#all of this is unbeta’d so if you see a mistake no you don’t

[thebumblecee]

🌹🌹🌹 :)

Three roses means three lines right?

He loves all parts of his boyfriend but right now he’s thinking about his hands 24/7. It’s driving him to distraction. He stupidly let TK drive his car home from a bar they were at when he had a couple of beers and watching those hands all over the steering wheel when he was already a little tipsy had him dragging TK out of the car and into the bedroom.

[wheresarizona]

Thunder (only happens when it’s rainin’)

summary: In the middle of the night, during a bad thunderstorm, Javier helps you through a fear-induced panic attack. 

rating: T (Javier POV, age gap (about ten years), Husband Javier Peña, panic attack (physical descriptions only), emotional hurt/comfort, Javier calming you down, thunderstorm, banter, domestic fluff, suggestive mention of Javier’s dick, Javier offering to help you fall back asleep by either reading you The Fellowship of the Ring or a smutty book)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 1.2k+

a/n: This can be read as a standalone or part of the Learning to Live ‘verse—in LTL, it takes place a few months after their wedding. This one goes out to the anon who asked how Javi would help Cielito through a panic attack. He’d use this method or a variation of it any time she has a panic/anxiety attack. This is unbeta’d; all mistakes are my own. 

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Laredo, Texas - April, 1999

The window-shaking boom of thunder isn’t what has Javier jolting awake in bed and bolting upright to turn on his bedside lamp. It’s the blood-curdling scream beside him that’s like a shot of adrenaline with how it wakes him from the dead of sleep with his heart pounding and has him blearily looking around the dimly lit room for any sign of danger. 

Their bedroom door is still closed, and there are no intruders; rain can be heard battering against their windows, and when he focuses on his wife next to him, she’s also sitting up, worry cutting through him at how her breaths are coming out too fast and shallow as she hyperventilates, and tears stain her cheeks—she’s having a panic attack, triggered by the storm. Where she grew up, it rains the majority of the year, but they don’t have many thunderstorms, unlike right now when it’s Spring in Texas and severe weather season—it’s not the storms that scare her; it’s the loud noise that gets her. 

He’s scooting closer to her, pressing his big palm to her shirt-covered back, rubbing little circles, his voice husky and soft as he says, “We’re okay, Cielito—you’re okay.” Javier reaches with his other hand to take her smaller one into his, putting it on his bare chest over his heart where he knows she can feel it thudding. “Focus on me, baby—look at me.” Her head turns his way, and he’s met with panicked eyes and glistening cheeks. “Feel my heartbeat. You feel how it’s beating?” She’s still breathing too fast. “Focus on the beat—you feel it?” he asks again, and she looks at their hands. “Thud, thud, thud…” he repeats at the same rhythm of his heart. 

The therapist he’s been seeing for a while now taught him some techniques for when he has his occasional panic attacks, and right now, he’s trying to help ground her.

“See,” he says. “I’m right here, baby—you’re okay. I promise we’re gonna get through this. What are five things you can see?” 

“You,” she answers between heavy breaths.

“There’s one.” 

“Hand...” Her eyes move down. “Blanket…” Her head turns toward their bedroom door. “Door… Dresser...” 

“That’s it, Cielito.” He’s still rubbing her back reassuringly. “Tell me four things you can hear.” 

“You…” she says. “Fan…” Their small fan on his dresser by the door they use for white noise at night. “Rain…” Thunder rumbles in the distance, and her body tenses, a small whimper leaving her, and Javier’s hand on her back moves to hug her against him. She whispers, “Thunder…” 

“It’s moving away, baby,” he tells her. “Sounds like it just passed by. You’re doing so good for me—name three things you can touch.” She’s beginning to calm down, her breathing is slowing. 

“You…” There’s movement under the sheets of her wiggling her feet. “Blankets… Me.” 

“Good.” He kisses the side of her head. “What are two things you can smell?” 

“You… Candle…” They had a vanilla-scented candle burning before they went to bed.

Her breaths even out, and he knows she’s focused on him based on her answers. 

“There we go.” The following crack of thunder is so quiet that it’s barely heard over the rain outside and the whirring of their fan. “I think the worst of it is over—tell me one thing you can taste.” 

He’s sitting close enough to her that the sides of their bodies are touching. He’s got one arm around her back, keeping her against him, and his other hand still holding hers over his heart. 

Her face turns his way, and she lightly bites his shoulder, speaking with her mouth open, “You.”

Yeah, she’s calmed. He smiles. 

“Do I taste good, mi amor (my love)?” 

She’s still biting him. “Yes.” 

“Are you feeling better?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help you fall back asleep?”

Her mouth finally leaves him, and she meets his gaze, her eyes rounded. “Can I lay on your chest while you read to me?” 

Something she enjoys and relaxes her. 

He leans in to kiss her tenderly and asks against her lips, “Fellowship of the Ring—” What he’s currently re-reading for probably the thirtieth time. “—or whatever that book is you were reading last night that got you so hot and bothered you begged for my dick?” 

She broke away to look at him once more, and he let go of her hand to use his thumb to wipe away the remnants of the tears from her cheek. 

“As great as it’d be to have you narrate my smut,” she replies, “it’s gotta be Lord of the Rings ‘cause I am so fucking tired, like so tired, and queasy—I think I’m getting whatever that bug is that’s going around the hospital—" She’s a nurse at the local hospital. “—and I really don’t appreciate the stupid thunderstorm interrupting my beauty sleep.” 

Her answer makes him frown, and he presses the back of his fingers to her forehead. 

“You don’t feel warm…” he says. That doesn’t mean she isn’t coming down with something. “I’ll stop by the store on my way home tomorrow and pick up stuff to make you caldo.” The soup his mom always made when he or his dad were sick.

“That’d be nice, but,” she emphasizes, “food has been pretty hit or miss over the last week, so if it makes me puke, I swear on my ABBA Souper Trouper record—” Her favorite and most prized that she’s had since its release in 1980. “—it has nothing to do with your mother’s recipe and is just whatever the fuck this sickness is.” 

“I know, baby,” he replies and kisses her forehead. “Let me fix the pillows, and I’ll read to you.” 

When he starts to move, her hand quickly grabs his arm to stop him, and he turns his attention back to her. 

“Javi?” 

“Yes, mi amor?” 

“Thank you for calming me down.” Her eyes dart away. “Texas summers are literally hell, but for all of the years I lived in Dallas before coming here, I hated Spring the most because of the storms—what I’m saying is this isn’t the first time thunder has woken me up in the middle of the night and caused me to freak out.” The thought of her alone and scared makes his chest ache, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could’ve been there with her. “It’s happened before,” she continues, “and I always had to ride it out on my own. So, thank you for being here and helping me. Don’t get me wrong, it majorly sucked, but it was nice not having to go through it alone.”

He caresses her cheek to make her look at him, and he smiles. “I can promise you, you’ll never have to go through it alone again. I’ll always be here to help you, just like how you’re always there when my brain’s being an asshole because I love you, Cielito.” 

She matches his look. “I love you, too, Javi.” She quickly pecked him on the lips. “Three months, and you continue to reign supreme as Husband of the Year.” 

“And am I living up to my other title?” 

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Which one? ‘Cause Sexiest Man Alive, yes, you’ve got ‘99 in the bag. God of Sex, also yes, and I remain your devoted devotee. And you’re definitely living up to being the Hunkiest Hunk to Ever Hunk; no one will ever be able to out-hunk you, babe.” 

“Good.” 

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Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

[saulocept]

don’t dull the sparkle in your eyes

pairing: sebastian sallow/reader

rating: t

summary: You probably shouldn’t have stayed up too late last night. Maybe then you’ll never make this kind of mistake.

Or: you accidentally wear his clothes, and his compliment makes things a little awkward. And slightly difficult.

notes: crossposted from my ao3 account, so if you see this on there, it’s me. reader is gender neutral, implied to be in the same house as sallow. warm up, unbeta’d.

You probably shouldn’t have stayed up too late last night. It’s already a given, of course; you’ve got exams in the morning, after all, and you know you need all the rest you can get, especially if you want to be awake long enough to see it all through. Still, it’s hard to resist the temptation of a last-minute cramming session with your best friend, or maybe he’s just got too good at trying to get you to do whatever he wants. At this point, you wouldn’t put it past him.

You aren’t sure you’ve got much studying done, aren’t even sure if you’d managed to learn everything you needed to pass. As far as you remember, the two of you had done nothing but fool around; it’s hard to concentrate when he keeps trying to distract you, trying to get you to laugh over the silliest jokes, even instigating a tickle fight at one point for no reason other than to pull you away from your work.

You wonder if it’s because he could sense your nervousness. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to cheer you up through unorthodox means, and though you’re grateful to him for trying, you can’t help but wonder if he’s somehow made everything worse.

You shake your head, banishing the thought like a bad spirit. It’s not as if you still have time to change things. Or for regrets. Besides, he’s just being a good friend. And at this point, what’s done is done, and right now, there are more important things for you to focus on.

Like not being late, for example. By the time you’ve woken up, the sun’s already high up, bright and blinding, slipping through the cracks of the windows, jolting you out of your slumber. Slowly, you sit up on the bed, rubbing your eyes with the backs of your hands, still feeling slightly exhausted.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are; as soon as the knowledge hits you, you quickly scramble off the bed, accidentally knocking a few books off the bed. They tumble through the floor with a thud, the little notes you’d slipped between the pages scattering around you like dust.

Shit, you think, kneeling down to pick up the papers, shoving them back to the pages without care. You’re going to be late for your exams, and you aren’t even ready yet. You cast a brief glance at the clock on the bureau, eyes widening at the flashing numbers. You’ve only got a few minutes left now to get ready, and you try not to panic as you glance down at yourself, realizing you’re still stuck in your nightclothes.

Okay. Easy. Deep breaths. No need to panic. It’s still not too late for you, especially with the help of magic. Quickly, you reach for the first thing you can find, pulling it up over your head. The robe’s similar to what you’ve always worn: soft, comfortable, if not a little loose on you. Not that it matters now, really. Beggars don’t get to be choosers, and at this point, you don’t have enough time to search for something that actually fits.

Whatever. All that’s left now is to pick your shoes up from the doorway, and then fix your hair a little, make sure that nothing’s out of place. The least you can do is look at least halfway decent. If you start moving now, you’re sure you can still make it without being late.

There’s a knock on the door: three gentle raps, as though the person on the other side doesn’t want to disturb you. You’re still trying to formulate a response when the door suddenly opens, a familiar face peeking in to get a look.

He smiles when he sees you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart beat just a little faster. You look away, pretend to study yourself in the mirror, all the while watching him from the corners of your eyes. “Oh, good,” he says, relieved. He doesn’t wait for a response; slowly, he steps inside, closes the door gently behind him, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re awake.”

“Sebastian,” you say by way of greeting. You shake your head and sigh, because as glad as you are to see him right now, it’s still not the best time for a visit. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in,” he replies with a shrug. You roll your eyes at his response, and his smile widens just a little, eyes lighting up with something akin to amusement. “I was going to wake you, you know, but you looked so tired I figured I’d let you sleep for a while longer.”

“I’m actually still tired,” you reply. It’s true, anyway; you still feel a little sluggish, like you could use a few more hours of sleep, perhaps more. Slowly, you turn around to look at him fully. He’s dressed like you are, though unlike you, he looks more well-put together. Perks of not waking up late, you suppose, and there’s a part of you that wants to get mad at him right now for rubbing that fact in your face. “I feel like I’m ready to pass out any moment now.”

He hums, the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “I can see that.”

You cross your arms, glare at him in annoyance. “You shouldn’t have invited me for a late-night cramming session.”

“Well, you looked nervous,” he says, like it’s enough of a reason. It is, of course, though you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it out loud. “Can you blame me?” When the only response you give him is another glare, he raises his arms, as though in surrender. Mollified, you deflate a little, and he continues, slightly nervous than before. Good. “But look at you now! All dressed and ready to go; all’s well that ends well, no?” Here, he pauses, gives you a quick once-over. “Although…”

He's quiet for a second, still staring at you. You’re watching him closely now, noticing every slight change in his expression. He’s frowning and his eyebrows are furrowed, and you can’t help feeling that something’s wrong. “What is it?”

“Your robes.”

You frown, glancing down at yourself. You look normal enough, as are your robes. As far as you know, it’s the one you always wear. “What’s wrong with it?”

He’s quiet again for a moment, thinking. You’re still watching him, frowning as you wait for a response that wouldn’t come. He’s acting weird now, you’re sure of it, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake, if there’s something wrong with your robe that only he could see.

“Sebastian?” you prompt, feeling more nervous than before. He’s still not looking at you, but you can sense his hesitation from afar. There’s a sudden awkwardness to him that wasn’t there before; there’s a slight flush to his cheeks, but it’s gone the moment you blink, as though it’s never there before, and you wonder if you’ve just imagined it at all.

“You uh,” he begins, then stops, struggling to find the right words. He’s trying really hard not to look at you, pretending he couldn’t see you, and you can’t help but feel a little concerned. Why won’t he just tell you what’s wrong? “You look good in my clothes.”

Oh. Oh. You blink a few times, not quite expecting that. You glance down at your robes, as if to make sure, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. It’s never occurred to you before that you might be wearing someone else’s clothes – his, especially; truthfully, you didn’t think much about it before; you were in a hurry, you still are, and at the time, you’d functioned only by instinct, with only one thing on your mind.

Besides, it wouldn’t be a strange thing to happen; you both live in the same house, belong in the same year. And with how much the two of you spend time together: impromptu hangouts behind the school, sneaking into each other’s rooms late at night, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Still, it doesn’t make it any less awkward, embarrassing.

“I’m… sorry?” you say, uncertain, because it’s the first thing you can think to say, perhaps the only thing. Apologies are easy, that much you know. Acknowledging the fact that he thinks you look good in his robes less so, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for that conversation just yet.

Nervously, you fumble with your (his?) robes, twirling the loose thread around your finger. What would he do if he discovers you have a crush on him? You’ve tried not to be too obvious, tried to mask your feelings as best as you could. You don’t want to ruin your friendship, but how long until you slip and your secret’s discovered?

You close your eyes, suck in a deep breath. You don’t want to think about what would happen then, or ever. He’s the only friend you have, after all, and you’d hate to lose him. “I can uh, still give it back now, if you like.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, so you continue, hurriedly explaining your side. “I just grabbed the first thing I could find. I didn’t know it was yours.”

Silence. You watch him from the corners of your eyes, nervous. He looks more embarrassed than before, his cheeks flushed, bright enough that there’s no mistaking it, even from a distance. You open your mouth, feeling the need to apologize again, wondering if you never should’ve said anything at all, but then he cuts you off, clearing his throat and speaking.

“It’s fine.” He’s mumbling now, his voice quiet as a whisper. He grows quiet for a second, thinking. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, still trying not to glance in your direction as he continues. “You can keep it. I’ve still got more of them in my closet.”

“I’m sure,” you say, just to bring some levity into the room, some semblance of normalcy. He laughs, then turns his head to look at you. He’s smiling now, a little gratefully, and just like that, the awkwardness has dissipated, and everything’s as it should be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. Amusement dances in his eyes, flickering like flames. “It’s a silly thing to say.”

You clear your throat, lick your lips, ignoring the pounding in your heart, the flutter in the pit of your stomach. “Apology accepted.”

Silence again, though it’s less awkward than before. “We should get to class,” you say after a moment, turning to glare at him once more. “You do know we’re almost late, right?”

His lips twitch. “You mean you’re late.”

You roll your eyes at his response, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing. You walk over to where he is, reaching out to poke him playfully in the rib. As if he could somehow read your mind, he steps to the side, effectively dodging your impending attacks. “Very funny, Sebastian.”

“Only for you,” he replies, grinning. He offers you his arm, which you promptly take – all the while ignoring the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, and together, the two of you step out the door.

[starfilmz]

SHOW ME WHERE IT HURTS — SAM W.

⤷ An argument between sam and dean lead for the younger winchester to call the teen help line his friends has been bugging him about. ᡣ𐭩

cw: gn!reader, sam pov, platonic relationships, maybe a little of mischaracterization, jess is here, swearing, takes place in s1ep1, unbeta’d so mistakes are around, inspired by dawson’s creek’s college help line and this fic (read if you like cj braxton or jensen!), alot of sam internal monologue. banner || gif

It all started one night when Dean arrived at his and Jess’ apartment, out of nowhere, and tried to bring him back into hunting because of their dad’s prolonged disappearance. Sam’s mind was already a jumbled mess because of his interview on Monday; his brother’s appearance and his attempt to make him leave Stanford were the last things he needed. He can’t just leave the life he’s been building on his own—at first, at least, now he had his friends, his Jess— and Sam wasn’t willing to let it crumble down for the man that had shut him out of his own family.

He was quick to reject Dean, not even when he used his brotherly tone on him.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Dean said with a scowl. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Dad is—”

“I heard you, Dean.” Sam crossed his arms, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “And I meant what I said. This isn’t the first time Dad didn’t come when he said will.” He felt for Dean; he really did. If he were to have come sooner, before everything, Sam would’ve said yes. The guilt Sam had instilled in himself for leaving Dean weighed on his shoulders, but that wasn’t enough.

His brother’s frown deepened when he didn’t respond, though Sam could see the visible disappointment and anger in the boy’s eyes. The silence thickened the tension between them and deafened him—he swore he could hear Jess’ breathing in the other room.

Dean turned his head away from Sam, and with his jaw clenched in the same way he does whenever he wants to say something but refuses to. Sam, even with the little time he spent with Dean as a teenager, was able to pick up the facial expressions and unsaid words his brother would use when their dad was around.

“Fine.” It’s not fine. “I’ll go look for him myself, with or without you.” He meant that, actually. “Enjoy your little university, Sammy.” Go fuck yourself.

Sam suppressed a sigh as Dean left, who made sure to slam the door on his way out.

“That went well.” Jess was already behind him as she spoke. “He looked exactly as you described him; rugged and, I quote, like a ticking time bomb.” Her arms circled around his torso, managing to intertwine their fingers together. Sam remained quiet as he looked at the closed door.

He didn’t expect Dean to take his rejection so hard. Sam knew his brother was more than capable on fighting a house full of ghosts on his own, let alone finding a human being. Why did he need his help anyway?

Sam sighed, squeezing Jess’s hands. “It’s something you’ll need to get used to.” He turned around to plant a quick peck on the girl’s head, leading them back to their shared bedroom.

“I’m guessing this is a family matter you’re not going to share with me?” She asked as soon as she got on the bed.

“Jess...”

She smiled at him, though the corner of her lips didn’t exactly reach her eyes, and took his hand. Sam lets her gently pull him down beside her on the mattress, their feet planted on the wooden floorboards.

“I’m not going to pester you for it. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but judging from what I’ve heard, you guys have a lot to talk about with each other, not your girlfriend.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam agreed, running his fingers on his hair. “but I have a lot on my plate right now. I can’t just- you know, leave.”

Jess nodded, her expression never changing from her soft gaze. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you about it, since you don’t give me much detail about it.” Sam looked like he was about to be say her name again in that same tired voice whenever they would talk about his family. “But I know where you can. Anonymously, so you could tell all the details without trouble.”

He groaned, letting himself fall horizontally on the bed. Sam knew exactly what she was talking about. It’s been what his friends have been doing since the announcement from the school board. It was some sort of collaboration between neighboring schools— Stanford created a teenage helpline specifically for the university close to them, and vice versa. Some students confided in the helpline since the counselors weren’t from their university, but Sam had refused to give in.

It felt stupid to spill all your secrets and personal problems to another person, who’s most likely the same age as him, and expect to get the answers he needed. Sam had to point out that the helpline was used for normal problems, but that wasn’t something he could say to his friends, who continued to force him into dialing them.

“Jess, c’mon, I highly doubt a student can fix my problem with just one phone call.” Sam dismissed the idea entirely, but Jess seemed to be persistent with it, anyway. She lay on his chest, letting Sam’s hand twirl with the ends of her hair.

“Who said about fixing? or that it’s just one phone call?” Jess adjusted her position on the bed, letting her legs rest on Sam’s. “Sometimes, a person just has to talk to someone to help them feel better. Obviously the counselor won’t fix your family’s situation, but they could probably help you from exploding the pretty head of yours.”

Sam glanced at Jess, and from the tired tone in her voice when she spoke up, it didn’t surprise him to see her already fast asleep on top of him. He smiled for the first time in a while after Dean appeared, and the cogs in his head began spinning. For as long as he could remember, ever since he began studying at Stanford, Sam had nights where he’d talk to himself in his head. Sometimes, it would be about a test he needed to take the next morning— a topic he could easily make conversation with— but it’s usually about his family, more specifically his brother, Dean.

Especially during his first week, Sam found himself sleeping in a place that wasn’t a dingy motel with a roommate who wasn’t his brother. Sam wondered at night what Dean would be doing, knowing sleep was the last thing on the list. Then he would feel his chest tighten— the one thing his dad didn’t want his sons to have was fear. As much as he believed in Dean and the remaining fatherly instincts their dad had, Sam couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt for every possible injury his brother had or would have because he wasn’t there to back him up. The thought of the older brother, whom he viewed as the strongest person he knew (despite his lack of saying so), all bruised and battered, cornered by monsters no person should be laying their eyes on in the first place, clawed onto Sam the whole night.

And the worst part of it all was that he had nothing to prove himself otherwise, leaving him chained to his own guilt.

Sam closed his eyes, his migraine coming just in time. If monsters weren’t going to kill him, he was sure it would be himself who would do so.

—-

The next morning, as soon as he got his first vacant time in between classes, Sam had to excuse himself from his friends, including Jess, who exactly knew the reason why he needed to go back to the apartment. It was a now-or-never situation, Sam believed. He gave Jess a chaste kiss before leaving. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” she answered, though he was already a few steps away to hear it.

Sam entered the small home, leaving his bag on the couch, and grabbed the telephone from the bedroom. He was already pressing against the buttons before he registered what he was about to do. When it rang, Sam immediately began to think about what he was going to say.

It was an anonymous call, but surely he doesn’t have to be fully honest, right?

Even if Sam had never talked about his former profession to other people, he knew ghost hunting wasn’t exactly a well-received topic.

“Help line. This is Y/N.”

Sam held his breath for some reason, scared that even the pattern of his breathing could easily be an indicator of who he was. His leg nervously shook below him, still unable to say a word into the mouthpiece. A few seconds passed, and he heard your voice again; this time he could clearly hear your voice against his ear. Sam assumed you got closer to the phone.

“I could hear something shaking from your end, if I’m not mistaken. That’s either your hands trembling on the phone, your legs shaking against the floor, or it’s something else causing it.” His eyes widened at your observation just by what you’re hearing. This caused him to voluntarily stop his leg, embarrassed by his action.

“I guess it was you.” Your tone remained careful, though Sam had no idea why. “If there’s anything keeping you from talking freely, press on any of the buttons, please.” The boy finally registered your sudden change of mood— you were worried for him. It started to make him wonder what type of phone calls you receive every day.

“There’s nothing. I’m alone.” Sam leaned against the couch with a sigh. “Just nerves, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. A lot of first-time callers feel the same way.” You reassured him. He was glad your voice sounded much calmer.

“You can track those?”

“I mean, yeah, since you guys are anonymous, it’s the only way we can keep up with regulars.”

In truth, Sam fully expected a whole spiel from you. Like a robot scripted into saying whatever’s appropriate for the caller, he wasn’t fully prepared for your laid-back tone and casual words, as if the two of you were just friends talking.

“So, anything troubling you today? or in general?” He didn’t realize he’d been quiet for a whole minute. Again, he was surprised by the amount of patience you’re giving him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, yes.” Sam coughed into his fist at how awkward he sounded. “You guys don’t usually get family problems, don’t you?” He would assume so, seeing as both Help lines were created a few months before Midterms.

Sam heard a quiet chuckle from you. “We do, actually. A lot of Stanford students seemed to hate their parents more than we thought they would.” He doesn’t exactly fall far from them, Sam thought to himself.

“But we try our best not to fuel them. The Help Line is exactly what it is; we help, but only to a certain degree.” You continued, your voice full of the most sincerity he’s ever heard from someone. He could tell you were quite fond of what you do.

“I bet a lot of your callers were glad they decided to call you guys.”

“Maybe,” You paused for a moment. “are you?”

The change of topic caught him off guard. Sam didn’t exactly plan to keep the conversation going about you and Help Line; talking with you made him forget why he called in the first place. To catch that as well— you were really good of a counselor.

Sam nodded and realized what he just did before answering your question. “Yes, I am,” he couldn’t help the smile forming on his face. “this is probably the most like-able conversation I had over the phone.”

You hummed as you listened. “Unlike-able people calling you often?”

"Not really, now. I did have a bit of an argument with my brother in real life last night. I didn’t like how it ended.” Sam’s words came out almost naturally, unaware of how open he’s currently being. You had that sense of familiarity in Sam’s head already, despite how little time has passed since the two of you spoke.

“Tell me about it.” And he knew you meant it, so he did.

Sam gave all the details of what happened last night with Dean, though he had to keep him under the alias of ‘Older Brother’ for his sake. He told you about his relationship with their dad and with Dean, how he was never the son he wanted him to be, which resulted in him leaving for good and his small journey to Stanford.

He was still weighing his decision to be completely honest with you, and he told you that as well.

“That’s totally up to you, really. If those details aren’t needed for what you need help with, then you don’t have to.” You responded, being the ever-understanding angel Sam was learning you were.

“I’m not really looking for fixing, if that’s what you’re thinking of helping me,” he recalled Jess’ words from last night. “I don’t like talking about these things with my friends or my girlfriend because they shouldn’t be burdened by my messed up life.”

You were quiet on the other line, except for the barely audible breathing that told him you didn’t hang up on him. Sam wasn’t expecting an immediate response; you needed just the amount of time to think of one, just like any other person in a normal conversation would.

“I’m all ears, then. I can’t imagine having to handle all that by yourself. This call isn’t just for fixing, I assure you; sometimes people just need to let out some steam to help them think, y’know?”

“That’s true,” Sam agreed with a sigh. “I make a bunch of wrong decisions when I’m all worked up.”

“Like saying no to your brother?”

Sam’s lips thinned into a straight line, as if he were a deer caught in headlights. His silence seemed to have made you continue speaking.

“Hey, like I said, I’m all ears, but questions are meant to happen when you’re listening,” you said, your voice lighter than before, as if you’re trying to bring back the friendly mood.

Sam smiled as you did, scratching the back of his neck. “I get it, yeah,” he said, tapping on the back of the phone with his finger, thinking about your question. “my mind was a bit out of it last night, not to mention the—”

Pausing on his words, Sam managed to catch himself from mentioning how Dean greeted him that night. He didn’t think that was information you needed anyway.

“Never mind. What I’m trying to say is, yes, maybe my answer was a bit of a ‘heat of the moment’ thing,” Sam confessed. To you or to himself?

“I’m glad you finally managed to catch up with yourself.” Your voice was filled with humor, a teasing tone that somehow made Sam’s heavy chest a little bit lighter as he playfully scoffed.

“Is it allowed for counselors to make fun of their callers?” He challenged, but had no intention whatsoever. The chuckle from your end made him grin.

“Only if it’s needed in the process.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

The banter ended with the two of you laughing at each other, though Sam was laughing at himself a little bit. He knew Help Lines existed for a reason, but Sam doubted he’d get this much help if another person who wasn’t you had picked up his call in the first place. You were a good person in a good job that fitted you.

Sam’s mind was a bit clearer for now, definitely better than usual, and he wanted to fix his mistakes as soon as possible.

