s drills, but Jake’s mind was elsewhere.

“Hey, man,” Rooster said, sliding into the seat next to him. “You good? You’ve been off your game today.”

Jake shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow. “Thinking? That doesn’t sound like you. Usually, you’re all action, no reflection.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake said, swirling the beer in his glass, “things change.”

Rooster’s expression softened, and he leaned back in his chair. “This about that woman you were talking to last night?”

Jake shot him a look. “You spying on me, Bradshaw?”

Rooster grinned, holding up his hands. “Relax, man. Just noticed you looked... invested, which is weird for you.”

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s... different. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Different how?” Phoenix chimed in, having overheard the conversation.

“She doesn’t play by anyone’s rules. Not even mine,” Jake said, almost to himself. “And she’s Iceman’s daughter, so... yeah.”

Rooster let out a low whistle. “Kazansky’s kid? Man, you don’t mess with that.”

Jake looked down at his drink, conflicted. He knew getting involved with Kate was dangerous—not just for his career, but for the walls he had built around himself. She was someone who could challenge him, push him in ways no one else had.

But walking away wasn’t an option anymore.

Before he could think too much about it, his phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Kate: Meet me at the docks tonight. Midnight.

Jake’s pulse quickened, the thrill of the unknown sparking through him. He finished his beer, stood up, and grabbed his jacket.

“Where are you going?” Rooster asked, eyeing him curiously.

Jake smirked, the old swagger creeping back. “I’ve got a midnight rendezvous.”

The docks were quiet, save for the gentle lapping of water against the boats. Jake spotted Kate standing at the end of one pier, her figure silhouetted against the moonlit sky. She looked calm, but there was an intensity in the way she stood, waiting for him.

He approached, the sound of his boots echoing on the wooden planks. “What’s this about?”

Kate turned, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. “I needed to get away from all the expectations. The uniforms, the protocol. Everything.”

Jake stopped a few feet away, studying her. “So, you call me?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m... special because of who my father is.”

Jake crossed his arms, leaning against a post. “You’re not just Iceman’s daughter, Kate. I think you know that.”

Kate’s gaze met his, and for a moment, the tension between them hung heavy in the air. “Maybe that’s what I needed to hear.”

Jake took a step closer, his voice low. “So what now?”

Kate’s eyes flickered with something unspoken. “Now we figure out if we’re both willing to break the rules.”

Jake’s breath hitched. He was no stranger to risks, but this? This was something different. Something far more dangerous.

But as he looked into her eyes, he realized he wasn’t about to back down.

Not now. Not ever.

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x oc #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #hangman x reader #hangman x oc

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ashleyfilm · 3 months ago

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Seeing Clearly - Chapter 5. Movie Night

Please leave comments, I'd love to know your thoughts. And if you feel inclined to reblog, that would be so nice.

Chapter Warnings: cursing - Minors - DNI

Characters: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader Plus Size. F!OC was recommended to me since there's a lot of description of her but I'm writing her as You (Reader) so hopefully you can still imagine yourself. Black hair, glasses, tattoos, big body, wears dark clothes, won't stop talking. Joel is tv show Jackson Joel.

Story Summary: Joel just saved your life, begrudgingly. He doesn't know exactly why but he brings you back to Jackson and you ingratiate yourself into his very small circle and his life. This takes place after season 1 of TLOU and season 2 doesn't exist in my brain because no.

Chapter Summary: You start your job at the library, meet a new resident of Jackson and Joel takes you to the movies. 1.8K

Thank you to @saradika-graphics for the book line divider. :)

Chapter 1 Here Chapter 2 Here Chapter 3 Here Chapter 4 Here

Chapter 5. Movie Night

After stopping by the clothing swap, Joel walks you to the library in your “new” old black t-shirt, with the faded logo of Guns n’ Roses, one of your favorite bands from childhood, you can still remember most of the words to the entire Use Your Illusion II album. Your eyes lit up when you found it and it actually fits you, even a tiny bit loose, your favorite. Joel couldn’t help the smile that formed on his plush lips seeing you full of glee, like a child that never went through any of this shit. At the library, you meet an older gentleman named Doc, long grey hair, warm smile and a sparkle in his eyes. He’s hoping to retire this year and you’re just in time to learn the ropes and take over. He walks you through the stacks and what he’s been able to do with the last three years he’s spent there. Organizing, cataloguing, working out distribution to the townsfolk. He even encourages you to suggest your own ideas on how to facilitate the place. You take your time walking around and looking at the books, all in various stages of use, but mostly well held up. Sometimes there are even multiple copies of something where the beginning is in one and the end in the other.