He was the first one to break the comfortable silence. “Thank you, by the way.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” You seemed to be genuinely pleased at it, though. “the best way you can thank me is if you feel better than before.”

“I do. After this call, I’ll probably start looking for my brother, if I can find a way.”

“Of course, you will. I can’t exactly help with that, but if you need me in ways that I can, feel free to call back next week.” Sam smiled at the offer. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

“How would I know it’s you I’m calling?” He asked.

“My shift starts at three pm and ends at eight. If you don’t get me, you’re allowed to switch counselors. Just look for the charming employee named Y/N and they’ll direct you to me.”

“I think saying your name would be just fine,” Sam chuckled as he heard your whispered protest. “okay, okay, I’ll ask the charming employee named Y/N when I call again.”

Your switch of moods made him shake his head. “That’s the spirit! You promise?”

“The name or the call?” Sam teased.

“Preferably both, but mostly the call part.”

“Yes, yeah, I will. I’ll update you on what happens.”

“Oh, gossip!” You faked a gasp, making you laugh at your own jokes as well Sam. “I’m so glad this isn’t a recorded line.”

[thelightsandtheroses]

Secret Smile: Prodigal Son (Chapter One)

Secret Smile | Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all. Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose. Word Count: 2.4k Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, Narcos season 3 spoilers, reminder - this is going to be a slow burn, unbeta’d

Series Masterlist | Chapter 2

Laredo, Tx

The gum’s not working. How people think this is a viable alternative to a cigarette, Javier doesn’t know. He pops another piece out of the blister pack. Maybe two will help?

It’s been a long evening; it feels like almost everyone at this wedding wants to speak to him. Some of them want to say how proud they are of him, others want to ghoulishly ask about Escobar and see if he will spill any grisly details and satisfy their curiosities.

It’s a marked contrast from the last time he was home; back when he was just the man who broke Lorraine’s heart, who shamed both his and her family by not even turning up to the church to explain himself. Back then, Javier was the black sheep who ran to the DEA and Mexico and Colombia to hide from his sins. Now he is a prodigal son returned, a slayer of demons and one who’s hiding from a whole new set of sins.

It’s exhausting. Javi’s exhausted.

He thought vacations were meant to make you feel less like this, but maybe that’s because most people leave their home rather than return to it as a vacation.

Seeing Lorraine with Randy and her children sits strangely. He left the hall, transfixed by the spectre of a life he could have had if he’d made different decisions. But is that Javi? Could that ever have been him? Could it ever be him? Lorraine didn’t seem to think. Clearly past him hadn’t thought so either because he ran away from it all for a reason, right?

This time away from work isn’t helping. He’s too in his head, too deep in his thoughts. Being back at home dredges up all the ghosts, all the questions and there’s too much time to think about what went down in Colombia, in who he became to get Escobar.

Javi gave years of his life, he gave everything to that single goal and he fumbled it. He wasn’t even there when they took him down; just consoling himself with cheap whiskey in a bar.

Not that the people of Laredo know this; no, to them he’s some sort of hero, all sins forgiven and forgotten.

He’s not a hero. Javi knows who the real heroes are.

He leans against the wall, listening to the sound of insects around him and the din of the wedding inside the hall, fingers itching for a cigarette rather than the unsatisfying gum in his mouth. 

He hasn’t told his dad everything yet, just that he has to go back, that he’s been offered a promotion to help bring down the next threat. He can’t tell him about it all; about how he thought he was walking into some sort of oversight or disciplinary committee to fight for his job, that he thought he would be held to account for everything that went down in Colombia, only it was a reprieve, an interview to ask him to go back.

It’s weighed on his mind ever since.

Saying yes was so easy in the moment. He fell at the last hurdle with Escobar, wasn’t even there the day it all ended. All of those years, all that work, faded to nothing against the mistakes and regrets and the scars the job left him.

Catching Escobar had been everything to Javier for so long. He was a symbol of everything that Javi was fighting against and he needed to be stopped. Since he got back from Bogota, he keeps coming back to an old Nietzsche quote he studied once in a Philosophy college class: “battle not with a monster, lest ye become a monster”

He doesn’t think he quite became a monster, but maybe he crossed some lines. Now he needs to fix it.

This time will be better though. It has to be.

He needs to do this whole thing the right way this time, help stop this war once and for all, or at least fix the messes he left behind.

Javi’s pulled out of his reverie by the crunching sound of footsteps on gravel next to him and turns around, instantly on alert.

“Javi?” a familiar voice asks.

“Rafa. Hey, it’s been a while,” Javi replies, relaxing as he faces Rafael. Rafael has been a steady presence in his life since they were kids, arguably he was one of Javi’s first friends. They’d been paired together in elementary school; an unlikely pair at first who’d quickly realised that they had more in common than they expected. They’ve stuck together through it all; Javi’s mother, the way their lives veered in different directions after college and all the way to the failed wedding to Lorraine. Hell, Rafael was going to be his best man and it was him along with Chucho helped pick up the pieces Javier left behind as he ran away under the false promise of being a hero.

Rafael’s holding a glass of whiskey in his hands, his tie is loosened and he looks stressed before he even says a word.

“I need to ask you a favour,” he says, taking another swig of his drink.

“Oh yeah?” Javi asks, dreading what’s next. It’s been an evening of unearned congratulations and fake smiles. He just wants to go home now, but he promised his tia, doesn’t want to let Danny down either.

“My sister’s been posted to Colombia.” That’s news to Javi.

He remembers flashes of you, a few years younger than the two of them, smart, annoyingly competitive and you had always seemed more focused than even Javi. That was something considering Javi worked towards the single goal of working his way out of Laredo and exploring the world more from the age of eight.  Sometimes he had resented Rafael’s family who always seemed to have it so easy, their money and presence looming over so much of their hometown. 

He hasn’t seen you in years. You left Laredo for college and then Javier had joined the DEA and gone wherever they wanted to send him: Mexico, Colombia. He’d just wanted out of his hometown.

“Colombia?” Javi repeats. He must have heard wrong surely.

“Yes. She’s at the embassy, some sort of fancy position - legal stuff, or something like that. I don’t know the details, I didn’t ask.. she’s not really shouted about it. She didn’t even tell me why she even wanted to leave DC in the first place. I mean, I thought she was happy there and if she wasn’t, I’d have thought she’d have gone back to Austin because I know she loved it there. Look, I’m rambling but she’s my sister, man. I know you don’t talk about what you did down in Colombia, whatever went down. You don’t need to, I can fucking see it on your face, Javi. I’ve known you since we were kids. That’s why I’ve got to ask, Javi, I’ve got to ask if you can you keep an eye on her? I heard Chucho say you’re going back down there to my mom earlier and -”

Javi exhales slowly, rubs between his shoulder and collar bone as he thinks about his friend’s words.

Javi doesn’t want anyone from his hometown in Colombia. He doesn’t want them see who he is at work, or to see the reality of his world down there. At the moment, he feels as though there are two Javier Peña’s; the one that Laredo remembers and is now currently projecting their thanks and heroism to, and then the Javier in Colombia. That Javier is the one who’s reputation in the embassy may not be what Laredo expects. These two sides should never mix, he has to keep them separate.

“The embassy is a big place, Rafa,”, Javi says after a moment, “I’m in one small part of it and the chances are -”

“I know,” Rafael says after a moment, “I know that the chances are you won’t see her much, perhaps even at all. It’s just I’ll feel better if I know someone out there has her back. Please?”

Rafael never asks for anything unless he needs it. He’s the sort of person who would rather try and change a busted tyre alone in the dark than ask someone for help. It’s one of things that drew Javi to him; they’re both stubborn and determined people.

So of course Javier says yes, because Rafael is his longest standing friend and there is no other answer.

The embassy is a big place, Rafael might not know what you do but Javi’s sure you don’t work for the DEA so you won’t be one of his agents. You’ll probably be cooped up with all the stuffy lawyers he actively tries to avoid.

If it helps his friend to know he’ll be there for you if you need him, well, that’s fine with Javier. He would be there too, he means it when he says yes.

He probably won’t even cross paths with you in the corridors.

Famous last words.

Javi’s conversation with his Pops creeps under his skin after Danny’s wedding. It was the way he stopped the car in the same place they’d argued about Colombia, about him running away, for the first time. There’s more than a decade between then and now but for a moment, Javi felt like he was in his twenties again, ready for the fight.

Only this time it was different. Javi was still adamant but his Pops was resigned.

Last night set a fire under him. What is the point of staying any longer in Laredo, what will it bring him that getting back to work won’t? He has a job to do and he’s ready for it.

He can make things right this time; he can properly atone.

“When’s your flight?” Chucho asks from the kitchen doorway.

Javi closes the manilla file of paperwork and looks up. A flash of guilt rises in his stomach as he takes in his Pop’s tired appearance; that weariness that a day of hard physical labour always leaves. He should have helped him today, while he’s still here.

  “Tomorrow, my flight’s tomorrow, Pops” he says, his throat constricting with each word. He doesn’t say he asked the DEA to arrange an earlier flight, to change his start date. He doesn’t need to.

“Okay, Javi.” His father’s voice is heavy, unreadable somehow. There’s no disappointment in his voice but he can’t detect any approval either. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

Javi swallows. “Yeah, that would uh- that would be good if you don’t mind, Pop.”

“Of course I don’t mind, son. When is it?”

Javi tells him when he needs to be at the airport, pushes the folder away for the night and tries to ignore the way his father’s gaze sticks on the innocuous looking file.

“I saw you and Rafael talking last night.”

Javi looks up, surprised at the change in subject. “Yeah, it’s good to see him again. We haven’t had as much of a chance to catch up since I’ve been back.”

 “You two were almost inseparable when you were kids; he was always interested in seeing the ranch, you rememebr that? He’s a good man, does a lot to help in this town.”

Rafael wasn’t like Javi - in the end he had chosen to make his life in Laredo. After medical school and his residency, he became a doctor at the local family practice. From what Chucho and others have told Javi, he’s well respected around town too.

“Did he tell you about his sister being down in Colombia too?”

“Yeah, he did. I don’t reckon we’ll cross paths though, Pops, we’ll be in different departments and they don’t mix much.”

“Probably not. It’s funny though, don’t you think?  She’s always been like you though, hasn’t she? She’s always wanted to be out there in the world. ‘S a small world though, huh?”

What are the chances of two people from Laredo being assigned to the same embassy?”

Minuscule - the odds are almost obscenely minuscule. The fact this is even happening feels like it must be some sort of aberration or perhaps Javi is just cursed.

Javi can’t say that though, he’s not sure what to say so he just nods.

“He wanted me to keep an eye out for her, make sure she’s alright,” Javi says.

“That makes sense. Are you going to?”

“If I see her. Like I said, we’re in different departments, it’s a big old city. I doubt I’ll even pass her much in the corridors. But if I do, I promised Rafa I’d keep an eye out for her and I will.”

“That’s probably all he wanted to hear. Actually, it might be good for you, having someone you know there with you.  You didn’t say if Steve is coming back this time?”

“No, he’s back in Miami with his family. He’s still with the DEA but he wants to stay where he is for now, not do as much active duty. Olivia’s young, I guess he feels he’s missed enough already.”

Steve gave a lot in the fight to stop Escobar. He almost lost his wife, lost time with his daughter, Javi doesn’t blame him for being done with active duty. As much as Steve and him had clashed against each other, by the end, Steve was Javi’s friend. He’d expected Steve to be like the others, last a month or two and be utterly blind to what the reality of the job was, of what being ‘all in’ meant. Steve had surprised him though. You couldn’t spend all that time together in that fire of that battle, because it was a battle, without forming a lifelong bond, however reluctant that might be for either of them.

It would be strange this time, going back there without him. It is going to be different with the promotion anyway - Javi can barely remember Messina getting much of a chance to get out from beyond her desk and that worries him. He’s designed for outside the office, not confined within it. Javi’s not sure where she’s ended up either; Stechner indicated her career was marked. Thanks to him. There’s another debt he can’t pay.

After a moment, his Pops opens the fridge, gets two bottles of beer and they sit together in silence.

Javi knows he should say something before it’s too later, but all of the words are stuck in his throat.  He just drinks his beer, runs his hands over the Nicorette gum in his jeans pocket.

Maybe Javi will come home right this time.

Tag lists

Secret Smile - @pedgeitopascal @sullyosully @catsickyellow

All Pedro Characters - @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa

If you want to be added to one of the tag lists, let me know or you can get notifications for @thelightsandtheroses-fics-if you prefer to be notified when I post fics. If you do not have an age or age range showing you are over 18, I will not add you to this list. I block ageless and blank blogs.

[alwaysonthemend]

The Nightcap | JMK

Author’s Note: This is the first fic I’ve written since my BBC Sherlock era so please bear with me. I’m a little nervous posting my writing after so much time but I also really want to get back into it because it’s so much fun! This is unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own. 

Summary: After leaving a party early, you and Josh head back to your place for a nightcap and a movie. Little do either of you know, things are about to heat up between the two of you. 

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, oral (f. receiving) hand jobs, p. in v. sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks!), swearing, minor sub Josh. 18+ MINORS DNI 

Word Count: 3499

Preview: 

He sat up from between your legs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand – no doubt the most obscenely attractive thing you’d ever seen in your life.

“Holy fuck.” you breathed out, and Josh chuckled smugly at your blissed-out expression.

“Everyone always talks about a guitarist’s fingers…” He said with a wicked grin, “But no one ever talks about a vocalist’s tongue.”

“Cocky bastard.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

These parties always made you feel nervous. No matter how many of them you went to, you always felt slightly out of place and awkward. You barely know anyone here. You know the boys of course, having practically grown up alongside them, but it still felt too awkward to ask one of them to stay with you the whole time. You hadn’t even wanted to show up tonight, but Josh had seemed so disappointed when you said you might sit it out and so you’d relented and told him you’d at least come for a little while. Parties were his favorite after all.

The boys were abuzz with energy as you all made your way to the club downtown. They’d booked the whole place out and had invited practically all of their friends who lived nearby, along with a bunch of other people whom you had no idea who they even were. You’d made your rounds as you’d first arrived, saying hello to the few people you did know before making your way over to the bar to have a drink.

From your place at the bar, you could see just about everyone – it was far more packed than you had been expecting and definitely far louder than you were in the mood for. At this point, you were debating with yourself whether or not you should just get an Uber back to your house and call it a night. The day had been long, and this party wasn’t helping the headache mounting behind your eyes.

You rose from your seat, pulling out your phone to call an Uber when Josh slid up next to you, drink in hand.

“Hey y/n! What’s up?” His eyes were sparkling in the dim lighting of the club and his cheeks were pink from the excitement. He looked divine.

“Hey, Josh.” You smiled lightly, “I was just about to call an Uber actually. I’m a little tired and I just want to go to bed.”

His face fell slightly before his eyes furrowed in confusion.

“Why are you calling an Uber? Your place isn’t far, and I could drive you. An Uber would just be a waste of money.”

“That’s sweet of you to offer but I don’t mind paying for an Uber.” You gestured to the party going on around you. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to take you away from all this. You love parties!”

He gave you a toothy grin. He was wearing a low-cut V-neck shirt, and you could see the sweat on his chest glisten under the blue light of the club. He looked ethereal.

“Well yeah, I do. But I also would love to drive you back to your house. I wouldn’t mind. I promise.” He placed his glass on the bar and looked at you through his lashes. He looked sincere and you felt yourself caving.  

“Fine,” you conceded, “So long as you promise that you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, mama. Come on!” You felt yourself blush at the nickname as you followed him out of the club and into the night air outside. The cold wind was a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the club, and you took a moment to breathe and feel the coolness on your cheeks. You and Josh made your way to his car, and he opened your door for you before getting in himself.

“Thank you again, Josh. You really didn’t have to take me home.” You said after a few moments of relaxed silence. Josh glanced at you for a moment, a soft look on his face, before turning his eyes back to the road.  

“It’s really no problem, y/n. I don’t mind.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the soft sounds of Fleet Foxes floating out from the car’s speakers. This was why you liked Josh. As much as he always seemed to like to talk, he didn’t ever make you feel like you had to entertain or keep up a conversation for things to not be awkward. He was perfectly content to just sit in silence and enjoy another person’s company. You felt lucky that you got to see this side of him.

“I don’t know how you do it, Josh – go to all these parties all the time. I don’t understand how you find the energy to do it and never get tired.” You laughed, watching the lights of the city blur past your window. He chuckled.  

“I do get tired of it sometimes, I’m just a little better at hiding it.” He glanced at you again before continuing in a softer voice. “I didn’t really want to go tonight, actually. I was only going to go if you agreed to go, too.”

You looked at him, startled.

“Why? I’m not exactly the most fun person to be around at parties.”

“You’re very fun to be around, y/n. I love getting to spend extra time with you. I miss you when we’re on tour.” His honesty made your cheeks warm with embarrassment and you were having a hard time coming up with something to say in response.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “I love getting to spend time with you, too. I only showed up tonight because you asked.”

“I’m honored.” He laughed, his own cheeks tinged a little pink.

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, and soon Josh was pulling into your driveway.

“M’lady.” He said with a dramatic flourish as he opened the car door for you again.

You giggled, taking the hand that he offered you as you stepped out of the car.

“Why thank you, my good sir.” You laughed. “Do you want to come in for a nightcap? I’ve got a bottle of wine calling my name right now if you’d like to join.”

He gave you a dazzling smile.

“That sounds amazing. Lead the way!”

The two of you made your way inside and Josh hooked his keys on the little hook on the wall before plopping down onto your sofa. You entered the kitchen, pulled two wine glasses from your cabinet, and placed them on the table. You grabbed the bottle of wine from your pantry, brought it over, and poured yourself and Josh a generous amount. He chuckled as he watched you fill the glasses. You put the bottle away before bringing them over to the sofa where Josh was sitting.

“Thanks for inviting me in, y/n. I really didn’t want to go back there. Far too loud for tonight.” He took a sip from his glass as you took a seat next to him.

“Consider it repayment for driving me home.” You took a sip from your own glass, reveling in the bitter taste on your tongue.

“Or maybe you’re just trying to spend more time with me.” He said with a sly grin.

“Hmm. Maybe. But you did accept my invitation so maybe you just wanted to spend extra time with me.”

He laughed softly. “Maybe so, y/n. Maybe so.”

Your heart rate picked up as he said the words and you brought your glass to your lips and took a large gulp to try and soothe the nerves away. Being alone with him like this, especially in your own house, was making your brain conjure up dangerous thoughts – thoughts that you usually tried to keep buried.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” You asked in a desperate attempt to break the tension. Josh probably knew exactly what you were doing but went along with it.

“Sure! Did you have a certain one in mind?”

“You’re the film guy. You choose.”

He chuckled, placing his drink on the coffee table, and got up to turn off the lamp. He walked back, grabbing the remote as he sat back down. You placed your own drink down next to his and you settled back into the couch, pulling a blanket off the back and covering your lap and Josh’s as he chose one. You weren’t sure what he chose, but your mind became otherwise occupied as he leaned back, and his thigh and shoulder pressed into yours. The heat from him spread through you like the wine had, leaving you warm and relaxed. His scent flooding your nose coupled with the alcohol left you feeling far more at ease than you had been before.

The movie started and you really did try to pay attention – but all your mind could focus on was the feeling of him pressed against you. You stole occasional glances at him, trying to memorize how the soft glow from the TV accentuated his jawline and how his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. At some point, he brought his hand to rest on your knee, absent-mindedly tracing patterns there with his fingertips.

You did your best to keep your eyes focused on the screen and eventually, you found yourself being drawn into the story. At least, you had been for a little while until you felt Josh’s fingertips slowly ghost their way up higher on the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You glanced at Josh, but his eyes were still glued to the screen. He probably hadn’t even realized that he’d done it.

You turned your attention back to the movie, but it wasn’t long before Josh’s touch went even higher – high enough that it couldn’t have been an accident.

“Josh?” You whispered, scared to break the silence; scared to acknowledge what was happening. 

He turned to look at you, eyes dark and glistening in the light of the TV. 

“Y/n,” he whispered, swiping his bottom lip with his tongue. Your eyes tracked the movement before sweeping back up to his eyes. “Please tell me I’m not reading into this wrong. Tell me you want this too.” He looked so nervous – a look you’d never really seen on him before. He was always so confident, so sure of himself; seeing him look at you that way made you ache to reach out and soothe him. This was like a damn dream come true. You’d dreamed about being with him like this. You’d just never thought he would ever be interested in someone like you. There were thousands upon thousands of women who would kill someone to be where you were now, and Josh could have any one of them if he wanted. But somehow it was you that he wanted. It was you that got to see him like this – so vulnerable, his desire reflected clearly in his eyes. 

You must have taken too long to answer though, as he pulled his hand quickly from your thigh and stood awkwardly from the sofa. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I never should have assumed that-” 

You grabbed his wrist quickly, wrapping your fingers around him tightly. 

“Relax, Josh. You just surprised me, that’s all.”

He stared at you for a moment, his cheeks a bright red that you could see even in the dim light. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n. That was so rude of me.  I can leave. I won't ever bring this up again.” He made to pull his wrist from your hand, but you tighten your grip on him. 

“Josh,” you whispered, “I want this. I want you.” 

He stared at you, turning your words over in his mind. He looked divine, bathed in the light from the screen, his chest heaving with excitement. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” You say as you pull him back down onto the sofa. You scoot backwards, bringing your back flush to the armrest and spread your legs. “Come here, Josh. I want this.” 

He crawls his way over to you, sitting on his knees between your thighs. His eyes are even darker than before, and the redness of his cheeks was now painted down his chest as well. You stare at him, waiting. Your heart is pounding, heat flooding between your legs as you stare at him. 

“Can I kiss you?” He says, as he brings his palms to your thighs and leans over you, your chests flush against each other. You ghost your lips over his, feeling their softness. 

“Please do.” 

He brings his lips to yours in a searing kiss, immediately plunging his tongue between your lips in a greedy display of lust. You whine quietly as he licks his way into your mouth, and you bring your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks between them. He presses his hips to yours and you can feel his cock straining through the fabric of his pants, and you can feel your own wetness soaking through your panties. You don’t remember the last time you were this turned on. You feel dizzy – drunk on lust and desire for the man on top of you. 

His lips leave yours and you chase them, but he brings them to your neck instead, pressing searing hot kisses down your throat. He pulls away briefly to pull your shirt over your head before returning his mouth to the hollow of your throat. Your hands move upwards, ghosting over the shaved sides of his head before tangling in his unruly curls. You give them a tug and he groans, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“Do you like that, Josh? Like it when I pull your hair?” You ask breathlessly, tugging again at his hair. 

He moans again and you feel his cock twitch as he ruts himself against your clothed pussy. 

“Fuck, mama…” he breathes, tongue licking over the valley between your breasts as he brings his right hand to the waistband of your pants. He brings his mouth away from you as he pulls them off, groaning at the sight of your lace thong. You mentally high-five yourself for choosing to put them on that morning. 

“Can I taste you, y/n?” He looks up at you from underneath his lashes and you swear you’ve never seen something more sinful. His lips are red and swollen and his chest glistens with sweat. He looks absolutely ravished already. 

“Whatever you want, Joshy.” 

He gives you a wicked grin before lifting your hips to slide your panties down your thighs. He brings them to his nose and inhales, moaning at the scent before tossing them somewhere in the room. That action alone makes your pussy ache with need for him, and you can feel yourself practically vibrating with excitement and desire. 

He lowers his head between your thighs and swipes his tongue through your folds, lapping at the wetness collected there. You breathe out a stuttered breath and throw your head back, eyes closed tight. He repeats the action, this time swirling the tip of his tongue around your swollen clit. 

“Oh God!” you whine, completely lost in the sensations of his tongue.  

He chuckles, and the vibration leaves you feeling completely drunk on arousal. He continues his ministrations, and it isn't long before you feel that familiar coil tightening in your belly. He brings one hand to cup your chin, thrusting his middle and pointer fingers into your mouth. You suck on them obediently before he pulls them out and sinks them into you, never once stopping with his talented tongue. He curls his fingers inside you, brushing against the spot that few men had ever been able to find as he suckled on your clit and your orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. Your vision whited out as your entire body shook and you let out a wail of Josh’s name. 

He sat up from between your legs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand – no doubt the most obscenely attractive thing you’d ever seen in your life. 

“Holy fuck.” you breathed out, and Josh chuckled smugly at your blissed-out expression. 

“Everyone always talks about a guitarist’s fingers…” He said with a wicked grin. “But no one ever talks about a vocalist’s tongue.” 

“Cocky bastard.” You laugh, sitting up and reaching for his pants. You pull them off him, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He tears his own shirt off his head and you take a moment to just look at him. You can see his cock still straining through his boxers and his chest is red and heaving. His chin is covered in your wetness. 

“You look divine.” You say, pushing him back into a sitting position. 

“Speak for yourself, darling.” He slides the straps of your bra down your shoulders and reaches behind you to unclip it with one hand. He uses his other hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You’re completely naked now, and Josh is staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You throw one leg over him, straddling his waist and grinding your pussy down on his cock. His hardness coupled with the roughness of the fabric of his boxers gives you the most delicious friction. He lets out a whine that’s like music to your ears. 

“I don’t have any condoms…” He mutters breathlessly, hands gripping your hips so hard they’ll probably leave bruises. 

“I’m clean. And I’m on birth control.” You say as you lean down to kiss him again. He moans as you bite his lower lip. 

“You sure?” He says, breaking the kiss to look up at you through hooded eyes. 

“Yes. Wanna feel you all the way.” You say as you pull his boxers down. He kicks them off and you take a moment to admire him. His head is an angry red and pearly droplets of precum leak from it. You scoot down lower on his thighs and spit into your hand before wrapping your fingers around his cock. He whines again and lets his head fall back onto the back of the couch. You pump up and down a few times, increasing your speed as you go. He lets out a breathy moan that sends shocks of arousal down into your pussy. You want nothing more than to sink down on him already, but you continue to jack him off with your hand. You want to see how far you can push him. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.” He whines, lifting his head to stare at you. You chuckle and speed up your hand while you start to massage his balls with the other. 

“Mama…” he moans again, and you can feel his balls tighten. He’s about to cum so you squeeze your hand tightly around the base of his dick. He yelps and groans, hips pushing up to try and chase his release. 

“Not yet, baby. Want you to come inside me.” You let go of his cock and bring your own hand to your clit, flicking it a few times before sinking down on him. 

You both moan loudly as you bottom out and you feel like you could cum from the feeling of him stretching you alone. You sit still for a moment, adjusting to his size before you slowly start to rock your hips. He moans and slides his hands down to grip your ass, squeezing as you bounce up and down on him. 

“Fuck, y/n, you feel so good. So tight.” 

“You’re doing so good, Josh. Such a good boy for me.” You moan, picking up your pace. He groans and bucks his hips at the nickname. 

“You like when I call you a good boy?” 

“So much, mama. Wanna be your good boy.” He ruts his hips into yours, meeting you in the middle as you ride him. You can feel yourself right on the edge, but you want to see him cum first. 

“You are my good boy, Josh. You’re so fucking perfect. So needy. So good for me.” And with one final thrust into you, you feel him explode in you, painting your walls with his release. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Holy shit.” He whines, and the sound of his needy moans coupled with the pleasure painted over his face brings you to your own release as well. The coil in your belly snaps for a second time and you moan his name as you ride out your orgasm. 

You rise off him, collapsing onto the sofa next to him. 

“Holy shit.” He laughs breathlessly. “You are something else, mama.” 

You laugh, turning over to kiss him softly. 