It's magical, being surrounded by all these stories, all these means of escape. And you haven’t even gotten to the VHS tape section with the movies. You grew up going to the video store every Friday with your parents, picking out something for them and something for you. Sitting in your room and watching the stories unfold before your eyes. You even worked in a video store before the outbreak, studied filmmaking in school. This place is already healing you. You can feel it. “Ash, got a visitor here, needs help finding something,” Doc says to break you from your reverie. You walk to the front desk and find a young man, probably in his early 30s, blonde hair, average height, good looking, but kind of like the asshole in your high school that’s on the soccer team and makes fun of you in front of his friends. “Ash, is it? I heard we had a newbie in town. I’m Ryan, nice to meet you,” he says as he takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. You still at the touch, people don’t really touch like this anymore and you haven’t been touched since you got here except for Joel and that was …different.

“Hi, uh, what can I help you with?” You say curtly. “Well, I’m looking for something to read, maybe something sci-fi, think you can help me out,” he says with a smirk. This guy isn’t here to read, he’s here to get the info on the new girl, ugh fuck off. “Um, sure, follow me.” Even though you’re new, you’ve quickly made a map in your head of the library space and the way Doc has taken to organizing and grouping things. You head straight to fiction section, which is currently just by author last name, you’ll change that. Wanting to get this over quickly, you look for H.G. Wells, and find The Invisible Man and hand it to the guy. So, Brad or whatever the fuck his name is will get away from you. “A Grotesque Romance,” he says reading the subtitle on the cover. “Interesting choice,” again with the smirk. “Yup, hope you enjoy it,” you say not really looking at him anymore. “I’m sure I will,” he says looking your body up and down. “See ya around, Ash.” You smile quickly and turn to walk away. Well, that’s the first person you’ve met that you immediately dislike, you guess it was bound to happen in a town with this many fucking people. A very obvious downside.

At the end of your shift, you say goodbye to Doc and start on your walk to the dining hall that will be turned into a movie theatre for the evening for a viewing of Jurassic Park. Your tote bag, courtesy of your new boss, filled with three books. Carrie by Stephen King for you, a graphic novel called, Somewhere in the Stars for Ellie, and No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy for Joel. You wonder if he’ll like your old man joke or not. And like you’ve manifested him; he’s standing outside the library leaning against a lamppost, waiting for you. He’s stunning, standing with his arms crossed against his chest, in a green flannel with red lines and the sleeves rolled up to reveal his thick forearms and his hair wet and slicked back. And he’s there for you. He looks up and notices you walking towards him, you bite your lip to try and hide your smile. “Well, how’d it go?” He asks with his mouth in a line but his eyes, they’re different, warmer. “Good,” you answer, “Doc’s really lovely and it’s amazing how many books you all have.” He watches you speak, and you think he might see something new, and you feel it too, invigorated. You begin to walk in step with one another to the movie night.

“I got Ellie something,” you say as you dig into your bag and retrieve the graphic novel, handing it to Joel. He smiles warmly, probably thinking of Ellie and says, “She’ll love this.” After he hands it back you put it away and reach for the book you got for him, “And this …is for you.” Your hold your breath hoping he likes your choice. “Old Men, that a crack on me, sweetheart?” He says with a chuckle. Sweetheart, he just called you sweetheart. He continues, “Thank you, that’s real kind. Always wanted to read this one, never had the chance, always workin’ too much before everything happened.” “Good, well now you can.” He hands it back and your fingers brush just slightly and like this morning you feel a bolt of electricity run through you. You look away and hope he can’t see the blush on your cheeks.

When you walk into the theatre together, quite a few people look your way with curiosity. You don’t know if it’s because you’re new in town or because you’re with the big, bad Joel Miller. But soon, you don’t care because you smell the popcorn and hear people laughing and see the big projector screen. And you almost sob right then and there. Joel’s watching you in wonder. He lightly touches your shoulder, leaning in close he whispers, “Go pick out a seat wherever you want, I’ll get us some snacks.” A shiver runs down your spine and he’s gone. You find what you deem the perfect seat, close to the middle and along the center aisle. You see Ellie who gives you a wave and wanders after a pretty, dark-haired girl around her age. She looks so happy, and it makes your heart clench in your chest. You start to worry how much you’ve gotten comfortable here, it’s a lot so soon. And you worry that it could all be taken away, like everyone and everything in your life already has.