“So are you, baby. You were so good for me.” He smiles lazily at you, eyes now shining with something more than just lust. 

“I’m glad you invited me in.” 

You laughed loudly. 

“Me too.’’ You could feel the tendrils of sleep beginning to cloud your mind and you rose slowly from the couch. Josh looked up at you, his messy curls falling onto his forehead. You extended your hand toward him 

“Stay with me tonight?” 

He smiled softly at you and took your hand. 

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

[jawritter]

Something About Fate...

Chapter 3

Summary:  Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Jensen’s friends aren’t too sure he’s done the right thing by taking Y/N in, meanwhile, Jensen seems to have some conflicting feelings of his own...

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

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Y/N’s POV: 

Jensen had absolutely refused to let Y/N take the couch that night. He insisted that the king-sized bed was more than large enough for the both of them. She was pretty sure he was far too tall to fit the couch anyway, and honestly, it looked extremely thin and uncomfortable as hotel couches tend to look. It didn’t help that it didn’t have a pull-out mattress either, which most hotel rooms with a couch did. It was very clear that when Jensen’s flight got delayed, they literally threw him in the first available room. 

Still, even though she was ‘safe’, or appeared to be safe, warm, her head on a pillow that was strangely too soft for her, and her stiff and sore body wrapped in a pile of blankets and covers while she lay on the pillowtop mattress underneath her, still did not come easy. 

Long after the ice cream had been eaten, and Jensen had fallen peacefully asleep just on the other side of the bed, she’d stayed awake, staring at the television that still played low in the corner, or the wall, or the window, or the ceiling; her mind running a thousand miles a minute. 

It didn’t feel real. Even though she’d spent the evening talking to Jensen, the pair of them telling one another about their lives so far, and even though she could feel the occasional movement of his body next to hers, she didn’t understand who this could be happening, and it was not some sort of fever dream. Surely, she must be dying, and that’s why she’s seeing this, it’s all a hallucination… But then again, if it really wasn’t real, why did it FEEL so real? Cause it sure as hell all felt very, VERY real.

She didn’t really know what time she finally fell asleep, but the first thing she heard was whispering when she started to slowly wake. At first, she thought she was dreaming it, until her sleep fogged brain started to clear slowly, and the things they were saying started to come into focus. As wrong as it was, Y/N still had a few trust issues, rightfully so, so she did what anyone in her shoes would do, and that was pretend to be asleep, and listened to the conversation that seemed to be happening in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Jensen–”

“Don’t Jensen me Jared,” Jensen whispered angrily at his friend. “I’ve made up my mind, and you’re not changing it. She’s living and working for me now, there’s no way in hell I’m sending that girl back out onto the streets!”

“I’m not saying send her back out there, but maybe take her to a homeless shelter or something, don’t just bring in some random girl off the street and hire her, move her into your home with you—dude, what if she’s some sort of addict or something! You don’t know if she’s feeding you the truth, or what she thinks you want to hear in order to keep her ass where you are buying her shit!” Jared argued. 

Y/N couldn’t even be mad about Jared’s viewpoint because that’s what any self respecting, normal person would think when it came to homeless people, and just taking strangers in off of the street. Even though she was none of those things Jared thought she was, she’d grown a little too used to the stigma apparently. She wasn’t even shocked that it was the taller man’s viewpoint, what did shock her is that it never seemed to be Jensen’s at all, and that was just odd to her. 

“I’m not taking Y/N to a shelter Jared, it’s not gonna happen,” Jensen fired back through what sounded like gritted teeth. “You can just fuck right off with that shit! She’s not some crackhead dude! She’s just someone that got dealt a bad hand, and honestly, she deserves a fucking chance! I can give her that, besides, I need the fucking help in case you haven’t noticed lately!”

“Jensen,” a female voice butted in from somewhere else in the room, Y/N assumed it was the same girl that was with the trio last night. “I agree with you, the girl definitely deserves a chance, but I wouldn’t just go and hand her my credit card information.”

Jensen let out a long, deep breath and for a moment, fear struck a chord in her that they might have convinced Jensen to turn her back out again, but it was quickly dampened down when Jensen finally broke the silence in the room. 

“I didn’t plan on just giving her my credit card information. The only thing we’ve got lined up for a few months on my end is a few cons, which are already booked and taken care of by Creation. I don’t have to do much work. It gives me time to get to know her, and also train her for what I might need her to do. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said that you were an idiot,” she corrected him. “Like I said, I’m all behind what you are doing, I just merely said to be cautious until you get to know her as a person. You can’t trust everyone you meet; you know that. I know you will make the right decision. Right now, what you and everyone involved needs to focus on is getting the girl some clothes.”

“About that,” Jensen voiced suddenly, and Y/N’s heart rate quickened as his distinctive footsteps approached the nightstand next to his side of the bed. “I went through her clothing this morning, and these are the sizes that were on them. I assumed you might be better at this than I am, so I was going to see if I could get you to run down the street and get her some… you know�� essentials that she would need, underwear, shirts, pants, pj’s, socks, shoes, cause all she has is that bag in there.”

“No problem,” she said, “I will just drop it off at the door when I get them back here, it shouldn’t take me too long. There’s no getting out of here for us for the next few days.”

“Thanks, and if you can, keep this between the three of us if that’s okay? I don’t want people swarming the room to try and get pictures of her, of a bunch of dicks on social media being dicks,” Jensen said, and Y/N heard a pair of mumbled agreements as the pair of them made their way out of the door, leaving Y/N once again alone in the room. 

She had a choice then, she could either pretend she was still asleep, or get up and face the music, because as the woman had stated, there was no leaving for the next few days, she assumed it was too cold for any planes to take off. 

Jensen’s POV:

Jensen’s gaze shifted over the pile of covers that was Y/N and sighed heavily as he let his tired body drop heavily onto the couch he’d wandered over to. 

Drained, he was so fucking drained. That conversation felt more like a marathon than it probably should have, and even though he’d just gotten out of bed, he felt completely exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept one bit. 

He prayed that Y/N hadn’t heard what Jared had said, because if she had, he was gonna kick his ass. 

It wasn’t that Jared had made some pretty valid points; Jensen could absolutely understand what his friend was saying. It wasn’t like what he was doing was conventional, he knew that. He also knew that he couldn’t trust everyone. Hell, he’d been in the industry long enough to have figured that out the hard way. 

Still, when he saw her sitting there alone, cold, and hungry, there was no doubt in his mind that she was absolutely not going back out on the streets. His heart ached in his chest just thinking about the state he found her in, and that surprised even him. He hadn’t really felt something like that in a long, long time. But this, whatever it was, was deeper than a passing connection with a stranger, or pity felt for someone in need. This was like a heavy punch to the gut, the kind that brings a man down to his knees. He’d venture to even say it was Earth shattering. 

Part of him was terrified. Well, he was terrified of a few things actually. First being why the hell did he have these… feelings… if they could be called that, towards a virtual stranger. Second, and probably one of the most important hang ups he was having at that moment, was what was going to be the reaction of the public if word got out? Surely, word was going to get out, that’s just the law of the jungle. 

His fear wasn’t that people would talk about him, people talk about him all the damn time. No, it was that people would attack her. The general public could be cruel, and he was horrified at what they might do to her or say to her. She’d been through enough, she didn’t deserve their crap too.

Then there was thing three that seemed to be bothering him, the overwhelming, somewhat unnatural need to protect her. 

Jensen was a shy person, admittedly, but he also had a bit of a take-charge, somewhat protective personality, but never like this. He was pretty sure he’d throw himself in front of a moving vehicle for this girl. That scared the absolute shit out of him. 

Jensen’s gaze drifted back to the pile of covers that Y/N was under, and he swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in his throat as he watched the covers shift a little. He knew she’d be waking up soon, so he grabbed the menu that sat on the sofa next to him that room service had left him yesterday, and started mindlessly thumbing through it, preparing to place an order so that some food would be here when she got up. 

She was so thin, she needed to eat something. She probably needed to see a doctor too, because fuck if he knew the last time she’d actually seen a doctor. That one might be harder to get across without sounding like a freak. 

God she probably thought he was some sick pervert already. God only knows what’s happened to her, what she’s been through, he really needed to be more careful around her. He didn’t want to scare her away from him. 

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly unable to focus on the menu in his hand as a host of horrible scenarios swirled their way around in his head. So he reminded himself what he told her last night. One step at a time. Getting to know one another was step one. 

Maybe in the process, he could figure out why he was so damn attached to the girl already, and answer a few of his own questions.

Forever:

@britnwinchester

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@jensenslady79

@spnwoman

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@twinkleinadiamondsky

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma  

@impalaslytherin

@perpetualabsurdity

@msmarvelouswinchester

@akshi8278

@love-jackles

@irmcpar

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@jxackles

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@sarahgracej

SAF tag list

@itsdesiree86

@evilunicorns4minions

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

@thefemalestorywriter

@tapedeck-hearts​

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@southerngal96

[duchesschameleon]

i’m only looking at you

summary: “When you know you’ve found the woman you want to start a life with, don’t waste time telling her how you feel. Get a ring on her finger, tell her you want a life with her, whatever you gotta do to get that future started. Make it clear and start setting those roots together.”or, the advice Javy Machado should have followed before he stood up in church. Better late than never, though? pairing: javy “coyote” machado/natasha “phoenix” trace, background bradley “rooster” bradshaw/jake “hangman” seresin warnings: teen & up, alcohol mentions a/n: well, I finally wrote an interrupted wedding fic! this is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own find this fic on ao3

His dad’s advice echoes in his head, the way it always does when Javy’s thoughts turn toward the future.

“When you know you’ve found the woman you want to start a life with, don’t waste time telling her how you feel. Get a ring on her finger, tell her you want a life with her, whatever you gotta do to get that future started. Make it clear and start setting those roots together.”

Those words echo louder and stronger when he thinks about a future with Natasha.

It had happened when they first met and started seeing each other as a natural consequence of Hangman and Rooster being together. And when that relationship fell apart, effectively ending the relationship Javy had with Natasha, he felt a hollow space in his chest. He knew then that Natasha was who he wanted to spend his life with.

But here she is, a subtle but still gorgeous ring on her left hand.

Javy sighs and hangs his head. He knows he should go over to her and fiancée, congratulate them and just rip the bandaid off. Get it over with so he can get back to drowning his sorrows in the strongest beer Penny has on tap and whatever liquor she’s willing to give him. But going over there means putting an end to his dreams and plans, means admitting his father was right and he should have spoken up sooner. Maybe when they were all in North Island two years ago for the special detachment.

If he’d spoken up then, she wouldn’t have had the chance to meet Michael and fall in love with him. She wouldn’t have had the chance to marry someone other than him.

But he’d kept his mouth shut and now, they’re here. So Javy heaves another sigh and downs the rest of his current drink before getting up to congratulate the happy couple.

—

 Eight Months Later

Javy stands outside the church, off to the side as he tries to calm his nerves enough to go inside and join his friends.

God, he’s not drunk enough for this.

Actually, he doesn’t think there’s enough liquor in the world he could consume that would make him ready to attend Natasha Trace’s wedding as a guest.

He can’t even believe he made the guest list, thought for sure he’d get left off. But nope, he’s got the invitation in his hands. Because for some reason, he thought it would be a good idea to come to her wedding.

Javy will maintain he was drunk or just not thinking straight when he RSVP’d yes to the wedding. Jake and Bradley - who are now actually together and happy - fix him with twin arched eyebrows whenever the topic comes up.

There must be some twisted place in the back of his mind that thinks if he can’t be at Nat’s wedding as the groom, he should be there as a guest. He should be there for her, watch as this chapter of his life comes to a close.

So he’s here, outside the church, and seriously debating if he’s hit his head too many times.

“Getaway car is ready to go if you need it, Javy,” Jake says, coming up behind him.

“Yeah, whatever you need man, we’re here,” Bradley says from over his other shoulder.

Javy just shakes his head. “No, I said I was gonna be here, and I gotta do this,” he says resolutely. “I need to see her happy and married to close the chapter of my life with her. I just need to know she’s happy and doing the right thing for her.”

Bradley and Jake look at each other and nod behind Javy’s back. No matter what Javy is saying now, if he needs out of there, they’ve got him. They won’t let him do this alone.

Following Javy’s lead, the three head into the church and find seats in a pew towards the back. Javy’s knee bounces, the only outward sign of his nervousness, and he wills it to stop. Wills himself to be calm, reminds himself that this is the right thing to do. That today is about Natasha, about her being happy. And that’s all he wants for her.

He’d prefer it if she was happy with him, but he’ll take what he can get. Natasha’s happy and going to live a good life, that’s what matters. He’ll deal with his own sorry ass later.

The church is filling up, family and friends from the bride and groom sitting in the pews and chatting amongst each other. Until the music starts and everyone falls silent as the doors at the back of the church open up and the bridal party starts their march down the aisle and the groom steps up to the altar.

The music changes and everyone stands, looks towards the back of the church and Javy takes a breath to steel himself to see Natasha in her wedding dress.

She looks gorgeous, almost ethereal and Javy feels his breath catch. She’s gorgeous and she’s everything he’s ever wanted and he can feel the memories he has with her creeping into his brain.

He floats through the wedding, half-paying attention and half in this dreamlike state, his brain inundating himself with memories of Natasha and him at the beach, walking around base together brushing hands, holding hands at the bar just off base. All these snippets of their relationship, the moments he wanted to tell her how he felt, that he imagined a future with her, interspersed with moments of his hand running down her skin, flashes of warmth from how they’d be pressed together, the feeling of her moving under him, above him, around him, those vulnerable moments together where the world fell away and it was just them.

He’s not certain where in the ceremony they are. He’s not certain if he can make it through the whole thing. He’s not even certain he’s fully in control of his body right now.

But then he hears the preacher say those fateful words: “If anyone feels these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Javy snaps back to the present, painfully aware of the silence and the stillness in the church. The peace he’s about to interrupt because he can’t let Natasha do this.

He’d promised her once before that he’d always be honest with her, and in the same breath he told her how much he wanted her. He’s always prided himself on keeping his promises, so he has to do this.

That’s what he tells himself as he stands up.

“I object.”

He can feel Jake tugging on his suit jacket, trying to get him to sit down but the words are out now. Javy can’t take them back.

Every head in the church has whipped around to look at him. The entire bridal party, all the guests, everyone is looking at him like he’s crazy. Callie’s brow is furrowed he can see out of the corner of his eye, but his focus is on Natasha.

Natasha who’s looking at him with wide eyes, her jaw dropped. He can’t tell from back here if she’s mad at him or not, if she’s surprised he’s in the church, if she’s happy to see him. He doesn’t even care at this point. He has to be honest with her, honest with himself, and say this finally. Even if she doesn’t come with him, he has to do this.

“Natasha, Nat,” he starts, shaking Jake and Bradley’s hands from off him as he moves toward the aisle. “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m sorry I’m late to saying this, that I haven’t been honest with you. I told you I’d always tell you the truth, and I’ve been keeping this from you for too long.”

He hears the whispers from the guests, the annoyed and worried words of “why, why now, what’s happening” but he ignores them.

“I need to be honest with you, you deserve that, and if you don’t want this, don’t want what I’m offering, then I’ll go and I’ll stay out of your life,” he says, trying his best to make sure Natasha knows she can do what she needs to do. What she wants to do. He won’t make her do something she doesn’t want.

“I love you, Natasha. I’ve always loved you. And I never should have let things fall apart between us,” he confesses. “You’ve always been it for me, the woman I love and see a future, a life with. One even beyond the Navy. And I know my timing here sucks, but I promised you long ago that I’d be honest with you, so I have to do this. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner, that I kept it to myself. But I’m saying it now. I love you, Natasha. I’m in love with you.”

He’s close enough to the altar now to see the warring emotions in her eyes. The hope as she looks at him, the softness that was familiar to him from all those years before, and the confusion as she looks at Michael. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Callie wiping away a tear, a small smile on her face. It’s the little bit of strength he needs to focus on Natasha again and ask her an important and probably ill-timed question.

“Nat, my timing sucks. You every reason to tell me no. And I respect that. But I have to ask you this, will you come with me? Build a life with me, have a future with me? I love you, and I want it all with you, if you’ll come with me.”

She looks back and forth between him and Michael. Looks out to her parents, out at the whole church.

Then her eyes meet his, and he can see her melt. See her shoulders drop into a more relaxed position as she smiles at him. She gives him a little nod before she turns back to Michael.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Javy’s heart is pounding in his ears, he can’t believe this. “You know I love you, and you know that I have to do this.” She slips off the engagement ring, hands it back to Michael, giving his hand a squeeze before turning back to all the guests.

“I’m sorry everyone,” she says, voice loud and strong. “I made a promise to someone, long ago, to always tell the truth. And I made a promise to myself to always follow my heart. The reception hall will still have food, you can go and enjoy that. But, uh. The wedding is off.”

She steps down from the altar and crosses the few steps to Javy. He reaches out a hand, heart still pounding and when she takes it, all feels right in the world again. He smiles at her, and she returns it.

They don’t need to say a word, they just make their way out of the church. The guests are in a shocked silence and Javy knows that there’s going to be fallout from this. He knows there will be hell to pay from her family, her brothers who he’d met once are going to wonder why the hell he waited until the last possible second to say something, her parents are going to wonder what the hell Natasha was thinking, and that doesn’t even begin to cover how their friends are going to react.

Which, Jake and Bradley are standing at the edge of the pew he’d been sitting in not even five minutes ago.

“So, you guys still up for driving the getaway car?”

And so the four of them exit the church and climb into Jake’s car, and there’s a part of Javy that gets a flash of deja vu, remembers nights from years ago when he’d gotten into this car with these friends and driven off base, the four of them against the world.

Nat squeezes his hand and he looks over to her.

“You still here with us?” she asks.

“I’m right here with you.”

“Good.”

“So,” Bradley says from the front seat, turning to look at them in the back. “When do you expect your phone’s going to start blowing up?”

“Oh my god, I’m sure it’s already blowing up but it’s back at the church,” she laughs. “All my stuff is there or at the hotel.”

“Do we need to make a detour? Call someone to get it for you?” Jake asks. “We didn’t exactly plan for this, but I’m sure we can get something together quickly, a rendezvous point to get your things.”

“I had a plan. Have a plan, actually,” Natasha says, matter of factly. “Rooster, give me your phone. I just need to text Callie and Bob. They’ll get my stuff and we can meet them.”

“You had a plan?” Javy asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I had a little hope that you’d say something. That you still…still love me, still want me,” she admits softly. “Michael knew, he knows that I loved him, that I do love him, but that it’s different than how I love you. He knows I’m still in love with you, that I never stopped being in love with you, and he knew that if you said something, today or earlier, that I would…” she trails off and takes a deep breath, turning to face Javy and meet his eyes. “I told him that if you said something, if you told me you still love me, there wasn’t a choice to make. I would go with you, because it’s always been you at the end of the day, Javy. Even when I couldn’t tell you that’s how I felt, and then I let myself feel uncertain if you felt the same way, it’s always been you. I could have been happy with Michael, I would have been, but I knew and he knew, if there was a chance to be with you, I had to take it.”

Jake’s stopped the car at this point, pulled over to the shoulder and turned in his seat to look at Natasha.

“So you and Michael got engaged and went into this whole thing knowing that if Javy said anything, you’d leave him? You’d go with Javy and leave Michael?” Natasha nods, eyes wary and guarded. “And he was totally okay with this? With putting all this effort into planning a wedding that could fall apart and did, the moment Javy pulled his head out of his ass?”

“Jake, Michael and I talked about it. He was okay with it. And if Javy didn’t speak up when he did, I would have gone through with the marriage, the wedding, and been happy. Michael does make me happy and he’s good to me, but I’m just not in love with him the same way I’m in love with Javy. And believe it or not, Michael has his version of that. So now he can go chase that. It’s really okay,” she explains.

“You’re incredible,” Javy whispers. “You think of everything, you plan for everything, you’re amazing. I love you.”

She smiles at him, full and bright, eyes crinkling at the corner. “I love you, too.” Javy leans in and kisses her, for the first time in years, and another piece of the puzzle of his life slips into place. Natasha leans back and gives him another smile.

“Ok but, I seriously need someone’s phone to get in touch with Bob and Callie. I need my stuff. And to make sure my family’s okay and not on their way to find me and drag me back down the aisle. I planned for everything but them.”

Javy hands her his phone, his contacts already pulled up. “Call them. And hey, you’ve got me. We’ll handle your family. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, it’ll be okay. And you’re not in this alone,” Bradley reminds Natasha. “We’ve got your backs, we all do.”

Natasha nods and gives Javy one more kiss before calling Callie. And he just sits back, thinking he’s damn lucky to have fallen in love with Natasha Trace all those years ago and damn lucky she loves him back.

[nurse-buckley]

I posted 2,570 times in 2022

That's 55 more posts than 2021!

232 posts created (9%)

2,338 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@firemedicdiaz

@princessfbi

@kitkatpancakestack

@ellelans

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I tagged 1,025 of my posts in 2022

#0 - 253 posts

#9-1-1 - 235 posts

#eddie diaz - 158 posts

#i got queue - 139 posts

#evan buckley - 138 posts

#queue - 138 posts

#9-1-1 spoilers - 135 posts

#911 spoilers - 131 posts

#buddie - 103 posts

#eurovision - 69 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#a unknown breed some terrier mix of chaos adopted and rescued from a killing station in hungary originally called fifi but he's milo now

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sicktember - Day Four

Fandom: 9-1-1  Pairing: Buddie x Reader (platonic)   Word Count: 1,293 words Prompt: @sicktember Alt. Prompt 5 “Can You Be Brave For Me?” Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @writingmysanity  If you want to be added or removed from my tagslist, please let me know!  Authors Note: CEO of getting these fics out 25 minutes before midnight! Once again, unbeta’d so I apologise for any mistakes! Requested by the amazing @firemedicdiaz I hope this helps cheer you up lovely <3

You let out a low groan as you feel someone shaking your shoulders in an attempt to rouse you, “Hey. Y/N? Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me sweetheart.” You can vaguely hear Eddie’s voice cutting through the haze, but your eyes are just too heavy. 

Eddie moves his fingers to the side of your neck, feeling for your pulse .He lets out a sigh of relief to feel the gentle thrumming beneath his finger tips, even if it is a little fast for his liking. He gently shakes your shoulders once more, releasing another sigh of relief as your eyes begin to flutter open. 

“Ed…?” you slurred, as consciousness returns to you. “What? Why am I on the floor?” Your mind still fuzzy, your head pounding, probably from the impact of your head hitting the floor considering the last thing you remember was helping Eddie in the kitchen before the world began to spin. 

Eddie can sense your rising anxiety as you come to your senses a little more and attempt to sit up, easing you back down with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Easy cariña, you fainted. Just lay back for me, you’re alright. We’ve got you,” he reassures. 

‘We? Right…you were at Buck’s. You and Eddie had gone there after work to hang out. 

You startle as you hear a noise from your side, watching as Buck comes into view and sets the first aid kit you knew he kept in his closet beside you. The younger man kneels beside you, opposite Eddie, unzipping the kit to pull out a piece of gauze before passing the kit over to Eddie. 

Buck moves into your line of sight, taking your focus away from Eddie as he begins to pull out various pieces of equipment, sensing your anxiety growing more. “I’m just going to hold this to the side of your head, alright? You bumped your head pretty hard when you hit the floor.” He apologies as the contact causes you to flinch away, but he holds your head steady with his other hand on the other side of your face. 

You see Eddie placing a stethoscope around his neck, and feel your breathing start to come a little quicker, suddenly feeling self-conscious of all the attention on you. 

“You know, I’m actually feeling a lot better. It’s okay. I’m just really tired or it’s probably just low blood sugar. I’m fine…really. I don’t need the hospital or anything, really,” you stutter, trying to sit up once more. 

“Hey,” Eddie speaks up from your other side, taking your hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly, “No one said anything about the hospital, I can’t rule it out just yet, but I just need to check you over, that’s non-negotiable. Can you be brave for me? Just for a little while.” 

You nod defeatedly, allowing Buck to ease you back down this time. A stray tear rolls down your cheek at the thought of there being something wrong with you, but you know you’re in safe hands with the pair of them at your side. 

“That’s it. Just lay back, we’ve got you. You’re safe,” Buck reassures, wiping away the stray tear with the pad of his thumb. 

“Did you have any symptoms before you passed out? Any dizziness, blurred vision, palpitations?” 

You give a worried look to Buck, but an encouraging nod from him has you nodding your head, “i-is that bad?” 

“Try not to worry, it could be nothing,” Buck tries to reassure you. 

“B-but it could be something. I’ve never passed out before,” your panic begins to rise once more, the thought of something being wrong with you overwhelming you. 

“I need you to take a deep breath for me sweetheart,” Eddie says this time, “We need you calm okay, just let me worry about everything else.” 

You mimic Eddie as he takes a slow, deep breath, feeling a little calmer. “Good, now, keep taking deep breaths with Buck here, and let me check you over. I’ll explain everything before I do it and if it gets too much we’ll take a break.” 

Buck gently moves back into your line of vision, taking slow deep breaths for you to follow. 

“I’m just going to check your pulse,” Eddie announces, gently placing his fingers around your wrist and glancing at his watch. You focus on your breath, following Buck and trying not to focus on the feeling of your pulse tapping away against Eddie’s touch. 

He sets your arm down by your side, before picking up the blood pressure cuff from the kit next. “Is it alright if I just slip this on here?” You nod your consent, trying not to focus on the feeling of the cool fabric as Eddie wraps it tightly around your upper arm. You watch as he puts on the stethoscope and places it at the crook of your elbow, “Just a little squeeze here.” He inflates the cuff, just enough to be uncomfortable before releasing it, quickly and efficiently taking the reading. 

“Your vitals are a little concerning,” Eddie quickly continues, before you work yourself up again, “I’m just going to check one more thing, is it alright if I check your blood sugar?” 

The thought of the needle pricking your finger is enough to make bile rise at the back of your throat, but you knew Eddie wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t certain. 

As if he were able to read your mind, Eddie speaks up once more, “I’ll be as gentle as I can and it’ll be over before you know it.” 

You nod once more, offering your middle finger to Eddie and holding out your free hand to Buck to hold as Eddie gets the necessary equipment together. “Do you want me to count down?” Eddie asks as he presses the tip of the lancet against your chosen finger. 

“Count down please,” you ask as you look away and focus on Buck, squeezing his hand tighter. 

“One…two…three.” 

Before you have a chance to even think, you feel the needle quickly pinch your skin before Eddie squeezes your finger and takes the reading. Buck is quick, grabbing another piece of gauze from the packet he’d opened earlier and wraps it around the tip of your finger. 

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99 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#4

Sicktember Day 9 - Home Remedy

Fandom: 9-1-1  Pairing: Buck x Reader Word Count: 789 words  Prompt: @sicktember Day 9 - Home Remedy  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @writingmysanity  If you want to be added or removed from my tagslist, please let me know!  Authors Note: Is this me early posting (for me at least) for once? I have now officially finished my presentation so hopefully more regular posting - I am also going to be clearing my ask box and getting through my prompts missed during the big depression! Thank you @firemedicdiaz for having a quick glance at this, I hope you feel better soon love <3

You hate the feeling of migraines, but at the same time, when one hits, you can't remember a time before them. The pain is agonising, overtaking every one of your senses. Everything is too bright. Noises too loud. Movements causing the already dizzying nausea to worsen tenfold. 

“Babe?” Buck calls out softly as he enters his apartment, squinting in the dim light to spot any sign of you. He knew you were no stranger to migraines and judging by the darkness and eerie silence that fell upon the loft, he guessed that is what was happening. 