Before you can spiral too far into your mind, Joel sits next to you. “You couldn’t pick a place a little less surrounded by people?” he says with a grunt. “Hey, you said anywhere I want,” you pout at him. “That I did, I guess I shouldn’t leave it up to you next time,” he says with another hint of a laugh. Did he say next time? Did you really hear that? The movie starts to play, and you and Joel share popcorn, he holds it for you and offers it over to you every couple of minutes. You hear the music by John Williams, and it takes you back. When you were a little girl and your parents would sit you between them and watch you as your eyes lit up taking it all in, so enthralled. Popcorn now long forgotten, it comes to one of the parts you’ve never forgotten, when the girl, is about to fall through the ceiling and the velociraptors are underneath her dangling body and they snap at her legs. You jump out of your skin and grab onto Joel’s hand. After the jump scare you start to laugh, still holding onto him, then you look over at him and he’s already looking at you, a soft smile on his face, until both your smiles fade replaced with a longing gaze until he drops your hand and turns back to the movie. You worry you’ve gone too far, asked for too much, too soon. You clasp your hands back in your lap and try to enjoy the rest of the movie in silence.

As the T-Rex screams and the banner falls, the room is filled with applause. Everyone loved this movie; it didn’t matter who you were. The lights come on and everyone begins to make their way out into the night air of Jackson. Joel says he’s going to find Ellie and for you to “stay put.” Eyeroll. Unfortunately, that’s when Brad or whoever the fuck from earlier decides to come and say hello. “Hi there, Ash. How��d you like the movie?” he says while again looking you up and down. “It’s great, one of my favorites but I guess you weren’t born when it came out, huh?” You don’t even know if it’s true you just want to infantilize him, so he’ll go away. Instead, he laughs and touches your arm, “You may be right about that one.” Suddenly, Joel is back at your side with Ellie, “Time to go.” He says to you gruffly. Ellie is looking between you, Joel and what’s his name wide-eyed like she’s waiting for fireworks or a fight to break out. “Oh, hey Joel, I didn’t know you knew our girl, Ash here,” he says with a smirk, looking only at you. “She’s staying with us, Ryan.” Joel says, fist clenched at his side. Ryan, oh that’s his name. “Okay, well maybe you can save me a seat next time, Ash,” Ryan says with a tip of his hat gesture, the dumbass isn’t even wearing a hat. Idiot. “Bye,” you say as you turn to walk after Ellie and Joel. Ellie hangs back with you as Joel darts off ahead of you. With a grin Ellie says, “What was all that about, huh?” You look at her with a disgusted look on your face, “I honestly have no idea.” Over the next several days, you avoid Brad/Ryan like the plague. Haha, plague. And sadly Joel barely speaks to you, but he does leave out your wolf mug by the coffee machine every morning.

#ashleyfilm #joel miller plus size reader #joel tlou #pedro pascal fanfiction #seeing clearly #joel miller x you #joel the last of us #the last of us #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal plus size reader

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katyaromanoffpetrova · 8 months ago

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Our goddess and savior: Natasha Romanoff

Katya is good at ending up in bad situations. Natasha is good at getting her out of them.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 1.7k • Warnings: descriptions of gore and an execution This is part of my series where I post small scenes I've written over the years that have never seen the light of day because they didn't fit into the story the way I wanted them to Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

A/N: this one is for you @milfs69420

2010

Katya's wrists ached where the rope cut into them, a wooden pole digging into the valley between her shoulder blades. She tried to feel for the small knife hidden in the sleeve of her mission suit, but they'd successfully managed to strip her of all her weapons. There was nowhere to go, and her muscles were aching as she used the pole to keep herself up.

Fuck this mission. And fuck herself for messing it up once more.

Maybe Natasha was right and she really was the worst best spy ever. Somehow, she always walked out with the correct information or the right person's heart pierced by her knife. But it was always after almost dying or getting hurt.