With no sign of you, he makes his way quietly up the stairs towards the bedroom, seeing you bundled under the duvet and your head buried into the pillows. 

You feel the bed dip as Buck perches on the bed next to you, even that gentle movement was nauseating. He places a gentle hand on top of where he guesses your hip is under the covers, before softly uttering the word, “migraine?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, just loud enough for him to hear you from beneath the cocoon you’d wrapped yourself in, whining as even the slightest movement causes the pain radiating from deep within your head to throb even more. 

“Have you taken anything for it?” Buck asks again, being mindful to keep his voice low. 

You chance coming out of the safety of blankets, thankful that Buck has kept the light off, “no…I feel too nauseous. Plus, nothing touches it, just gotta ride it out…” you whisper your reply. 

“I think I might have something that could help,” you feel him shift from the bed and move into the bathroom. 

You can see he’s carrying something, but you’re not sure of what in the dim light of the loft. He comes to kneel by your bedside, “do you trust me?” 

There was no doubt in your mind anything Buck did would make the pain any worse, so with nothing to lose you slowly nod your head. 

“Alright, I need you to shift around for me.” He guides you with a hand at the small of your back, helping to ease you down onto a pillow he’d laid out in front of him, so he has better access to your head. 

“I did a little research after your last migraine and read that lavender oil and a head massage can work wonders,” he explains as he pops the cap from the small amber bottle and warms a few drops between his palms. 

You wrinkle your nose, preparing for the overwhelming floral smell you’d encountered with some essential oils before, but are pleased to find the scent isn’t strong at all. 

“Alright, just relax and if it gets too much, just let me know.” 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, feeling safe in Buck’s capable hands. Buck had given you massages before, but nothing prepared you for the pure bliss you felt as his touch gave you some relief, easing away the tension that had built up around your head, neck and shoulders. 

He places his middle and index fingers on your temples and begins to massage the area in a circular motion with just enough pressure to counter the pressure you were feeling from the migraine, causing you to let out a low groan. The feeling of relief only grows as he moves down to your chin, gently stroking his fingers up from your jaw towards your temples again. 

You hiss slightly as he moves his hands again, adding slight pressure with his thumbs along your eyebrows, right above where the pain is radiating from. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck apologises, moving his hands away. 

You make a move to grab his hands, placing them back over your head, “Nooo,” you whine, “don’t stop…feels good.” 

He continues on, moving towards you neck and back, turning your head gently to the side cupping your neck with his hands and using his thumb to work out the knots deep within the tissue. You feel him working into the area at the base of your skull, rubbing small circular motions, before moving back to the rest of your head, slow circular motions, gently scratching your scalp. 

Between Buck’s skilled hands and the relaxing scent of lavender you begin to relax more and more, the tension leaving your body along with the majority of the migraine pain. He finishes the massage, rubbing his hands together, warming a little more oil, before he places both his hands covering your forehead and eyes. 

The gentle pressure he’s applying feels wonderful, “Buck…”  

“Yeah?” he whispers his reply. 

“I am going to need you to do this again and again when I’m feeling better…because this was amazing. Thank you.” 

“Anytime.”

106 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

#3

Eurovision 2022 opening.

173 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#2

Sicktember Day Nine - Emergency Room/ Ambulance

Fandom: 9-1-1  Pairing: Buck x Reader  Word Count: 1,095 words  Prompt: @sicktember Day 9 - Emergency Room/ Ambulance, written for the amazing @floralbuckleys  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @writingmysanity  If you want to be added or removed from my tagslist, please let me know!  

Buck had warned you on more than one occasion to be careful carrying stuff down the steep stairs of his loft, even more so now you had both welcomed the latest edition to your family. The shelter a block from your shared apartment had had a special event for the cats and kittens in their care with their kennels recently overwhelmed. With a lot of pleading from you and the endless cute cat photos you'd sent to Buck, he had eventually caved and you’d adopted Sammie, a beautiful little white and ginger cat who had definitely made the place her home. 

“Come on girl,” you gently nudged her with your foot to try and get her to walk ahead of you, your hands full with a basket of laundry that had built up. You giggled as she didn't listen, flopping over dramatically in front of you before moving to weave in and out between your legs as you continued to ignore her. 

You’d had a few near misses, Sammie wanting to be right by your side, rubbing her face against your legs as you attempted to move past her. “Sammie, come on sweetheart, you’re going to trip…” you didn’t have time to finish your sentence as you came tumbling down the stairs, Sammie running off to hide with her tail fluffed as the flying laundry startled her. 

You tumbled down the stairs, each one seeming to find a new spot to hit, sending jolts of pain through your body until you flew forward, your head landing on the floor with a sickening thud. 

With the wind knocked out of you it took a little while for the initial shock to wear off. You took a shaky breath before you began to move each of your legs, testing for injury, moving higher and higher as you checked your body over. When it came to checking your wrist, you let out a yelp as a jolt of pain shot up your arm.  The jerk sent another pain through your head and you could already feel the large lump forming near your temple where you’d made impact with the ground. You lifted your hand to inspect the side of your head, gasping when it came away with a smear of blood from a cut on your forehead. 

With the danger over, you glanced around as you heard a meow, the sound followed by Sammie who had come out from her hiding spot to investigate what had happened. She made her way over coming to nuzzle against your side; if you knew better you would think she was apologising for causing the accident. 

“And this is why we’re careful on the stairs,” you groaned as you cautiously sat up. Sammie seemed to take this as an invitation and she climbed onto your lap, her paws coming to rest on your chest as she nuzzled against your face. “Alright, get off me. I guess I’ve got to go and get checked out at the hospital.  What’s your dad going to say about this? You think we can get away without calling him from the ER?” 

Being gentle, you shoved her off before you slowly got to your feet, glad you were the only injured party between you. Once you were sure you were okay to stand, you made your way to the bathroom, grabbed some gauze for your head, and left your apartment for the short walk to the hospital. 

By the time you arrived in the ER and were triaged, the pain in your head and wrist had doubled and you were beginning to think maybe it would be a good time to call Buck. 

“Y/N?” 

Your thoughts were interrupted as you heard your name in an all too familiar voice. You turned just in time to see Buck and Eddie wheeling a patient into the ER, cursing whatever power had led them to bringing someone in at that exact moment. 

“Heeeeeey babe. It’s not as bad as it looks,” you replied. 

Buck wasted no time, checking that Eddie was okay being left with the patient before he made his way over to where you were sitting. 

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said as his hands came to hover over you, afraid to hurt you as he checked over your injuries. He put a gentle hand over the one holding the bloodied gauze to your head, pulling it away with a hiss as he got a glimpse at the wound. 

“Y/N what the hell happened? Why didn’t you call me?” 

“I swear, I was going to as soon as the nurse saw me. I wasn’t looking where I was going with the laundry and Sammie got under my feet and I ended up falling down the last few steps.” 

Buck sighed as he glanced over the various bruises that had begun to form over your body and the swelling in your wrist, “that looks like a lot more than a few,” he admonished.   “I’m going to go catch up with Bobby and let him know I’m staying with you, you’ll need someone to take you home with that head injury…,” Buck paused, “wait…how did you get here anyway? Did you drive with a head injury?  Y/n, do you even know how dangerous…” 

“Buck,” you interrupted him. “I’m not that stupid, I didn’t drive here…I walked.” You realised as soon as you said it and by the look on Buck’s face that it probably wasn’t the wisest decision you had made either, but you decided to chalk that up to the head injury.  

“Why didn’t you call 911, or me? You could have had a spinal injury, you could have a serious head injury and be unconscious on the side of the road right now,” he continued rambling off each and every worst case scenario he could think of. 

“I know and I’m sorry, I was embarrassed, you’ve told me time and time again to watch out for Sammie and I didn’t listen.” 

Buck silenced you with a chaste kiss to your forehead, “it doesn’t matter now, as long as you’re both okay. I’m going to take the rest of the shift off, take you home, and we’re going to get your favourite takeout and chill on the couch tonight.” 

You stopped him as he began to turn and walk away to find his captain. 

“What’s wrong baby?” 

“Can we stop by the store and get Sammie a treat? She’s had a trauma today too!” 

“Anything for you two,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

262 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

To Keep Me From Freezing

Fandom: 9-1-1 Word Count: 3,383 Pairing: Buck x Reader Warnings: Being locked in a walk in (honestly my biggest fear when I worked in a grocery store!) Minor medical exams/ mentions.  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz , @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @floralbuckleys If you want to be added or taken off my tagslist please let me know!  Thank you @floralbuckleys and @firemedicdiaz for helping revamp and reading over this fic for me and @floralbuckleys for the amazing graphic. <3 

‘Have a good shift.’

You smile as your phone lights up with a notification from Buck, you pocket the device with a sigh knowing it was time to start getting yourself ready to leave for work. You’d been taking on more shifts in the store trying to keep yourself busy while Buck was away for his long shifts. The added bonus of overtime was also a very good incentive. 

Throwing on your store branded jacket and name tag, you grab your keys and make your way out of the door, walking the familiar route. 

The shift went by as usual, stocking the shelves in your assigned aisle, helping the off customer here and there looking for various products or advice. You enjoyed the quiet of the night shifts, unlike the majority of your colleagues, fewer customers meant you could work mostly uninterrupted. Having the shelves fully stocked, neat and tidy at the end also gave you satisfaction, Buck teased you for it endlessly as you’d found yourself doing the same at home, constantly reminding him to rotate the food in the cupboards in date order. 

You glanced at your watch, finding relief that you didn’t have long left of your shift. The display you’d been working on just needed a few finishing touches and then you could go home, shower and spend the day with your boyfriend. You spot your manager walking past, looking beyond stressed as she paces up and down the aisles looking for someone. 

You sigh when her eyes land on you and she begins to make her way over to you. “Y/N, I hate to ask…” she begins. 

“It’s fine, Elise. What’s up?” you reassure her, kicking yourself for the offer, hoping the task won’t take too long. You guessed you weren’t her first choice but you were happy to help if it meant a little more overtime.

You watch the relief wash over her face, happy you weren’t going to be another in what was probably a long line of colleagues who chose to blow her off. “Everyone’s gone home, and you know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate but that shelf in the walk-in freezer is broken again, someone’s just left stock all over the floor. I’ve gotta go to an appointment so I can’t stay until open,” she says all at once. 

“Elise, it’s fine. I’ve got it. I’ll just finish up here and then I’ll see what I can do.” 

She flashes you a smile, giving you a clap on the shoulder before turning to leave. “You’re a lifesaver!” Elise tosses you the keys to the store, going over the instructions on how to lock up when you finish, assuring you’d be paid for the overtime. She continues her thank yous as she walks away, leaving you by yourself in the store. 

You pull out your phone, sending a quick text to Buck, ‘might be home a little later, gotta fix something in the walk-in and then lock up. Going to need a hot shower when I get in…maybe someone to join me too?’ You sent with a few emojis. 

Your phone lights up as the three dots appear, then disappear as Buck decides on how to respond. You let out a laugh as your phone buzzes with a new notification, Buck having replied with a few suggestive emojis. 

Pocketing your phone once more, you zip up your jacket as far as it can go and pull on the gloves before heading to the back of the store to the walk-in freezer. You should feel slightly ridiculous at the attire, considering the climate you live in, but they were needed in the biting 0 degrees of the freezer. 

The cool air hits you as soon as the doors open, causing you to suck in a deep breath. Your boss hadn’t been lying when she’d said the stock was everywhere. In fact, she probably hadn’t been entirely truthful with you. Realizing you would probably be in there longer than you thought, you decide to close the door behind you, not wanting to let in the warm air or hear the robotic voice reminding you ‘door open, please close the door,’ on an endless loop. 

Unsure of where to start, you begin by shifting the stock around to give you a bit more room to work. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision to go in with only your jacket, but you knew the sooner you got in, the sooner you would be out of there and you could be on your way home. You shake off the cold, focussing on the task at hand, hoping you will be done soon. 

Your fingers are numb and you’re barely able to grasp at the last few items by the time you are done, the gloves just about doing their jobs none they were damp from the melting ice from the frozen produce. With the shelf finally fixed, you make quick work of restacking the boxes of frozen vegetables and oven fries before turning to leave. 

You give another pull on the handle, surprised as the motion jerks you. You were stuck. Not quite believing it, you give the door handle another hard yank, trying to keep the panic from rising further, but once again the door doesn't budge.  

You try to swallow the anxiety that has risen in your chest as your biggest fear has come true. ‘The safety release, it’s there for a reason. Try that before you panic,’ you thought to yourself as you pulled on the emergency release next. Dread washes over you, the uncomfortable sensation of your stomach dropping with the realization that the door is still jammed tightly shut. 

With all the strength you could muster, you try one more time, hoping it is just a small build up of ice that is preventing your escape. Your strength, however, is of no use. The lever hardly budges. You slam your hands against the freezer food in frustration as you let out a choked sob as you finally admit to yourself that you’re stuck. Turning your back against the freezer door, you allow yourself to slide down, your emotions finally taking over as you let the tears you’ve been holding back escape. 

The tears only made you colder as the moisture hits the cold air. You try, in vain, to stop, hiccupping as you try to choke back the tears; but the fear and anxiety were too much. 

You pull out your phone from your pocket, glancing at the top right hand corner of the screen to see what you had expected; no signal. Elise had likely already left, so you knew there was no point in ringing the safety buzzer either. With no one to call and the store empty, you choked out another sob at the realization that the morning team wouldn’t be in for another hour. 

With the knowledge you wouldn't be able to get out, your mind turns to survival mode. You vaguely remember something from one of the survival shows Buck loved to watch; you needed to keep calm. Panic would only burn energy and your body needs that to keep warm and to survive. 

You glance around, noting the broken down cardboard boxes you’d cleared, sitting by the door to the freezer. You place a few on the floor, hoping it would be enough of a barrier to insulate you from the cold ground. You also spot the roll of saran wrap you know is kept in the freezer to wrap the full cages and begin to frantically unravel the rolls, folding it as you went to make a makeshift blanket. 

You sit down on the insulated floor, wrapping the improvised blanket over your head and around your shoulders. With the remaining cardboard, you cover the rest of your body, hoping it will stave off the chill from the cool freezer air. 

Despite the makeshift shelter, you can’t help the involuntary shivering causing your whole body to convulse as it tries to keep you warm. 

You can gradually feel yourself growing more tired, not sure if it's from the cold air or the effect of the long shift you’d completed, not that you cared either way. 

For once, you’re thankful for the thermal socks and heavy uncomfortable steel toe cap boots, at least your feet are warmer than your hands. You know it’s not looking good for you when you begin to lose the feeling in your fingers, despite having your arms wrapped around you and your hands tucked beneath your armpits. Rubbing your hands up and down your arms helps to warm you some, the action helps to keep your blood circulating, praying to any god who would listen that you’ll make it out of this alive. 

You clumsily fumble your phone from your pocket, with the hope that by some miracle you might have at least one bar of signal, but as suspected, nothing. Checking the time, you sigh, sliding the phone back into your pocket, fumbling it slightly as your fingers are no longer cooperating. 

See the full post

359 notes - Posted August 29, 2022

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[lucyandthepen]

gorgeous | lmh ( m )

there is a part 2!

you don’t know what in the football uniform mark is wearing is so attractive. maybe it’s how broad is shoulders always look in that jersey. maybe it’s how nicely accentuated his ass is when he’s running. or, maybe, just maybe, it’s how painfully conspicuous the outline of his cock is through those pants.  

or, you know. all of the above.  

pairing: mark x reader rating: R genre: college / football au, romance, humor, smut warnings: kind of feels like pwp with just a bit of background pining I guess, semi-public (?) sex, oral sex, just good ol’ fashioned smut perhaps with minimal dirty talk. nothing depraved (yet). please be sure that you are 18+ to read! word count: 12.4k

author’s notes: i literally have nothing to say like . i just wanted to post something that would gain me access into the 18+ section of the nctzen library i guess :^) this is once again an edited fic, but it is pretty unbeta’d, so i’d love for anyone to point out any mistakes they see! since this has explicit content, please do not read this unless you are of age! honesty is the best policy, everyone. :^) enjoy !

                                                       *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You know you’re done for the moment the sky opens up and starts raining.  

You can’t even get off the field and run from the rain because it’s all a part of the whole cheerleading gig; if the playing team’s on the field, then you have to be, too.  

Sometimes, you think that there are more drawbacks to being in this position. For one, it’s completely risk-heavy; you can’t remember a game where someone didn’t at least obtain a sprain or slip on the mud in front of five hundred people while trying to still look like everything’s fine. Pile on other issues, like having to cut back hours of free time in a week to practice, having to constantly fit and refit uniforms that you also have to shell out your own money for (because what else is the university’s budget for if not to pay for a yet another science lab?), and dealing with slightly catty teammates because on no particular day of the month is the entire team period-free, and you almost have a deal ready to be broken.  

Just almost, though.  

Possibly the only perk that beats all those downsides is the fact that you have free access to the football team and all their practices and games. Most days, you think it’s actually worth it to risk breaking your neck coming down from a human pyramid (or, worse, being the base of one, which requires the kind of upper body strength you don’t think you have a lot of in you) if you get to at least see eleven cute guys jogging around the perimeter of the field they share with your team for practice.  

Oh, and, yeah, even if you had to pay for the cheerleading uniforms, they were kind of cute, in all honesty.  

You look up as the first droplets fall on your head, and you can see the collective grimace that sweeps over the cheerleading team; one girl even stamps her feet and yells something about her not wearing waterproof mascara just as the rain mixes with the crowd’s cheers when it starts to intensify. It quickly forms a thick curtain, and you lift a hand up to your forehead to shield your eyes as you scan the field in front of you. Everything is just a blur of white and blue sometimes interrupted by the droplets that hang off your eyelashes, but you keep looking anyway. It shouldn’t be that hard to spot him because he’s fairly tall in his own right, you think, except it’s hard because so is everyone else — perhaps even more so — and he’s probably being eclipsed by all these jacked up guys from the visiting team.  

You get called out of your search temporarily when the cheerleading captain plucks on your sleeve and tells you you’re all going to do one more routine; in that time, all you can do is think about not slipping on the mud that’s slowly deepening under your feet. Even your fucking pom-poms are a saggy mess.  

The only time you manage to see him is when the referee’s whistle blows for a time out, and the teams troop back, somewhat sluggishly, to their benches. He always walks at the back of the line, like he’s careful to not get crushed between his teammates, even though they always tell him to walk with them. He glances up at the scoreboard; there’s two minutes of play left, and your home team is ahead by a mile, so he could sit pretty for the rest of the game and they’d probably still win.  

In all honesty, no one had ever thought Mark would make the football team. Not even Donghyuck, his freshman roommate, who, in his own weird way, idolizes Mark (at times, to a fault). Not even you, his best friend, who had criticized him for never being active in any kind of extracurricular activity ever since you had met in your first year of high school. And especially not Mark himself, who had, in an attempt to get you off his back about being a hermit, tried out for college football just so that he could prove that he would never make it and would never fit in a team, anyway.

Except for some strange reason, he had. Inexplicably, he had even placed on the actual starting team instead of the reserve, like you and Donghyuck had initially guessed when he’d come home, slightly starstruck, with a jersey in his hand. You thought it was a joke — even though Mark rarely makes any of those in the first place — until he announced that he’d placed as a free safety and would be starting practice that coming Thursday.  

You’d thought it was a joke even when Thursday came along, convinced he was just trying to one up you and get you to admit maybe it’s not a big deal if he’s essentially disconnected from the rest of society, until you actually saw him come out of the locker rooms and start doing laps with the rest of the team. At that point, something just… snapped.  

Sure, Mark has always been attractive to you, in that kind of boy next door with the nice skin and the naturally casual laid-backness so many people try so hard to achieve, and a part of you has always been pretty aware of how appealing he was. You’d been pretty good at repressing it, though; only Donghyuck had slowly cottoned on over time, mostly because he refused to make friends with classmates he would only spend one semester with, which led him to tagging along on yours and Mark’s trips to the library (which he hates) as well as your trips to unlimited refill barbecue restaurants (which he loves).  

(Sometimes he hangs out with some other freshman kid named Renjun, whom neither you nor Mark have ever seen, but Mark swears he exists because he sometimes finds that his bed seems to have been slept in on days that Donghyuck is much more vocal about how cool he thinks Mark is.)  

“Why don’t you just tell Mark hyung that you like him?” Donghyuck had once asked when you’d both been sitting on the frontmost bleacher, waiting for Mark to finish a particularly long and seemingly grueling weekend practice. “You know it’s not like he’s going to think any less of you. Also, it would be better if you just ended up honest with him before he catches your dried up drool on your chin.”  

You’d flicked him on the forehead, partly because he was sticking his nose into where it didn’t belong, but mostly because he was suggesting the one thing that would overturn the delicate internal balance you’d been carefully building up since the first day you’d met Mark.  

Not that you’d never thought of it. You’d just been really, really good at talking yourself out of it, making excuses about how it’d probably just been your hormones telling you that you could stand to entertain a boyfriend or even a friend with benefits every once in a while. It had never really been about Mark, specifically.  

Until now.  

These days, you’re not so great at keeping yourself calm and collected at the thought of him. It’s the curse of being able to see him run across a field almost daily, his asscheeks tightening visibly when he lunges and the veins on his forearms bulging when he uses all his upper body strength to toss the ball. You’re thankful that cheerleading practice almost always winds up earlier than football practice because you can use the little gap between when you have to leave the field and when you have to see him again to do your homework together to take a cold shower or, when it’s really bad and your roommate isn’t around, to masturbate to the thought of him bending you over and pounding so deeply into you that you’re practically speaking in tongues.  

And it’s never any one else’s face that you imagine looking up at during a blowjob. It’s always his.  

You squint across the space between you and him, and even through the rain, your vision tunnels towards him. His shirt is soaked completely now, and it clings to his skin; you can see the deep curve of his spine and the definition of his right bicep even from here — proof that this football thing is really starting to shape his body in a way that is both frustrating and totally attractive to you. Behind the steady noise of the rain, you can’t help but give a slight whimper.  

You’re not sure if it’s because you catch his eye or just because he feels like someone’s watching him, but he suddenly looks up at you, mirroring your expression and squinting through the rain. When he realizes he’s looking at you, the corners of his lips turn up into a small but genuine smile, and your heart skids dangerously, breaking its already fast rhythm. You respond with a bigger, goofier grin before you can stop yourself, and you see the whites of his teeth peek out as he laughs at your expression.  

Damn you, Mark Lee. You gnash your teeth together as you turn away, but you’re really only chastising yourself. You hate that this is confusing. You hate that this situation is actually simple, but you’re too hesitant to do anything about it, so it becomes confusing. You hate that ever since Donghyuck had brought it up, you’ve been secretly planning out the ways you could just seduce him, and you also hate the slightly sick feeling that comes after those fantasies when you remind yourself that you’re being a hopeless pervert. You hate that the rain his making his pants just the slightest bit translucent, so you can see the outline of his cock just pushing against the fabric, and you almost want to scream because you really, really hate how much you wish he were fucking you with it at that exact moment.

Mostly, you hate that your body seems to be going through its whole mid-adolescent years sexual arousal phase all over again.  

The referee’s whistle sounds through the air, and the team troops back onto the field and gets into position. Someone from the squad calls your name, and you walk stiffly over to join the routine again, trying to make excuses about how you’re wet from the rain and not from thinking too much about your best friend.  

                                          *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’re drenched by the time the game comes to a close, the home team scoring an impressive 6-1, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about the cheering and hugging that’s occurring all around you. You had just seen Mark bend over to pick up a bottle of water and scoped two whole eyefuls of his substantial ass stretching the fabric of his pants, so, yeah, you kind of have to do something about it.  

It isn’t as easy as it seems in your head, though. For one, he’s being blocked by people much, much larger than you, and they’re traveling in groups — the referee and the vice principal, three of his teammates carrying the team’s water cooler over to throw onto the coach (boys, seriously), and the two teams’ mascots walking side by side, their costumes absorbing all the rainfall. There’s also the problem of people holding you back, like Park Sooyoung, one of the juniors on the squad, hooking her finger into the back of your shirt and dragging you backwards to shout very loudly into your ear that most of the girls were going to go to a McDonald’s with some of the players right now. You try to shake her off with weak excuses, but her grip is unnaturally strong.  

“There still might be room in Jeno’s car, if you want to join,” she yells over the rain that’s practically torrential at this stage.

“No thanks,” you shout back, although you have the decency to at least keep your mouth a few inches away from her ear canal. “Stuff to do. Gotta shower, and all. And… Homework,” you add lamely when she gives you a disbelieving look.

“You can do it when we get back! Jeno’s car has a heater anyway. Aren’t you hungry?”  

Hungry? No. Thirsty? Yes. But not in the physiologically necessary sense.  

You manage to get her to cotton on that you have no intention of tagging along after a couple more refusals, making sure she zips off across the field with the rest of the squad before turning your attention back to Mark.  

Who is no longer where he had been five minutes ago.  

The weighty feeling of regret at a missed opportunity settles in your stomach as you spot him across the field now, nothing but a tiny white and blue dot disappearing into the boys’ locker room. The feeling is only alleviated slightly by you telling yourself that you didn’t even really have a plan anyway, so it was better that he’d disappeared before you got the chance to embarrass yourself.  

The rain stops overhead suddenly; you look up to see a familiar baby blue umbrella covering you, and you let out a small sigh of relief.  

“I thought you went back to the dorms already.”

“I almost did, but I saw you standing like a dumbass out here,” Donghyuck laughs. “You could just ask someone to sneeze on you if you really want to catch a cold.”  

“What I really want is a hot shower and a snack,” you respond.  

“I saw your teammates leave with Lee Jeno like three minutes ago. Why didn’t you go with them? I thought people liked you on that team,” he teases. You whack him in the face with a ruined, soggy pom-pom, but you don’t dignify his question with an answer. He spits out a piece of the paper that had stuck to his tongue on impact.  "Oh, I see. Distracted by external elements? More specifically, external elements on Mark hyung’s body?“  

"There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t wish you had a mute button.”  

“My mom couldn’t afford the down payment for it,” he shrugs. “You know, I could always mention it to him if you’re too chicken —”  

“I will never forgive you if you do that,” you cut him off. “Never. I will strangle you before I strangle myself if you tell him.”

“So you tell him,” Donghyuck snaps. “All you ever do is moon over him now. Just get laid so that we can go back to eating breakfast for dinner every Thursday instead of you never showing up or backing out at the last minute because you’re too worried seeing him eat pancakes will trigger hyperrealistic fantasies of him eating you out.”  

“I don’t think that way!” You yell, but you’re glad that he’s not really looking at you, so he doesn’t see the flush that spreads like wildfire across your face.  

“Fine; I won’t tell. But you have to soon. I can’t stand being in the middle of all this awkward atmosphere you’re suddenly creating. Plus, he keeps asking me if I’ve talked to you recently.” He shoots you a meaningful look that you ignore. “It’s not like he’s stupid. He thinks you’re avoiding him because you suddenly hate him, or something.”  

“I’m trying to fix that,” you frown.

“Fix it faster,” he nags, and you smack the pom-pom into his face again. It’s satisfying to see how little bits of wet paper stick to his nose.  