Right now, Katya found herself on the other side of a firing squad. About ten men patiently awaited orders to empty the magazines of their automatic weapons into her body. Behind them, a hundred more from their shitty organization gathered to watch the whole thing happen, like pathetic little sheep.

They were using her for propaganda and a demonstration of power. How nice.

''Look,'' Katya sighed exasperatedly, using her last bit of energy to cover up her dread. If she was going out, she was going out with sass. ''I know I'm pretty, my girlfriend says so, but is the display really necessary?''

God, she could really use Natasha right about now, mere moments away from a possibly very shitty death. Imagine getting delivered back to SHIELD with hundreds of bullet holes in her body.

A wave of guilt nearly brought her to her knees. That would leave her gorgeous girlfriend traumatized for sure.

''Yes.'' A short man in front of her answered. He barked orders at the firing squad earlier. Now he was slowly pacing back and forth, waiting for something. Katya wasn't sure what. His French accent annoyed her. ''You're an example.''

''Of beauty?'' She feigned an exaggerated smile. ''Thanks.''

''No. Of idiocy.'' He scoffed, stepping up to her. His creepy little eyes traveled up and down her body in disdain, as if he was bitter he didn't get to shoot her himself. ''Thought you were one of the best. The Ghost.''

Katya wasn't backing off—not that she could. She squinted at him when she spat out her code name. ''Yeah, well, I have a reputation of messing up.''

''Clearly.'' He smirked when he heard someone coming up to him, stretching out his arm to receive something. ''So, this is you paying the price for it.''

Dread swirled in Katya's gut as she watched him fiddle with the mysterious thing in his hand. He'd turned around and walked back to his men, so it wasn't clear what it was, but she had a bad, bad feeling about it. Worse than her upcoming death. ''What's that?''

Smugly, the man turned around, lifting and pointing the object at her. It was a video camera. ''I am going to film this, if that's alright with you? Give your friends something to remember you by.''

All the blood drained from Katya's face at once. Gone was her attitude.

She could handle dying. And she was pretty sure Fury would shield Natasha from ever seeing her destroyed body. But if this shitty little man got her death on video, he would dangle the footage over Natasha's head and use it to absolutely destroy her soul.

Katya could handle dying, but she would not drag her girlfriend along with her.

''No. Don't,'' she said firmly, her whole body on edge. She wanted to snatch that recorder from his hand and throw it so hard against a wall that it shattered in a million pieces. But she was helpless, tied to this godforsaken wooden pole like a witch in the seventeenth century.

The man's smirk widened. ''Oh, someone's getting queasy.''

Katya's fingers curled into fists to keep her fearless composure. ''You can kill me all you want, but don't put it on tape. That's really not necessary.''

''Too bad.'' Slowly, he backed up, until he stood between the row of shooters. He was enjoying it, this asshole. He knew he had her on the edge of desperation. ''Any last words?'' When the red light on his recorder started to flicker, Katya knew it was too late.

''None meant for you.''

Defeated, accepting of her upcoming fate, she closed her teary eyes, leaning her head back against the pole.

Death was fine by her. That wasn't the part she feared. But all Katya could think about was the people she'd leave behind. People who would actually care if she was gone now.

Well, just one person, actually. Natasha. How heartbroken she'd be. She would never let another person get close again, give up on love forever. Maybe she'd run from the pain, give up on everything good she was achieving with SHIELD. All that growth, everything that made her into a human being again, gone.

In this moment, though, there was nothing else to do but accept the situation. Dozens of soldiers, tightly tied to a pole, defenseless; Katya was stuck and utterly hopeless.

''Guns ready!''

Nat, I love you. It's the only thing she could think of. I love you, I love you, and I'm so sorry I'm leaving you again. Please, forgive me.

''And—''

His voice got cut off by a choking sound.

Katya's eyes flew open, disoriented and confused. Her heart raced in her chest as she followed the noise of the video recorder shattering on the floor to the man from before.

A knife sat deeply lodged in his throat. Blood sprayed out of his artery, his mouth wide open as he fruitlessly clawed at his neck. But there was absolutely no fixing this. His knees instantly gave out, and in a mere five seconds, he was as dead as they could be.

Frantically, Katya looked around for the thrower, her savior. Although from the precision with which that knife was thrown, it could only be one person. The only one almost as good as her.