Donghyuck walks you to the locker rooms, overestimating the capacity of his umbrella by saying he’ll wait for you and Mark to come out so you can all head back to the dorms together. You try not to read too into the fact that he’s essentially forcing you to live through another fifteen minutes of wading through one-sided sexual tension and troop yourself into the locker room while he strolls off to the nearest waiting shed. It’s odd that you can’t hear any water running, and no one seems to even be inside. You figure everyone’s out making a mess out of the nearest McDonald’s until you turn on one of the showers and realize that there’s no hot water in the stall you’re in. And in the next one. And in the next one. Or the one after that.  

You groan in frustration, now acutely aware of how sticky and heavy your uniform feels against your skin. You could always just shower at the dorm, but that just means staying and walking around in this state longer, which doesn’t feel like a very comfortable option. You could also just brave the cold, but in this weather, it doesn’t sound like a healthy idea.

Of course, there is one other way.  

You weigh out your options briefly, but it’s not like there’s any better and more immediate choice. You gather your spare clothes and quickly exit the girls’ locker room, your hand over your mouth as though your breathing is going to be too loud and give you away.  

The distance between the girls’ locker room and the boys’ locker room is less than ten steps, but because you’re trying to be unbelievably careful, the tiptoe over to its entrance feels like a mile-long and extremely stressful endeavor. You bump into one of the members, Jung Jaehyun, right as you’re about to enter, but he at least doesn’t seem to notice how guilty you’re looking, or the fact that you have a towel and a shampoo bottle in your arms.

“Hey, _______________,” he greets you, shaking the remaining water out of his hair. “I thought you would have gone with Jeno and Doyoung. Most of the cheerleaders did.”

“I wanted to take a shower first,” you say lamely. You don’t add the in your locker room part.

“Same.” There’s steam forming a thin cloud around him as he stands in the doorway, so you’re at least assured your rule-breaking isn’t going to go to waste. “If you’re going to catch up, maybe you can invite Mark to come along with you. I asked him, but he said he was just going to go home and rest. He’s like a grandpa.”

“Oh,” you swallow thickly. “He — is Mark in there? Still?”

“Yeah, he was talking to coach about something, so he’s still in there getting ready. Anyway, at least try to get him to tag along; it’s as much his victory as it is the rest of the team’s. Text me if you guys are both coming to McDonald’s later. I’ll save you seats.”  

He gives you a pat on the shoulder before walking off; the rain has calmed into a light drizzle now, and you hear his jovial voice greet Donghyuck by the waiting shed, asking him if he wants to tag along for a burger.  

This is… fine. It’s not a big deal. You really just want to shower. Except, you know, you’re not really sure how you’re going to explain yourself to Mark. Except, do you really have to? It’s just a shower. He’d understand. He… showers too, doesn’t he? Yeah. That’s good.

Even with this logic, you walk in carefully, trying to keep your steps as light and as quiet as possible. The rows of lockers in here somehow look longer and larger — male athlete privilege, you guess — but you’re grateful for the fact that maybe in this tiny labyrinth of lockers and benches, you can completely avoid Mark.  

You almost do, too, right until your foot lands in a puddle and goes skidding so far you feel like your pelvis has snapped in half; with a squeak of surprise, you claw at the side of a locker row, making the loudest, most obnoxious set of sounds an accident could produce as you crumple to the floor, mildly shell-shocked.

“Who’s there?”  

The voice is unmistakable, and you right yourself just in time for Mark to peek out from behind the set of lockers two rows down. His face morphs from initial alarm, to brief surprise, finally settling with confusion. You try your best to look as collected as possible, but it’s hard when you take the whole form of him in and notice that he’s already stripped off his shirt and remains only in his pants.  

“Hey, um. Mark. Hey,” you force a smile out. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I was talking to coach,” he says in a small, slightly disbelieving voice. You don’t miss the once-over he gives your whole drowned rat aesthetic. “Sorry — what are you doing here, ____________?”

“I was, um—” you try to come up with something less stupid, but nothing sticks to you better than the truth, so you admit it anyway. “Just… wanted to take a shower here.”

“Oh… you know this… is the boys’ locker room,” he reminds you carefully, as if he’s trying not to hurt your feelings even if he’s essentially pointing out how stupid he thinks you are. ��

“I know. There’s no hot water in the girls’ locker room, so I thought… I thought I would just—“ you gesture around yourself, and Mark’s round eyes follow the course of your left hand.  

“Right.”

“It would be really great if you didn’t tell anyone,” you add.

“I won’t. It’s just me in here, anyway.”

A terrible silence passes between you two. You can see the gooseflesh forming on his arms and shoulders from being exposed to the chill for too long. You’re acutely aware of how loud the sound of your heavy, wet skirt is when you shift your weight from foot to foot, and he’s watching you carefully, with this sort of strange, glazed-over look that you can’t read. You both open your mouth at the same time to speak.

“Have you been avoi—”

“Great game, by th—”  

You stop at the same time too, and you share a nervous laugh. At this, the tension in his shoulders goes away, even though he does look slightly uncomfortable standing half-naked in front of you. He gestures for you to keep talking.

“You played great, was what I wanted to say,” you rub at your arm. “I know Donghyuck and I weren’t serious about it at first, but you really play like you belong out there.”

“Oh — thanks,” for some reason, even if it’s a compliment, he looks mildly disappointed. “It’s really just practice.”

“I know that you practiced hard, but I also think you play pretty naturally. And you run… well, too.” You avoided a bullet by biting your tongue down and keeping it from saying something about how good he looks running.

“Thank you.” He folds his arms across his chest, keeping out the cold as much as he can. “Do — have you been, you know, avoiding me?” You shake your head, but he continues to elaborate. “I can quit, you know, if you don’t like it — me being on the football team. If it’s taking up too much time that we can’t even hang out after, I don’t really want that to be the reason for us to just fall out. I already talked to coach about it, and he said—”

“Mark,” you speak over him, a little alarmed. “I don’t — of course I don’t want you to quit.”

“Oh.” He looks slightly relieved. “But, then, you’ve been—”

“Yeah, I know I’ve been missing in action,” you lick your lips nervously. “It’s just personal stuff, but like, not the serious kind? Don’t — I mean, you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I thought maybe you hated that I was on the team now,” he goes on.

“It’s not that. I love that you’re on the team.” More than you know. “I’m sorry; I’ll be better. We can do breakfast for dinner on Thursdays again, like we used to.”

He stares at you, like he’s unsure of how to phrase his next thought into a meaningful sentence, so he just nods and settles with a shorter, “Donghyuck will like that.”

The next silence kills you as the desire to explain yourself bubbles up again, but the dying purity inside you causes you to swallow it back. Mark is the first to break the silence this time, without any interruption from you.

“I should really go take a shower.”

“Oh — yeah, me too,” you gesture vaguely to the exit with your thumb. “Donghyuck’s waiting for us.”

“Better not keep him standing out there in the rain, then,” he points jerkily to the next row of lockers. “You can just change there. Or wherever else. I’ll be in the shower anyway.”

You nod your thanks, not trusting yourself to speak clearly anymore, opting to shuffle to where he’d indicated. You’re all alone on this side of the lockers, but you can hear Mark moving about, a locker door opening and closing as he gets his things ready. You have to keep reminding yourself to stay on target instead of listening in like some creepy maniac, but you pause, swallowing thickly as you hear the tell-tale sound of wet fabric hitting the concrete floor, and you know that’s him taking off the last article of clothing he has on.  

You think that this experience can’t be good for your mental health, but it doesn’t even matter because your mind is so invested in the idea that Mark’s bare body is less than four feet away from you that it can’t think about its slow, inevitable death.  

The sound of a shower curtain being pulled close followed by water running signals that Mark is in the shower. You peel off the rest of your clothes, and hold your towel close to your chest as you walk over to the stalls. The one that he’s occupying falls right under the ceiling light, so you can see his blurry silhouette move through the fairly thin curtain. Your throat is dry, and you want to walk past it to get to the next stall, but you stop right in front of it, weirdly mesmerized by his form.  

“Mark,” you say before you can stop yourself. You see him stop and listen, one hand still in his hair, frozen in the act of shampooing. His head turns, and you can tell he knows you’re standing right outside the stall, mere inches away from him.  

“Yeah?” His voice sounds different — maybe higher and a little more frail, although you assume it’s just the steam affecting his vocal chords, or whatever excuse your mind half-assedly churns out.  

“I have been avoiding you,” you confess, doing that stupid shifting from foot to foot thing again. Something like a sigh escapes his lips, rising above the stall along with the steam.  

“I knew it. Do you really not like me being in the team that much? You should have just said so. I told you, I can quit — really. Our friendship is more important than some sport I didn’t even know how to play six months ago.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you chew your lip. “It’s more that I like it so much I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What? Football?”

“No. You playing football.”

Something hits the floor inside — probably a bar of soap — and you see Mark fumble with it for a moment before straightening back up. He doesn’t say anything, though, so you press on.

“Ever since you started playing, I sort of felt like you were — I don’t know. Different? You look different for sure, but you act differently; you even walk differently. But not in a bad way. Like, in a good way. A really good way. And it’s distracting me a lot, so for my own, um, sake, I had to… take a step back.”

You feel like you’ve said everything you can at this point without giving extreme on-the-nose specifics or a terrible love confession, so there’s nothing for you to do except wait for a response. When it comes, it isn’t what you’re really expecting.

“Actually, I don’t think there’s any hot water in the other stalls either,” he says in a careful voice, so soft that it’s almost drowned out by the water.  

“I can just shower after you,” you mutter in disappointment. The conversation seems over for a brief second until he replies with a much firmer voice.

“There won’t be any hot water after I shower.”

“I’ll just go to the dorms, then.”

“_____________,” he says your name in slow, deliberate syllables. “There won’t be any hot water there either. Trust me.“

You stare dully at his form through the shower curtain for what feels like forever until something dawns on you, and a mild shiver runs down your spine — not at the cold but at the thought of your interpretation being correct. Slowly, carefully, you toss your towel so that it hangs next to his on the metal rod on the shower curtain. You wait for him to protest, but all he does is make his silhouette grow slightly smaller as he steps back, and you take this as a good sign, pulling the shower curtain aside and quickly stepping into the stall before your nerve completely abandons you.  

You’ve never seen Mark naked before. It’s not like you’ve tried before recently, but when you think about it now, you feel like your assumptions have slightly undersold him. He’s always been on the slightly lankier side (at least, in your opinion), and even with all the toning up he’s done, you don’t actually expect him to look this… good. His muscles are actually well-defined now that you can see the shadows they create under the light, and his body is extremely well-groomed.

His cock is slightly bigger than you’d initially imagined, too, probably because you’ve only ever guessed at its form through stolen glances. It’s as long as you’ve assumed, but its girth is strangely more than the football pants had let on. You wonder if it had always been like this or if he had grown into it over a span of, like, ten years, and then you feel like a pervert again for being more concerned with that more than the fact that your best friend is backed up against the wall, regarding you with wide eyes.  

His lips are parted, and the water coming down from the shower catches on its curves and rolls down, creating a new dimension to them. It takes all of your self-restraint to stop yourself from kissing them at that exact moment.  

Your gaze meets his, and nervousness overtakes your lust; you have to remind yourself that he wanted this too — invited you in — just so that you don’t make a run for it.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever—” He swallows hard; the water on his lips make them look slick and irritatingly delicious. “Told you why I stayed on the team either.”

“Now’s a good time,” you say quietly, trying to be nonchalant, which is stupid, because your naked bodies are at most two feet away from each other.

“At first, I was thinking we could hang out more, since you were always caught up in practice during the afternoons. But recently, I—” Mark lets out a nervous chuckle. “When we take breaks, I watch you practice. I’ve never actually seen you; you look so pretty when you dance.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, feeling a blush crawl up your neck. “When have you ever said something like that to me?”

“What? You thought you were the only one brave enough to confess?” He laughs a little more easily. His back is off the wall now, body a little closer to yours. Whether this is intentional or not, you don’t know, and you don’t ask. “I was thinking… that I would pluck the courage to ask you out soon, but then it felt like you were ignoring me, and I worried, I guess?” He’s shifting from foot to foot now, too; the habit seems to be contagious. “I thought you didn’t like that I was on the football team.”

“I’ve always liked it. Maybe a little too much.”

He’s inches closer now; you think that this can’t be some random set of movements he’s unaware of. You’re also vividly aware of how hard his cock is, standing erect extremely close to your thigh.  

“I’ve always liked you,” he murmurs. “Maybe a little too much.”  

“You never acted like it,” you accuse him without real heat. He smiles, more to himself than anything.  

“I didn’t really know until the first time I saw you out on the field,” he chuckles. “If you hadn’t said anything first, I might have taken it to the grave, too.”

“I guess I have to live up to being the pushier one in this friendship now and then.”

He laughs, a rich sound that causes a pleasant shiver to pass through your body. Mark notices the slight movement, and he reaches out, pausing in hesitation before taking your waist, his palms pressing against your flesh.  

“We’re in the shower together,” he mumbles as if it’s the first time he’s noticing. “Two hours ago, I was worried you were going to stop being my friend.”  

“We’re in the shower together,” you repeat, a small smile lifting your lips. Mark mirrors the action. “I think that fact kind of trumps your fears.”

It takes him a while to say anything, his fingers doing most of the work by trailing along your side, dipping into the curve of your waist and skimming over your hip. The steam curls up over the both of you, creating a thin veil that leaves his skin glowing. He only speaks up again when his hands place light pressure against your skin, and he draws closer with this anchor, his eyes traveling further down the landscape of your frame.

“I—” he lets out a nervous laugh. “I can’t believe — we must be breaking twenty school rules right now.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not really. It’s new to me, but — you know. It’s not that weird; not when it’s with you.” His eyes move up again, gaze meeting yours. “Do you?”

“Mind?” You laugh, and his smile widens at the sound. “Not at all. Not when the pay off is looking at you this way.”

He stops pulling himself closer until you’re almost nose to nose, and he replaces his hands with his arms, slowly winding them around your form. From this level of closeness, you can see the droplets of water forming on his eyelashes, dripping down the curve of his cupid’s bow.  

“You said,” he tries again, his voice a little softer now — a whisper just for the both of you. “You said I was distracting you.”

“You were.”  

“How?”

“I thought a lot about you,” your voice is level with his, almost drowned out by the sound of the shower spray.  

“What did you think about?”

You hesitate. The situation at the present is well-established for sex, but you somehow still feel like you’re the only impure one in this stall. Mark is watching you, though, his expression somewhat expectant but mostly genuinely curious. You decide to go the gradually honest route.

“At first, I just… thought a lot about how different you were on the field. You’re more confident; you’re more… alive, I guess?” You laugh at your poor choice of words. “I was surprised, but I liked it a lot. But, um — more recently, you’ve been playing a more active role in the fiction-generated part of my train of thought.”

“Like how?”

You check his expression, and nothing has changed, except maybe his eyes have grown slightly wider.

“I think about… us,” you admit, suddenly refusing to meet his gaze for the rest of your spiel. “I thought a lot about situations where I’d get to see you like this. Where I would get to touch you and taste you.”

You’re so close to him now, wound up in his figure that you feel the shiver run through his body. He clears his throat. “Do I get to touch and taste you in any of those distracting thoughts, too?”

Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out, and he looks… amused now. Slightly nervous, but there’s a small twinkle in his eye that is unmistakably mischievous. When you don’t respond, he plows on anyway.

“You’re not that special, ____________,” he teases breathily. Your eyes snap up to his again. His face is growing pink, but he doesn’t have any intention of stopping, clearly. “What? Like you’re the only one who’s allowed to think about us? I think about it, too. Sometimes I think about lying in bed with you. Other days, I think about making love to you. Most days, though…”

He sucks in a deep breath; you notice that his arms are shaking a little, like the act of saying so many things at once has drained him of a bulk of energy, but his grip around your waist only grows tighter, and his cock, pressed between your stomachs, twitches.  

“Most days I just think about kissing you.”

“Well,” you say, a little hoarsely. “Great minds think alike.”

Mark laughs right before he presses his mouth against yours, cutting the sound off with your lips. You initially assume that it’s going to be brief, but he seems to decide that now is not really the time for elementary-school-style chasteness, opting to part his lips against yours quickly and flicking his tongue out against the seam of your lips. You eagerly respond in kind, coaxing his tongue into your mouth and allowing him to explore it, the wet muscle flicking against your palate and passing over the ridges of your teeth. It kind of tickles, actually, and you want to laugh, except that would ruin the moment you’ve worked so damn hard for, and you would never forgive yourself for that.  

His hands are at your sides again, skimming up and down your skin with more fervor, and you return the favor by pressing your palm against his chest, fingers tracing long, slow lines down his chest, one digit catching on his nipple. You’d say something about how cute the consequent shiver is, but you’re currently rubbing your tongue against his eagerly, so you don’t really get to. There’s no other word to encompass Mark’s taste; it’s just clean — fresh, a little bit minty, maybe, and sharp in the most pleasant of ways. A moan passes between you, and you’re not sure who the source is, but it causes your lips to vibrate against his.  

Both of you are under the spray of the shower now, the warm water constantly running between your lips, and your hand follows the liquid trail downwards, stopping just above the base of his cock. Mark stiffens, and for a brief moment of panic, you think maybe you’re acting too fast. The fear dissipates just as quickly as it comes when his lips mouth against yours more eagerly, his teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip. You let out a soft whine, and he pulls away, his face suddenly morphing into unparalleled concern.

“Did that hurt? I’m sorry.”  

“No,” your fingers, acting on the unspoken green light, wrap around his shaft, and you can see him trying extremely hard not to drop his eyes and stare. A low huff escapes him. “I just wanted to do that to you first.”  

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you really have the time to be competitive about this? Right now?”  

“I guess not,” you admit. “I should probably focus on what I’m doing, anyway.”

His second laugh segues into a low moan as your hand begins to stroke his cock slowly; it’s almost weird how much more heightened your arousal is at the sound, coupled with the sight of his jaw going just a little bit slack, his eyelids dropping halfway. You’ve never seen Mark like this — in fact,  you’re fairly certain no one has, and the thought of you being the first to witness pleasure on his face makes you feel maybe a little inappropriately emotional at a time like this. Luckily, the sounds he’s making are some you’re wholly willing to focus on instead.  

He leans back in, and you’re prepared for another sweet kiss, but he dips his head, soft lips landing on your shoulder. His kisses are firmer this time, more audible against your skin, and he trails them along the curve of your shoulder inwards until he reaches the dip of your neck. Something that doesn’t feel like his lips presses against your skin there — it’s his tongue, you realize a little belatedly as he licks a slow, careful stripe up your neck, causing a soft, surprised moan to leave you, and the hum that rumbles in his throat as he kisses back down your neck leaves small, tingling patches against your skin.  

You also think his mouth is content where it is, but it seems like Mark has a penchant for the unexpected that you’d never been fully aware of, because his lips trace a messy line even further down. When his hands come up your sides, they stop just above your stomach, and you feel his thumbs stretch out, tracing the lower curve of your breasts slowly. You’d planned on saying something — maybe to egg him on (the specifics hadn’t been laid out in your head yet) — but that plan flies out the window when he bends a little more, his lips tracing a small spiral around your nipple before he takes it between his lips.

“Holy shit.” The electric shock of his lips causes you to tighten your fingers slightly on his shaft, and your hand moves at a slightly quicker pace. You’re satisfied to hear the groan that sounds against your skin, even though this triumph is easily overwhelmed by the feeling of him sucking diligently — almost reverently — on your nipple, his hand cupped under your breast with just the right amount of pinch.  

The stall is filled with steam now, but with it rises the frequent sounds of your moans and heavy breaths. The water beating down on you makes Mark’s cock interestingly slippery, letting you speed up your strokes with little friction or resistance. The result is amazing; while his head is still bent, lips pressed down on your skin as they move relentlessly against your nipple, you see his hips moving slightly against your hand. You try to push past the haze of pleasure his fingers and mouth on your body are creating and slow your hand to a stop. You’re absolutely fascinated by the fact that even though he makes a soft, slightly questioning noise, his hips are still rocking in minute motions against your hold. Not for the first time, you feel faint in the shower stall; you’d never imagined you’d see Mark fucking himself into your hand, but here you are, witnessing it in high definition, and it’s glorious.

It doesn’t last for long, but it’s still a good enough amount of time before he realizes you’re almost motionless, dazed by the sight. You almost miss his question entirely. “What’s wrong?”  

“You,” your words come out breathless. “Are so hot. It’s not fair.”  

“You’re kidding, right?” He chuckles softly. You meet his eye now that the mini show is over. He’s looking up at you, wide-eyed and amused, lips still unintentionally grazing against your nipple.  

“Can we try something?” You ignore him entirely, but thanks to his general personality, he doesn’t complain; he just nods a little in response. No sooner has he pressed a tiny kiss to your nipple do you back him up against the shower stall’s wall, and he straightens his posture. Your plan is only slightly derailed when he reaches up, cradling your face and landing a brief kiss against your lips. He doesn’t say anything even as he watches you take a small step back before you carefully sink up to your knees or even when you place your palms flush against his thighs. The only time he actually starts asking questions again is when you brush your lips against the tip of his cock, to which he responds with a soft intake of breath.  

“What’s the plan here, ___________?”

“I’m going to put your cock in my mouth,” you announce, and you don’t miss how his eyebrows lift slightly. “And you’re going to move your hips. Can we do that?”  

“I don’t think I’m going to live through it,” he rasps. “I’m actually two seconds away from a heart attack.”  

“Well, hold it in,” you laugh softly, but he doesn’t join in this time; you can tell he’s torn between keeping himself in check and just letting his desire take the reins entirely. He stares down at you, chest rising and falling a little more aggressively. “Come on. Please?”

“I’ve never done that. What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t,” you make the promise for him. “Just do it slowly. I’ll tell you if it’s too much. Please?”

“You know you’re being unfair. It’s really hard to say no when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this. Kneeling down in front of me. You know. Begging me,” his hands curl into your hair, making more of a mess of it. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter than ever. “Okay. We can try.”

He doesn’t lead you closer like you think he will with his hold on your hair, so you take the initiative, parting your lips so that your tongue can flick out against the tip of the head. It elicits a shiver that visibly runs through his body, and that’s all the invitation you need to wrap your lips around his cock. His grip tightens minutely, and he looks down at you again, still somewhat concerned. You think it would be kind of stupid to just nod with part of a dick in your mouth, so you squeeze his thighs lightly. Luckily, Mark gets the signal, and with a soft, drawn-out exhale, he starts to move his hips shallowly.  

It’s nothing extreme at this point, really; the tip doesn’t even hit the halfway point of your mouth, and he’s moving so carefully that a kid’s gait might outrun him at this rate, but the look on his face is exquisite. Mark in any angle is attractive, and you’ve long come to admit this, but you haven’t been able to decide on which angle is actually his best. You’d always assumed it was his profile, but the view you have now, with him looking down at you, gaze burning, his lips formed around an unspoken ‘o’ of pleasure, has trumped every other angle by a mile.  

You still think that him being quiet isn’t so much what you wanted — in fact, the minutes you’ve spent in the shower have not only come to embolden you but have also sparked a weird, internal competitiveness that makes you want to push all of Mark’s buttons until you can find the one that makes him noisy. So far, you’ve gotten a few moans out of him, but nothing that feels satisfying. Even when you roll your tongue against the underside of his cock with every slow pump into your mouth, he doesn’t do much but hum or groan a little, brow furrowed in concentration. You want to egg him on, but you don’t know how, and you’re also not sure how far down his cock you can go before something unfortunate happens.

The solution presents itself when you focus a little less on Mark’s face and more on his cock; more than half of his length is exposed to hot air and water. Your right hand leaves his thigh as your left one gives his thigh another reassuring squeeze, and your fingers once again wrap around the now familiar shape of his shaft just as he rolls them forward.  

Mark swears sparingly, especially since he tries to avoid situations that stress him out enough to get him to drop a bomb. For some reason, that just makes it more potent and extreme, like it’s a signal that indicates just how far something’s pushed him. It’s not surprising that you feel some kind of pride swell in your chest when the first out of a long string of fucks suddenly falls from his lips, hoarse and frustrated. His other hand joins the one already tangled in your hair, and there’s an uncharacteristic glassiness in his eyes as he rocks his hips forward with more intent.  

“Fuck, ____________,” he slows his litany of curse words with your name, tongue peeking out to catch the water that’s pooled just above his upper lip. “Fuck, you look so hot. What the fuck.”  

You can’t respond, so you make a pleased noise in the back of your throat that resonates down his shaft, and he tilts his head back at the feeling. His Adam’s apple bobs dangerously, like he’s swallowed down the rest of his obscenities, and you can’t see much of his face apart from his jawline, which has tensed into a sharp angle.  

Your left hand finally leaves his thigh, assured that he won’t need any more guidance, and it finds its way between your legs. You’ve gotten off embarrassingly quickly by imagining Mark like this — moaning, erect, drowning in pleasure because of you — but now that it’s playing out in real time in front of you, you have all the content you could ask for and more. Your fingers find your clit, rubbing it with the same speed his hips are following, and while you haven’t had much practice with your subordinate hand, it doesn’t even matter; you’re so turned on that even half-assed masturbation could probably get you off easily at this point.  

You actually think this is how it’s going to end — with Mark fucking into your hand and mouth until he cums, with you fingering yourself until you climax as well — but that fantasy comes to a disappointing halt when he stops moving his hips again, panting as he finally finds the strength to look back down at you. His hands lead your mouth back, easing your lips off his cock as he lets out a soft noise of relief.  

“Why’d you stop?” Your mouth feels a little numb, so you stumble over your words somewhat.  

“Wa — are you fingering yourself?” He asks, fascinated and now ignoring your question, drawing his head back in a vain attempt to get a better angle.

“You looked so good,” you state, like this should explain everything. “You tasted so good. Why did we stop?”

“As hot as that was, and it was really hot,” he chuckles. “I kind of feel like it’s unfair that you’re keeping your pussy to yourself.”  

His voice and words make your chest clench so hard that you can’t even make a noise; your mouth just forms soundlessly around an incredulous oh my god. Mark’s thumb traces your lips as they move.  

“Think you can still stand?”  

“I don’t know,” you admit. Your calves and thighs had started burning a few minutes into this position, considering you’d spent a good part of the evening before running around and jumping. “If I can’t, will you kneel down with me?“

“Yeah. But let’s try getting you up first.” He takes both of your hands, and you use his hold as leverage, slowly getting to your feet. Your face is impossibly close to his, and his hands are back around your waist. You can see a streak of water slide down his nose, and you lean in to press your lips to the tip, stopping it in its tracks. Mark laughs again, a low rumble of a sound that comes from his chest. “You good?”

You nod, opting to to spend more of your energy on pressing a kiss to his lips again; he returns it without hesitation, but it only lasts very briefly. When he pulls away, you notice that he squeezes your hips a little tighter.  

“Turn around,” His voice is still soft, but it’s lost whatever hesitation he’d had before this moment. You follow wordlessly, keeping yourself as close to his form as possible, and his hands never leave your waist, skimming over your stomach. Even if you hear him take a small step back to adjust, you can still feel his cock hard against you, settled between your asscheeks. You press your hips back against his, closing whatever tiny gap he may have made, and you hear him laugh quietly again.  

The one regrettable thing about agreeing to turn around is that you can’t see him anymore; his hands move across your skin, rising and falling over the curve of your ass, but you can’t watch him do it without putting a lot of strain on your neck. You have to content yourself with imagining his expression as his fingers dig into your skin lightly, spreading your cheeks apart slightly. At least he makes a sound — a low, appreciative hum that gives you just enough to guess.  

He shifts his stance, moving his cock downwards before his hands ease them between your legs; you feel his length pressed up against your folds, and he starts to rock his hips again in the same slow, controlled movements that seem almost trademark. You make the mistake of not keeping your volume in check as you let out a moan, feeling the tip rub against your clit.  