The realization made her laugh, and she dropped her head back against the pole once more. This time with a wide smile on her lips.

''Always the dramatic entrance, darling!''

Like she was in the walls, Natasha's chuckle echoed all around. The dozens of aimless men in front of Katya were spinning hopelessly in their spot, raising their guns, trying to find her, but Natasha was nowhere to be found. The shadows loved her as much as the setting sun loved her orange hair.

A horrifying humming filled the space, a slow tune which made neckhairs rise and skin crawl. Something straight out of a horror movie. ''You look so pretty tied up, baby.''

Despite the situation, Katya felt her smile morph into a sly smirk. She shifted restlessly, eager to get out of these ties now that rescue was near. ''Then why don't you come down here and help yourself?''

''I am here, baby.''

She jumped six figurative feet in the air, her wrists painfully sliding across the rough wood from the pole. Natasha's voice sounded from right behind her, where she had never expected it. ''Jesus!''

''Close your eyes,'' Natasha muttered, her mouth close to Katya's ear.

''Why—'' A loud shriek left her lips. The sound of a million gunshots bounced off the walls of the warehouse, amplified by the bare concrete and metal support beams holding the place up. It was deafening. If it weren't for the hands covering her ears, Katya feared she may have had a ringing in her ears for a week.

Her eyes closed all on their own as—what must be—SHIELD STRIKE teams laid down fire upon everyone in the room. Natasha must have brought them with her when she realized what the situation was like. Katya recognized an execution when she heard one. She couldn't say she hated this one. Something about karma.

The noise abruptly died out. Safe for some rattling of empty bullet shells, the warehouse was completely silent after Natasha took her hands away. The dozen, quick-moving, heavy footsteps that moved in on the very dead crowd were mere whispers compared to the thunderstorm from before.

Natasha sighed, stepping in front of Katya with a disappointed yet amused shake of her head. It was probably the near-death experience, but Katya had never seen anything more beautiful than this. Was this what religious people saw when Jesus came to them in a dream? ''You really did it this time. A firing squad.''

Katya grinned, trying not to focus on all the dead bodies behind her girlfriend. The relief she felt was indescribable. Natasha saved her life once again. ''Impeccable timing, honey.''

''I let you sweat a bit. Was here, like, fifteen minutes ago.'' Natasha shrugged, pulling another knife from her thigh to cut the rope with.

She pretended not to see the murderous glare Katya sent her as she disappeared behind her again, because that was such a dick move, to try and teach her a lesson by almost letting her get murdered. It wouldn't even work, because Katya just kept ending up in these situations, even if she tried to be more careful. Especially then.

''Hey, what were you thinking about right before I treated that guy to my knife?'' Natasha knowingly asked as she cut away at the rope around Katya's wrists. ''You had that frown on your face.''

They both knew she did that dramatic mental goodbye, but Katya refused to give in to the teasing. Relieved, she brought her hands to her chest when they were freed, rubbing her raw wrists. ''Thinking about the chicken I had for dinner. It was very good.''

''Mhm,'' the redhead hummed skeptically. She returned to Katya's front to cut away the rope around her ankles, tossing her hair over her shoulder before she crouched down.

''And about how sexy you look in your mission suit.'' Katya's eyes lit up, risking everything by staring at Natasha's cleavage while the woman had a very sharp knife very close to her Achilles heel. This top view just did wonders for her chest. ''By the way, that knife and the psycho tint after? Incredibly hot.''

Natasha smirked, her gaze flickering up to Katya's. ''I thought you'd like it.''

Like? Katya had nearly crumbled on the spot. ''Baby, I think once you cut me loose, my knees might give in on me.'' She chuckled humorlessly.

Somehow, Natasha looked excited by that fact. ''I'll have to carry you then.''

#katandnat #forgotten ghost series #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!oc #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov #black widow #marvel #wlw #lesbian

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m00nsbaby · 1 year ago

Text

The way you miss me.

Marc Spector x F! Reader.

Tags & warnings. Pre-Khonshu events, angst, mentions of violence.

Word count. 1.9k.

Summary.

"We just keep on doing this, doing this, don't we? I'd try to leave, but you'd find some way, To twist my mind and make me wonder. If one day, I might change, And everything would make sense, darling. You'll see, Believe me, Now come sit down, just put your hands on me. I'm not trying to say I don't wanna stay, I just know how this story ends. Use my body against me and all of our history, I hate the way you miss me. Hate the way you, way you miss me."

You were going to break up.

Both of you knew that this had been imminent for some time, no matter how much you wanted to delay it.

No matter how much you wanted to avoid it.

Your first mistake had been accepting Marc Spector's self-destructive lifestyle, something he was sure of, but he was also sure that he never wanted to return to an empty house after one of his "jobs."

"I have to go to Cairo next week." He walked behind you as you organized the mess in the kitchen. You had told him a thousand times that you couldn't stand it when he did that, and more than once you had accidentally stepped on him, and he would pretend to be in unbearable pain to tease you even more.

It wasn't uncommon for him to drop these kinds of news on you like a bucket of cold water.

But again, maybe this was your fault for accepting this silent agreement that had only gotten worse as your relationship developed.

"For how long?"

When you looked at him, he shrugged.

Well, that was new.

"What do you mean by that?" It almost made you smile, if it hadn't been for that slight flutter in your stomach that warned you when something was wrong.

He knew you inside out, and he didn't want to face what was coming either.

"I don't know if I'm coming back."

You put down the plates you were holding, placing them on the kitchen counter with a louder thud than you would have liked.

"What are you talking about, Marc?"

"It's… It's very dangerous."

"Then don't go." Had your hands been trembling all this time?

It was funny, really, because both of you were trying to hold on tightly to your masks of feigned disinterest. Marc and you would both be crying your hearts out if it were easier for you to express your feelings without crumbling.

"I can't." Another two-word response.

The only thing more irritating than his one-word answers.

"What do yo mean?"

"He's not going to let me stay, he says he needs me." Ah, that. "He says I'm one of the best."

How were you supposed to deal with knowing that your partner was considered one of the best in the low world of thieves and mercenaries?

Your eyes fixed on the slight scratches of the counter table, reminding you that time you almost killed Marc for not using a plate when he chopped stuff.

And you swallowed hard. You wanted to scream, cry.

You wanted to give up.

"Why are you telling me this?" Please don't answer, please don't answer, please.

Please.

"Because we can't be together anymore."

Ah, there it was. You would love to say that this was the first time this had ever happened, but the truth was that Marc had been trying his best to protect you from this type of pain on multiple occaions. Actually, to this point you had already lost count of how many times.

Maybe the problem was that Marc didn't really want to leave, as much as he insisted.

"And?" What a funny gesture. You had learned it from a movie, the one where you crossed your arms and leaned against the kitchen counter.

Your gaze burned into him. You were probably the only person in the whole world who could make Marc Spector lower his gaze.

"Are you leaving just like that? Do you want me to just consider you dead one of these days?"

Oh no, there was something you hated more than his monosyllabic responses.

Not getting a response at all.

"Answer me, Marc!" And your voice broke.

"I told you this would happen." Probably the worst part was that he actually had. On multiple occasions.

"And I told you I wouldn't let you." Oh yes, that had also happened many times. "You don't get it?"

You took a break from the shouting as he searched for a way to respond, his gaze fixed on the floor and you sobbing until you could swallow the lump in your throat.

Marc was never good with words; actions were his strength. So when his arms wrapped around you, clinging to his chest as if you were about to disappear into thin air at any moment, you couldn't help but shatter into a thousand pieces.

Because it wasn't you who was disappearing.

"You can't do this to me." Kisses on your hair, and his body tensed, trying not to break apart with you. "You can't leave."

"I've already put you in danger enough." His voice was so velvety that you considered the idea that all of this might be a dream.

Perhaps Marc was just a dream.

"Do you understand that this can't go on like this, right?"

You nodded, disgusted by how terrible the damp fabric of his T-shirt felt against your face.

"You can leave it. Your job." It was funny to call the horrible things Marc did at night that way.

"I can't. I can't leave it; he will…"

Another sob, one more painful than the last. How had you gotten into this?

"Shhh, shhh." Marc wasn't used to being the strong one in situations like this; usually, when night came, you were the one cradling him in your arms.

The one whispering that everything was okay when nightmares wouldn't let him sleep.

"Do you understand that I'm doing this for you, right?" His arms squeezed you tighter against his body. "Because I love you, and because I'm afraid they'll hurt you." His voice faltered, and you were sure that hearing him cry would be the final blow to your coffin that day.