Fingers crawl up your stomach, his hands briefly stopping at your chest to squeeze at your breasts. He keeps one hand in place while the other continues its journey, settling gently at the base of your neck. His forefinger stretches upward slightly to press against your lips.

“Someone could hear you.”  

“We’re the only people left.”  

“You don’t know who could be outside,” he sounds amused at your quick, nonchalant response.  

“I don’t think they can hear us from outside. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know who’s in here,” you pause before smiling against his finger. “Unless you want them to.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I can be a little more specific, if that turns you on.”  

Mark falls silent, clearly trying to decide how to proceed. His finger traces the shape of your lips before falling lax in front of them, and you take this opportunity to flick your tongue out against it.  

You expect him to retract his hand, or something, but you don’t expect his hips to jerk forward a little in surprise, and you let out an even louder moan as his cock skims against your folds. Your thighs close a little more deliberately, adding to the friction.

“Jesus.” His voice is thick, distant, like he’s choked up on something. You can only imagine that he’s probably gritting his teeth, which is a sight you wish you could see, if you weren’t so intent on pushing this newfound button of his.  

“Mark,” you breathe out. You feel his cock twitch between your legs. “I want you inside me.”  

As soon as you finish your sentence, you part your lips, taking his finger into your mouth. There’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, and you waste no time in bringing your lips down to the knuckle, suckling languidly.  

You hear him say something about a heart attack again, but he complies, pulling his hips back so he can align himself to your entrance. In your impatience, you push your hips back. Your moans harmonize as you feel him enter you, and he only waits a moment to collect himself before he’s slowly pushing in, his grip on your breast tightening a little. He’s careful, so careful, like he’s worried if he moves too suddenly you’ll freak out and leave. Reluctantly, you release his finger.

“More,” you murmur when he seems to be slowing to a stop. “I want all of you.”  

“You need to relax or something. You’re so fucking tight. Holy shit.”

“You don’t have to act like I’m made of glass,” you laugh softly before letting out a noise of frustration as he actually stops halfway. “Mark.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. But also,” he exhales a little shakily. “This view is nice. Like, really nice.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been wet since I saw you shirtless outside,” you admit. He makes an amused sound. “Come on. I want to feel all of you stretch my pussy.”  

“If you keep talking like this I’m just going to cum on the spot,” he warns. “Is this the kind of dialogue you’ve been imagining we’d have during sex?”

“Sort of.” You don’t even have it in you to sound sheepish; you’ve focused your attention on more pressing matters, like trying to push yourself further along his length. “You’re kind of nastier in my head though. But that’s probably my fault more than yours.”  

“Okay, now that just makes me more curious.” His hands realign at your hips before moving backwards, and he spreads your asscheeks again, gripping your flesh a little more tightly as he inches himself forward. You finally let out a soft sigh of relief when you feel his hips flush against yours again, and your walls pulse around him. “Tell me what else you and I say in your head.”  

“Why don’t you start moving,” you suggest. “And we’ll see what comes out of my mouth.”  

He hums in assent before drawing his hips back and rolling them forward; the soft moan that comes from you is a signal for him to keep going. Mark thrusts in the same manner he seems to do everything in his life — cleanly, carefully, thoroughly. It feels good, but you can also tell he’s holding back, because his grip on your hips is unconventionally tight for his current pace.

It’s actually quiet apart from the intermittent sounds that pass between you; you actually think about saying something dirty, but you put that thought aside when it feels a little too sudden after a silence. You chew on your lip, trying to figure out how to get him to let loose without sounding way too demanding about it. It’s only when you think about Mark’s words — his heightened concern — that you start to pinpoint what the problem is.  

“It’s not just about hurting me, is it?”  

“Hmm?”

“You’re worried about something else.”  

“Is it that transparent?” He chuckles softly, his hips slowing to a stop again. You decide to let it slide this time.  

“You were fine before this,” you point out. “You even said—”

“I know, I know.”

“Do you not want to… anymore? It’s okay, you know. If you don’t,” you add quickly.  

“Wha — no,” this time, it’s his voice that rises a little. “No, that’s not it at all. I’ve always wanted to — you have no idea how much I’ve…”

“So what’s the problem?”  

“I don’t know. A while ago, I was kind of in the heat of the moment, and you looked so… so hot, and it was all good, and then, just now, I just realized,” he laughs softly at nothing in particular, but it’s an embarrassed kind of laugh. “I might not live up to your expectations at all.”

You want to throw him a look of disbelief, but you can only turn your head so far sideways, so you can’t see his face fully. You settle with giving him a side eye that you hope translates just how absurd you think he’s being.  

“Are you kidding?”  

“I don’t want our first time to be disappointing for you,” he continues. “If you have standards, and I don’t meet them, won’t it be too awkward for us after?”  

“I really want to look you in the eye right now, but since I like the fact that you’re still inside me while we’re having this conversation, you’re just going to have to imagine me looking a little sternly but affectionately at you,” you instruct, and he snorts softly. “Mark, the one and only standard I have for any fantasy I’ve ever had is that you’re part of it. Since you’re here, I think we can call this a win.”

“So after this…?”

“After this, we’re going to take Donghyuck out for a late dinner, and if we still have the energy after that, you’re going to tell him to sleep in Renjun’s room so I can come over and ride you, or something.”  

He’s quiet for a moment before he hums approvingly. “I guess I could roll with that, then.”  

“So stop holding back,” you groan. He chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, the act of him nodding causing his lips to brush against your skin. This time, without your prompting, he starts to move his hips again, pulling them back and rolling them back forward with more resolution. “Fuck. Okay, this, I’m on board for.”  

His breath cools against your skin as he laughs silently, but it doesn’t last long; he focuses more of his energy on his movements, and you can hear a low groan echo from the back of his throat. His palms move to press against your stomach lightly, but one of them slides further downward. You feel his fingers press against your clit, rubbing it in intense circles that match his pace. You moan low, feeling yourself tighten around him again.

“I guess shower sex has that whole keeping you super wet perk.”

“Nope,” your voice is higher than usual, but it isn’t cracking yet, at least. “That’s all you.”

“Yeah, I kind of just wanted to hear you say it,” he chuckles. Your admission of it seems to renew his confidence, and his thrusts grow sharper, his two fingers spreading your folds so he can rub the middle one along your slit, having it brush against your clit with every upward stroke. You can’t help but squirm a little at the stimulation, but he keeps you firmly in the embrace of his other arm.  

“You like hearing how wet you make me?”

“It’s suddenly become my new favorite topic.”  

“I’ll be sure to bring it up at every appropriate time,” you promise. “Like when you’re balls deep in me, or something.”

“Great plan,” his voice sounds a little short, but your assumption is just that he’s trying to conserve his breath now that he’s giving it his all. Now that he’s not burdened with irrational worries, he’s fallen into the delicious pattern of drawing his hips back almost until he’s out of you before snapping his hips forward, burying himself back into you until the base. The feeling of being filled doesn’t turn you on as much as the idea of him being the one who’s filling you, and your moans increase in pitch and volume with every thrust. He doesn’t even try to shush you anymore; in fact, you feel like it’s sort of driving him, considering that he seems to move his hips more intensely whenever you moan his name, prolonging the last syllable.

The hot water is starting to run out; you feel even more goosebumps on your back and shoulder as the water starts to cool down. Your teeth are digging hard into your bottom lip because you’re desperately trying to hold back the fact that you’ve been humiliatingly close to cumming since you’d felt his cock against your clit, but you can feel yourself pulsing around him dangerously. Just when you’re about to confess, though, he suddenly pushes his hips harder into you, suddenly stopping with a low groan.  

“Mark —“  

“Don’t be mad,” he mutters, his voice dangerously low. “But I’ve been holding myself back since you gave me that blowjob.”

“Technically, you fucked my mouth —“  

“Yeah, whatever, that really hot thing you did that almost made me blow a load,” he snaps. You feel his cock throb inside you, and you mewl.  

“I’m really fucking close too,” you admit, and he doesn’t skip a single beat. His hips jerk up, allowing him to grind his cock into you for one intense second as he pulls your back flush hard against his chest. He buries his face into your shoulder, and you can feel his short, labored breathing as he pumps into you.  

You can’t even form coherent sentences to keep egging him on, so you’re just stammering at this point, switching between Mark and so close and a string of obscenities that heightens in volume when you feel yourself tighten right before you reach your peak. Even when your shoulders tense and you fall into a blissful silence in your climax, Mark doesn’t stop, diligently fucking into you in his determination to keep you riding your high. It doesn’t end when you come back down, either, and you’re a whimpering mess in his arms, nails digging into his forearms and repeatedly moaning out how much you want to see him cum.  

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and his voice breaks uncharacteristically; he’s close, but he’s still going, his thrusts growing erratic and sharp. “Fuck, _____________.”

“Mark,” you whine, neediness thick in your voice. “Let me blow you again.”

“You feel so good, though,” he whispers reluctantly. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Mark—”

“Shit, I know,” he groans, easing you away. You turn to look at him, and the sight makes your knees weak; his brow is furrowed, and his hand on his cock, stroking it haphazardly. His lips are parted slightly, and he’s staring at you with a burning desire that somehow makes you wish you hadn’t asked him to pull out. You’re so entranced by how he looks that you almost forget why you’d turned around in the first place, and it’s his low, drawn-out moan that snaps you back into focus.  

Getting back on your knees, you tug his hand away; it falls back to his side as you replace it with your own hand, stroking his length at a quicker pace. You can see him threatening to tilt backwards, and you call his attention before it can tip all the way.  

“Mark,” you breathe out. “Baby, look at me.”

He complies, slowly bending his head and squeezing his eyes shut for a second before opening them to gaze down at you. His pupils are blown out, and water caught on his lips drips down onto your hand and face.  

“Tell me where you want to cum.”

“Shit,” he looks dazed; the fact that you’re squeezing him probably isn’t helping. “I — I don’t know.”

“Do you want to cum in my mouth?”

“Oh my god.” He squeezes his eyes shut again. “Fuck. Fuck yes, yes.”  

“Look at me when you do,” you press. “I want you to see your cum all over my lips.”

He looks positively overwhelmed at this point, but he opens his eyes again, fixing his stare on your lips, which have parted to kiss his tip. Your tongue peeks out, pressing flat against the underside of his cock as you continue to stroke him, trying to coax him into climaxing.  

He starts to rock his hips again, but instead of intensifying his thrusts, he suddenly tenses; his cock twitches against your hold, and you feel the heat of his cum spill onto your tongue and stain your lips. You can tell he really wants to keep his voice down, but he can’t control the long groan that leaves him. Mark’s expression is something straight out of the million fantasies you’ve had, with him unconsciously licking his lips at the same time you lick your own clean. He stands in slightly dumbfounded silence, not breaking eye contact as he watches you swallow.  

He doesn’t even say anything as he helps you up, but he does gather you in his arms again. His embrace is tighter than before, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then finally your lips. His fingers glide down your back, resting naturally just above your ass.  

“Holy shit,” he finally manages to cough out as he pulls away.  

“For sure,” you agree, and you watch his lips curl up into a grin. “Never had a shower sex fantasy. Not sure why, but I guess I found out what I should have imagined.”

“These fantasies of yours — do you have, like, a list, or—?”  

“Only up in here,” you point to your temple, and he pulls out a disappointed expression. “What does it matter?”  

“Well, what kind of checklist am I supposed to make now?”  

“You want a sex checklist? Can’t it just be spontaneous like this?”

“I’ll have to work on it.” He reaches behind you, taking the soap from the holder and pressing the flat of it against your back before rubbing it in gentle, circular motions. “It would be nice to have a guide, though, so I’m not repeating myself, or whatever. For example, we can’t have shower sex again tomorrow. That would just be lazy planning.”

“You don’t need a guide,” you say dismissively. “But I’m kind of into the fact that you already think we’re going to fuck again tomorrow.”  

“Are we not?”  

“We are. That’s why I’m into it.”  

                                          *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When you come out of the boys’ locker room, Donghyuck is standing by the door, arms folded across his chest. He’s visibly miffed and bursts into an enraged whisper when you step out, followed by Mark.

“You guys were in there for an hour! The janitor came and tried to lock the door. Thank god he said there was a ghost inside and he went to the chapel to get the priest. What took you so long?”  

“There was only one shower,” Mark says simply. “The girls’ locker room didn’t have any hot water.”

“You take like ten minutes showering,” Donghyuck accuses him before turning to you. “And you hate long showers because they make your fingers wrinkly. Two showers back to back don’t equal an hour in there.”

“We didn’t take back to back showers,” you reply, equally monotone.  

The three of you stand in silence, with Mark only moving to close the door behind him. Donghyuck points a slim finger at him, then at you, then at the door. Finally, it makes its way back to you, and his jaw drops a little as the pieces fall into place.

“You’re the ghost?”

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one making noise in there.”  

“I wasn’t that loud,” Mark defends himself, hugging his jacket closer to his chest. Donghyuck shakes his closed umbrella, the droplets flying around.  

“You guys made me stand out here and try to talk the janitor into getting a different mop while you had locker room sex?”  

“Technically, it was shower sex. Locker room sex sounds too public,” you correct him, and he makes a disbelieving noise.

“Weren’t you the one pressuring me into admitting I had feelings for her?” Mark frowns, and Donghyuck freezes, his mouth still open from the words he had been about to say. Your eyes widen, and it’s your turn to point an accusing finger at him.

“You told Mark what?”

“He said I needed to confess or some other guy on the team would beat me to it.” Mark inhales sharply at his following realization. “There isn’t another guy on the team, is there?”

“Technically, we don’t know who has feelings for her on the team, so I might not have been lying so much as guessing with only little information,” Donghyuck sounds decidedly less hostile now. Mark rolls his eyes.

“You told me to just get laid!” You recall, and Donghyuck flinches.

“I didn’t mean right now in the damn showers while I waited for you out here for eons. I was thinking, like, one of you would confess, and then you’d go on a date later in the week, and if things go well then you’d kick me out of the room so you could bone, or something. It’s not my fault you guys made it sound like a scene from the exorcist in there.”

“We didn’t— okay, you know what?” You snatch his umbrella, and he lets it go without much resistance. “Let’s just go back. Come on, Mark.”

You open the umbrella, the remnants of the rain flying outwards as you do. Mark takes the handle from you, and you both march away, leaving Donghyuck behind in front of the boys’ locker room.  

You’re halfway across the field when Mark speaks up in a low voice.  

“We can’t leave him there.”  

“I know. I’m just trying to spook him.”

You both stop, turning to face Donghyuck, who’s still by the locker rooms. He’s clearly watching you, though, because the moment he sees you looking at him, he makes a run for it, his long legs carrying him across the grass at top speed. He’s huffing when he arrives, and he throws his arms around the both of you so he can minimize the space he takes up under the umbrella.  

When you reach the parking lot, Donghyuck speaks up.

“So, was it just one round in there, or what?”  

[thesoftestirises]

swim

♡ pairing : aemond x reader ♡ rating : 18+. this is straight up smut lol. minors dni. you will be blocked. ♡ word count : 1.8k ♡ warnings : light degradation, humiliation, fingering, dirty talk ♡ summary : You are supposed to be a pure maiden devoted to only the gods. But instead, you allow the forbidden pull of carnal desire to drive you into Prince Aemond Targaryen’s arms. ♡ a/n : unhinged, unprotected, and unbeta’d. if you see a mistake, no you didn’t. (please dm me so i can fix it thank you 💕) as usual, the assumption is that all my characters are consenting adults.

To the outside world, you were a paragon of virtue.

A pious, studious daughter of nobility, destined to one day be a lady of faith. A wife of the gods, as your parents often said.

That could not be further from the truth, you thought to yourself as Prince Aemond Targaryen pinned your back to the wall behind you and pressed his lips to yours hungrily. You made a soft noise of surprise, but quickly melted into the press you had grown familiar with over the last few days. You brought your hands to his broad shoulders and welcomed him in further, inhaling his intoxicating, unique scent of fire and parchment.

“This dress has been nothing but a distraction to me all night,” Aemond whispered against your mouth, his voice falling into an almost hushed moan as his hands moved to the fabric over your hips.

“This dress, your highness? I look ridiculous. I’m afraid it would be better suited for hauling potatoes,” you said, pointedly turning your gaze to the frilly, puffed sleeves. “If that.”

Aemond chuckled into your kiss, his lips curving upwards in that charming way you could never resist.

“You look beautiful in everything. Besides, I think it makes you look innocent,” he replied, stealing another kiss before putting a few inches of space between the two of you. “Even though we both know you’re anything but.”

“Under your corruptive influence,” you teased. “I was as pure as freshly fallen snow before I met you.”

“Oh, is that right?” Aemond said, arching one perfect eyebrow at you as he tilted his head. “I could have sworn it was you who threw yourself at me a mere week after our first meeting.”

You pursed your lips and shook your head in denial. “I don’t recall that ever happening, your highness. You must be mistaken.”

“Is that right?”

“I do believe so.”

“So it was not you who I kissed in the garden veranda but a fortnight ago?” Aemond asked, winding his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. “How strange. You look exactly like her.”

“How strange indeed, but I would never engage in such improper acts. Certainly not with such a powerful, handsome prince,” you said, gently brushing Aemond’s soft blonde locks away from his face. You skimmed your thumb over the soft, worn leather of his eyepatch and sighed. “You don’t have to wear this around me, you know.”

Aemond’s smile dimmed, his gaze shifting away from you. “It’s not a pretty sight, my lady. I keep it covered for a reason.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Sometimes. I see my scars as the price I paid to become the man I am today.” he replied, his uncovered pale blue eye focused on you. “But the way that others recoil, or worse, look on with pity? That bothers me far more. I couldn’t bear it if you pitied me.”

“I could never,” you said, your voice firm. “I would never pity you. You are strong, honorable, and intelligent. Most men wouldn’t even measure to half of you. What is there to pity?”

The corners of Aemond’s mouth lifted in a small, but genuine smile. “You flatter me, my lady.”

“I speak only the truth.”

“I’ll remove it for you one day. But there was something else I was hoping to try with you tonight.”

“What is it?”

“In those dirty novels you always have your nose buried in,” Aemond whispered, his heated gaze locking with yours. “Have you read of fingering?”

You swallowed. “Yes. But I- I haven’t-“

“Shh, I know, love,” Aemond said, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. “I just want to touch you. Make you feel good. Do you want that as well?”

“Yes, but I’ve never done anything but kiss you, my prince. This is…”

“Lewd?”

You bit your lower lip and nodded.

Aemond laughed and pressed a soft kiss to your nose. “You were so bold when you first approached me. Now I offer to go further, and you get bashful?”

You pouted and crossed your arms. “It’s not like that.”

“Then? What is it like, sweet girl? Are you afraid of pleasure?”

You tried to fight off the heat rising to your cheeks and dropped your gaze to your shoes. “What if it hurts?”

Aemond took your chin into his rough, calloused fingertips, his touch paradoxically gentle in comparison to the state of his hands. He looked at you, his gaze earnest. “I would never hurt you.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

“Yes? You’ll let me stretch you out?”

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Yes.”

“Come.”

You allowed Aemond to lead you to his bed, tumbling in with him following after you. He settled between your thighs, pulling you into a open mouthed kiss. He lightly traced his tongue over the roof of your mouth and brushed his lips over yours until you were shuddering. His hands pushed your dress up until it was gathered at your hips. You broke the kiss to breathe, running your hand down his chest and playing with the gold buckles on his clothing.

“You are so devastatingly perfect, my prince,” you sighed, the words slipping off your tongue without you even thinking about them.

“I feel the same way about you,” he replied, no hint of humor in his tone.

Your breath caught in your throat and he kissed you again. Maybe you were just being delusional, but you could have sworn you felt a different type of passion in his movements. Your eyes closed and you wrapped your arms around his neck as one of his hands traced little patterns into the sensitive skin of your thighs. His fingers trailed up higher and higher until he was touching you through your inner layers of clothing.

“Are you nervous?” He murmured.

“A bit,” you admitted.

“I can stop,” he said. “I do not wish to pressure you into something you will regret.”

“Don’t you dare. Finish the job, Aemond.”

He chuckled and nodded, moving in to lick and bite at your neck. “You’re so wet, angel. You’ve practically soaked through your knickers and I haven’t even done anything. Do you like me that much?”

You whined and spread your legs further, inviting Aemond in. He smirked and finally pushed your undergarments to the side, not bothering to take them off before he used a cold finger to stroke between your folds.

“Fuck, Aemond,” you cried as your hands twisted into his bedsheets. “Your hands are freezing.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, my sweet girl. I’m sure your little fuckhole will warm them up. Invite me in, darling. Beg for me to touch you.”

“Please,” you whined.

“Mm, I need you to be a little more specific. I think you know the kinds of things I like to hear from that pretty mouth.”

You sucked in a breath, dizzy from the atmosphere he created with just a few words. “Please, Aemond. Please put your fingers in my hole and stretch me out. I need you to wreck me. I want to feel you inside me.”

“You’re just my sweet, obedient whore, aren’t you? You’re mine. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, I belong to you.”

“Your lips are mine,” he said, pressing a kiss to your open mouth. “Your tits are mine,” he said, roughly squeezing a breast. “And your pussy is mine. You’re mine and I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, a tear sliding down your face. Aemond looked alarmed at first before he realized you were just overwhelmed. He licked your tears away and kissed your cheek as you gasped in surprise.

“Don’t forget it,” he said, pressing two fingers into your mouth. “Get them nice and wet for me, won’t you?”

You obediently sucked and moaned around his digits, your eyelids closing.

“You’d be a natural at sucking cock, wouldn’t you?” He said, pulling his fingers out and smirking before finally sinking a finger into your entrance. The stretch wasn’t too bad, probably because Aemond had done a wonderful job getting you worked up enough to want it. It was a new sensation to have someone inside you like that. You could feel him curiously exploring your inner walls, searching for the places that made you gasp. He pulled the finger out to his first knuckle before slowly burying back inside. “You’re so tight, sweet girl.”

He shifted to kneel between your legs, using his other hand to gently stroke your clit. You quickly fell apart into a moaning mess as he toyed with the sensitive bead while pressing against your inner walls. Aemond kept going, pressing a second finger in and pausing when you hissed in discomfort.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just give me a second. It’s a lot,” you admitted.

“Do you want to take a third finger or is two okay?”

“Two is good. We’ll have to work up to three next time.”

He nodded, focusing on stroking your clit and pushing his fingers deeper into you. You cried out when he pressed against a particularly sensitive part of your walls. He grinned at the reaction and repeated the movement, purposely rubbing his fingertips against the area. He had to kiss you to shut you up, giggling against your lips.

“You really like being touched here, don’t you? You know what this is?”

“I’m guessing you’ll tell me,” you said breathlessly. He immediately punished you for your sass by pulling his fingers out of you and smacking your clit. You gasped and grabbed his shoulders, toes curling.

“Don’t backtalk me,” he said, a dark smile on his face. “Got it?”

You quickly nodded, sighing as he pushed his fingers back inside you.

“Your moans are like music. Oh, I’d die to spend the rest of my life between your thighs. Look at you, you make such a pretty picture like this. Clothes just pushed out of the way like a ravished maiden in a dirty portrait. You’re such a slut.”

“Your slut,” you corrected, smiling.

You found it harder and harder to keep your eyes open as he kept pushing inside you. All you could do was spread your legs further and gasp for air.

“Are you going to come, sweet girl?” Aemond teased. “Hm? Gonna come all over my fingers?”

“Yes,” you croaked, your voice just as weak as the rest of you.

“Do it, angel. I want to see you fall apart.”

You felt an intense wave of pleasure crash over you, much stronger than any self inflicted orgasm you’d given yourself. Aemond held you through it, nuzzling into your hair with his nose as you came down from your peak. When you had fully returned to your senses, you turned your head and saw him grinning at you like a madman.

“What?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You made a mess.”

“I did not,” you scoffed.

“Oh, but you did,” he smirked, showing you his glistening hands. “I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me.”

—

[minisugakoobies]

Christmas Confession | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut, holiday, friends to lovers, Coworkers!AU

Rating: M(18+)

Warnings: drinking, swearing, kissing, references to oral (f receiving) and vaginal sex

Word Count: 2.9K

Disclaimers: NSFW, I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: You're Namjoon's Secret Santa and you've got the perfect gift.

A/N: This was written for the BCC x FI 12 Days of BTS Holiday Event! My advent calendar prompts were "A best friend rigging Secret Santa because they know you have a crush on [member of choice]" and "Did we really get each other the same gift?" Just another soft holiday fic for you!

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

It’s starting to snow. You stare out the window of the taxi, watching the swirling flakes shimmer in the streetlights as you trek through the city. Tonight, your friends are gathering for a holiday party at one of your favorite bars. The evening ahead promises nothing but joy and merriment, but you feel nervous, staring at the silver-and-gold wrapped box lying on the seat next to you.

Maybe this is a mistake. But it’s too late now.

The car slows, and you sit up, craning your neck to see around the driver. Flashing lights ahead.

“Looks like we might be stuck for a while,” the driver says, and you just nod. That’s fine. A few more minutes before you get to the bar sounds lovely right now. Maybe this will give you a chance to clear your head and settle your nerves.

BZZT BZZT

Your clutch rattles as your phone alerts you to a text. It’s Yoongi, of course.

Grumpy Cat 😾 (8:15): Are you on your way or did you chicken out?

You make a face at the screen. The phone buzzes again.

Grumpy Cat 😾 (8:16): Don’t make that face at me

(8:16): How did you know?

Grumpy Cat 😾 (8:16): You always make faces when I call you out

(8:17): Ass. I’m on my way, just caught behind an accident or something

Grumpy Cat 😾 (8:17): Ok

Grumpy Cat 😾 (8:17): Just a warning for when you get here - there’s mistletoe by the dartboard

Grumpy Cat 😾 (8:18): Jimin’s already tipsy. Keeps trying to drag me over there. He’ll probably try to get you too

(8:18): Thanks for the heads up

A grin crosses your face as you imagine a cranky Yoongi fending off Jimin’s amorous advances. Then it’s quickly wiped away as you remember that Yoongi’s the reason you’re so anxious tonight. After all, he’s the one who rigged the gift exchange.

Yoongi had been completely unrepentant when you’d confronted him.

“Yoongi,” you hissed after the names were drawn, standing in his kitchen while the rest of your friends milled about his apartment. “You did this, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” Yoongi had the best poker face of anyone you’d ever met, but after a decade of friendship, you didn’t need to look at him to know he was hiding something. Like a vibration in the air, you could feel it - the sensation of someone meddling in your affairs.

You’d held out your hand, revealing the scrap of paper with Namjoon’s name scribbled on it. “You rigged the Secret Santa drawing! How else did I end up with Joon?”

Yoongi just blinked slowly. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because you love to make my life difficult.”

“No, that’s not it. If someone were going to go through the trouble of such a thing, one would have to have a better reason.” He tapped his chin. “Oh, I remember now - I wanted my friend to stop being such a dumbass and tell her crush how she feels. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity.”

“So you did rig it!”

“Of course I did. Dumbass. Look - life is too fucking short for you to keep on hiding your feelings like this. Just suck it up and tell him already.”

You could’ve rolled through any of your usual protestations, but you knew Yoongi would just ignore them, so you simply glared at him instead.

“Now then. Why don’t you take whatever energy you were going to spend on being mad at me and use it to find the perfect gift for Namjoon. What says “I’ve been helplessly in love with you since the first moment I saw you”? Maybe a nice mug?”

Yoongi wasn’t totally exaggerating. You’ve been in love with your friend Namjoon since the day he walked into your office two years ago. All it took was one look at your new coworker - this tall, broad-shouldered dreamboat with dark eyes and dimples that flashed impishly as introduced himself - and you immediately fell in lust.

And then he turned out to be the smartest, sweetest goofball of a man, and that lust quickly flamed into full-blown love.

Namjoon had fallen in with your group of friends, and you spent so many nights hanging out at the bar or at someone’s apartment, talking and laughing until late in the night. Even though you were surrounded by others, you always sought him out, just him alone, gravitating towards him like you were the ocean and he the moon. Basking in his glow.

You thought you hid it well, but Yoongi knew. He always saw right through you.

As much as you want to be mad at Yoongi now for fixing the Secret Santa draw and sticking his nose into your business, you can’t. Not really. Not knowing that he wants you to be happy, ultimately.

The car rolls forward slowly. “Hopefully not much longer, miss,” the driver says.

“No worries,” you chirp, but it’s a lie. Your mind is full of nothing but. As you gaze again at the gift box next to you, you think back to another time when your fears got the best of you.

It started like any other Friday in August. The city, trapped in a sweltering heatwave, shimmered in a haze outside your office’s windows as one by one your coworkers rushed home to kickoff their weekends.

You and Namjoon, however, remained at your desks, trying desperately to finish a project that was already a week past its deadline. Normally, you would’ve declared it Monday’s problem, but it was a massive project, and you both feared that your jobs were on the line if you didn’t hand it in ASAP.

But the heat was too much, and the power went out. It was only a flicker, really, electricity returning a minute later, but it was long enough to take all your hard work and toss it out the window, all because you hadn’t hit “save” in time.

Your immediate reaction was to throw a mini-tantrum. Namjoon kept a cool head, suggesting a change of scenery. So you packed up your laptop and took the subway to Namjoon’s. Over a takeout meal in his living room, the two of you carefully pieced your project back together again, finally finishing the damn thing several hours later.

“Done!” you shouted, closing your laptop as Namjoon collapsed on his couch. “Finally fucking done.” You poked him. “Don't fall asleep on me now. We need to do something fun. Try and salvage the night.”

Namjoon hopped up and started to rummage in his kitchen cabinets, until he pulled out a bottle of whisky. “How about this?”

It was a bottle of Honsool. Single malt, 12-year edition. It had already been opened, but was still pretty full.

“I’ve been drinking it slowly. Only on special occasions.”

“And tonight counts?” You peered up at him with an eyebrow raised.

His dimples popped. “Absolutely.”

He poured two shots, handing you one before joining you on the couch. You stopped him as he raised the glass to his lips.

“Hold on, we should toast!” you insisted.

“Ah, of course.” He paused. “To us keeping our jobs!”

The liquor went down so smoothly.

You raised the second toast - “Cheers to beers and legs behind your ears!” - before tipping back the shot, giggling in delight at the way Namjoon accidentally inhaled his at your words.

Back and forth, the two of you traded increasingly silly toasts as you tossed back shot after shot. Eventually, an empty bottle rolled on the table as the two of you clutched each other, laughing at your dumb, drunken jokes.

Things began to blur, melt together after that. A hand on your thigh - was it yours or his? Where did his shoulder end and yours begin? A longing look, eyes staring at lips. Suddenly, you were on your back and he was lying on top of you, his hand slipping beneath your waistband as his mouth met yours. You pulled him closer, fingers digging into skin, gripping, marking. Claiming.

His lips tasted like caramel and honey, sweetened by the whisky. He softly whispered his devotion, worshipping you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue.

You fell into the soft sheets of his bed, and he sighed the word “baby,” as he sank into you, again and again and again. When your end came, as your hips rose to meet his, it didn't feel like falling apart, for once. This time, you felt whole, as overwhelming pleasure surged through you, and Namjoon’s voice joined yours as you cried out into the stillness of the darkened room.

In the morning, you woke to an empty bed. Before you could wonder where he went, Namjoon poked his head in the doorway.

“Hey. I was just coming to check on you,” he murmured softly, a small grin playing on his lips. “You were really out.”

“Yeah, I sleep hard after I drink an entire distillery,” you replied, rubbing your temples, which were already throbbing.

Namjoon laughed. “I’m making coffee. Want some?”

You nodded, and he disappeared. Left alone with your thoughts, you stared at the ceiling.

Maybe now was the time to tell him.

Last night was beyond anything you’d ever dreamt. And you’d had plenty of dreams involving this man. Many of them involved this very moment itself. How you would confess everything. How he would smile and embrace you, whispering that he felt the same.

But now that the moment was here, it couldn’t be that easy, could it?

Suddenly, there were a dozen Namjoons in your head. One smiled sadly at your confession, holding your hand and saying he just didn’t feel the same. One patted you kindly on the arm and said, maybe we should just be friends. One laughed. Just laughed at you. Another snorted, asking if you seriously thought he could ever love someone like you.

On and on, all those Namjoons reacted in ways more horrible, more heartbreaking than the last. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t bear the thought of any of these Namjoons being the one about to walk through that door.

You couldn’t bear to lose the real one. Your friend.

Namjoon entered a moment later, two steaming mugs in hand. You took yours with a tiny “Thanks” and blew into it before taking a sip. Just a splash of milk and sugar. Just as you liked it.

“So, about last night,” Namjoon began, and you couldn’t let him finish. You needed to be the one to speak first.

“We got a little carried away,” you interjected, laughing nervously. “Sorry about that. I get kinda, um, rowdy when I’m really drunk.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Namjoon teased. “No, but - “

“I just hope this won’t ruin our friendship,” you blurted out, cutting him off again.

Namjoon’s mouth went slack for a moment as he looked at you. “Ruin our friendship?”

“Yeah. I really don’t want this to make things weird between us. You’re one of my best friends.” You spoke quickly, trying to get the words out as fast as you could, to let him know that he didn’t need to say anything. There was no need for him to let you down easy. You could do it yourself. “We should just… pretend last night didn’t happen. Right?”

His nod was slow, but your relief rushed over you immediately.

“Great! Um, how about I shower quick and then we go get some brunch?” You barely waited for an answer, too keyed up to slow down. In the shower, you took a moment to breathe deeply and let the water wash away all your worries. And your dreams, too. Better to let them go, rather than risk losing Namjoon.

When you returned, Namjoon was ready for brunch. The two of you walked out into the bright sunshine, chatting as if nothing unusual had happened the night before.

Neither of you ever mentioned that night again.

“Finally!” The driver’s voice wakes you from your stupor. Glancing out the window, you see that the congestion has cleared as the car begins to move again. “Should be there shortly, miss.”

“Thanks.”

Your ride pulls to a stop outside the bar a few minutes later. With a deep breath, you yank open the door before you can lose your nerve.

“Hey!” A chorus of voices shout your name as you enter. Grinning, you head for your friends, greeting them with hugs. True to Yoongi’s word, Jimin is indeed slightly drunk and does in fact tug you towards the mistletoe, but you give him a peck on one cheek and a pinch on the other before the insatiable flirt can attempt anything else.

The last person you greet is Namjoon. He hangs back a little from the crowd, holding a red box trimmed with a green bow. You still hug him like you do all your other friends, though maybe you linger a little longer in his arms. A small indulgence.

Yoongi brings you a drink. It helps you relax a little. Your friends are all so happy to see you, and that helps, too.

But once you’re settled in, someone announces that the gift exchange can begin. And just like that, your nerves flare up again, sending your pulse racing.

“Relax,” Yoongi mutters from next to you. He slips an arm over your shoulders. “I’m telling you, he’s going to love his gift.”

“You don’t even know what I got him,” you reply under your breath.

“Don’t need to. He’ll love it regardless, because it’s coming from you.”

“What makes you so sure? Has he said something to you?” You turn to examine your friend as he sips his pint.

“No, but he doesn’t have to. I just know.” You squint at him and he laughs. “Trust me.” He pats your shoulder before releasing you to unwrap his gift from his Secret Santa, his roommate Jin. “Oh. A mug. How nice.”

Your turn is next. A red box with a green bow is slid in front of you. You glance at Namjoon in surprise, then at Yoongi, who calmly sips his beer.

You undo the bow and peel back the wrapping paper. Inside the box, you find a bottle of Honsool. 12-year reserve. Single malt.

You start to laugh.

“Uh…” Namjoon says, face blanching as a murmur of confusion ripples through your friends. “What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you grab his gift and place it in front of him. “Your turn.”

He gives you a weird look, but tears into the wrapping paper. As he removes the lid from the box inside, he freezes.

After a minute, Jimin yells, “Well? What is it?”

Namjoon holds up a bottle of Honsool. “Did we really get each other the same gift?” His gaze meets yours, and you just smile.

There are still several gifts to be exchanged, so you try to focus on your friends. But you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s searching for something, and you know that the moment is here. So once the last gift has been opened, you approach him.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

You lead him into a quiet corner, away from where your friends are now loudly (poorly) singing a Christmas carol, and take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“Namjoon, I - “

“I bought that Honsool so we could celebrate tonight,” Namjoon suddenly proclaims.

“I - what?” Your train of thought completely derails before it even leaves the station. “You what?”

“I, uh, bought you that bottle, thinking maybe tonight would be a special occasion. Something to celebrate.” He dips his head, bashful, but you are perplexed.

“We are celebrating? The holidays?” What is he babbling about? You need to tell him how you feel before you lose your nerve again.

“Yeah. I know. But not that. I just, uh,” he clears his throat, “I, uh…” He closes his eyes, then peers down at you as his words rush out in one breath, “IwantedtotellyouthatI’minlovewithyou.”

You’ve lost the ability to speak, mouth agape as you stare up at him. He takes your silence as a reason to panic.

“Oh god. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel weird or - “

He loves you? He loves you. “I love you too.”

Rising up on your tiptoes, you crash your mouth against his as a cheer goes up behind you. Followed by a very loud “Finally!” from Yoongi and Jimin grousing that you’re nowhere near the mistletoe.

Namjoon’s arms are warm and strong, locked around your back as he holds you close. That feeling hits you again, of being whole, complete, and you sigh contentedly against his lips. After a moment, you pull away, breathing heavily as Namjoon’s dimples pop. You fondly run a finger across his cheek.

“I guess we have something to celebrate after all,” you state. “That’s why I bought you a bottle, you know. So we could toast after my confession.”

“Great minds,” Namjoon murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “I suppose, with two bottles, we could let everyone have a shot. Make a toast to friends.”

“Mmm, or, we take both bottles back to my place? And toast to whatever comes up.” You run your hand down his chest suggestively as he pulls you closer with a raspy chuckle.

“Sold. Let’s get out of here.” His nose nudges yours. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, Joon.”

© 2021-22-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[raewrites94]

Newlywed’s First Bonfire

I posted this on AO3 and thought it would possibly do well on tumblr too. Who knows. *shrug* Edited by me and unbeta’d, so. Mistakes are my own. also, this was inspired by a tiktok, if you want to see where I got the idea from. 

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Words: 3.4k

Tags: Recreational Drug Use, just absolute fluff, no use of y/n

Summary: As newlyweds, you've just purchased a house and begun doing projects with your husband on your property/house and one night Eddie convinces you to have a bonfire so the two of you enjoy the evening with some weed and dancing.

Rating: T? I don’t think the marijuana use necessitates a mature rating, but lmk if you disagree.

“Hey, you know what we should do?” Your husband Eddie asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You were standing at the stove, cooking dinner for the two of you and you yelped as he quietly snuck up behind you. 

“Jesus, Eddie! Warn a girl, why don’t you?” You chuckle. Though you do lean back into his chest and rest your head against the crook of his neck and he presses a kiss to your temple in apology. “Tell me what we should do.” 

“We should have a bonfire!” He announces as his lips move to press another kiss to your cheek. “The wind has finally died down and it’s perfect fire weather.” He claimed as he continued to pepper kisses down your cheek to your neck.

You hummed as you thought about it, stirring the pasta as it cooked. “Okay, let’s have a fire.”

“Yes!” He suddenly pulled away from your body and you turned and watched him pump his fist in the air. “I’m gonna go chop some wood before it gets too dark. Call for me when dinner’s ready?” He stepped up to press one last kiss to your cheek and you nodded affirmatively, humming as you turned back to the stove. You listened as the sliding door slid open and shut as he walked outside to the backyard.  

As you continued to monitor the food on the stove, you slowly shuffled over to the sink to look out of the big window that was above it. You watched as Eddie danced around the yard, grabbing his ax from the shed before walking over to your pile of wood that you’d gathered together from trees that had fallen on your property. Watching him chop wood had to be one of your top favorite activities. If you weren’t already cooking dinner, he would have invited you out to sit nearby and watch. You were able to watch him chop a few pieces, but then you did have to turn back to the stove to make sure you didn’t overcook the noodles and so you could start making the sauce. Tonight it was chicken alfredo and you did not want to ruin dinner, you were far too hungry to make something else if you got too distracted watching.

Once everything was ready to be put together in the sauce pan, you started to slice the chicken where it was resting on the counter. Then you slowly added the noodles, a little bit of pasta water and stirred everything together, making sure to coat all of the fettuccine with sauce. After it was all incorporated and you turned off the flame, you moved the pan to another burner. Then you walked over to the sliding door, opening it to walk out on the deck, watching as he cut a couple more pieces. 

“Dinner is done, my love.” You called out from where you stood leaning over the railing. 

“Don’t start without me! I’m coming!” He called back, quickly carting a pile of split wood over to the fire pit before running up to the deck and taking the stairs two at a time. “Come on, baby.” He grinned, reaching out for you and steering you back inside with his hands on your shoulders.

He deposited you at the table, having you sit down and you watched as he quickly washed his hands before stepping up to the stove where you had already laid out two plates. Since you had cooked it was his job to plate so he gave you both heaping portions of pasta before gently laying the grilled chicken on top. He then sprinkled some parsley and grated fresh parmesan over the top before picking up both plates and bringing them to the table. 

“Thank you for cooking dinner.” He said as he leaned down and you tilted your head to the side for him to give you a kiss on the cheek. That cheek kiss was practically part of your routine by now. You nodded your head back as your eyes followed his movements to put down your plates. “Anything to drink, wife?” He grinned as he said it. Never tiring of calling you his wife or you calling him husband. 

“Water for me, please, husband.” You replied, smiling back. 

“Glass of water, coming right up!” He exclaimed, reaching to grab a glass from the cupboard before walking over to the refrigerator and reaching in to pour from the pitcher of filtered water. He repeated the process and then returned to the table with two glasses and set both of them down before finally taking his seat across from you. 

The two of you quietly ate dinner together, stopping after a few bites here and there to talk about your plans for the weekend. His next tour with his band didn’t start for a couple more weeks, so you were slowly but surely completing projects around the house and your property before autumn gave way to winter and brought snow with it. This weekend, though, you were hoping to take a break. You were tired of yard work, tired of climbing up ladders over and over as you made repairs to the house and you just wanted to spend some time with your husband. 

“We’ll have no plans, then.” Eddie chuckled after listening to you complain about being tired. He was tired, too, admittedly. “I have no arguments about taking a break. In fact, I think I’m the one who always tells you to take breaks and you ignore me.” He pointed an accusing fork at you. 

“I’m listening now?” You shrugged, a small embarrassed smile on your face. You knew he was 100% correct in that he was always telling you to take breaks or you’d hurt yourself. 

“Even more perfect of a night to have a bonfire, then, hm?” He asked, as he looked back to his plate and scooped another bite before shoveling it in his mouth ungracefully. 

“Yes, husband. Great idea.” You rolled your eyes at him, cocky enough to initiate praise for himself and took another bite from your plate as well. When the both of you finished, you stood, bringing your plates and glasses over to the sink for you to wash later. “Go get the fire started, I’ll meet you out there in a few minutes.” 

“Aye aye,” He agreed, saluting before pulling open the door and returning to the firepit to get it going. You watched him for a few minutes from the window before crossing the kitchen to get to the fridge, pulling it open and perusing what you could bring out there. You decided to bring a couple of bottles of water and cans of soda, putting them into a small cooler with some ice packs, before closing it and the fridge. Then you grabbed a blanket and the accouterments you’d need to smoke, bringing everything out with you in one trip so you wouldn’t have to go back inside of the house. 

“Is my wife under there?” Eddie chuckled, calling out to you from the yard as you walked across the deck and down the steps. 

“Ha, ha!” You yelled back. The blanket was haphazardly placed on top of everything, including your head so all he could probably see of you were your legs. You managed to cross the yard without tripping over anything and set your supplies on the ground, then handed him the little pouch you’d brought out with your bowl and a lighter. “Hold please!” You quickly walked over to the garage, opening the door and turning on the light as you looked around for what you needed. “Aha!” You exclaimed as you finally laid eyes on it, walking around your car to get to the double camping chair you’d bought last year for you and Eddie to sit together. 

“Ah, yes. Somewhere to sit, good thinking.” He nodded sagely as he watched you walk back over to him through the little illumination the fire provided. “Trade?” He offered, holding out for you to take the pouch back, as he took the chair from you. Then he walked around the fire to find the perfect spot before getting it unfolded. He made a full circle around the pit as he picked up the blanket and the cooler you had brought with and deposited those by the chair as well. “My wife is so smart.” He muttered as he shook his head to himself. He hadn’t even thought of anything else besides having the fire. 

“My husband is also very smart.” You spoke lowly into his ear, having walked around the pit and sidled up close to him. You placed a kiss to his jaw, just below his ear and sat down on the chair, fluffing the blanket out across your lap and patted the seat beside you.

Before he joined you, Eddie walked over to his pile of firewood and grabbed a couple of pieces and placed them strategically into the pit. Or at least you assumed he was being strategic about it, you had no idea how to start a fire, that’s why it was his job. A smile started to stretch across your face as you watched him spread his legs and squat down. “Me husband, me love you. Me make fire, ooh ah ah.” He grunted in his best impression of a caveman. 

“Get over here, funny man.” You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes. The fire illuminated his face so you could see the soft grin as he walked over and finally sat with a light ‘oof’ onto the chair next to you. After you draped the blanket over his lap as well, you reached down to get a beverage for each of you. “Something to quench your thirst, good sir?” You asked as you turned your head to the side, pushing your hair out of the way so you could see him. 

“One coca-cola for me, fair maiden.” He requested. You hummed and nodded your head, turning to look down into the cooler as you grabbed both of you a coke and handed one to him. Then as you sat back, you took the pouch out from under the blanket and opened it, handing him the bowl and the herb you had pre-ground up.

“Would you do the honors, please?” You asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him. 

“As if I could say no to you.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes good naturedly. “You got a light? The fire isn’t giving me much.” 

“Oh, sure. One sec,” You muttered as you dug into the pocket of your sweatshirt. Or rather it was Eddie’s, you were just wearing it at the moment. Then you turned on the flashlight on your phone and brought it up so he could see better. 

“Ah! Let there be light!” He roared out. Then he focused as he packed the bowl, handing you the jar so you put that back in the pouch and tucked it into the chair beside your thigh for now. When you turned back, he was frozen, his eyebrows furrowed as he focused on something else. What he was focused on, you had no idea. 

“What?” You asked, looking around to see if there was something missing. 

“Is it quiet out here or is it just me?” He asked then, finally turning to you after having figured out what was missing. 

“Oh! You are correct. Lemme go turn the speakers on!” You immediately made to jump up, but Eddie pulled you back down by your hips. 

“Ah ah! I will do it. Sit back down, lovely wife.” He grinned, kissing you on the cheek before handing you the glass bowl and flipping his side of the blanket over onto your lap as he stood and crossed the yard to the garage, reaching in to flip the light on before stepping  inside to turn on the stereo, letting music softly play over the speakers that were mounted outside. “Loud enough!?” 

“What!” You yelled back, a big smile on your face as you pretended you couldn’t hear him.

“I said, is it loud enou-! Oh, I see what you’re doing. Very funny!” He chuckled, closing the door behind him before running back to plop back down next to you. “You haven’t even taken a hit yet?” He asked as he looked down at the bowl and lighter in your hand and then back up at you.

“I was waiting for my husband.” You replied, a cheesy grin on your face. “I will never ever tire of calling you that.” You hummed, closing the distance between you to kiss him softly.

“And I will never tire of calling you my wife.” He responded quietly after pulling away briefly, then connected your lips again. 

“You want first dibs?” You asked, holding the bowl out to him. “Come on, I know you always say “ladies first”, but you packed it and you made the fire, so you go first.” You added, shoving it closer to him. 

“Fine! Twist my arm why don’tcha” He breathed a laugh out through his nose and shook his head before taking it from you and bringing it to his lips. You watched as the flame from the lighter illuminated his face briefly and then he took a deep inhale, holding the bowl between his thumb and pointer finger. Then he handed it to you and you took the next hit, inhaling deeply before coughing and handing it back. 

“Fuck,” You grunted out as you continued to cough. Then you cracked open your soda and brought it to your lips, hoping it would help the burn in your throat. It did, but only for a few seconds as it glided down your throat, and then the burn was back. “We need to get some edibles or something.” You groaned, clearing your throat over and over to help the burn subside.

“Sure thing, baby.” Eddie grinned before lighting the bowl again and taking another hit. “Anything for my wife.” He said as he held his breath before tilting his head back to blow it up into the air. Then he held it out to you again so you took it, taking another hit, and this time you managed to not cough. Once it was cashed, he scraped out the contents onto the ground and handed you the bowl and the lighter which you put back into your designated pouch. Then you snuggled up into his side, his arm easily coming up to wrap around your shoulders as the both of you got comfortable. 

“You know what we should do?” You asked, suddenly breaking the silence that had stretched between you.

“Do tell.” He hummed as he pressed a kiss into your hair. 

“We should get a dog.” You sat up slightly to watch his reaction. He didn’t seem opposed, so that was definitely a start.

“A dog, eh?” He rested his head against the back of the chair as he thought about it. “Already want to start our little family huh?” He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your hair. 

“Yeah. Want a big family of dogs and cats. Ooh and chickens!” You excitedly replied, already picturing it.

“Okay, slow your roll, sweet pea. Let’s start with one dog, shall we?” He laughed at your eagerness. 

“Hmph.” You pouted as you snuggled back into him. “One dog, then.” You then agreed, after realizing he was saying yes after all, just not saying it to dogs, cats, and chickens. 

“Let’s go to the shelter next weekend?” He offered, leaning his cheek against your head as he started to hum to whatever song was playing over the speakers. 

“Yeah…” You hummed, grinning to yourself in happiness. “I love you.” 

“And I love you.” He replied, squeezing your arm with the hand that was around your shoulder. 

“If we get a dog while you’re on tour though, you know it’ll love me the most.” You pointed out after thinking about it. 

“Hm… Then we’ll just have to get another dog when I get back!” He suggested, as if that was the obvious solution. 

“I think that’s a great idea.” You grinned as you pulled your head off of his chest and arched your neck to place a kiss underneath his jaw. 

After sitting there snuggled up for a little while longer, Eddie finally moved to stand up and walked over to his pile of firewood and grabbed a few more pieces to put on. The fire had started to die out and neither of you were ready to call it quits yet. There was nowhere you needed to be, so you could spend hours out here if you wanted to. He was about to sit back down when the song on the radio changed. “Recognize this one?” He asked, grinning as held his hand out for you to take. 

“Of course.” You grinned softly as you put your hand in his and allowed him to pull you up. It was the song you’d chosen for your first dance as husband and wife. The wedding was just a few months ago, after all, so how could you forget?

“Dance with me?” He requested, already pulling you into his chest and wrapping his hand around yours and placing the other one on your lower back. You nodded as your other hand went to his shoulder, sliding your fingers under the collar of his flannel and his t-shirt to press against his warm skin and you rested your head against his chest, your ear pressed right over the thump of his heart. 

The two of you continued to dance like that, though it was more of a sway. Then you pulled back, sliding your hand up to cup his cheek and he leaned into the contact for a moment before turning his head to press a kiss into your palm. You pulled him down and your lips met in the middle for a kiss. You hummed into his mouth as you parted your lips, letting your tongue poke out and slide along the seam of his lips, asking for entrance. He immediately complied, his tongue coming out to caress yours as you continued to kiss and sway in the light of the fire. 

When you pulled away, you laid your head back against his chest and closed your eyes. He continued to sway the two of you, until suddenly you were spinning around. “Getting cold on this side.” He explained before you even had the chance to ask. You nodded your head in agreement, your cheek brushing against the soft flannel. “Should I put more wood on?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah.” You agreed, pulling away and moving to sit back down on the chair as he walked around the pit to the pile again. You watched as he hummed in thought before picking specific pieces and bringing them back over. “Those ones special?” You joked. 

“As a matter of fact, yes, they are.” He answered as he carefully reached in to arrange them around the current pieces that were mostly burnt up. “They’re the ones I think look the best.” He chuckled as he walked back over to sit down next to you, placing the blanket back over the both of you as you leaned into his space again. “Thanks for having a fire with me, baby.” He whispered. You reached out and grabbed the hand that wasn’t around your shoulders, holding it in both of yours. 

“Anytime.” You said quietly as you rubbed your thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. “After these ones are done, you ready to go inside?” You asked as your jaw stretched open in a yawn. 

“I suppose.” He answered, feigning exasperation. “Hey, look. It’s the little dipper. Or is that the big dipper?” He tilted his head as he let it fall back, looking up at the sky. 

You turned your head to look up, squinting as you searched for what it is he was looking at. “I think that’s the big dipper. The little dipper is over there.” You added, pointing in a different direction up at the sky. 

“Oh.” He nodded his head as he turned to look at what you were pointing at. “I can’t see it, but I will take your word for it.” You both continued to look up at the stars as the fire crackled in front of you. “I love seeing the stars from our backyard. Way better than living in the city.” 

“Agreed, husband. I’m happy we bought this place.” You smiled, closing your eyes as you turned your head back to face the fire, letting it warm up your skin. 

“Me too.” He said quietly, placing a kiss to your hair as you watched the fire continue to burn.

[wayward-river]

Sick For New Years

AN: This was requested by the lovely @heytherejulietx​, hope you like it! This is unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own, I don’t own any of the riverdale characters this is a work of fiction! 

Enjoy! 

You laid in your bed listening to the fireworks go off around you, you should be out celebrating with your friends but you were stuck at home feeling miserable. Tissues were scattered around the floor too weak to throw them in the trash. All you did was sleep and blow your nose, thank God the puking stopped early. 

You had all but sent Sweet Pea away the moment you felt off not letting him come over and help you. He had sent text messages and called and left voicemails. You tried to respond as best as you could but the light from the screen made you want to pop your eyeballs out with a spoon. So it sat and vibrated. 

You were sure these fireworks of celebrating the new year were going to be the death of you until you heard your front door. You might as well just let whoever it was murder you, you had no strength to fight them off. Maybe they would rummage through the house, find the cash jar in your cupboard and leave. That was until you heard your bedroom door open. You slowly lifted yourself up just enough to see Sweet Pea. 

Dramatically you fell back into the bed with a groan. “I told you to stay away from me.” 

Sweet Pea let out a small laugh as he picked up the discarded tissues scattered around and threw them into the small trash can he had brought from his place. “Like a cold is going to keep me away from you.” 

“You are going to get sick and then you’ll hate me.” You all but pouted, hoping that would get him to leave.

“Hate you? The love of my life? The sweetest thing that has ever graced my presence? Y/N/N you are trippin.” 

You weakly threw a pillow at him.

“I brought you cold medicine and a new box of tissues.” he paused as he kissed your forehead. “And soup.” 

“Fangs’ homemade soup?” 