"I can take care of myself." Drowning in your words. "I can… We can leave."

"I'm too deep into this."

He had never said no so many times. He had never taken so long to give in to the options you gave him to fix things.

So it was indeed going to happen.

40 minutes after thoroughly dissecting the topic, both of you sat on the living room carpet, Marc's body leaned against the sofa, yours against Marc.

With one hand, he held a glass of wine, and you did the same. You had lost count by now, but the lights in the room seemed brighter than usual, and your flushed cheeks defied the December cold.

"Do you remember when we tried camping last year?"

He scoffed, nodding.

"Taking you was like taking bait for the mosquitoes," he kissed your shoulder. "And I nearly set half the forest on fire with a poorly made campfire."

You wanted to laugh; you really did. But you couldn't forget where this conversation was coming from, and more importantly, where it was going.

You just smiled and nodded. It had been a good day, though on that day, you were sure you wanted to kill Marc with your own hands. It turned out you weren't much of an outdoorsy person after all.

There was a prolonged silence, and there had been many of those since you took that position.

"I don't want you to go."

"Love," he pleaded.

"I'm sorry." Tears were running down your face again, and Marc tightened his grip on you. You both finished your glasses in one gulp, and you squared up to him.

The more you focused on Marc, the more you felt like life was slipping through your fingers. You weren't in a position to imagine a life without him; at this point, you had no choice but to accept the idea. To accept that you would never again feel his curls tickling your neck when he held you from behind, you would never again fight with his arms in the morning to escape his embrace, and you would never again argue with him because he kissed you too forcefully with his 3-day stubble.

On the other hand, you would also never again spend sleepless nights wondering if his life was in danger or if he would never return, you wouldn't cry with him when he refused to tell you what he had done in his absence, and you wouldn't wash blood out of his clothes ever again.

Either way, you never liked tending to his wounds.

"I don't want you to go," you repeated as if one sentence would achieve what you hadn't achieved in months.

He didn't respond, instead, he cupped your chin with his fingers. You wouldn't feel that either ever again, and it made you feel like vomiting.

In a matter of seconds, his lips took possession of yours, and a push to the wine bottle knocked it over onto the carpet.

As your fingers tangled in his hair and Marc's body pushed you back, you looked at the bottle. Would that stain on the carpet be the only proof that Marc had ever been a part of your life?

"When you come back." You could tolerate the idea of Marc leaving your life, but never the idea of him not coming back. Never the idea of losing him that way. "I'll be waiting right here."

And Marc wished he could be as optimistic as you.

"I never thought I'd be one of those guys who goes back to his ex-girlfriend at the first opportunity."

Both of you laughed with a pain in your chest that was almost visible in your expressions, and you had already lost count of how many times you had ended up in this uncomfortable silence that churned your stomachs.

"Let me go." His voice broke the silence, cracked and pretending the fakest laughter you had ever heard.

"I can't, Marc." Your cheek was against his chest in seconds, your arms using all their strength to hold onto him as they had been doing for a long time.

"Please," he begged, kissing your hair so many times that he felt like the scent of your shampoo was seeping into him.

He was never aware, but he always smelled like you, and you carried the scent of his cologne with you everywhere. You were extensions of each other, pushing each other to the limit until the bond broke at both ends.

"You always do this to me." He laughed again, broken. "You never let me go."

This was the first time you did.

It took longer than usual, more hours, more kisses, more effort, but in the end, you let Marc go with the foolish hope that you would see him walk back through the door he left from.

It was a two-week mission, but Marc never came back.

Well, he did, but he didn't come back to you.

His life took a 360° turn in every imaginable way after his stay in Cairo, and while you cried in your bed, it turns out he met someone.

Someone who afforded him the luxury of not having to worry about whether he put her at risk or not because she could take care of herself. Of course, fortunately, that was something you didn't know because if Marc Spector was an expert in anything, it was disappearing.

The only thing you had in over a year was a mistaken call that reminded you of the power he would have over you for the rest of your life.

With a racing heart and tears in your eyes, you had to accept that his phone number now belonged to someone else.

A certain Steven Grant who by this point seemed more than frustrated to have to share a number with a missing person.

Tag list :)

@ninebluehearts @icreatedthisat317am @onefinnedwonder-fm

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