“Would I bring anything else?”

Sweet Pea got comfortable next to you as he pulled you into his arms, and handed you the canteen of soup. 

You sighed in content and the smell and warmth coming from the small tin. 

“I love you” 

“I love Fangs” You replied with a small laugh. Sweet Pea started to move away. “I’m kidding baby, I love you too, here’s to another year together.” 

“Happy New Years Y/N/N.” 

Forevers: @whenallsaidanddone​ @lover2448 @theflameofdeath​

[jawritter]

If It’s Meant to Be

Part 13

Summary: Bad things happen to good people, that’s just the rule of thumb. But sometimes, things happen for a reason, and that reason is so you can find the person you’re meant to be with…

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!Reader

Warnings: 18 + ONLY!!! None this chapter really. Some anxiety if you know where to look. 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This fic is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Enjoy!

My Masterlist          Series Masterlist

"Easy Beau," Y\N said as she helped him step into the patio that led to his front door. "You don't want to push yourself too hard and end up right back in the hospital."

"I'm fine sweetheart," Beau insisted, "it's my shoulder that's fucked up not my legs."

"Don't be stubborn Beau, you heard what the doctor said, as the suppressant shot wears off you could feel lightheaded, and you're still pretty weak."

She should have known by now that scolding Beau would do no good. The man was stubborn to a fault, but he was also stronger than she gave him credit for.

"You sure you're okay staying here darlin," Beau questioned as she helped him unlock the door. "We can go to your place to do this if you're more comfortable."

Y\N helped Beau sit down on his sofa, she was pretty sure neither of them wanted to venture to the bedroom yet. Seeing as the last time they were in there she was giving him chest compressions.

"It's fine Beau, doctor said you'd probably come off of the suppressant faster if you were in a more familiar environment, besides, it might make the claim go easier if you're somewhere you feel safe and familiar."

Beau sighed heavily and sat deeper into the sofa.

"I'd never hurt you, Omega. You should know that by now."

"I do know that," Y\N insisted as she locked the door and moved to sit next to Beau on the couch. "But physically you have been through a lot of shit, and I want this to be as stress free as possible."

Beau nodded but she could tell by the disgruntled look on his face he was nowhere near satisfied and there was something bothering him. She didn't know quite what yet, but when he was ready, he would let her know. If he was going to be her Alpha, she had to learn to trust him. She knew that wasn't going to be easy, but like Jenny said, what in life worth having ever was. The almost two weeks she'd spent in the hospital getting to know Beau while he recovered told her he was definitely worth every bit of baggage and emotional damage. He was a good man. Despite everything he'd been through.

"I wish they would have never given me those shots in the hospital to suppress my rut. I know they had to, but I hate the way they make me feel."

Y\N helped him remove his jacket and knelt down in front of him to help him out of his boots and socks.

"It is almost like being asleep, and you know subconsciously you need to go to the bathroom, and you're dreaming about needing to go, but in your dream, you can't seem to find a place to go. It's tormenting."

Y\N stood, Beau's boots still in hand as she pondered his analogy. It wasn't one she would have used herself, but she could see where it would be the most accurate one. 

"Well, I guess that's one way to describe it," she admitted after a few minutes.

"Oh, come on, you can't tell me that's never happened to you!" Beau voiced as he watched her strip her own jacket and shoes. 

"I mean, yeah, I guess," she chuckled to herself. "I would have just never thought to use it as an actual analogy."

It felt almost normal between, easy even and that was an improvement to where they were the last time, they had found themselves at Beau's trailer. 

Beau shuffled himself deeper into the sofa and released a long show breath.

"I wish there was something I could do to make it wear off faster, cause you look miserable," Y\N admitted as she sat down next to him. "You look like you're trying not to crawl out of your skin."

Beau's eyes drifted towards the small picture in the frame that sat next to the couch. It was a picture of himself and his daughter.

"Everything's gonna change for me again," he admitted, "and I don't even know what to tell my baby."

Y\N swallowed thickly. When it came to things like this, it was all new to her. Beau had warned her that he came with a ready-made family. She knew what she was walking into. That didn't make it any less confusing, or scary.

"She's not a baby anymore Beau. I mean sure, she's your baby. But she is also a smart, beautiful young lady who would probably rather her dad to be open and real with her, instead of treating her like a child."

Beau sat there for a while and thought about it, and for a moment, she thought that she’d made him angry. Then he softened. 

“You’re right, I know you’re right, but it’s hard for me to make that transition between talking to her like a child and talking to her like an adult that she’s becoming. She’s been through so much with her mother and herself, I don’t want to put her through any more heartache.”

Y/N could understand that, even though he had never had children, she could see how that would be a hard transition, especially considering all they had been through as a family. 

“If you want me too, I’ll be there with you when you talk to her,” Y/N offered, but Beau just shook his head no. 

“That might not be a good idea. I think she would prefer hearing it from me alone.”

Y/N nodded, determined to not let it get to her. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you.” 

“I have a tough time, ya know, learning to let people in, let them help me, and I know that, but I hope you don’t think I’m pushing you away at all.”

“I don’t think that Beau, I know that this isn’t going to be easy, and I’m more understanding than you give me credit for.”

“Enough with the heavy for the night,” Beau voiced, suddenly stopping the conversation mid-stream. “I don’t have to wear that fucking sling anymore, and I can move my arm now. How about we just go lay down in bed and be close to each other for a while. Just be together without all the heavy drama and shit?”

Y/N had to agree, it did feel a lot like since the moment they met, there was some sort of drama and things going on around them. It would be nice to not deal with that for once, and just let the chips fall wherever they may, because it did seem like the more, they tried to fix things around them, the worse things always seemed to get. So, Beau’s suggestion wasn’t deflecting, It was more suggesting to just, for now, let shit go.

“I actually kinda like that Idea,” Y/N admitted, grabbing the hand that Beau had extended to her, and standing with him to follow him into the small bedroom of the trailer. 

That’s when the nerves really started to hit her and take their toll. Her stomach churned slightly. She was always afraid that even though they’d already crossed the sex boundry together, and even though they had both seen one another naked, there was always that fear that he’d just openly reject her, or suddenly decide he didn’t like what he saw, even though the blood test said they were true mates. When it comes to a man as attractive as Beau Arlen, it was hard not to be self-conscious, and nitpick at every little personal imperfection. 

Beau let go of her hand long enough to strip himself down to his boxers and climb into bed to hold the covers up for her to follow suit. She hesitated, but only for a moment before she quickly stripped herself down to her bra and panties.

As soon as she made her way next to him under the covers, he pulled her carefully into his arms, minding his still tender shoulder, and buried his face in her hair, allowing her to be completely wrapped up in everything that was Beau Arlen, the warmth of his skin against her own, his scent, his large hands tracing every inch of skin they could reach as he nosed alone her scent glands, allowing himself to breathe her in as deep as he possibly could manage. 

There was a safety there, a comfort she’d never really experienced before. The beginning of a bond that went deeper than sex, because really, mating was just a small part of the Alpha and his Omega. Really, it was about KNOWING one another. It was about knowing every freckle that dusted his skin, it was about knowing every touch that made her shiver as his calloused hands ghosted over her skin. It was about knowing the security and comfort one another could find when everything else around them seemed so cold and so cruel. 

It was easy, laying there like that, getting to know his scent, and letting him get to know her own. It was natural, and for the first time since all this started, she had a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe this was going to work out between them after all, and maybe, just maybe, they really were meant to be.

Y/N’s fingers trailed their way through his hair, and down the skin of his neck until she felt a small, raised section of skin like a scar that stopped her musing, and she immediately sat up to see what it was, afraid that he was sick again, or something was wrong, like it always was but she could only find a small scar there, one that looked much like a small burn where an Omega would have their mating gland, and she traced it curiously. 

“When an Alpha’s rejected by his Omega, we scar too, even though we don’t have a claiming mark necessary, or even a bonding gland the way you do, it still burns us, we go through the same hurt and sickness when the bond breaks,” Beau explained, and for a second, she felt like her whole world had crushed her. It made a fresh wave of hatred boil in her gut towards Carla. She’d hurt him, not only emotionally, but physically as well. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that Beau,” she said, attempting to swallow down her anger, but Beau just pulled her back down into his arms, and wrapped her tighter to him in the blankets. 

“It’s okay, I survived it, not all Alphas are so lucky. Besides, if she wouldn’t have pushed me away, I might have never found you, and then I would have just been miserable my whole life, her too, because she was tied to someone that was not her Alpha. It was meant to happen the way it happened. At least I still have my baby girl out of it, and that’s all that matters. At the time it was a reason to live, had I known you were out there, maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so bad.”

Y/N snuggled down into his hold and held onto him a little tighter. She couldn’t reverse the damage that had been done to him, but she could make the memory bearable, and that was something she wasn’t going to mad about, she’d just have to try her best to make it better this time around.

Forever:

@wittysunflower

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[awkward-and-indecisive]

The Lazy Chose Me

Gif by @crowleysfavouritedemon

Summary - Y/n wants to have a lazy day but her boyfriend, Dean, wants to take her on an impromptu date. Will she have a good time at the date or will the date, the green eyed hunter organised, be a total wreck?

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Female!reader

Warnings - FLUFF!!! A little language, crack, lots of kissing a certain green eyed man, Dean being the best boyfriend ever, Dean being an adorable dork. Reader’s thoughts are italicised. If I’m forgetting anything please let me know!

Word Count - 4224

A/N - This randomly came to me at four in the morning. Also, I love Stitch with everything in me. 🥺😩

This is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.

Please tell me what you think about it.

FEEDBACK IS HIGHLY APPRECIATED!!!

Happy Reading :)

*****

You were having the laziest day of your life. Sitting on your side of the bed in a hoodie and sweatpants, you were stuffing your face with popcorn while watching reruns of your favourite show. With no hunts for the day, you were having a lazy day after months and you were enjoying it way too much. Crumbs of the snacks you’ve had earlier were scattered on the bed, decorating the sheets like confetti. Little pieces of popcorn were falling everywhere but you didn’t care. And you didn’t care that you didn’t care. You were loving the fact that you had nothing to do all day but lie in bed and eat junk and be lazy and messy and ugly and dirty. You were basically a zombie for the day.

Ah! This is what dreams are made of. You thought to yourself, sighing after another episode ended. You stretched your body, a few of your joints popping due to not getting any movement for so long, and hummed happily to yourself. You pressed play on the remote, the next episode playing, and changed your position on the bed. Lying on your side, you brought up your knees to your chest, one of your hands supporting your head, and kept the popcorn bowl within arm’s reach.

You had only continued your munching for a few minutes when your green eyed sex god of a boyfriend entered the room, excitement making his huge frame shake. He stopped at the foot of the bed, bouncing on the balls of his feet and you got a little annoyed at how energetic he was being. Your eyes were still glued to the screen, hand going in the direction of the bowl, blindly picking some popcorn and gorging yourself with it.

Dean moved in front of the tv and switched it off. You let out a ‘hey!’ in protest and he came to sit beside you. You scowled at him for interrupting your plan of being a zombie all day and he kept a hand on your hip, a cheeky smile playing on his lips which told you that he was up to something.

“Get ready, sweetheart. We’re going on an impromptu date.” He said with eagerness, clapping his hands together, and you still kept scowling at him. He seemed to have figured out what was swirling around in your head and started shaking you lightly.

“Come on, Y/N! It’s been so long since we had a date night and I have the perfect thing in mind.” He whined, making puppy dog eyes. You almost gave in right there but the lazy part of you stopped you from saying yes.

“But whyyy?! I don’t want to get ready or dress up or do my hair or look pretty or take a shower. I want to spend all day in bed doing absolutely nothing.” You whined back.

“Y/n, come on! You can be lazy all you want tomorrow. And look at all this mess and you haven’t even showered?!” Your boyfriend exclaimed. You just shrugged in return. So what if I didn’t shower today? It wasn’t like I smelled. Or did I?

You shook your head to get those thoughts out of your head and pulled the covers over your head, trying to hide under them and not let Dean force you to get out of bed. He tried to snatch the covers from you, going to stand at the foot of the bed again, but you had a deathgrip on them. Of course you were no match to him when it came to strength and he managed to steal them from you, throwing them on the small chair in the room. You groaned and folded your body more, tightly wrapping your arms around your knees and burying your head in the space between your knees and chest.

Dean grabbed a hold of your ankle and easily pulled you to the end of the bed and you screamed in protest, grabbing whatever you could to hold on. To anyone else the scene would surely look extremely comical, you clutching the sheets like your life depended on it and Dean dragging you towards the end of the bed. You knew you were being childish and throwing a tantrum like a kid whose mother refused to give in to their unnecessary demand they made in a public place right now but you didn't want to leave your bed. You were so comfortable and happy spending the day there and your boyfriend was bursting your peaceful bubble of lethargy.

“Why. Are. You. So. Damn. Lazy?!” Dean huffed exasperatedly, pulling you more and more towards the edge with each word.

You finally gave up on your plan, knowing you were no match for your stupid boyfriend’s stupid strength. You swiped the strands of hair that stuck on your face from all the scuffle in annoyance, when you stood up on your feet, and looked him in the eyes.

“I didn’t choose the lazy Dean. The. Lazy. Chose. Me.” You huffed with every step you took to leave the room and go to the bathroom to get ready for your impromptu date.

Dean chuckled and shook his head at your antics, taking a pair of your jeans, your undergarments and a jumper out of the drawer to give to you since you didn’t take any with you. He dropped the clothes on the bench of the bathroom, shouting ‘don’t take too long and get ready in 45 minutes’, and came back to change his clothes too.

Rolling your eyes for the millionth time in the last hour, you dragged your boot clad feet to the bunker’s garage. You would have been spending the whole day in sweats and a hoodie and here you were now, wearing jeans and a bra. Oh how cruel life is to break my dreams like that! You internally groaned.

You found Dean humming a tune to himself while leaning against his precious Impala, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded. His head perked up when the sound of your footsteps reached his ears and he immediately opened the passenger side door for you. You grumpily took a seat and Dean, still acting all gentlemanly, closed the door and rounded the car to take a seat in the driver’s side.

He jammed the key into the ignition and turned it, driving out of the garage. The green eyed man turned on some soft rock tunes, his fingers drumming to their tune. His whole demeanor was annoying you, testing your limits. How was he so happy after literally dragging me off the bed and stopping me from being the sack of potatoes I so desperately wanted to be all day?

“Why couldn’t we have a lazy date night in the Cave?” You asked, turning your body towards him.

“Because I can’t remember the last time we went out on a nice date and what I have planned is gonna be so much better than a lazy date night in the Cave.” He replied with confidence.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You grumbled, folding your arms.

“At least tell me where we’re going!” You whined after a few minutes had passed, stomping your foot like a child. You were really in a mood today.

“Then it won’t be a surprise.” Dean said, like it was obvious. You faced him and gave him your best puppy dog eyes, jutting out your lower lip to make the pout he could never say no to. He gave you a glance and then chuckled, “Nice try, sweetheart. But my hands are tied.”- he raised his hands in defeat and shrugged, -“I’m sorry but no can do.”

You let out a groan of frustration and decided to give up on prying information from him and just wait to see what this great plan of his was.

After a little over an hour of driving, Dean put Baby in park and you could see a tent with some lights and stuff. It was a carnival.

He brought you to a freaking carnival?!

“A carnival.” You said, judgement dripping from your voice.

“What? It’ll be fun!” He shrugged, a huge smile plastered on his face.

“I swear to god Dean if i don’t have any fun-”

“If you don’t have a good time then I’ll do whatever you want for a month.” He rambled out before you could complete your threat.

“Whatever?” You asked him, wanting to know if he was sure what he was signing himself up for. He nodded in reply and you thought about the little deal he was presenting you.

“Make it two and you have yourself a deal.” You countered, giving him a huge fake smile and putting your hand forward so you could shake on it.

“Deal!” Dean said and instead of shaking your hand, he crashed his lips on yours, kissing you like he hadn’t for years. He parted from you and you weren’t sure if you were out of breath because of the kiss or because of how good he kissed you. “That’s the way to properly seal a deal, sweetheart.” He winked and got out of the car, leaving you breathless and in a daze in the car.

You shook your head to get your brain back to working and got out of the car. You rounded and saw Dean holding his hand out for you. You couldn’t help the genuine smile and warmth that graced your cheeks. You hated how a tiny gesture from him made your heart do somersaults like a teenage girl even after all these years of knowing and dating him. Intertwining your fingers with his, you started walking towards the entry to go inside.

You were mesmerised by the hundreds of lights that were acting as a roof over your heads, looking like a galaxy of stars, as soon as you stepped foot into the carnival. You uttered a ‘Whoa!’ and could already see the smug smile forming on your boyfriend’s face. He gave you a ‘Hate to say I told you so’ look which you just ignored, pulling him towards the first stall your eyes fell on.

Dean suggested that you two eat a little before indulging in any activities and you quickly agreed since you didn’t have anything to eat all day other than those few snacks. You both opted for a hotdog and quickly finished it, feeling the hunger once the food was in your hands. The both of you roamed a little around the fair, watching everything that was on display.

The various games that were hard for normal people but to you both were as easy as pie and all the different prizes they had. A particular prize caught your eye and you memorised the stall number to visit later. The numerous contrasting foods and their delicious aromas wrapped around you like a blanket as you passed their respective stalls.

You saw a stall with flavoured lemonade and urged Dean to try some. You continued exploring while drinking the flavours of your choice. You reached the end of the ground, where the carnival was set, where a huge Ferris wheel waited for you and Dean.

You could only imagine the view you would get from the top. You tugged at your boyfriend’s jacket sleeve, stopping at the queue for the giant ride. You quickly emptied your plastic cups and threw them in the trash. You couldn’t help but notice Dean being a little nervous about the ride and found it so adorable. Dean Winchester, the best hunter in the world, was scared of a Ferris wheel.

It wasn’t long till it was your chance to sit in one of the carts. The crew guy locked the bar over your laps, securing you in. You heard Dean start humming Metallica, which you knew he did to calm himself down, as the ride started to take you up. You took his hand in yours, your thumb caressing the back of his hand. His grip on your hand tightened and you squeezed it back in reassurance, resting your head on his shoulder. You knew he was a little scared but couldn’t help and find the whole situation utterly adorable and amusing.

The wheel stopped when you were halfway to the top and you looked down to see that a couple was getting off a cart and another taking their place. You looked back at Dean, sitting next to you, and he had a funny expression on his face.

“Hey! You okay?” You asked, your brows furrowing.

He scanned his surroundings for a few seconds and then gulped, looking at you. You raised your eyebrows in question and he opened his mouth but no words came out.

“I uh...I think I’m gonna throw up.” He stuttered.

“You WHAT?!” You said, voice getting louder with shock while you let go of his hand and put as much distance as you could between the two of you. Your turn had just started and you were approximately 50 feet above ground and you had nowhere to go. Your thoughts started spiralling and you quickly rambled out, “I swear to god Dean if you throw up here I’ll kill you. Don’t even think about throwing up. Swallow it down if you have to. Don’t you dare throw up.”

“I can’t just not throw up Y/n!” He screeched.

“I don’t care!!” You said, shaking your head from side to side.

You both stared at each other in disbelief for a minute when Dean started laughing hysterically, his whole body shaking the cart. Your eyes widened when realisation hit you. He was messing with you. He wasn’t nauseous. Ugh! You hated him so much. The ride started again, taking you both up and he was still laughing.

“Asshole!” You said, smacking his arm and the cart shook a little bit.

“Whoa Y/n! I might fall!” Dean shrieked and you grumbled ‘Good!’ in reply.

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes and looking away from him. It wasn’t long until you reached the top and as soon as you took in the view, your annoyance vaporized into thin air. You could see the whole town from up here, hundreds of lights twinkling in the distance, the cold wind blowing through your hair. It all looked so heavenly stunning.

“This is so beautiful!” You whispered in awe.

“Yeah it is.” Dean agreed with you and when you looked at him, he was looking at you. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You rolled your eyes while a blush crept up on your cheeks making your face warm even in the cold breeze. A smug expression made its way on Dean’s face and he wiggled his brow at you, thinking of how easy it was to win you over. But before he could make a smartass comment, you crashed your lips onto his, shutting him up. He didn’t seem to mind, bringing his hand up to your cheek, his thumb caressing it, while the other one still held onto the metal bar which was your only safety.

You made out like horny teenagers the whole ride, giggling when your noses collided. You both got out of the small cart, hands entwining and began to make your way back. You were walking quietly, taking in your surroundings when out of nowhere a guy ran past you, drenching you with the milkshake he had in his hand. You gasped at the contact of the cold liquid with your body, which quickly started seeping into your clothes and making you shiver.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cursed looking at you, anger filling him straight away and then his green eyes gazed behind you to catch sight of that guy.

“Let it go, Dean. I need to change before I get sick.” You said, tugging at his hand.

“Okay okay. I think I saw a souvenir shop a little ahead. Let’s get you some clean clothes from there.” He said, his anger disappearing and worry taking its place.

You nodded and let him guide you to the shop, hoping they had some clothes you could wear. As much as you disliked coming here at first, you were having a good time and didn’t wanna go back home so soon.

You went into the shop, thanking everyone in this world when you found some clothes at the back. You quickly took off their tag and handed them to Dean so he could pay for them while you changed in the fitting room. You quickly got out of your milkshake soaked clothes and put them in a plastic bag. You left the fitting room, your eyes meeting with those gorgeous green ones and he chuckled, shaking his head and looking down.

“What?” You asked, feeling a little conscious.

“Nothing. I’m just not that surprised at your choice of clothing.” He said with amusement, waving his hand up and down towards your body.

You glanced down at yourself and realised that you were wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. You were back in your lazy clothes and chuckled too. You looked at Dean and shrugged while smirking, “What can I say? The lazy chose me.”

He grinned at you, pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was all sweet and loving. He parted when the need for air became too much and rested his forehead on yours, whispering on your lips, “I’m starting to think it did.”

You pecked his lips one more time before taking his hand to exit the shop. You both roamed around a bit more, going on some rides and eating some food. You lost a bet to Dean, getting dizzy before him on Chair-O-Planes, resulting in him making fun of you before you kissed him to shut him up while he lost a bet to you, getting scared in the fun house once while you didn’t. You made fun of him before he applied your method of shutting him up, kissing you. You both tried a hybrid of a cake and a pie which was so fucking delicious that it left you two moaning with each bite and you instantly got a whole one packed to take home. Dean kept convincing you to call it Pieke which you kept ignoring. You also tried something called a ‘pizza cone’, it looked like a normal ice cream cone but instead of the ice cream, it had cheese and pizza sauce and the cone was made out of dough. It was easily the best kind of pizza you’ve ever had and got a few of them packed for everyone back at home.

It was safe to say that both of your stomachs were full with finger-licking food and your hearts with irreplaceable memories from tonight. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this carefree and had so much fun. You hated to admit it, but Dean was right and you were definitely not going to say that out loud and give him one more chance of being all cocky and boastful.

Both of you were lazily strolling with one of your hands carrying the bags with the food and the other interlaced with each others’. You could see the opening from where you had entered, meaning you had done everything there was to do.

“You ready to go home, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his head tilting to you while his eyes darted towards the entry/exit point.

You hummed while nodding, Dean pecking your forehead and beginning to walk again. You had just stepped out of the carnival when your brain reminded you of that stall number you had thought of visiting before and you quickly shrieked, “WAIT!!”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to you with his brows raised, “What?”

“Uh, I remembered something I have to do.” You gave him a vague reply, not looking him in the eye.

“Okay, let’s go do it then.” He said, turning to walk back inside.

“NO!! No no.” You yelped, pushing on his shoulders to turn him back. He gave you a perplexed look and you awkwardly said, “You don’t have to come. Plus I kinda gotta do it alone.”

“Okaaay..” Dean said, unsure.

“Alright! So I'll meet you at the car in 20.” You hastily rambled out, pecking his lips and made your way back to the stall you had earlier seen in the night, leaving a dumbfounded Dean behind.

You were walking back to the car, a giant rainbow slinky in your hands, which were behind your back, to hide the toy from him. You saw how heartbroken he was, when the one Sam had gotten him on a case, got broken. You just wanted to see his whole face light up and give you that huge smile that lit up your world. You had seen the slinky displayed as a prize on the Ring Toss game and had won it for your boyfriend easily, your hunter skills coming handy.

You saw Dean leaning against the Impala, a mischievous look on his face, something blue and huge peeking out from where he was hiding it behind him. You squinted your eyes to figure out what he was hiding but failed to make anything out.

“What you got there, Y/n?” Dean questioned, nodding to your hands, amusement painted all over his face.

“I could ask the same.” You smirked, raising one of your eyebrows.

“Well as they say, ‘Ladies first’” He winked and you chuckled.

“You’re gonna need your hands for this one and they’re a little busy as far as I can tell.” You said, wiggling your brows at him.

Realisation hit him and you chuckled at his puzzled expression at what to do with whatever was in his hands. He told you to close your eyes and not open them until he shoved the thing he had in his hands in Baby through the window. He gave you the green light to open his eyes. You gave out a count of three out loud and then brought the slinky in front of you. Dean gasped, his whole face lighting up with a million megawatt smile, just like you had imagined, lighting up your whole world in the process.

“No! Oh, you’re the best girlfriend EVER!!! I LOVE YOU AND YOU’RE SO FREAKING AWESOME!!!” Dean blurted out, voice raising with each word, probably on cloud nine right now. Your face heated up at his words but you just dismissed them, mumbling ‘yeah yeah’ while looking down at your feet.

“Okay time for your surprise!”- He said, remembering what he had stuffed in the window earlier, -“Close your eyes.”- he insisted, turning around to get it out of the car while you shut your eyes, -”And no cheating!” You chuckled at his childish behaviour, loving it all the same.

“You need some help with that?” You teased him, after a few minutes passed and you heard him struggling to get it out of the car. He grunted an ‘almost done’ making you chuckle again.

“Alright, open up, sweetheart.” He said.

“YOU DID NOT!!” You gasped as you saw what he was holding in his hands, happy tears making your eyes blurry, reminding you of your childhood.

You instantly took the giant, almost as big as you, Stitch stuffed plush from his arms, squeezing it tightly against yourself. You couldn’t believe he got that for you. That little alien meant the world to you.

“I saw it at a shooting game after you left and I just couldn’t not get it for you. I know how much you love the movie and this weird guy. And also this is compensation if you didn’t have a good time tonight.” He told you and you looked up at him.

“Dean I...this...YOU are the best boyfriend in this universe and all the others. You don’t know how much this means to me...I...I love you.” You stuttered, words not coming to you as your feelings overwhelmed you, your voice getting smaller at the end.

He stepped forward, crashing his lips on yours, kissing you passionately while his large hands cupped your face. You kissed him back with the same passion, pouring all the feelings you felt into it, immense love for a certain green eyed man being the biggest. You parted when the need for oxygen became too much and rested your forehead on his.

“You should find yourself a new bed to sleep in because I just found a new cuddle buddy I won’t be letting go of any time soon.” You teased him, a smile playing on your lips.

“Pfft yeah right.” Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry Stitch, unfortunately I kinda love him the most.” You said with mock sadness in your tone.

“Unfortunately my ass!” He grumbled and you laughed at that.

“I love you. So so much.” You said, pecking his lips.

“I know. Now get your cute butt in the car. It’s getting late and we gotta go home.” He said, lightly smacking your ass as you rounded the car to take a seat.

“Plus, I gotta show you just how much I love you for getting me that slinky.” He winked, suggestively, getting into the car.

“Oh I can’t wait.” You winked back.

*****

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